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  He took a few quiet steps out and around the wagon and stopped. He turned back and looked at me with a look I'll never forget. It froze me in place.

  “Do not come around this wagon, understand me?” he said in a harsh whisper. “Don't look; don't even come close to this side. It ain't pretty out there.”

  The look in his eyes, even in the dark, would have stopped a charging bull. It was a command. A law that was not to be disobeyed, and that was the problem.

  I wasn't able to respond with words looking into those eyes, but I knew what I was gonna do. He gave me another hard look to reinforce the command, turned, and crept back around the corner of the wagon.

  He hadn't gone ten steps before I was peeking around the wagon. There were bodies lying all around a burned-out fire pit, steam rising from dark pools of blood in the cool night.

  “What's the big deal, he think I ain't never seen dead people?” I mumbled to myself. “Seen more than he has, I bet.”

  Me and authority have never mixed all that well. I didn't like being told what I could and couldn’t do. I damn sure wasn't going to let some red-leg juniper boss me around.

  At least that’s what I told myself right up until I got close to the first body. It was lying in a way that didn't seem natural even in the darkness. It was twisted up all wrong. But that wasn't the worst of it. It had been mangled and looked to have been partially eaten. Most of its face was missing, and he looked to have reached for his gun. I could tell because I stepped on the severed forearm that ended in a hand holding a steam pistol. I made a sound I don't think I could ever make again, covered my mouth, and ran back to the safety of the wagon.

  It wasn't enough. I needed to go home; I needed away from here and from Wasco. I was panicking. I needed to run as far from there as I could and never look back. I was preparing to do just that when Wasco’s heavy hand touched my shoulder. It was gentle, but the weight of it was like a mountain that held me in place.

  “I told ya girl. You shoulda listened,” he said sternly. “But ya can't just run off into the dark ‘cause you saw somethin’ ugly. There's a lot of ugly in the world and runnin’ from it… well there ain't no future in that. Ya might just run right into worse.”

  His eyes held me as much as his hand did, but not in the commanding way from before. It was something else, something that made me feel safe. The look in those eyes got my feet on firm ground again.

  I took a breath.

  “I'm fine,” I said and tried to pull my shoulder from under the weight of his hand. But he held me still with a gentle squeeze.

  “What?” I asked. “You think I was scared? I just didn't think I'd step on a damn... I thought it was a snake or... I'm fine!”

  He looked at me for seconds that felt like they lasted a day and a half and nodded his head.

  “Yeah, yer fine. Let's get out of here. Ain't nothing to do fer any of them anyway,” he said.

  “What happened? Why are they all dead? Did something... something ate them didn't it? A bear? Could it have been a bear? Why didn't they shoot it?”

  I was still shaken, and my words were just tumbling out, so I didn't hear the groan that came from under the wagon. Wasco did. He spun, rifle coming up as a man crawled towards us.

  “Damn Red Legs! I told you to run!” the man said.

  The voice was weak and dry sounding.

  Wasco just looked at him. The man got to his knees and looked up at us, eyes squinting in the darkness.

  “Wait, you are not them. Why are you... did you kill them?” he growled.

  He started to stand. Blood covered his mouth and torso and he was naked. Very naked. I should have been embarrassed.

  He looked like he was about to leap at Wasco and attack him with his bare hands and took a stumbling step forward. At some point I must have pulled out my spitshot since I noticed it was in my hand. Before I had time to think, I had raised it to my mouth and hockered into it. A jet of steam propelled the Blackchip out and it hit the man right in the chest. It wasn't enough to kill a man, it was just a spitshot, but it packed a wallop and hurt like hell. I'd been shot with one before. The man fell backwards, landing hard on his back, limbs going akimbo. Wasco looked at me, at him, then walked over and put the barrel of the rifle in the man’s mouth.

  He said, “I ain't killed nobody son. These men was dead when I got here and there damn sure weren't no Red Legs around. So, what the hell are you doing here and why are you alive when they aren't?”

  As he talked he swept his arm to indicate the mutilated bodies. It made me look too and I swooned. Wasco caught it.

  “Girl, move over there so you can keep yer eye on him.”

  He pointed with his chin to a spot that would make seeing the bodies difficult.

  “Gewrl?” the man said trying to talk around the gun barrel.

  He moved his eyes over to me, looked down to his naked body and tried to cover himself with his hands. A push with the gun barrel stopped him. He looked around and tried to motion with his eyes at the wagon.

  “Mah cloves are im vere,” he mumbled.

  “What?” Wasco asked and moved the barrel back a bit.

  “My clothes are in that wagon. Might I get some trousers on, since you brought a little girl with you?” he said.

  “Anything else in that wagon we might wanna know about?” Wasco asked.

  The naked man shook his head.

  “Alright, I’m gonna back up a step and you’re gonna stand up real slow, understand?” Wasco said.

  He nodded, and Wasco took a step back. The man slowly climbed to his feet.

  “Topher, go look in that wagon, but be careful, don’t go jumpin’ in before you look,” Wasco said.

  I stared at him.

  “Come on girl. I need you to fetch them.”

  “I ain’t no dog!” I said and crossed my arms. “I don’t fetch!”

  “You damn sure ain't! Dog's listen better” Wasco said. “And they’re a mite friendlier too! Now can ya git in there and grab this man’s things so he can cover his danglers? I'm gettin’ damn tired of lookin’ at ‘em.”

  I stomped over and climbed into the wagon throwing a glare toward the man, daring myself to not look away.

  “And make sure there ain't no weapons!” Wasco called.

  The only things in the wagon were chains with manacles attached to them, and a pile of clothing with a pair of guns in a gun belt sitting on top of them. I looked through the pockets of the trousers, pocketed some coins and a pocket knife before I tossed them out, followed by the shirt, boots and undergarments. When I climbed back out carrying the gun belt, the man was pulling on his pants. He buttoned them and picked up his shirt.

  “Might as well tell yer tale before you put that on. No sense in me putting a hole in a nice shirt if I don't like what you got to say,” Wasco said.

  The man looked up from his shirt, over to me holding his gun belt, then back to Wasco.

  “Can we sit?” he asked.

  “You start talking while we walk out of here.” Wasco waved the barrel of the fire rifle up the way we had come. “We'll see if you live long enough to sit.”

  “Fair enough,” the man said.

  He picked up his boots and started walking up the rocky hill.

  He was a handsome man. Muscles flexed and moved over his stomach and chest as he climbed the hill. His longish blond hair blew over an angular face with sharp eyes. Where Wasco was made of stone, this man was made of knotted linen. His movements were fluid and confident even while he marched up a hill at gunpoint carrying his boots and shirt. When he spoke, he wasn't winded at all even though we were all struggling against the loose rock.

  I was so distracted looking at him that I jumped when he started talking.

  “My name is Jacob. I was trading with a band of Red Legs Natives when those men charged in. They were on us before I could even draw iron. Chained us like animals in that wagon. I do not know where they were taking us. They stopped to set up camp and something atta
cked them. I got the chains open and told the Natives to run. I tried to follow after I got free, but something hit me in the head. I woke up to your voice and saw your red pants. I thought you were the Natives at first and wondered why they hadn't run. My head was still muzzled. My next thought was that you might have been one of the bandits that had taken the pants as a trophy. Why are you wearing the pants like a Red Legs anyway?”

  Wasco didn’t answer right away, just kept walking up the hill, eyes on Jacob.

  “Why were you so worried about some Natives?” Wasco asked.

  “I have an understanding with many of the People of the Nations. It requires I do what I can to help them when I can,” he said.

  Wasco was quiet for another hundred paces.

  “I wear ‘em ‘cause I am one, well half anyway. Mother was of the Nations, Pap's a scoundrel. So where you headin’?” Wasco asked.

  “I'm afraid I do not know where I am, so I’m unsure where to go from here, but I would prefer to not go there without my pistols. Or my boots on.”

  “Give him that belt Topher,” Wasco said.

  “What? Just like that? How you know he ain't lyin’?” I asked.

  “I don't.” He looked at Jacob. “I trust they'll stay in them holsters.”

  The look was convincing.

  “Yes, they will,” Jacob said, meeting his gaze and holding it a moment before pulling his shirt over his head. “Mind if I stop to put my boots on?”

  Wasco kept walking. Jacob stopped, brushed off his feet and pulled his boots on, and jogged to catch up.

  “Got any water? I'm a mess.”

  Wasco pulled his water skin from his belt and tossed it at Jacob who caught it. I assume he caught it anyway, because his hand moved so fast all I saw was him suddenly holding it and popping the cap off.

  “Where are we headed?”

  ‘Headin’ back to the End of the World,” Wasco said.

  “Edge City you mean?” Jacob asked.

  A noise rumbled from Wasco that seemed like it might be agreement but sounded more like the beginnings of a rockslide.

  Jacob didn't stop talking the whole walk back. He splashed water and wiped away the blood on his face and chest as we walked and stopped a couple of times to dump rocks out of his boots. Wasco by and large ignored him but asked a few questions here and there. Jacob said he was a sell gun, meaning he'd work for about anyone that would pay him. Judging by the money I had taken out of his pocket that wasn't many people, so I figured he wasn’t that good. By the time we made it back to the city, Wasco had hired him, said he could use another gun to back him up when he confronted Keaton.

  The wooden chimes welcomed us back to the shop with their song and Ying met us at the door.

  She stood in front of the door blocking our path for a long couple of breaths, eyes on Jacob.

  “He’s gonna be signing on with me for a job. Jacob, this is Ying.”

  Jacob bowed low at the waist in the same way Li did with Ying. She did not move right away, but eventually she nodded appreciatively and returned the bow.

  “It has better manners than both of you,” she said and walked away with her cane tapping along the floor.

  Jacob, for his part, looked a little too proud of himself if you ask me. Wasco stared hard at her retreating back before glancing at Jacob, brow furrowing. Ying went through the curtain to the little table. When we joined her Wasco told her what had happened, and they squared away their dealings for the rifle. Ying invited them to stay in the stockroom until Wasco had concluded his business in the city, for rent of course, which he could pay when he was able. That was as far as I heard because I was exhausted. I went back to the little mat Ying had for me and was asleep in minutes.

  I woke up after breakfast the next morning. Wasco and Jacob were drinking coffee and talking. Ying was reading a book and I could hear Li in the shop getting ready to open for the day. Thankfully, Ying had saved me some breakfast this time, so I stuffed my face.

  Wasco counted out the few dollars he had left and slid them to Jacob.

  “Ain’t gonna get any easier, let’s go,” Wasco said.

  He stood up, slung the fire rifle over his shoulder, walked over, and tussled my hair.

  “Yer a tough kid,” he said.

  “Whatever chucklehead,” I returned.

  He did that thing that passed for a smile and walked for the door with Jacob following. Once I heard the door slam I counted to ten and got up to follow them. I expected Old Ying to stop me, but when I glanced her way she just kept reading. It was odd, but my youthful ignorance insisted it was none of her business anyway. There was no way I was going to miss Wasco charging onto Keaton's place.

  Wasco and Jacob were about twenty paces up the street looking at me as I slipped out the door.

  Jacob reached into his pocket and handed a coin over to Wasco.

  “Come on,” Wasco said, “I knowed you was gonna come anyway.”

  He turned and continued walking. Jacob waited and watched me run up, grinned, and we headed after Wasco.

  CHAPTER FOUR – KEATON

  I t wasn't hard to spy on the Keaton Company. It was a huge complex on the brink of the massive cliff that gave Edge City and the Ends their names. The cliff was the result of a curse the Native tribes had put on the land a hundred years before. It blew a hole in the earth hundreds of feet down that spanned hundreds of miles. It was called the Edge of the World because it created a towering wall between the west and the east.

  It wasn't supposed to have created such destruction I’m told, it was just meant to drive away the white invaders that had arrived decades before. Red Coats and Blue Coats who had been fighting over who got to steal land the Tribes had lived on for centuries, at least that was how the Natives saw it. So, they gathered in a great conclave and their shamans made a curse that would drive the invaders away by making the land unproductive for a year to anyone whose ancestors were not buried here.

  What many do not know is that some of my ancestors from Africa were also tied to the Spirits of Life and knew the feel of the magic, even if it was at the time, foreign to them. They had priestesses who heard the call of the Native Shamans and added their power to the curse when it was cast. My people had been slaves. They had been brought from Africa and were angry and lonely, and missed their land. The magic they added to the spell was the magic of sadness and of anger, and retribution.

  It caused a massive backlash of energy that left the Edge of the World dividing the continent in half. But there were always unintended consequences. The explosion uncovered earth that was not meant to see the light of day. Earth that held veins of Ember that Keaton discovered almost a hundred years later. That discovery fueled a new wave of white invaders calling themselves “The Enlightened,” and the resulting industry poisoned the land below the Edge with the spreading blight we call the Blacklands.

  “That's them, I’m sure of it. It was just like that one there,” Wasco said.

  A medium-sized ship lifted off the ground, its side bladders full of steam. It climbed by jetting steam out the back. When the sails unfurled, the logo featuring the “K.I.” of Keaton Industries was painted clear and large.

  “Ya think?” I said. “Keaton's the only one that’s got'n flying ships for a thousand miles. Who else would it have been, chucklehead?”

  Jacob snorted, and Wasco gave me a look.

  He handed me back my pa's old spyglass he had borrowed and I took a peek at the ship. The men were running around working levers and ropes. I wondered what it must be like to be up so high. Of course, I had climbed out O’Donnelly’s branch over the Blacklands before, so it was probably like that. A tickle in your belly that makes your legs want to go weak.

  “Ain't no sense wastin’ time. Gonna go down and have some words with the Keaton.”

  With that Wasco stood up, grabbed his new rifle, and started down the hill.

  “Wait! Yer gonna do what? You been done brown if you think you can just walk in and have words w
ith Mr. Keaton just like that. Ain't not a body in the Ends even seen him in years. You don’t even know if he’s in there! I hear he got hurt in the mines, so he don’t like ta be seen.”

  “Well, there'll be somebody down there will know where Bella is,” he said over his shoulder. “Let’s go Jacob, time to earn them dollars.”

  Jacob looked at me and quietly asked, “Who is this Bella anyway and why would she be down there?”

  “I think it’s his horse,” I said, and jumped up to follow Wasco, who was down the hill and onto the street.

  He was like a stone rolling down a hill. He wasn’t going fast but seemed to gain momentum the closer he got. Jacob and I were a few steps behind him by the time he reached the gatehouse. A guard stepped out and asked if he could help us. When Wasco didn't stop he said more firmly that workers and applicants needed to use the east gate. Wasco walked right by him.

  I will give the man credit; he only took a second to react after his surprise before he found his courage. I’m not sure I would have, given the look on Wasco’s face. Then he made a mistake. Instead of calling for help, he ran up and grabbed Wasco by the arm.

  Jacob and I stepped over his prone body. He wasn't unconscious but wasn't getting up anytime soon either. He just sorta looked around blankly with blood running out of his nose from where Wasco's fist had hit him. Jacob let out an impressed whistle. Wasco kept walking, making a beeline for the big house on the hill, where I ‘sposed he figured he'd get his answers.

  It only took maybe two minutes before someone figured out what was going on, rang a bell, and mustered some men to try and head us off. Three men in uniforms stepped out in front of us, hands on steam pistols. Another in fancy clothes stood off to the side of them, hand near his own pistol. Nobody drew their guns, and Wasco’s rifle was still slung over his shoulder. I guessed that was good but I started looking for a place to run anyway. Wasco stopped and eyed them.

  “Gonna have to ask you to put that rifle down and step away from it,” Fancy Pants said.

  Wasco just let his gaze go to each man, lingering for a moment before moving to the next. Jacob stepped up beside him, his hands easily at his sides. Nobody moved. Seconds passed like hours. The tension was a physical thing. Jacob flexed a finger that made an audible pop.