“Thanks,” he said, and dumped it over his head. Jenny gave him a refill, and this time he drank it, and two more besides. “God, that’s better than any whiskey I ever swallowed.”
“Costs more, too,” she said. “More than the finest champagne.”
“No doubt.” As he drank a fourth mouthful, he considered Jenny. He knew that he was probably seeing her at both her best and her worst. This was a time when great courage was called for, and she certainly showed that, but it was also the kind of thing that can shake a person to their core. And Jenny was undoubtedly shaken. First the loss of so many friends when the town was nearly destroyed, then her way of life as the farm failed, then the loss of her father, and now the corruption of her father’s memory. Even though Grey had no personal stake in this town or its people, he believed that he could sympathize with her. After all, his world had been torn apart by these events, too. Not in the same way, but in a way he knew he’d never shake off.
And, he considered, maybe he was fooling himself about not having a stake in this town. Or its people.
As Jenny took the ladle back from him her fingers accidentally brushed his.
If, indeed, it was an accident.
The look she gave him was not. Nor that knowing, secret smile that was certainly not meant for Looks Away to see.
Grey ran fingers through his hair to comb it back from his face.
This woman confused the living hell out of him. Not a handful of hours ago she’d stood in the rain while her dead father tried to gun her down. Now she was flirting and casting slanting glances at him. It made no sense. Either she was mad or…
Or what? Grey didn’t know where else to go with that. What deepened his unease was how much this kind of whimsical play reminded him of his lost Annabelle. She was always playing saucy games no matter how proper she was on the streets or how dire the tension was.
Wrestling with these thoughts was difficult and painful. He was starting to genuinely like Jenny Pearl, but he had to wonder how much of that was old longing transferred unfairly to this troubled young woman.
“Jenny,” he said softly, pitching his voice for her ears alone, “I’m sorry I yelled and—.”
She touched her fingers to his lips. “You hush now. I was playing the fool and we both know it. You hadn’t spoken up when you did I’d have done a nasty to Looksie. Or him to me.”
He took her hand and held it for a moment. “Guess we have enough enemies without that.”
The blue of her eyes was the blue of summer skies and blooming cornflowers. Her lips were without rouge but they were pink and delicious and he wanted very badly to kiss her.
“Jenny,” he said, “when this is over I’d like to maybe invite you out for a carriage ride in the country.”
“Well,” she said, a bit breathlessly, “wouldn’t that be nice?”
He wanted to kiss those lips. Her lips parted and long lashes brushed her cheeks as Jenny tilted her face up toward his. Grey was actually beginning to bend down toward her when a voice shouted, “You sodding bastard!”
Looks Away.
Yelling from inside one of the rooms.
Not directed at them, but clearly yelled for them to hear.
Jenny jerked back from him, turned, and cleared her throat. Her face was flushed. “He… um, must have found something.”
“I guess so,” said Grey. “Wish to hell I’d hit him with that damn sledgehammer.”
Jenny turned and flashed the brightest smile he’d ever seen. Then she spun and dashed out to see what Looks Away had found.
Heaving a great sigh, Grey followed.
Chapter Forty
They found the Sioux scientist in a large room at the very back of the barn. Inside there was a long mission table on which lay various pieces of Doctor Saint’s bizarre machinery. Set haphazardly around the pieces were notebooks, loose papers filled with handwritten notes, larger sheets of drawing paper covered with complex diagrams, and even some pages produced by one of those newfangled typewriting machines. On the wall across from the door was a big and very detailed map of this part of California. It was an older map, clearly made in the days before the Great Quake, but Saint had meticulously overwritten it with a carefully measured tracery that showed the new coastline and much of the Great Maze. Grey, who had always loved maps, was drawn to it and stood studying the details. It was by far the most detailed map of the Maze he’d ever seen.
He found Paradise Falls on the map and spotted several notations made in Saint’s crabbed hand. One was the location of Nolan Chesterfield’s estate, situated in a green valley that had been left mostly intact by the devastation. Another was an old mining camp whose name, Dragon Wells, had been crossed out and the name DERAY written over it. The pen strokes of each letter had gouged into the thick paper. Clear evidence of Saint’s dislike for the mineral tycoon.
There were other markings, too. Lots of places notated with “GR,” and Grey figured these were places where ghost rock was discovered. There were at least a hundred of these spread out over an area that encompassed all of the farmland around Paradise Falls. There were twice as many with “GR-?”, suggesting spots where either ghost rock was reported but not found, or where mineral scouts planned to look. And there were dozens with a slash mark through the GR. They must have been bad leads that yielded none of the ore.
One notation struck Grey. In the broken hills between Chesterfield’s valley and Deray’s mine, Saint had written:
HERE THERE BE DRAGONS
It was a strange thing for so practical a man to write. That was something they used to put on maps to indicate the perils at the end of the known world.
“Grey,” said Looks Away, “if you please—?”
Grey turned away from the map and joined Jenny and the Sioux at the table. On the table in front of them lay something that looked like a rifle but wasn’t. Or at least not any kind of rifle Grey had ever seen. Apart from having a barrel, stock, and trigger the rest was entirely alien to him.
The rifle was fashioned from highly polished steel and gleaming brass, with fittings of copper and silver. Crystals were inset into the body of the weapon and even in the bad light they seemed to glow with dark-red promise. The pistol-grip handle was wound turn and turnabout with gray silk.
“Oh, dearie-dearie me,” murmured Looks Away nervously, “I hadn’t realized Doctor Saint had built a prototype.”
Grey bent and peered at it, but did not touch the thing. “What is it?”
“This is something very special,” said Looks Away. “And something very, very dangerous.”
“It’s a gun, though, right?” asked Jenny.
“Oh yes, it is very definitely a gun. And, if it works the way the good doctor theorized, it will be a dreadfully powerful gun. Even a small platoon of men armed with weapons like this would triumph over an entire regiment, and probably without the loss of a single man.”
“How?” gasped Jenny.
“Ghost rock.”
“Oh, bullshit,” said Grey. “That’s tall tale stuff. Ever since they first found ghost rock people have been going on and on about stuff like this. The ultimate weapons of conquest. Weapons so powerful they would end all wars.”
“You don’t believe that?” asked Jenny.
“Not even a little. I mean, sure, someone will eventually create a better gun. Happens all the time. Double-action pistols trump muzzle-loaders. Flintlocks trump crossbows. Going all the way back to when someone invented the club and kicked the ass of everyone who was still using fists. The wonders of modern science. I get that,” said Grey. “What I don’t get is why anyone thinks that a weapon — any weapon — will end war. I mean, how the hell could a weapon end a war?”