As she made her way up the quiet stairs, she heard her watch again. The clock was ticking, harkening their inevitable confrontation. Every second was a blessing. Every second was a curse. She had come to terms with her past, and soon she would know her fate.
THE BROKEN SPOKE
Duncan counterbalanced his weight against the latest bluster of wind and rain, then dismounted from his fidgety mare. He tied her up under an overhang of rusted sheet metal that extended out from the roof of the Broken Spoke. Once out of the torrential gusts of rain, the mare finally began to calm down.
The tavern looked to be pieced together from Old World scrap. The Broken Spoke sign was hanging down vertically from the roof, as if they had run out of nails halfway through putting it up.
Duncan was wary of the place, to say the least. He’d heard the owner was an eccentric man who willingly let his customers spit and brawl and vomit. Despite all of this, or perhaps because of it, the place had a clientele consisting mostly of mules making stopover trips between Seeville and Lynchburg. Duncan hoped there would be few of these patrons today, given the inclement weather.
Duncan pushed the creaky front door open to reveal a large square room full of wooden tables. There was an old piano organ built into the back wall. Also at the back were a door and a window, presumably leading to the kitchen.
There was only one man in the place. His face was firmly plastered on a table in the corner, a sprawl of scraggly hair draped on his head, flooding over onto a dirty plate. He looked to be sleeping, even though his hand still firmly grasped a large, half-finished stein of beer.
A slim man with a dirty apron and a plastered smile pushed open the door in the back. “Have yourself a seat, sir,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “I’m Ralph, and I’ll be right with you.” He returned to the back room.
Duncan chose a table where he could watch people enter from the outside but also away from the comatose man in the corner. The waiter came back with a pad and pen.
“Pissy out there, ain’t it?” Ralph said. “What can I get you?”
“Do you have a menu?”
“No.”
“What do you serve?”
“Well, we’ve got beer, home-brewed, and we’ve got pizza.”
“Is there anything else you’d recommend?”
“No.”
“There’s nothing else you would recommend?”
“There ain’t nothing else, mister. Plain and simple.”
“Well, beer and pizza then. But before you leave, can you tell me, who is that man in the corner? Is he all right?”
“Don’t know him personally-like. He came in about an hour ago, had a beer and pizza then passed out. Seemed a bit out of sorts.” Ralph shrugged, smiled, and turned to go back to the kitchen.
Duncan stood up and approached the man at the other table. Maybe he could give him some change to help him on his way. It would be better if they had the tavern all to themselves.
He was about to place his hand on the man’s arm when the door creaked open. Venter came in, with two other mules trailing behind. They looked nervous, probing the room with cynical eyes.
Duncan decided not to disturb the man at the table. Best not to cause a scene.
“Thank you for coming,” Duncan said, walking over to greet the mules at the door. “Please,” he said, gesturing to his table.
Venter took his hand first. His face was freckled from too much sun, and he had a red beard. Duncan had first met Venter in one of his Adherent gatherings. Apparently Venter had been talking with Alastair before he was imprisoned. He seemed dedicated to the cause, but a bit slow.
“And you must be Chester,” Duncan said, taking the man’s hand behind Venter. He had a beard with hints of gray and a firm grip—the grip you would expect of a veteran wrench. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Almost a legend.” The man seemed unimpressed by the comment, but he nodded regardless.
“And you are?” Duncan offered his hand to the third man.
“Arsalan,” the man said. He looked down at Duncan’s hand before he took it, as if it might be covered in poison ivy. His face was like a russet stone, and he had a sickle-shaped scar extending from his chin to his right ear. This was a not a soft man, by any means.
After they had settled into their chairs, Duncan leaned into them. “I’ll get right to the point. You’re here because you’re worried about the abuse of power in Seeville, and the blatant disregard Bartz and Meeker have for the Credo. You’re right to be concerned. It’s only going to get worse.”
The three men nodded cautiously, still scanning the room warily.
“Bartz and Meeker are being influenced by an Old World machine named Gail,” Duncan explained. “It was found when the satellite fell from the sky, and it’s been behind virtually all of the recent changes in Seeville. If we don’t stop the railroad and this machine, it will be the Detonation all over again. I asked Venter to arrange this meeting because I know you want to help, just as I want to help, as both a lord and citizen of Seeville.”
Arsalan was frowning. “Look mister, as far as I’m concerned being a lord just means you’re a clever liar. And yes, I for one have no love for Bartz and his bunch, that’s for sure. Already, too many mules have died because of them. That’s why we came to meet with you. But a machine named Gail?” Arsalan turned to Chester. “This one sounds like a loon to me. I told you, these Adherents, they have a loose pedal, every one of them.”
Chester seemed oblivious to Arsalan’s question. He kept his eyes focused on Duncan.
Venter responded to Arsalan, “Wait just a minute, Arsalan. Let’s hear the man out. He has a big following among Adherents. Lord Jones, why don’t you tell us more? Why do you need our help, specifically?”
“Well, we could certainly use more of the mules on our side. According to Venter, you both have sway with the other mules and wrenches. And we need someone who can get inside the Barnyard.”
Arsalan laughed. “Of course you do. Have you looked at the place? Have you seen those guns? It’s a fucking fortress. Good luck with that.” Arsalan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.
Again, Chester said nothing, still interrogating Duncan with his eyes.
Arsalan stood up from his chair. “Well, this was a waste of time. Let’s get out of here. I’ve heard enough.”
“Sit down,” Chester said softly.
“Can’t you see that the man’s bent?” Arsalan said.
“Sit down!” Chester yelled at Arsalan, his face igniting with emotion.
Arsalan was surprised by Chester’s tone. “Fine, fine,” he said, and then he sat back down in his chair, one eye on Chester.
Ralph came out of the kitchen carrying a small pizza and a beer for Duncan. Steam wafted off the pie, flavoring the air with the aroma of freshly baked cornmeal dough.
“Welcome, gents. You want the same?” he asked.
“Sure,” Venter said, nodding.
Ralph smiled and left.
“Who’s with you?” Chester asked when the waiter was gone.
“A couple hundred Yorktown men,” Duncan said. “Plus I’m trying to rally as many Adherents as possible.”
Chester’s eyes darted back and forth, and then he asked, “So maybe three or four hundred, if you’re lucky?”
“Mincemeat,” Arsalan quipped.
“We’ll have the element of surprise, and we don’t plan on sticking around the Barnyard for long.”
Chester seemed to be doing more mental gymnastics. Then he squirmed in his chair and shook his head. “Pointless,” he said.
Duncan was hard-pressed to argue with him. He had to think of some other angle. They did come all this way, so clearly they were concerned. While Arsalan looked intransigent, Chester, in particular, was at least seriously considering it. There had to be a way to convince him.