”Why you uppity little b—“ Alistair began before he was silenced by a glare from Mr. Gulch.
“Do comport yourself, little Alistair. You have much to learn about how proper business is conducted,” Mr. Gulch said through clenched teeth.
Mr. Gulch took a calming breath and in a space of a moment was the very picture of calm confidence once again.
“Any intellectual property seized will be the sole property of the Standard Arms Company. That is nonnegotiable, Miss Lewis. However, additional items of value including mundane coinage, magical items, weaponry and general salvage may be divvied up at the discretion of your company. I assume you speak for your compatriots.”
He then continued without pause.
“I am amenable to 15 platinum upfront. Of the original 50 that would leave 35 upon completion of the job – ‘Completion’ being defined as a safe return back to Tin Star, from whence we will begin our journey. I assume you wish an additional 20 each. That is a bit high, even for your easily marketable skills, Miss Lewis. I’ll meet you at 15. Bringing payment upon completion to 50 platinum. A nice round number. In addition, we will cover the cost of lodging in Tin Star for the period before we leave.”
“If these are acceptable terms, we leave for Red Rum in a month.”
“And, no, Mr. Hopkins, I doubt very much that this lab is uninhabited. But I feel confident that we won’t be seeing Mr. Spoon, given that he disappeared over 800 years ago. Even his last inheritable ancestor to his estate died 300 years ago.”
Mr. Gulch then shrugged. “But then again, I suppose weirder things have happened in the Big Drop.”
Doc shakes his head. So many unfounded assumptions.
"You'd be well-served to temper that doubt, Mister... 'Gulch,' was it?" he said, trying not to show his distaste for those reptilian eyes. "I take it you don't know much about gnomes. The fey are our distant ancestors, and long life was one of their gifts to us. Forty turns of the seasons is barely adulthood for us; a century, middle-aged. Granted, natives of the Lotus Empire and a few others outlive us, but nigh onto 500 years is not unheard of for a gnome's lifespan. Without any intervention. Knowing Spoon's intellect, being a practitioner of magical or alchemical arts that could stretch life even farther isn't out of the question."
"No," he says, pausing for a sip of tea, "800 years really isn't that long at all. Plenty of scholars believe he's still about, spry and cunning as ever." He sets the teacup down and looks at Mr. Gulch pointedly. "If you hope to avoid unpleasant surprises on your little expedition, I suggest you follow suit."
"As for your implied question to Miss Mallory," he says, looking over at her with a brief nod of acknowledgement, "be sure your concept of who her 'compatriots' are agrees with reality. She and I, for example, were only thrown together by chance and circumstance, and we have exchanged perhaps a few dozen words. I doubt she would consider me a 'compatriot'; I certainly do not think of her as such."
He pauses to sip his tea again, then continues while studying the cup in his hand. "But perhaps you've already discerned that, since you pointedly ignored my direct questions, as if dismissing me from your grand presentation."
Doc raises his eyes to lock gazes with Mr. Gulch. "Which is, I suspect, for the best. Because plundering the laboratory-workshop of a legend is not a noble pursuit. Because gnomish knowledge in the hands of tallfolk would be a very risky proposition."
"And because -- quite frankly, Mister Gulch -- I don't trust you."
Mr. Gulch chuckled.
“I would never presume to be dismissive of you, Doctor Loveless. Although, I admit I had hoped you would ignore my shifting of the subject a bit. But I suppose I need to expect nothing but competence from you.”
He smiled.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
He took a long sip of his wine.
“To be perfectly frank, Doctor, I expect Mr. Spoon to be dead. But given the unpredictability of the universe, I acknowledge it is possible he could be alive. If one could survive being in the Big Drop during the Great Collide, and then the -- chaos of the Long Winter, I imagine a mind like Spoon’s could suss it out. And if he were still alive, well, he’d be even more valuable to our interests and the world at large. So you have nothing to fear about me assassinating a legend to get at a few trinkets.”
”But more to the point, The Rails are aware of the same information I am, and they have no interest in finding Spoon. And considering his heretical leanings, one can easily infer that just the opposite is true. Legends, Doctor, are perfectly harmless, so long as they stay dead and buried.”
“As for using Spoon’s knowledge,I ask you this, Doctor -- Does not the world deserve a chance to study his work? To see it take shape, and be realized? And even if nothing else can be gained, does Spoon not deserve to have his ending finished? His words, his thoughts -- shouldn’t they be shared?”
”History and Science -- this is the drumbeat to the never-ceasing march of progress. And we all must heed it, or we die. This will be a grand adventure, Doctor, one I want you to be a part of. But if you have ethical concerns, well, then there is nothing more to be said other than good luck, Doctor. And I wish you well.”
Just then the door to the rear compartment slides open and in steps Jade Wen.
Mr. Gulch steps past Loveless and hurries to her. He places his wine glass in the table in front of Loveless.
“Ah, Miss Wen. so good to see you again,”[/b] he said, and then bowed, took her hand and kissed it in a gentlemanly manner. He held her hand for a moment longer than necessary and then let go.
“I was just telling them the details we spoke of last night. I’m sorry you missed dinner. Would you like a nightcap.”
“Oh, I never touch alcohol, Mr. Gulch. It is a vile habit. Robs you of your dignity.”
She finally notices Loveless -- siting in front of an empty wine glass.
“But of course. Tea then?”
She tears her eyes away from Loveless and stammers out, “Y-yes, please.”
Leland rises to his feet at Ms. Wen's entrance and gives her a tip of the hat and a "Ma'am". When she is seated, he returns to his own.
"I can't speak for the others, but I accept your terms. Seems like an awful lot of money to toss around when more than likely you'll end up with little more that the crazed journals of a madman. That assumes there's even that. As you said, 800 years is a long time, especially when you throw the Great Collide and all that unpleasantness in there. Still, it is your money and yours to spend as you like.'
Doc gives a wry smile at Gulch's first comments. "A 'shift of subject', as you put it, is one thing. Blatantly ignoring direct questions is quite another."
"And so sorry to disappoint, but I don't stoop to mere 'competence'. I deal in excellence", he finishes smugly.
"Your words are sweet and syrupy, Mr. Gulch, but your thought processes betray them. I suggested you consider Spoon alive for your safety, and for the safety of your party. That you would leap to an interpretation encompassing 'assassination' tells me everything I need to know about how your mind works."
He pauses for a sip of tea. "Or more precisely, confirms what I'd already surmised."
"Should I watch for beads of sweat on your forehead, Mr. Gulch? It seems you're shaken enough that you've forgotten even your most recent lies. Tsk, tsk, reassuring me you won't 'assassinate' Spoon 'to get at a few trinkets'... yet you just now assured Miss Mallory that your interest is only in 'intellectual property'."
After a brief tea break, he continues. "And yes, let us speak to that subject as well. I have no issue with Spoon's research benefiting the world; in fact, I applaud the idea. My objections are twofold. First, as I clearly stated -- do try to pay attention, Mr. Gulch -- such knowledge in the hands of unsupervised tallfolk would likely lead to disaster."
"Second, and more to the point, you yourself have declared that such knowledge is to become 'the sole property of the Standard Arms Company'. There is an enormous gulf between the world 'studying his work' to the benefit of all, and a company laying claim to that knowledge so they can wrest profits from it."
As he takes another sip of tea the door behind him opens. One eyebrow goes up as Gulch mentions Jade's name, and Doc turns to see her entering... and the exchange which follows.
Loveless suddenly pitches forward in a hacking fit, spraying tea which fortunately hits nothing but Mr. Gulch's pant leg. He quickly holds out a palm in an "I'm alright" motion, managing to gasp out a ragged, "Wrong throat!" between coughs.
Ben couldn't care less about what Gulch did with what he found, so long as he himself could twist something juicy out of it. With Gulch's concessions to Mal, it looked like he might get away with that - so long as he stayed wary of snakebite after finding the place.
Besides, it would annoy the Doctor. A man had to take his pleasures where he could.
He was about to agree to Gulch's terms when the elf walked in, making the bottom drop out of Ben's stomach. Sure, she didn't seem dangerous, but a wagging tongue could be as much of a danger as a knife at his throat. With luck she wasn't from the Lotus Empire and had no connections there. With bad luck, he might have to put her down. He didn't think Mr.Gulch would appreciate that.
Maybe she would come with them out to Red Rum, and just... happen to get lost among the twisting rocks.
Tipping his hat down low, he watched the exchange between the man, the elf and the gnome in stone-faced silence, trying real hard to be just part of the scenery.
Alistair's outburst amused Mallory, and she couldn't help but smile when Mr. Gulch reprimanded him. Having found his terms agreeable, she simply nodded, figuring they'd have contracts to sign later. Despite what else could be said about the snake-eyed man, she suspects that he isn't the type to break his word, and that's enough for now.
She quickly loses interest in Doc's argument, feeling somewhat pleased that he has reservations and might not be joining the expedition. Her eyes remain low, and she takes in their discussion without acknowledging any of it, not looking up again until the door slides open, at which point she reaches instinctively for her gun, relaxing after she recognises the girl. A spark of interest comes to her eye upon seeing Ms Wen, which only grows during the scene which follows. Mal laughs at Jade's mention of alcohol, before realising that the girl is serious. "Dignity? Ain't somethin' can be stolen. You lose it, that's on you. No cause to blame the drink."
Seeing both Gulch and the Doc's reactions to Jade, and nothing from the girl, Mallory wonders, not for the first time, what sort of person Jade was. It struck her that Jade was naive, learned, quiet. 'Foolish.' Mal decides. She recalls Alistar's barmaid, and curiosity seeps through her at how Jade would react to such an affront. 'Disappointment?' Mal wonders for a moment. Yes. She would think it said something about them, rather than her. She'd take it in stride.
Cocking her head, she looks across the room at Jade with a wry smile. "Then again, might well be the Red Rum has that power. What do you reckon? Gonna come with, brave the wild? Be riskin' more'n just dignity."
Mr. Gulch smiles wanly at Doctor Loveless.
"Oh it's quite alright," he says as he gestures for the liquid to magically vanish.
"I apologize if I've insulted you, Madam. I'm just stating my personal opinion on the matter. And, as for the expedition to Red Rum -- truthfully, I haven't decided, yet. It sounds terribly fascinating, but I don't have any experience to speak of with such a thing. I'm not even sure what I could contribute, honestly, other than some mild arcane power, medical training, and, well, I suppose some of my more esoteric knowledge."
"Oh, come now, Miss Wen," Mr. Gulch interjected, "You are far too modest. I pride myself on being able to spot talent. And you, my dear, are certainly something to behold."
Suddenly a small feathered head pops out of a leather satchel that Jade keeps on her belt. It seems to squint in Mr. Gulch's general direction and then hissed.
"Confucius! Behave!" Jade Wen scolded gently.
Mr. Gulch cleared his throat. "Charming."
"In any event. I should retire for the night. And give you all a chance to think about my offer. Good night to you all."
Mr. Gulch and Alistair then retired to their rooms.
Still sputtering, Doc watches Gulch leave the common area. As soon as the cabin doors close his gaze snaps to Jade, and he conquers his spasms long enough to get out one sentence.
"Miss Wen, surely you're not entertaining thoughts of aiding that... man," he finishes weakly, clearly wanting to use some other word.
"I - I haven't made up my mind, Doctor Loveless. But I am considering it. A hidden laboratory of Kent Spoon would have immense historical significance and could yield new breakthroughs in the future. His expertise of both mundane and magical engineering was unmatched during his day. In fact, without his innovations in food production alone the Lotus Empire likely would have starved to death during the Long Winter."
Coughing fit mostly quelled, he looks towards Gulch's closed door before responding.
"I agree with all say, except for the 'in his day' qualifier: Spoon is still unparalleled in some ways. But you missed the earlier discussion. Gulch intends to lay absolute claim to all knowledge discovered during his little adventure. He declared flat-out that everything learned in the course of this travesty of an expedition would become company property. An arms company, Miss Wen. Spoon's brilliance will be subverted to make more and deadlier weapons. And more and heftier profits."
Doc looks back at Jade. "Don't expect the Lotus Empire -- or anyone else -- to benefit from this without paying through the nose to the Standard Arms Company."
He dips his head towards her purse. "Ask your little friend there. You should thank him instead of scolding him; he got it right, straight off the mark."
Doc looks back at Gulch's door again. "I don't know what he's told you, Miss Wen, but I urge you to view everything he says with extreme suspicion."
After a sip of tea to soothe his cough-ravaged throat, he adds, "Treat my words with that same suspicion, if you wish. Just so long as you use caution all about. The truth will reveal itself in the end."
He looks at her meaningfully. "And you don't want to be caught on the wrong side of it."
At Miss Wen's last words, it was Ben's turn to choke, though since it was only on smoke the effect wasn't as spectacular as the Doctor's example had been. He simply made a low, strangled noise, then stubbed out his cigarette, seeming to look out the window when in reality he was watching the reflection of those inside.
He didn't know anything about Spoon, and up til now he hadn't cared to find out. Now, though, he'd like to know exactly what the gnome's contribution had been. Maybe he could ask Miss Wen... in private. Or the Doctor; he seemed the lecturing type.
Weighing rashness against annoyance, he listened to the conversation with interest.
"Yes, perhaps, he will abuse it. Who's to say? And if not him, then perhaps the next? Or the one after that? Science will always be perverted by the unscrupulous, Doctor. Nothing will ever change that. But we must strive forward, irregardless."
"Short of murder you can't stop this expedition from happening. As I said, I haven't decided if I'm going yet."
She stares at Loveless sadly for a moment and then clears her throat. She then bowed deeply to everyone in the car.
"Thank you for saving our lives. I forgot my honor and was too distracted to say so before. I apologize and I wish you all luck and success in whatever endeavors you undertake. And may the Master light your path."
Jade Wen excused herself, and left the first class cabin.
Ben watched Miss Wen leave in the window, then turned to regard the others gathered. He didn't much care for Kincaid and his lackeys, but he reckoned there wasn't any harm in them hearing his question.
Addressing the Doctor, he scratched his scruffy chin and said, "You talk like you know a lot about this Spoon. Just what is it he did that was so all-fired fantastic? Did he learn to grow crops without sunlight with magic and machines, or what? Last I heard, you still need the sun to farm. 'Cept maybe for... livestock."
Mal can't help but be pleased when Jade leaves the room. Seeing her interacting with the Doc left a bitter hole in her stomach. She realises for the first time how much the two of them have in common, with being learned and proper and cautious, almost like they enjoyed living and wanted to keep doing so, while still being outspoken. Mal looks at the table, a frown on her face. There would be other women, she knew, and other men, though not, of course, if she died in the Red Rum.
Surprise filled her when Ben started speaking. He'd been quiet for so long she almost forgot he was there. 'Careless' she thought, reprimanding herself for being distracted by Jade. Still, his statement had to make her grin. Boy was still so green sometimes. With a shake of her head, she ignored him and turned to the doc. "Might be best you don't come along, wild ain't no place for a learned boy such as you." She scoffed. "Gonna be hard enough protectin' the other civilians without a chatty fire-lover in the mix. Like to bring the weight of the mountains crushing over all of us."
Short of murder you can't stop this expedition from happening.
"Murder is not off the table," mutters Doc as he watches Jade leave.
Tallfolk! he thinks in exasperation, shaking his head.
Surprised by Ben's question (or more precisely, by the 'slinger asking him anything), he pauses before responding. "I'm no authority on Spoon -- not that anyone is -- but he's a legend among gnomekind. There are tall tales aplenty, from stories told to children through wild beliefs held by adults. But there are kernels of truth in those stories, and a perceptive person can pick them out."
"You're right, of course: You need the sun -- or light, at least -- to farm. There wasn't a lot of that around during the Long Winter. And livestock still needs to eat."
"Elves have some powerful magic, but they're haughty and proud. Or at least the purebreds are." Doc eyes Ben's somewhat pointed ears for a bit before continuing. "The elves, as the stories go, fought back against the Long Winter with that magic. Or they tried to. Light and water for their crops, and so on. But the yields were poor at first, and only got worse. They were so stuck up they didn't even consider asking anyone for help. Doomed by their own delusions of superiority, essentially."
"Why Spoon got involved, no one can say. How he convinced them to let him help is the greater mystery. Even today they maintain a chokehold on magic, restricting its use to those from pure elven bloodlines. To have a gnome among them -- not only using magic but potentially saving their civilization with it -- is unthinkable. But that's the story that's told."
"As for the 'how', it's said the essence of Spoon's genius is in seeing how everything fits together. The elves had focused on water and light, the obvious things. Spoon realized light isn't simply light. Ever notice how things look different at sunset, or in moonlight? He crafted a particular kind of light that better mimicked the sun, and caused it to 'rise' and 'set' in a pattern the plants expected. He didn't just call forth water; he brought rain that carried nutrients to nourish the plants. He warmed the soil so the plants thought it was the growing season. And on and on: He provided the crops everything they needed to thrive. It was that simple, but it took him to see it and make it happen."
"Or that's what the tales tell, at any rate."
After a pause to retrieve his tea cup, he addresses Mal over its rim. "Miss Mallory, a bullet has its place, and a good 'slinger knows how to get it there." He pauses to chuckle at his own wit and sip his tea. "But there are also situations that demand intelligence and knowledge. If I were to join this excursion -- and we actually did find Spoon's laboratory -- it's far more likely I would end up protecting you."
"Well unless she's standing next to something yer looking to explode that is. Anyways, this time your more incendiary tendencies might prove to be a blessing. A couple of mis-lobbed explosives and there goes a whole ream of dangerous knowledge. I've no intension of letting any dangerous heresy making its way back into the known world."
"Some things are better off lost and I've got a feeling that Spoon's lair is one of those things."
"Could be you're right, ...mister," Ben said, realizing he still didn't know Leland's name. "Maybe Spoon's laboratory, if we even find it, would be a curse on the world. Seems like good aim with one o' them little bottles might come in handy, in such a case. If it ain't, though, I don't reckon Mr. Gulch will sit idly by while you torch it." He gave Porter and Alistair a significant glance. "One gnome alone ain't gonna make it out of Red Rum alive."
Changing subjects abruptly, he asked Leland, "That contraption of yours that the Doc blew to Perdition - what was it, exactly? Can you make another?"
Dangerous knowl... heresy?!" Doc turns to Leland as if to lob potent words in his direction... and then he pauses, his determined expression interrupted by a look of guilt on the way to one of resignation and regret.
"It's moot at any rate," he says quietly as he looks away, "as I shan't be going."
"Another? Well yes and no. The automaton is as much a manifestation of the Brakeman's blessing as it is pure machine. 'Gizmo', as it were, can be reformed, but will be damaged. I can make the repairs and buff out the scorch marks, but there's a good chance that it will retain in its memory core the details of the final moments of its last iteration. I figured it might be best to hold off on piecing it back together until we find ourselves in less cramped quarters." He throws a significant look over towards Loveless. "It might hold a grudge, you see."
Leland raises an eyebrow at Loveless' declaration, "Not going? Not going!? I dare say my good fellow, you alone in this association have the requisite knowledge to actually make sense of whatever madness we might find in Spoon's lab. I don't have the time to requisition the head office for someone from R&D to get down here and I'll not let gnomish technological knowhow fall into the hands of whatever this Standard Arms Company happens to be."
He gives the alchemist a steely look, "As a duly appointed officer of the Railroad Company, I am formally requesting your aid and cooperation in this investigation. Do you accept, or will you turn your back on the Company, your people and the Brakeman himself?"
When the conversation turns explicitly to Leland's eidolon Doc grows quiet. He feigns preoccupation with adding more honey to his tea at the summoner's comment about held grudges, and grimaces in response to the words that follow.
He sits stirring his tea for a long time while the question hangs in the air, the silence unbroken save for the tings of metal against china and the constant clack-clack of the wheels.
"Gulch said the expedition leaves in a month," he finally says, quietly. "That's long enough for you to bring someone in. Time is not the problem."
Loveless puts the spoon down and sits motionless, staring at his still-swirling tea.
"The problem is that your R&D staff isn't learned enough. People like me are few and far between, and true genius doesn't abide a mundane job at any rate."
"We're in agreement that gnomish knowledge must be protected. But knowledge is not inherently good or evil, and to label it heretical..." He trails off, the thought unfinished.
He raises his head to look directly at Leland. "Characterizing non-participation as turning my back on gnomekind is hardly fair, Brother. Particularly so, given the intent was in support of all we hold dear. And to imply I would disrespect The Great Engineer..." He shakes his head sadly, and sits in quiet contemplation for a long time before speaking again.
"As a result of the earlier... incident, I'd promised to stay out of your way. You're making it difficult to uphold that pledge," he says with a sad smile. "In deference to you, Brother -- and only at your request -- I will accompany you to support the goals we share. But we have a duty to the past; don't expect me to engage in the thoughtless destruction of artifacts or erasure of knowledge."
Leland raises an eyebrow, "Thoughtless destruction hmm? Perhaps I misjudged you, I thought that was your forte. Regardless, you are what I have at hand. I gather you've never had to deal with the bureaucracy of the Company before. Took me two months to requisition a new pair of boots once and in the end they didn't even match. And don't even get me start on trying to reimbursed for anything. If the star align, my grandchildren might receive repayment."
"But I digress. In the end, it matters little why you'll come, but I'll thank you for agreeing, all the same. "
At Leland's opening words, Doc's face hardens as he clenches his fists. "Now see here, Brother..."
But then he takes a deep breath and swallows whatever he was going to say.
"... what you 'have at hand'," he appends more calmly, "is quite possibly the best suited of anyone for this task. Definitely the smartest and most capable."
"With the bonus," he adds, reaching for his tea, "of a pleasant and cultured personality."
Mallory lets out a very unladylike snort at the Doc's last comment of being pleasant and cultured. Though she can't argue about his being learned, she'd hardly be one to consider him pleasant to be around. She also found the notion that he would be the one to protect her somewhat laughable, but bit her tongue. Unlikely as it might be, the idea of not saving her wasn't exactly an idea that she wanted to put into the Doc's head. You know. Just in case.
"Great." she replies dryly. "Guess we're all goin' to the Red Rum. Reckon y'all best remember the tales. Ain't like to be all of us comin' back."
Doc gives Mal a look over his cup. "I don't know your plans Miss Mallory, but I have much yet to do with my life. I don't intend to lose it in Red Rum."
His gaze drifts to an arbitrary spot on the wall and his eyes unfocus in thought as he sips his tea. "Though I do wonder about the credibility of this so-called 'experienced guide'." He chuckles. "For one crazed moment I thought Gulch was seeing Miss Wen in that role."
His eyes narrow as his thoughts return to Mr. Gulch. "That fellow is trouble, even for a tall. You notice he never actually answered my questions? Nor was he particularly forthright with any of us. But there's more to it than that."
After a pause for a sip of tea, he continues. "The man bargains in platinums. I don't know about the rest of you but, day to day, most people I know deal in silvers. For them, golds are big money. Platinum talk means rich folk. And rich folk stay rich by not parting with their money unless they have to."
"I see two possibilities. If he does 'have to' part with that money, he's not telling us why. Trekking into the dangers of Red Rum would be his answer, of course. But he was going to rely on your friend Vincente," Doc says, tipping his head at Mal. "Why is he offering us, as a group, far more than he had allocated for the dwarf's aid? Granted, we got the train situation under control yesterday but other than that, we're an unknown quantity."
He pauses for another sip. "Well... you lot are, at any rate. My reputation is no doubt widespread, and deservedly so. Still, to engage the services of all of us when he'd previously thought one would do, and at a much higher total expense than he'd anticipated? That doesn't make much sense to me."
The tea cup held suspended between steepled fingers, elbows on the table, Doc continues thoughtfully. "And that leads me to the other possibility, which seems far more likely. He's willing to offer us vast sums of money -- and increase the total significantly with minimal prodding from you, Miss Mallory -- because he doesn't intend to part with those funds. You don't have to pay a dead man. Or concern yourself with the ramifications, in this case: No one's ever going to find our bodies or, if they do, they're unlikely to live long enough to tell anyone."
His gaze flicks from Mal to Ben, and he chuckles quietly. "Far be it from me to imply either of you 'slingers have ever been in that situation. But I imagine you're familiar with the paradigm, and I suggest all of us keep a close eye on this Gulch fellow and his associates."
"And don't," he adds mid-sip, "turn your back on him. Ever."
Ben gave the Doctor a dubious look - not because the advice was bad, but because he couldn't imagine anyone NOT doing those things as a matter of course. Maybe the finer life makes you soft that way, he mused... but while the Doc was many things, some of them unmentionable, "soft" didn't appear to be among them.
Tipping his hat back with his thumb, he lounged back on his cushioned seat. "I reckon we should always watch for snakes among us," he drawled, with a pointed look at Kincaid and Porter.
"Well Loveless, there's something I think we can agree on. But don't nobody start shooting anyone without proper cause, 'cuz even the waste, murder is murder and I'll see that you hang for it. "
"Besides, Gulch is extremely wealthy and platinum is just practical when you're carrying that much coin. In the end, I imagine that what he is offering is a pittance to what a full blown investigation into the death of a Railroad agent might cost him. "
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The train travels through the night and arrives safely in town. They individually step off the platform and see a sign.
it said.
And true to its name the city seems like an angry bowl of dust and sand. Tumbleweeds toddle by in a few places to be kicked around by bored children.
***
A few days later...
A Pale Stranger walked through a graveyard.
The spurs on his boots jingled and jangled with each step. He dragged behind him a kicking fighting bundle in a burlap sack – just a girl, a whore, who had lived a meaningless existence. But tonight that would change. For tonight, she would be his Witness.
And there must always be a Witness.
It had been admirable the way she tried to fight back, the way she struggled – admirable, but ultimately futile. He imagined she was screaming as well, but of course he could not hear her. No one would, not unless he allowed it.
Finally, he found the hastily dug grave he was looking for. He read the inscription.
Here lies Scalping Jack – May he burn in Perdition for all eternity.
He turned to the struggling bundle, bent down and untied the sack. His Witness spilled out and tried to squirm away.
“Be still,” he said quietly.
And she was still. She stopped struggling, stopped fighting. She would have stopped breathing, if he had allowed it. But that was not to be. After all, there must always be a Witness.
“Look at me,” he told her gently. And she did. She looked into his eyes and was filled with a terrible understanding of exactly what he was. She wanted to scream. But of course he would not allow it.
“You call yourself, Lacy. That was not the name you were born with. But it is the name you chose. Names have power, Lacy. Both the ones we find, and the ones that find us. Would you like to know mine?”
No. No she would not. She did not want to know what to call this horror before her.
“Very well,” he said. “Stand then. Stand and bear witness.” The Pale Stranger turned his head to stare at the gravestone.
“There must always be a Witness, Lacy. And tonight that blessing falls to you.”
First, there is the Word.
“Arise,” he said softly. A peal of thunder rocked the night sky. A mile away, a lightning bolt hit a tree. It burst into flames.
Then, there is the Name.
“Arise, Scalping Jack!” the Pale Stranger screamed.
The ground shook as a small earthquake hit the town of Last Hope. And from the grave, a rotting hand, crawling with maggots, burst forth from the dirt. Moments later, a second hand followed.
Lacy bore witness as the headless corpse of Scalping Jack crawled out of his grave. He stood before the Pale Stranger, naked, scarred and rotting.
“Welcome, my Kindred,” the Pale Stranger said softly. “My Chosen.”
Lacy’s blood froze in her veins as the Pale Stranger smiled.
“My Horseman.”
Ben hitched up his gunbelt, stuck a cigarette in his mouth and moseyed on into town without a glance back. He would have to find the place Gulch was paying for them to stay, but first he wanted to have a look around. With luck, he might even hear what the locals thought of Mr. Gulch and his company's presence. He wasn't of a mind to bring up their trip to Red Rum Ravine; that would only lead to questions he didn't want to answer.
Before they left, though, he'd have to test his newly rebuilt pistol. He could already feel the difference in it, though he hadn't fired it once. All the pieces were moving more smoothly than since he'd first taken it. Its weight at his hip was a comfort in the face of the madness he'd agreed to.
"A snake in every boot," he muttered to himself, walking with his oilskin satchel slung over one shoulder and a trail of smoke behind him.
The local saloon in this town is the Black Gold Inn, a dilapidated, two bit, flophouse with watered down liquor and dirty glasses. They keep the good stuff in the back, but be prepared to pay out the nose for it.
On the other side of the Black Gold Inn is Walther's Final Rest. A gnome with bleached white hair, grey skin and red bloodshot eyes stands at a sawhorse carefully measuring a plank of wood. A stack of coffins sits behind him.
Two of them are very small.
Anyone who walks past him notices him half-heartedly estimating your height and width in lengths of pine. But aside from that he ignores you. He looks like he hasn't slept since just this side of forever.
Farther down the street, you can see a clinic. There seems to be some activity that way. A small crowd is gathering there.
Mallory stepped off the train and already felt bored. The sand stretched before her, same as it always had, and the town seemed infinitely smaller than she would have hoped. 'A whole month.' she thought with a grimace. Figuring she ought to get acquainted with the town, since she'd be there for a spell, she obliged her restless legs desire to walk, and after giving the others a curt nod, took to wandering the dusty streets. Upon seeing the gnome undertaker, Mal strutted over with a sense of bored curiosity, her hands on her belt. "Them caskets," she asks, gesturing, before looking back at the gnome with an almost accusatory stare. "Children or kin?"
The bleached gnome almost sleepily mumbles the amount of pine he'd need to bury Mallory. He then pauses and stares at her for a long moment. He isn't threatening, so much as off-putting.
"Not kin. Big folk, but youngins. Died nasty. Sickness went around, but wasn't no sickness."
He then starts to saw again.
"The big ones are for the men you're going to kill. Lots to do. Lots to do. Lots to...," he says, his voice tapering off to a mumble.
He then starts rattling off random measurements again.
Leland steps out of the train car and into the blistering sun. Squinting at the dusty streets, he begins to mosey down towards the clinic. Tipping his hat at the despondent townsfolk, he goes to see what all the commotion is.
Refreshed thanks to a good night's rest, Loveless exits his compartment after the others have debarked. He squints into the bright morning sun as he pauses on the car's platform.
"Lovely," he says sourly while scanning the dusty, dilapidated town. Spying the children playing, he pulls off a glove to dig coins out of his pocket, returning all but a single, shiny copper.
"YOU, BOY!" he calls out as he flips the coin in the child's direction. "Where might one secure conveyance in this town?"
Having taken in what the town had to offer, Ben turned toward the clinic. That black-hearted bastard better not be taking the credit for getting that medicine here, he thought, stalking toward the commotion with narrowed eyes. There's that Rail gnome, too. Better hustle up afore they pin a reward on him.
Pushing through the crowd, he tried to get a look at what the fuss was about.
Mal looks at the gnome as he measures her up. "Ain't nothin' to worry about," she mutters. "I'm like to meet my end in a shallow grave, not one of your pretty boxes." She pauses and then adds, "Ones I'm gonna kill ain't like to get burials, neither."
She starts to walk away, but pauses, turning back to him. "What do you meant it weren't no sickness?"
One of the boy catches Doctor Loveless' coin. He smiles for a moment, but then frowns.
"What's a -- con-fragrance?"
"Oh! Well why didn't you just say so?" He pockets the coin. "Well there's Monty's Pawn Shop, just past the clinic. Folks are always trading in horses to him. I think they got some ponies, too."
***
"Even bastards deserve to be buried," the gnome says quietly. But continues to work on the coffin, occasionally muttering numbers.
He doesn't answer Mal's other question though. She gets the impression that he's not trying to be rude, so much that he's just incapable of holding a normal conversation.
***
Leland and Benjamin arrive in front of the clinic to find a growing crowd of desperate people.
Off to the side standing quietly is a delicate-looking half-elf with golden skin and dark hair.
And in front of the crowd stand a 6 and half foot tall man. A shiny star hangs off his belt identifying him as the local Sheriff.
"Now, now, I'm sure we're all plenty thankful of Miss Banshee's -- er, skills. But there ain't nothing to suggest that the plague going round was foul play. And as your Sheriff I won't hear of no alarmist theories neither."
Bucky, you have discovered evidence of poison in the children who died the day before.
Mal frowns and turns from the gnome in disappointment, shaking her head as she walks away. "These twice-damned outer towns," she mutters, "Too much time in the sun. Everyone is out of their entire damn minds."
She looks across the way to the clinic, seeing the commotion there. 'Best steer clear.' she thinks, deciding that she had gotten involved in too much already. "Just go have a drink and wait it out." She tells herself, changing direction and walking across the street to the Black Gold Inn. She sits down at the bar, ordering herself a whiskey.
After a few minutes, she curiosity overtakes her, and she curses under her breath as she waves the bartender over. She nods in the direction of the window, "Boy across the way," she begins, "made mention of some kids died of a sickness. Reckon you might tell me the tale?"
Having obtained both a destination and directions to get there (in the form of a grubby finger pointed down the street), Loveless descends from the rail car and heads towards the pawn shop, medical bag in hand. They likely don't rent, but maybe purchase is better anyway, considering how long I'll be in Tin Star.
He looks over at the white-haired gnome busy sawing and pounding away, making coffins. "Morning, Brother!" he calls out as he tips his hat to the man while continuing to walk.
"Tsk, an undertaker prominently located on a town's main street says a lot about that town," he mutters to himself.
Doc continues past the crowd paying them no mind, instead heading towards a rickety building displaying the traditional pawnbroker's mark... save with three huge carved wooden bullets, rather than balls, dangling from cords.
Another grim reminder of what this territory was about.
A bell over the door tinkles as Loveless enters the dim, dusty shop. He closes the door and stands for a moment to give his eyes time to adjust.
Leland and Benjamin arrive in front of the clinic to find a growing crowd of desperate people.Off to the side standing quietly is a delicate-looking half-elf with golden skin and dark hair.
And in front of the crowd stand a 6 and half foot tall man. A shiny star hangs off his belt identifying him as the local Sheriff.
"Now, now, I'm sure we're all plenty thankful of Miss Banshee's -- er, skills. But there ain't nothing to suggest that the plague going round was foul play. And as your Sheriff I won't hear of no alarmist theories neither."
Another half-elf, Ben thought with a mental curse. Well, I reckon if you're half-human, you ain't necessarily all bad. Anyway, if these folks want plague medicine, why, it'd be downright rude to disappoint 'em.
Raising his voice, Ben said, "I heard tell of the plague killin' children all the way back in Last Hope. Let me tell you, it made me somethin' mad. So mad, I brought a mess of medicine on the last train in. For a few coins to cover the costs, you can have your sick kids up and runnin' around again."
The bartender squints past Mallory to the gnome on the other side of the street.
"You mean old Walther? That feller speak to ya? I wouldn't take nothing he says at face value. He's harmless, but he's nuts -- even for a gnome. Hell, Walther's just what we call him since he won't give us a name. The store used to belong to the previous undertaker before he got caught putting his pine in the wrong cemetery, if you catch my meaning, and done got himself deceased by a jealous husband."
"Six weeks later, the gnome shows up and just starts working as the undertaker. He don't take no money neither. He just preps the pine, and the bodies and buries them himself in the graveyard."
"As for the sickness -- shame. Whole mess of folks got sick a few weeks ago. We lost five folks in total, and two of em was kids. They went yesterday morning, Dancer keep them."
***
A pleasant man in a bowler hat is shuffling a pack of cards when Doctor Loveless, walks in.
He deftly puts the cards up his sleeves in a single dexterous movement.
"Hello. Good, Sir. Welcome to Monty's House of Consignment. How can I help you this fine morning?"
The man smiles and his teeth are a dazzling, unnaturally white color.
***
The sheriff looks confused as he addresses Ben.
"Wait, what the--? Who in the name of sweet Salvation are you?"
"Ah! Well met, my good man. I am in need of transport, and one of your young citizens," he says as he gestures towards the door and the street beyond, "advised me this would be a likely establishment for procuring a suitable mount."
"Speed and appearance are of little concern, but sturdiness and reliability are paramount."
Doc pauses to chuckle over his wording. "And what with my resources being limited at present, a bargain is always appreciated," he adds with a winning smile.
The "delicate-looking half-elf with golden skin and dark hair" speaks up. In order to be heard by the entire crowd, she speaks with the intensity of a shout without seeming to raise her voice. Despite her exotic looks, she speaks without a trace of an accent, not even the local one. In fact, her pronunciation is almost too precise, as if she'd been thoroughly schooled in the language.
"Sheriff, I have a natural talent for healing, and have dedicated my life to learning how to help others. These children have all the sympt...have all the signs of dying from poison, not disease. That is not a theory, that is a fact. And if anyone here is being alarmist it's you, what with your talk of a plague that doesn't exist."
Turning to the dark-haired man who just spoke up, she says, "You have wasted your time..." and pauses as it sinks in that he's a half-elf like her, "...sir, bringing medicine that we don't need."
Without giving him a second glance, she turns to the crowd : "I beg you all not to panic! There's no need to waste your hard-earned money paying for medicine that won't help this problem! Instead, let us ask the sheriff what he's going to do to protect your children, to keep any more of them from being poisoned." And turning to look at the sheriff, she smiles sweetly (with just a hint of satisfaction in it).
Using Diplomacy to sway the crowd to believe her instead of the sheriff :
Monty smiles at Doctor Loveless.
"Well, as a matter of fact I happen to have recently - acquired - some new livestock. I got ponies and horses for sale. Prime condition. Normally, I'd ask 30 gold for the Ponies and 75 for the Horses. But you look like a chap who knows where he's going in life. I'd be willing to come down 10 percent, if you'd be willing to spend at least a 100."
Suddenly there was a loud crack of Thunder.
"What in Perdition was that?!"
***
The crowd looks fearful and angry.
"Whatcha gonna do, Sheriff!" one yells.
"Yeah! We want justice! Find these varmints and string 'em up!" yells another.
The Sheriff's face turns red with anger and he glares at Bukuru. He takes a steadying breath and then throws a thunderstone to the ground.
There's a deafening crack as it collides to the ground and releases its magic. The crowd quiets down.
"Miss Banshee, one more outburst like that and you can cool your heels in the lockup tonight. Do I make myself clear?"
He doesn't bother waiting for a reply.
"Ain't no one gettin' strung up, unless they've done something worth stringing 'em up for -- not so long as I'm the law anyhow. What we will do is investigate - like civilized folk!" he yells at the two who yelled earlier.
They shrink back, obviously cowed.
"Deputy Bluefeather," the Sheriff called out.
"Aye, Sheriff," said a halfling woman in the crowd next to Leland.
"This one's all yours."
"Aye, Sheriff," she answers, this time sounding more solemn and officious.
"The rest of you be on about your business. Or I will suffer some fools with broken arms in my cells tonight, Rancher heed me."
The crowd doesn't move at first, but then the Sheriff put his hand to the longsword at his belt, and everyone scattered quickly.
The sheriff pointed at Ben.
"Hey, you, Medicine Man. You got business with the clinic then go on in. Otherwise I'd recommend you find an elsewhere to be." The words are gruff, but the tone is surprisingly civilized considering his imposing size and previous demeanor.
The Sheriff then tips his hat and walks away.
A grin spreads across Doc's face. "So if I spend 70 gold more than I need to, I'll 'save' ten," he says with a chuckle. "Clearly you are well-suited to your profession, sir! But I'm afraid I must disappoint. I resupplied in Last Hope and, other than sundries you wouldn't stock, I have need of nothing beyond a mou..."
Loveless jumps at the explosive interruption. His eyes narrow as he spins around towards the door.
"Too loud to be a gunshot," he declares as he strides towards the front of the shop to peer through the window. "Sounded like a thunderstone, but I don't see any commotion out there, and they're far too costly to expend for pranks or entertainment."
He watches the street for a few more heartbeats before turning back to the shopkeep. "Nice quiet town you have here, Mr. Monty," he says sarcastically. "But as much as I'd enjoy lounging in such a peaceful place, I have somewhere to be. Thirty gold for a pony, you said. That seems a fair price for a healthy animal. Let's have a look at your stock, shall we?"
The sheriff looks confused as he addresses Ben."Wait, what the--? Who in the name of sweet Salvation are you?"
"Haven't you heard? I'm the fellow went head to head with Scalpin' Jack and came out on top," Ben boasted. He considered claiming to have saved the train as well, but with Leland in the crowd... well, the gnome would just muddle things with annoying facts. "Name of Ben Dalton."
The sheriff pointed at Ben."Hey, you, Medicine Man. You got business with the clinic then go on in. Otherwise I'd I'd recommend you find an elsewhere to be." The words are gruff, but the tone is surprisingly civilized considering his imposing size and previous demeanor.
The Sheriff then tips his hat and walks away.
Dag-blamed half-elf, spreadin' talk of poison when antivenom ain't what I got, Ben fumed. Turning to the stranger, Ben eyed her coolly. Well, she don't look half-bad, he thought, his anger dwindling a bit. Maybe we can come to an... arrangement.
"The sheriff don't seem to have taken to you, miss... Banshee, is it? Let me tell you, I've had a long trip out here with that medicine, and I'd like to know just why you think it won't do no good. Let's get off the streets, like the lawman said. I saw a saloon on the way over. Can I buy you a drink, and you tell me why you're so all-fired convinced them kids was poisoned?"
Waiting until the sheriff leaves (or at least his back is to her), Bukaru tries to catch up with Ben before he can enter the clinic. She will stand in front of him if needed to make him stop to listen to her.
She's not unfriendly or angry, just insistent:"Listen mister, maybe your motives were honorable in bringing that medicine here, or maybe you're just out for some fast coin, but if it's 'plague' medicine it's useless to us. These people can't afford medicine they don't need. Like I said, I'm certain those children were poisoned, and *that's* what we need to stop. Please don't try to sell your medicine here, take it somewhere where it's needed.
I've got enough on my hands trying to help these people without strangers like you taking advantage of their problems. At least now maybe the sheriff will be looking in the right direction."
For a moment, she looks - not exactly taken aback, more like surprised. Not that she's not used to getting offers for drinks...and such...a LOT, but she just told this total stranger that his time and money have been wasted, and he doesn't seem to be bothered one bit! That seems kind of odd...
Not knowing whether the sheriff believes her, or how much digging they'll really do, or whether they're even maybe a part of this, and not knowing who in town she can really trust, she begins to wonder whether having this guy on her side (for whatever HIS motives) might help her find out who's really behind all this.
All this flashes thru her mind in an instant, then she says with a smile, "Perhaps we should start over and be properly introduced. My name is Bukaru, but you can call me Buckaroo if that's easier. The sheriff heard I was from the Banzai islands, and I think that somehow turned into 'Banshee', and he seems to be stuck on that. What was your name again - Ben? I *could* use something to 'wet my whistle' as they say around here.
Taking his arm in hers (looping her arm thru his) and turning towards the saloon she says, "Who's Scalping Jack?"