Hell, says Slim, no decent gal ’ud take up with a old fossil like me.
I don’t see why not, says Em. They do say there’s somebody fer everybody.
Believe it or not, missy, back in my salad days, I was what we called a gay blade, he says. Had a fine manly figger. I had dash an charm an . . . oh, I was devilish handsome, no word of a lie. Females flocked to me, helpless moths to my deadly flame.
There you go, says Em. You jest need to scrub up some.
Where’s the gawdamn road? I says.
I figger any moment now, we should – ah! Here we are! says Slim. What’d I tell you?
As he says the words, we’re suddenly bumpin onto a wide dirt road that cuts across our path, east-west. Look! says Slim. There it is! The storm belt! He points east.
Some ten leagues distant, straight on, the sky hangs low an brown across the horizon. There’s a little huddle of mountains. A thick plug of filthy-lookin brown cloud hangs above ’em, like a sullen lid. Forks of jagged lightnin flash down.
Where’s the Lost Cause? says Em.
You cain’t see it from here, says Slim. Over the causeway, through a gap in them mountains an there she is, right in the middle. It’s all flat, open an empty, but fer the Lost Cause. He leans in close to Em, makes his voice go spooky. There she stands, he says, alone at the crossroads, with wind witches shriekin an wailin around her all night long. Tappin on the windows, scratchin at the doors with their long witchy claws, let me in, let me in. Are you skeered of witches, little miss?
Em’s bug-eyed. I dunno, she whispers. I never met one.
The brown cloud’s sulphate, he says in a normal voice. Rains down on the Lost Cause every single day.
Let’s hurry, I says. It ain’t far an it’s a good road.
Slim’s frownin, lookin up an down the trail. Too damn good fer my likin, he says. Somebody’s bin workin on this. It’s bin cleared. Made wider since the last time I was here.
The Tonton? says Lugh.
Roads is slave work, says Slim, not Tonton. Anyways, what it tells me is there’s more traffic here. More people movin around. Everybody better ride inside till we git to Molly’s. Anybody we do meet, I can explain the horse, but not all of you with no marks on you.
No way, I says. What’s to stop you drivin somewheres an handin us over?
Look, he says, the Cosmic used to be the beast wagon in a travellin show. She’s got air grilles in her walls so you can watch what’s goin on. Shoot me if you don’t like what you see.
We look at each other. Me an Lugh an Maev an Tommo an Emmi. Maev gives a little shake of her head. Don’t trust him.
I ride with you, I says. The rest go in the back.
Did you not hear me? says Slim. I jest said, it’s too dangerous.
An I jest said, I ride with you, I says. Me an the wolfdog.
As I tie Hermes to the back end, the rest of ’em climb inside, into the warm, dim stuffiness of the Cosmic. They settle theirselfs on the straw. Light slants down from the grilles, one high up in each wall, jest like Slim said.
Lugh’s last in. I hope there ain’t no fleas, he says.
Whatever happens, says Slim, whatever you hear, don’t make a sound, don’t make a move an don’t come out till I tell you.
All of a sudden, he don’t seem like the same person. His voice, his gaze, even his big body, they’ve gone sharp an tight. He looks tough. No mean feat fer a man wearin a pink dress.
Okay? I says.
They all nod. We shut the door on ’em. Me an Tracker jump in the front. Nero lands on my lap. The Cosmic pitches an creaks as Slim squeezes his bulk into the driver’s seat. He gives Moses a brisk slap with the reins an, with a jolt, we’re off.
Every turn of the wheels carries me closer to the storm belt. To the Lost Cause. To Jack. My hand goes to the heartstone around my neck. My fingers curl around its cool smoothness. Soon I’ll be seein Jack. After all this time, after all that’s happened, I cain’t hardly believe it. My belly’s tight. Jittery. Hot an cold. I crave his moonlight eyes. His heart-turnin smile. His lips, his touch, the warm sage smell of his skin.
Smell. Ohmigawd.
I’m sweaty. I’m all dickered with mud an I’m hot an – I must stink like a polecat. I try to remember the last time I had a wash. I cain’t. I got no idea. I turn to Slim. Do I smell? I says.
He throws me a startled look. Uh—
Ohmigawd, I do. I smell bad. How bad? Go on, you can tell me.
Well, he says, you don’t smell as bad as some. But you don’t smell as good as some neether.
I knew it, I says. What’m I gonna do?
Yer askin me fer advice? He shakes his head as he says, I’d remind you that I’m wearin a lady dress with no unders.
I stare at him, not seein him, in a panic. What a nightmare. I don’t see Jack fer months an the first thing he does is pass out becuz I smell so rank. I’ll hafta scrub up somehow. Wash an change my clothes an—
Wait a minute, I says. That fella, peekin through the keyhole at Molly. She’s got a tub. I’ll ask if I can take a bath. That’s what I’ll do. The moment we git there, I’ll hop in an have a scrub.
I smile at him. Relieved.
Well, he says, would you look at that. The sun jest come out. I gotta tell you, sister, when you smile you are one fine-lookin female. He winks. If I know the Lost Cause – an I do – yer gonna hafta stop up that keyhole.
Late afternoon. The storm belt ain’t more’n three or four leagues distant.
Not much further now, says Slim. I figger another—Whoa, Moses! Whoa, boy!
He hauls on the reins. The Cosmic groans to a halt.
Beside the road, there’s a man lashed to a tree trunk. A fat iron spike’s bin nailed through his throat.
He ain’t bin here more’n a few days. He died hard. Hard an long. He’s gaunt. Starved lookin. He had maybe forty year on him. Pa’s age.
From his seat on my lap, Nero caws. I hold him tight. Crows like to have a go at a corpse. Somethin’s already bin workin at this one, crows or some other dead eaters.
D’you know him? I says.
From a boy, says Slim. His name’s Billy Six. Slim’s mouth works. His big, jowly face has gone all red.
He starts to clamber outta the wagon an I grab his arm. Hey, hey! What’re you doin?
I’m gonna bury him decent, he says. I cain’t leave him like this.
An if somebody sees us? I says. Then what?
His lips thin. He breathes, loud an tight, through his nose as he stares at Billy Six.
Lugh’s voice comes from the grille above my head. Why’re we stopped? he whispers.
Somebody Slim knows, I says. We stare at Billy Six. We’re all silent fer a moment.
No man oughta die like that, says Lugh.
He took to the woods when the Tonton came to take his land, says Slim. The Stewards moved in an Billy swore he’d make as much trouble as he could fer as long as he could.
I hope he made their lives hell, I says.
Slim turns to look at me. His face is bleak. We’re gonna pass right by his old place. If we’re lucky, we won’t see nobody. But you should ride in back with the rest of ’em.
No, I says.
He shakes his head. We’re on high alert now, he says. Walk on, Moses.
We go on fer a little bit, maybe half a league. Nero flies ahead. Billy’s place comin up, says Slim. On the right.