Bella Page 2

  When Wasco stepped forward, Bob crumpled to the ground gasping for air and choking on blood. The last guy came running towards Wasco screaming. The clerk was yelling for help, everything was going crazy! I was hiding behind a shelf shoving candy into pockets that couldn’t hold any more.

  Loudmouth got back to his feet reaching for his gun.

  “Wasco, gun!”

  I don't know why I yelled. It wasn't my fight. I think I just wanted to be sure those assholes didn't steal the money he owed me.

  Wasco’s huge fist met the runner’s face and stood him up straight. He stayed there for a second before falling backwards stiff as a board. Loudmouth’s gun came up and went off. I couldn't tell if it hit Wasco or not. I was sure it could not have missed, but Wasco just reached down to his belt, pulled out a Native’s tomahawk and threw it in one smooth motion. It sang out a “ka-thunk” as it stuck through Loudmouth’s boot, foot, and into the wooden floor. He shrieked and dropped his gun. Dumbass. He tried to reach for the axe. Wasco took two long steps and his long knife met the man’s nose before he could bend over far enough to retrieve his weapon, stopping him in mid-move. Wasco then stood him back up by slowly raising the knife.

  “How long has it been since you last flew that ship? When did you get back? Did you rustle any horses?” Wasco growled.

  A trickle of blood ran from Loudmouth’s nose and trailed along his lip before forming a small drop on his chin. Bob made a pained groan behind Wasco and fell as he tried to stand.

  “UhummmIdunno!” Loudmouth said. “Maybe a couple a months? We don't fly all the time; we do some time on the ground and some time on the ships, I dunno! Horses? Why in the hell would we rustle horses? The boss would kill us!”

  Wasco stared at him for a few seconds that passed like a cold winter night, sheathed his knife, bent, and pulled the hawk from the guy’s foot. He turned and grabbed the coin from the counter for his pelts and without a look to the befuddled clerk, walked out the door. I followed him out as Loudmouth hit the floor passed out cold. Pansy and a dumbass.

  We stopped on the porch and Wasco took a stubby cigar from a pocket and struck a match with his thumb. Once it lit he looked down at me.

  “Where the hell can I buy a real gun in this town?” he asked.

  Blood ran down his hand from a hole in his bicep. He had been shot and hadn't even flinched. Didn’t even seem to notice. I watched the blood as it ran down his forearm and hand. I’d never seen someone get shot before. It was almost hypnotic watching the blood run from the hole to his fingertip. I could swear I saw it swirling in little patterns around the wound.

  “You been shot.”

  He looked at the arm. “Yeah,” he said.

  “You need a doctor?”

  “No, I need a rifle.”

  I shrugged. “Old Ying probably has one. Come on.”

  CHAPTER TWO – YING

  I still wasn't sure if Wasco had ever been to the city. He walked confidently, as if he had lived there his whole life, but he damn sure didn't know his way around and he looked at everyday things like he'd never seen their like before. I took him the long way around since he seemed interested in things and I figured if he thought it took longer I could get another penny from him. When we passed Heaven’s Gate he stopped and looked up the road.

  “What's that?” he asked with a nod of his head.

  “What, the carriage? It's a steam carriage. Where the hell you been?” I answered.

  “Was askin’ ‘bout through them gates. Don’t remember this being here. Come to think of it, the carriage too. Where the hell are the horses?”

  “Ain't no horses, it works on steam and Ember,” I said.

  “Ember?” he asked.

  I looked over to see if he was serious.

  “Losin’ all that blood got you dragged out? Ember! You know, steam rock? Black rock? Come on, where you been?”

  “Ain't never heard of it. How’s that make a carriage go without a horse?” He kept talking like he’s been stuck in a cave.

  “It's the same as that gun you were gawkin’ at in the General. When you put Ember in water it makes steam, and the steam makes things go. Everybody knows that! That's why Mr. Keaton's so rich; he found a whole slew of the stuff right under the city. Back before I was even born,” I said.

  “That what’s causing all that steam?”

  “I guess. But most people here in the Ends can't afford to use it much. Steam mostly comes up over the cliff and through cracks in the ground from the mines. They use water to wash out the mines, and when it goes over the side it makes steam,” I said.

  It was like talking to a baby. I couldn’t understand how someone could not know about Ember.

  “The Ends?” he asked. “Is that what you call the town now?”

  “Naw, the Ends is just this part of the city. Where the poor folk live. Over there is the market, and over there the factory district. We’re going to the Chinese Quarter by the factories. And that up there is Heaven, that’s where the rich people live. I hear there ain't no steam in the streets up there so when they look down, the steam clouds down here makes it look like they're in Heaven,” I said, pointing through the gate.

  “Never been?” he asked.

  “Naw, they don't let Ends folks up there less they got work to do, and that ain’t many,” I said. “Most folk work in the mines; if they got any work at all.”

  He started walking again, limping a bit, and glancing back at the gates or the steam carriage, I'm not sure which.

  “You hurt?” I asked.

  “Old,” he said. “Damn knee locks up sometimes is all. It’ll work itself out.”

  The Chinese Quarter was the worst part of the city. It was a mixture of run-down abandoned warehouses, and homemade buildings of cloth, wood, and waxed paper. A few places, like Ying’s, had glass doors, but very few. Steam was so thick most days you couldn’t see ten feet ahead. Many of the people here wore clothes tied over their faces or masks, but it didn’t help. It was still full of Foggies.

  “Why is there so much more steam here?” he asked.

  “I dunno. They’re the only ones that get it worse than us. We get it when the wind shifts, but it blows out sooner or later. Here steam just sits all the time. No wind ‘cause of the hill. That’s why they get more Foggies than anybody else.”

  He looked at me oddly at the word, but in short order it was clear what I was talking about. The lame and mutated were all around. We had our share in my neighborhood, but here they were all over. Faces or arms wrapped in cotton, some with arms or legs too big or too small, heads covered and deformed. It made me sad to see them. Even now thinking of them makes my heart break.

  “What's with them?” he nodded toward a group of young men standing in an alley, staring at us.

  “Nothin’, just walk on by. Don’t worry, they know me,” I said.

  “I wasn’t worried ‘bout ‘em girl, just wonderin’ why they were given me the stink eye, and what's with the scar on their necks?”

  “I don't know. Ying says a lot of the young men have them these days and said they was trouble and to stay away from ‘em. I think they won't bother us ‘cause I know her, but ain't no sense tempting 'em so come on!” I said.

  He followed, staring them down for a long while. They didn't look away. I would have. He had a stare that made your blood run cold, but they held his stare until we turned.

  We came ‘round the corner and could see Ying’s store at the end of the road. I had known Ying since I was old enough to run the streets. She looked out for me and I ran errands for her. Not a lot of round-eyes were allowed as much freedom as I was here. Customers of her shop were lucky if they got out of the Quarter with everything they came in with. But they did still come. Mostly young men wanting powdered rhino horn and to visit the laundries, laundries being the whore houses in the Chinese quarter.

  The shop was at the end of a street where the only breeze in the Quarter somehow kept the steam away. One step you were wet wi
th it, the next you were in a cool dry semicircle facing the glass door and window of the shop. Big gold letters surrounding two entwined dragons and some Chinese symbols read Ying’s Shop of Celestial Wonders.

  We walked up, and Wasco opened the door to the sound of wooden tubes that tinkled and tonged melodically. Old Ying called it bamboo. She had a garden where it grew behind the shop and little plants of it inside. The sound made me feel safe and at ease. Even Wasco looked more relaxed as he went in.

  “Can I help you? You look for powdered horn of rhino to entertain your girl?”

  “What?” Wasco said.

  I stepped around Wasco and glared at the young Chinese man dressed in overly ornate traditional garb to impress the customers. His name was Li. He was Old Ying’s manservant.

  “Ain't like you never seen me afore dumbass! You sayin’ I’m a whore now? And why you talkin’ like that?”

  “Oh! I didn't see you at first young Topher. I am sorry!” Li, looking chagrined, replied without the exaggerated accent he used for the dumb customers.

  He bent at the waist toward me and then to Wasco and said, “What can I help you find? We have many wonders from faraway lands.”

  “I need a rifle”,” Wasco growled. “A real one, not one of them steam-powered ditties. Lemme see that one.”

  He gestured at a rifle that sat on a top shelf. It looked like it was a hundred years old, with a dragon carved into its barrel. I'm not sure I had ever seen it before, but there were so many things in Ying’s shop it was hard to say.

  “Oh, I am afraid that is not for sale,” Li said.

  “Why the hell would it be in a store with a tag hangin’ from it if it wasn't for sale?” Wasco asked.

  “Oh, ah, well, many things you know...”

  He was still stuttering when Old Ying stepped out from behind the curtain in the back of the store.

  “Ah, Christopher, you brought me a customer. How are you? How is your mother?”

  She always called me by my full name.

  “Ma's ok, down in the mines doin’ a shift.”

  Old Ying's face drooped a little at that, for a moment showing the weight of her years. She looked up at Wasco.

  “Mr. Wasco, welcome to my shop. I see you have a keen eye for weapons. I think that would serve as a suitable substitute.”

  She pointed at the rifle with her walking stick. “Fetch me the rifle, Li. I will show you how fine a rifle that is Mr. Wasco, but first, let me see that arm before you get blood on everything in my shop.”

  Wasco gave her a puzzled look and looked down at his arm as if he had forgotten. He then took off his fur cloak and fringed deerskin jacket. The shirt and arm both had a hole in it and were leaking blood, but not nearly as much as they had been. The sleeve had turned completely red. He looked down at it and frowned a bit. Ying tore the shirt sleeve and began dabbing the wound with a cloth she produced from her pocket.

  “Li, get me some water. It looks to have passed through without much damage, Mr. Wasco,” she said.

  “Ya, I know.”

  She gave him a momentary scowl. She cleaned the wound with the cloth and water Li brought, covered it in a sweet-smelling paste and wrapped it in clean linen. Li, meanwhile, had found a stool and brought down the rifle for her. When she finished he held it out to Ying, but she shifted her eyes to Wasco, so he held it out to him. Wasco took it, looking from him to her and then at the rifle. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship. I didn't think it would shoot a dang thing, but it was pretty.

  “Does it shoot?” Wasco asked.

  “Oh yes,” Ying answered.

  “How much? I can't read this.”

  He held up a little white tag with a symbol on it.

  “Oh, never mind that,” she said, “I will sell it to you for fifty-two dollars. That is very cheap for such an item.”

  Li’s eyes widened and he looked as if he was going to say something but kept quiet, apparently with some effort.

  “What the hell makes it worth fifty-two damn dollars? It shoot gold?” Wasco asked.

  She smiled a small wrinkled smile and shook her head. “No Mr. Wasco, not gold. It shoots fire.”

  “Huh?” Wasco said.

  “This is a Chinese fire rifle, Mr. Wasco. Crafted in my home country. It will shoot regular lead balls just as any western rifle does but will also shoot these.” She motioned with her tiny hand towards a small box of odd-colored metal balls.

  Wasco looked unimpressed.

  “I see, you think this old woman is trying to play games on a round-eye to cheat him of his hard-earned coin. No, Mr. Wasco, let me demonstrate.”

  With that she grabbed one of the metal balls and walked through the cluttered aisles, walking stick thumping rhythmically on the wooden floorboards.

  “Come along,” she said over her shoulder.

  She didn't wait to see if anyone followed, just walked through a curtain into the back of the store and out an old rickety door that we heard slam. By the time we reached her she was standing in the alley waiting for us. She handed Wasco the odd-looking metal ball and nodded down the alley.

  “Go ahead, just like you always have, and do aim for the brick wall, not the wood”,” she instructed.

  With the surety of years of experience Wasco popped a load of powder down the barrel, tapped it, hesitated a moment looking at Old Ying, and finally took the ball and shoved it down the barrel.

  He set a cap into place, took aim at a spot on a brick wall down the alley and squeezed the trigger. The cap fired, and smoke shot from the barrel with a roar. When the ball hit the wall, it burst into a ball of flame as big as a man’s head and caught a nearby crate on fire. Li ran down to stomp it out, catching his britches aflame. The next few minutes were some of the funniest in my life.

  Once we had the fire out, Li’s bum covered, and some salve on the small burns he had gotten for his trouble, Old Ying looked at Wasco.

  “So, Old Ying did not lie to you,” she said.

  She patted his hand. Wasco, still holding the rifle, looked at it and back to her.

  “It is a fine rifle. It'll shoot regular lead too?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “I ain't got that kinda money,” he said. “That's the truth of it, so no sense going into any sales shake. I just ain't got it. I did see as you've got a Cooper double-action in the case. How much for that?”

  “Oh, that old thing? You can have it for ten dollars.”

  Wasco's eyebrows made a V and his eyes narrowed, and she smiled.

  “Five dollars then and done. As to the rifle, I think we may be able to work something out. Are you willing to do some work for the difference?” she asked.

  “I could do that. What did you have in mind?” he asked.

  “Just a couple of small errands is all. First, there is a girl in the Quarter that runs a bath and barber. I think she may be in some danger from some of Heaven's young men that like to come make trouble. I do not know what she did to offend them, but I am hearing they have taken to coming in once a week and running off all her customers. I hesitate to ask you to put yourself in danger, but perhaps if you were there when they arrived they would think twice”.”

  “They carry iron?”

  “No, not that I am aware of. But just in case, Li get the pistol from the case for Mr. Wasco. You can pay when you return. I will discount the rifle twenty-two dollars making it an even thirty dollars if you'll do this.”

  “Still ain't got enough I'm afraid,” Wasco said.

  “Then I will find other things for you to do, Mr. Wasco.” She smiled that smile that made wrinkles appear all over her tiny face. “Now, as chance would have it, those young men are due this very day. If you rush over now, you should beat them there.”

  Wasco grunted, nodded, and stood up. I did too.

  “No, I need you here Christopher, and that side of town is no place for a young lady.

  I was going to argue, but I never won with Old Ying, so I let him go and vowed to find out ev
erything later.

  A couple hours later the chimes on the door sang their song and Wasco walked in, or more accurately, a Wasco-like being walked in. His beard was trimmed close to his face, with the stray whiskers having been cut into clean lines. His hair had been cropped short above his ears and collar and exposed his bright blue eyes.

  He might have been called handsome now, the dark hair complimenting blue eyes, but when the blue eyes flicked around the room taking in every detail, it felt more like the gaze of a predator and I wished the long greasy bangs were still there to hide them.

  He pulled out his short cigar and walked over to lean against the wall. A look to Old Ying who frowned kept him from lighting it.

  “Well, I headed down the way you telled me,” he started without preamble. “The steam is pretty thick down that way. Most folk wear masks I notice. I stopped into the saloon I passed thinkin’ to grab a drink, but they ain’t even have whiskey. Gave me something called sake instead. Ain’t gonna stay in business serving that swill.

  “Couple of them boys with the scars on their necks were following me and was waiting outside of the saloon when I came back out. Weren’t even tryin’ to stay out of sight.”

  At this Ying nodded as if that meant something but didn’t say anything.

  “I turned there at the washhouse you telled me ‘bout. Them the girls you say are whorin’? Seems so. Made me wonder if the bath and barber was gonna be a whorehouse too.

  “When I got there the boys on my tail settled in across the street same as they had before. I went in and this little slip of a girl asked if she could help me. She was lookin’ nervous soon as I come in. I could tell she’d rather I not be there. I stayed anyway and sat down for the first hair cutting I had since I walked into the mountains.”

  He scowled. “Suppose it was long overdue. I was tryin’ to stall so I had her start with just a little but had to have her keep going and get into my beard too. Ain’t been this short in a long time. She kept tryin’ to hurry me out.