The Lost Cause is lost.
We race towards it, there at the crossroads. I go as close as I dare, then haul on the reins. Moses slows, stops. He backs up, bellowin.
Slim slumps aginst me. Find Molly, he says.
Maev! Emmi! I yell. Slim’s bin shot!
They come runnin an climb in the front, medicine bag in hand. Maev takes over an me an Tracker leap out.
Tracker, stay! I head fer the burnin buildin at a run. I’m coughin. The smoke stings my eyes.
Saba! Lugh’s voice. Feet – his an Tommo’s – pound behind me. Come back!
Jack could be in there! I yell. I slam into the heat. It’s solid. Like a wall. It throws me back. Lugh grabs one arm. Tommo th’ other. They pull at me, tryin to drag me away. I dig in my heels.
No! I yell. Lemme go!
Anybody in there’s already dead, says Lugh.
No! I squirm an struggle.
It’s one storey. Made of flimsy Wrecker junk. The walls twist an buckle. Crack an shriek. The middle of the roof crashes into the flames.
Where’s the still? says Tommo.
What? says Lugh.
Where they brew the hooch! he yells.
Omigawd, says Lugh, one spark an it’ll blow! Run!
We turn. Start to run.
BOOM!
The blast flings us into the air. Sends us flyin. I land with a thump, face down. I scramble to my feet. Start to run back.
Jack! I yell.
No, Saba! Lugh tackles me. He throws hisself on top of me. He shields me with his body as the Lost Cause rains down all around us.
I’m still. Numb.
Git off, I says.
Lugh don’t move.
Git offa me, I says.
He gits to his feet an holds out his hand. I ignore it. I make my way through the wreckage, go towards the burnin corpse of the Lost Cause. The fire feasts on the remains. It licks an crackles an snaps. The tavern sign lies on the ground. It’s scorched, the paint flaked an faded. A little boat on a stormy sea, about to be swamped by a huge wave. I skirt around the edges, as close as I dare. My eyes search the flames. Lookin fer . . . I dunno what. Somethin. Anythin to stop this cold, heavy flatness of not knowin.
Tommo comes up. Yer shakin, he says. He puts his arm around my shoulders. I don’t think he was in there, he says.
I look up at the sky. The sulphate cloud’s startin to churn in sluggish clumps. The full moon shines faint in the darkenin sky. My hand’s closed around the heartstone. It’s cold.
He said he’d meet me here at the full moon, I says.
Tommo falls into step beside me. It’s only jest dark, he says. Maybe he’s still on his way.
Maybe, I says.
Suddenly, Nero caw caw caws. He’s on the ground a little ways away, flappin his wings an bobbin his head.
What’s he got? says Tommo. As he’s sayin the words, I’m movin. We run to where he is.
Nero’s perched on top of a hat. A brown, battered hat with a brim. There’s a grey pigeon feather stuck in the band.
I stare dumbly. He stole it at Hopetown. Snatched it right offa the owner’s head. Emmi stuck the pigeon feather in the band, one night on our way to Freedom Fields.
It’s Jack’s hat.
Tommo crouches. He shoos Nero off an picks it up. He stands. Holds it out to me. As he does, it starts to rain. One moment nuthin, then a downpour. Brown, sticky rain from the sulphate cloud above.
I’m soaked through. Tommo’s hair’s plastered to his head. Filthy rain drips from his nose an chin. I take a couple of steps back. Then I swerve around him. Go past him, walkin fast, goin nowhere. Don’t think, don’t feel, it won’t be true, it cain’t be true.
My breath’s tight. Throat’s tight. Cain’t breathe. I start to run. My feet slip an slide on the wet ground. I can hear Tommo behind me. The burnin ruins of the Lost Cause hiss an smoke as the rain starts to damp down the flames.
Jest then, twenny paces in front of me, somebody steps outta the smoke. The rain. The gloom. It’s a woman. She’s leadin a horse, a reddish longcoat.
She’s got a gun.
An it’s aimed straight at me.
I skid to a stop. Tommo too.
That’s my hat, she says. I kill looters.
She’s grubby an soaked wet. Her long tangle of blonde curly hair’s pulled back in a tail. She’s got full pink lips. Womanly curves in a long-skirted dress. Eyes smudged dark with sorrow. There’s a scarf tied over her hair, pulled low on her forehead. Her drawn face tells the tale. She ain’t known the mercy of sleep fer a long time. She’s heart-stoppin beautiful.
Yer Molly, says Tommo. Ike’s Molly.
Ike’s dead, she says.
Where’s Jack? I says.
Jack? she says. She frowns.
I snatch the hat from Tommo. This is his, I says. Where is he? Gawdammit, I yell, where’s Jack?
I dunno, she says, I ain’t seen him since – hey, who are you?
This is his hat! I says. Where is he?
He left it behind, she says.
He – he ain’t here, I says.
Nobody here but me, she says.
The rain begins to stop. Bit by bit.
He ain’t here, I whisper. He left it behind. Tears start to leak outta my eyes. I swipe ’em away.
I did tell him it was a crummy hat, she says, but . . . it ain’t worth cryin over. As she’s speakin, she’s starin at me. Lowerin her gun. Leavin her horse an walkin towards me. She stops when she’s a foot away. She’s lookin at the heartstone.
Ohmigawd. She whispers it, like she cain’t believe what she’s seein. She lifts her eyes to mine. Jack’s heartstone, she says. She reaches out. Pushes my sheema back from my face. Her fingers brush my birthmoon tattoo. They’re tremblin. I can smell the drink on her.
Yer Saba, she says. What’re you doin here? Where’s Jack?
Whaddya mean? I says. He sent fer me. He’s in trouble. I got a message to meet him here at the full moon.
But . . . how? I don’t unnerstand. I thought he was with you, she says. I mean. . .
Saba! It’s Lugh.
Emmi! calls Tommo. It’s Molly!
Molly an me stare at each other as Lugh an Emmi an Tracker come runnin up.
Molly! Emmi shrieks. She dives at Molly, an flings her arms around her waist.
Molly holds her hands high. Hey, hey, who the hell’re you? Slim?
Slim’s makin his way towards us, bandaged up an leanin on Maev. His face is pasty an sweaty.
Ohmigawd, Slim, what happened? Molly puts Emmi aside an rushes over to him.
Tonton shot me on the causeway, he says. Guess they didn’t like the dress.
She looks us over. How’d you run into these? she says.
He puts his one good arm around her shoulders an hugs her. I got hijacked, he says. A long story. You okay?
Yeah, she says. I bin espectin it. The Lost Cause is the last bastion of immorality an low livin. I’m sure they would of got to me sooner, but they know damn well I ain’t got no customers. They chased or killed off all the rats an the Stewards don’t drink or whore. I’m hardly worth the trouble, wouldn’t you say? She gives him a funny little smile.
Well, that’s the delivery off, then, he says.
Molly’s eyes flick over us. Her face closes.
Oh, you can speak free, he says. They found the weapons.
We’ll go to the fallback plan, she says. You deliver to Bram and Cassie.
I knew it! Maev jabs her finger at Lugh. There is a resistance! He runs weapons an the Lost Cause is a drop. Am I right or am I right?