“I get it Preston. I do. It just seems like you’re moving so fast, and the railroad folks—”
Preston cut him off. “The railroad folks are doing their jobs and doing them well. Bartz, you should hear him. He has a grand vision for Seeville, for all Spoke people. If I were you I would just be happy to be part of this. And if you can keep quiet and contribute, maybe Bartz will bring you in. You can be a part of the inner circle.”
Again, Preston’s voice was raised, his pitch was higher, and he was using words that sounded like they were coming out of someone else’s mouth. Yet Owen did want to be part of it. Even just to use a calculator, or a digital watch—it would be enough for him.
“Okay, Preston,” Owen said, biting his lip, “I’ll be careful.”
“Good. Now I have to go talk to the others.” Preston said it quickly, like a box had been checked, like now he could get on to more important things. “Don’t come back for a while, okay?”
“Sure, Preston. Sure,” Owen said.
Preston was already stepping away. Owen turned and headed in the opposite direction, toward the congregation of mules.
As he made his way back, Owen began feeling tired, his exertions from the day catching up with him.
Owen didn’t need to get along with everyone, and he wasn’t put out by Rourke’s antics. Everyone in Seeville knew Rourke was a bully. What bothered Owen most about the evening was Preston. More and more he was becoming part of the railroad machine, talking about inner circles and visions, and consorting with these secretive railroad men.
Sure, maybe it was good for Preston. Maybe he was finding his niche, becoming an important member of the community.
But it also felt like Preston wasn’t the same anymore. He didn’t talk the same way; he didn’t joke around the same way.
The worst part of the evening was that Owen felt like he was losing a friend.
GAP RUN
Darla wasn’t one of the purebred mares. She certainly was a beautiful beast, with a brown mane and white spots dotting her upper back, but she was easily frightened. On these testy bouts Flora could calm her using a combination of delicate petting and singing Darla’s favorite song.
Flora had been riding Darla for several hours now, and she’d been remarkably cooperative given the limited visibility provided by the moon and stars.
A bed of autumn leaves next to a trickling stream caught her attention. Exhaustion was setting in and the soft foliage was looking particularly inviting, so Flora decided to take a short nap. She figured if she wanted to track the party it would be next to impossible in the darkness. Also, she would be useless if she didn’t get at least an hour or two of rest to get her through the following day.
Although sluggish when she woke, Flora pressed on as the sun began to rise. She’d been up Gap Run once, so she knew the way. The main access road, Simmons Gap Road, was heavily encroached with vegetation, yet a narrow, well-used path remained that a farmer used for access. She passed the farm and then continued on what was little more than a hiking path. She could tell by the numerous footprints on the dusty trail that the path had been used recently. And there were no hooves showing among the tracks, suggesting they were all on foot. She was hopeful she would catch up soon.
In a few places the path was strewn with large rocks, or had steep grades. Here she had to dismount and walk Darla. Eventually she reached an open field and hopped back on, eager to make up for lost time.
No sooner had she mounted and kicked Darla’s flank than a crossbow bolt flew across her field of vision, it’s final destination lost in the long grasses of the meadow.
“Whoa.” She pulled Darla’s reigns and looked back, seeing a man skulking by a tree and reloading a crossbow. She fumbled to grab her own crossbow with her left hand.
“The next one will ring true, I promise you,” the man said, stepping out of the shadow of the tree, “unless you go right back where you came from.”
His chest was covered with a vest adorned with two vertical yellow stripes, indicative of his merc status. His long beard was littered with specks. Whether they were food or leaf fragments she couldn’t tell. It was Mehta, the Merchant Merc she had seen with Chief Darkwind by the holding cells.
“I’m Flora. You may remember me. I work in admin for Grand Caverns. I’m here to help.”
“I know who you are. Help is exactly the opposite of what you’re doing. Get gone, now.” He was speaking with conviction, and yet he kept his voice relatively muted.
“I don’t think you understand. I’m here to escort you into Spoke lands. I can identify certain prisoners to be sure they are providing us the right people.”
“Go away, woman. This is no place for you,” he said, with an even more menacing tone. He hurriedly walked up to her and pulled at the reigns of her horse, managing to turn Darla around, back toward the way she’d come.
Of course Darla would have none of it. The mare reared up, tore loose from Mehta’s grasp and stampeded into the meadow.
Flora tried to calm her while Darla paced and shook her mane. “I need you near, Darla dear, the way is long, it’s true, but Darla dear there is nothing… to fear,” she sang.
Mehta watched them quizzically from afar.
When Flora felt she’d regained control, she remained at a comfortable distance from Mehta.
“Why don’t you tell me where the prisoner is?” she yelled across the meadow. “And where’s Thisslewood?”
Mehta’s look of annoyance turned to something more sinister, more calculating. He raised his crossbow once again and said, “Which would you prefer? That I maim your horse, or maybe put a bolt in your leg?”
“No need for that!” Flora heard someone call out from far up the meadow. Following the sound, she could see a man parading over a knoll. He had erratic gray hair and a close-cropped beard, with a visible gut hanging over a tight belt. It was Ember Thisslewood.
“I know this woman,” Ember yelled out to Mehta. “You can put down your crossbow.”
Mehta briefly looked to the side, barring his teeth in frustration, and then lowered the crossbow.
Ember caught up with Flora and said, “Come, we’re camped at the end of this field.”
He escorted Flora and her horse across the meadow. Mehta skulked some distance behind them.
“What brings you this way?” Ember asked.
Flora needed to figure out a way to convince Ember there had been a change in plan. She had created a narrative that might work, but it was sketchy, and full of half-truths. Ordinarily she would worry about getting caught in a lie, but she didn’t care anymore. All that mattered was seeing Granger again.
“There’s been a new development. It’s tough news to convey, but I felt you should know right away.”
“What’s that?” Ember asked, a distant look on his face. Ember had never taken her seriously, probably because she was a simple admin clerk. Whenever she spoke to him it seemed as though he was only half listening.
This time, however, Flora was quite sure Ember would pay attention to her words. “Darkwind is dead. Luna has executed a coup and put her own chief in his place.”
Ember slowed his walking considerably, absorbing the news. Flora then explained how it all went down during the Day of the Deer celebration.
“That bitch… am I…?”
“You’re fine. She has welcomed all of Darkwind’s deputies.”
He looked at her skeptically.
He was on edge, uncertain. Now was the best time to make her play. “She also said it was important that we exchange prisoners as part of the deal. Trading only for goods isn’t enough. We need to have a victory Essentialists can rally around. Getting our people back will show we are asserting ourselves against the Spokes, much more so than trinkets or furs.”