The Grand Ballast (31 page)

A shadow lifted from Valen’s expression. “I
don’t want to hurt you.”

Raindrops hit them both, burst on their
skin. Valen’s short hair was dark with water.

Bode tried to smile. He
closed his eyes as Valen leaned forward. Valen’s lips brushed his
cheek, then his temple. Somewhere out across the plain, in the air,
a crackle like a speaker system, and Kilroy’s voice
whispering,
Iiiiiiiii knooowww…

Bode felt a tightness in
his core. Fear and wonder became two whirling black capes, spinning
propeller-like until they blurred and then disappeared with
a
crack
, leaving
behind silence and calm.

There was this world, and
these creatures that made an absolute pit of everything they were
given. They stole from one another, they hurt their children, they
mistook anger for courage and wisdom for
weakness
.

Bode looked at the trees as Valen kissed his
neck.

They burned their gifts. Solved the wrong
mysteries.

He tried to keep breathing as Valen’s hands
moved up his chest. Their lips met, water streaming down their
faces, into their mouths. Bode kept kissing, feeling the softness
of Valen’s mouth and the hardness of his body—holding him as close
as he dared.

But they found moments of goodness. Moments
they were worthy of all they’d been offered.

He gasped as Valen turned him around and
pressed him closer to the rock. Bode rested his cheek against the
stone and tried not to wince as Valen’s hand slid down his leg. For
all of Bode’s joy, he wasn’t hard, and he disliked not being able
to see Valen’s face.

There’s a price to pay for
tenderness, he reminded himself.
Be good
now.

That tough knot of an idea settled on his
brain and pressed. He felt suddenly bleak and unwell, and instead
of rain he imagined he was soaked in blood. He expected Valen’s
fingers undoing his pants; he expected a sudden tearing pain and
fullness and the slide of small rivers down his thighs.

But Valen stopped. A few seconds later, his
sodden jacket was draped over Bode’s shoulders. Valen held it there
with one hand and braced his other hand against the rock, his arm
alongside Bode’s cheek. He leaned forward until Bode couldn’t feel
the rain anymore, until Valen’s body sheltered him. Valen hooked
his chin over the top of Bode’s head. He smelled like earth and
damp fabric, and there was an underlying odor of sweat and blood,
of LJ’s sickness.

Bode’s legs vibrated like the taut strings
of an instrument. That buzzing spread through him, turned to
numbness. His knees sank deeper into the soft wet dirt, and he
hunched over. Valen followed him down, still sheltering him.
Wrapped one arm around his middle, the other around his shoulders,
and held him close.

Valen’s borrowed shirt was too thin. Without
the jacket he’d be cold. But Valen didn’t so much as shiver, when
Bode tried to give back the jacket, Valen growled in his ear. They
stayed like that at the base of the rock until the rain
stopped.

7.

WELCOME TO HARKVILLE

They arrived in Harkville
the next evening as the sun was going down. Bode was bone-weary,
his feet blistered and his stomach bloated with hunger. He stank,
and his hair was slicked in greasy hanks to his forehead. Valen
didn’t look much better.

The desert was scrubby and
silent. They walked along a narrow, sand-streaked road, past a sign
that read: HARKVILLE: POPULATION 6.23 X 10
²³

The first thing they saw
was the Harkville Hotel—a two-story, ramshackle, pink-and-white
wooden building. A handful of cars were parked in the lot, and
several yards behind the hotel was a low, wide stone mesa that
dropped off into a series of ridges. Further west down the street
were a few more rickety buildings. Harkville wasn’t loud or
colorful or any of the things Bode had expected. It looked like a
ghost town.

Valen pulled Bode aside.
“We can’t just walk in. Let me go first, and—”

Bode didn’t have time to
argue, because the door of the hotel flew open and a stout man
hustled out, his gray handlebar mustache wobbling on his upper lip.
He wore a white button-down shirt with leather fringe on the
shoulders, brown trousers with bizarrely wide legs, and worn
leather boots. He glanced around without seeming to see them and
headed for the road.

“
Oh my God,” Bode
whispered. “Is he for real?”

There was something odd
about the way the man walked. His right leg was
bending
the wrong way. The pant legs
were so wide because they needed to accommodate the backward joint.
He squeaked as he moved, a groaning, mechanical sound. “I don’t…”
Valen started.

The man spied them
suddenly. His brow furrowed and his mustache quivered, and then he
creaked and hobbled his way over to them. “What can I do you for?”
he called in a gruff voice.

Valen elbowed Bode.
“Aliases,” he muttered. “Maybe, there’s a chance they don’t…” He
lifted his hand as the man approached. “Hello. I’m Mr. Tidwell.
This is Mr. Akers. We’re, uh…” He glanced at the hotel. “We
wondered if you had a room for the night.”

“
Oh my.
Oh.” The man’s gaze shifted to Bode. “
You.
You. Are. Theeee…” He breathed
out. “…star attraction in Kilroy Ballast’s circus.”

Bode froze. So much for
aliases. He and Valen ought to turn, ought to flee, but Valen
wasn’t moving. Bode waited.

“
Don’t worry.” The man’s
mustache twitched then collapsed on one side, swinging like a loose
clock hand. “You’ve come to the right place. Oh, this is wonderful.
Truly wonderful. We’ve been hoping you’d show up.”

“
Us? Why?” Bode asked
suspiciously, his hand on the gun tucked in his
waistband.

“
Waayy-ull, you’re wanted men. And this is where wanted men
usually
want
to be.” The man chuckled. He pushed his mustache back up and
smoothed it with one finger.

“
We’re armed,” Valen
warned. Bode nodded, pulling Lein’s gun out.

The man laughed again. “Ah,
everyone gets into the spirit of the Old West as soon as they’re
here. Saloon brawls, shootouts…” He clapped Bode’s shoulder. “Put
that away, son, before you hurt yourself.”

Bode didn’t put it
away.

“
You can call me Horse
Leg.” The man slapped his right flank. “I’m sure you’ve heard about
the doctors here. Very creative. When I lost my leg to the scorpion
flu, Skullprute gave me this marvelous metal prosthetic. It has a
hock rather than a knee.” He bent the hock, showing them. “Took
some getting used to, but now everybody knows when I’m around. It
needs oiled, but I like the sound.” His gaze fixed on Valen again.
“You look like you could use a drink.”

Bode stepped forward.
“We’ve been told you hide X-show refugees here, but—”

“
We certainly
do.”

“
But we’re worried this is
the first place our enemies will think to look for us,” Valen said
coldly. “Anyone been around so far asking for us?”

“
Nope.” Horse Leg shook his
head. “We were a bit surprised by that too.”

“
What do you
mean?”

“
We know
from
The Rustler
that you two went missing. Usually when an X-show
performer goes on the lam, someone comes sniffing around Harkville.
They never get too far with their sniffing. But they sniff all the
same.”

“
And no one’s been
here?”

“
Nope.” Horse Leg looked at
Bode. “And boy, you’re wanted for more than just fleein’, aren’t
you?”

Bode flushed.

“
I’m not blaming you, son,”
Horse Leg said gently.

“
So, can you hide us?” Bode
asked at last.

“
Certainly.”

“
I don’t see how.” Valen
was still glaring at Horse Leg.

Horse Leg bounced on his
hocked appendage. “Not to worry, not to worry. There’s only one
road into Harkville, and Calamity Zane guards it for us.” He waved
in the direction Bode and Valen had come.

Valen and Bode both
followed his gaze. Out in the desert, just beyond the Harkville
sign, a man in an oversized cowboy hat sat on a docile-looking
appaloosa. He waved back very enthusiastically.

Valen frowned. “But we just
walked right in, and he didn’t do anything. We didn’t even see
him.”

“
Hmmmohhh, dear. He was
probably killing scorpions. We didn’t have anyone here in need of
protective custody until you walked in. But now that you’ve
arrived, I’ll be sure to let him know to stop everyone who tries to
enter Harkville from here on out.”

Valen and Bode exchanged
glances.

Horse Leg put a hand on
each of their shoulders. “Besides, it won’t matter, once the
liberations begin. Come on, now. Drinks!”

“
Liberations?” Bode
whispered to Valen.

“
Stay on your guard,” Valen
replied softly. “Be ready to fight. To run.”

Horse Leg led them down the
dusty main street. He walked like he was stepping over
rattlesnakes, lifting each foot high and settling it down
carefully. Bode couldn’t stop staring at the man’s wrong-way
leg.

Horse Leg stopped in front
of the saloon, a chewed-on looking wooden building with swinging
doors and a window with a bullet hole in it.

They followed Horse Leg
in.

The room was dim, but the
slatted doors admitted a weak yellow light. Tables had been placed
at odd intervals. Some had chairs; some didn’t. A crooked black
piano stood in one corner, and two whiskey crates were positioned
in front of it to make a bench. On top of the crates lay a man. At
least, Bode thought it was a man at first, but when the figure sat
up, Bode saw a small, feminine face with an upturned nose and a
tiny chin. Breasts swelled underneath the white blouse, bulging
between suspenders. One black sleeve garter was missing.

“
This is Finley,” Horse Leg
said. “He runs most of the town.”

“
Not the
shed.” Finley’s voice was almost shrill. “We
all
run the
shed.”

“
No,” Horse Leg agreed.
“Not the shed.”

Finley stuck out a hand.
Bode shook it. Valen didn’t. “Sorry,” Finley said. “I’m a
bit…devastated today.”

“
What’s wrong?” Bode
asked.

Finley rubbed his eyes and
then yawned with a fist over his mouth. “I don’t know. Perhaps I
have low self-esteem or miss the womb.” He turned to Horse Leg.
“Have you seen Bettina?”

“
Not since last
night.”

Finley hesitated, just for
a second. “Well, then. I suppose she’s out of it with
me.”

Horse Leg raised his
mechanical foot and scratched the opposite calf with it. “You knew
it would happen.”

“
Yes.” Finley sighed. “I
just didn’t anticipate feeling sooo melancholy.”

“
There’s always whatever’s
in the medicine cabinet.” Horse Leg jerked his head toward the
bar.

“
I’m not sure I want joy to
come from a cocktail. Now if we had some pills…”

“
This gentleman might know
a thing or two about mood-altering drugs.” Horse Leg indicated
Bode. “You recognize him?”

Bode cringed.
Jesus
. If anyone in
Harkville was interested in the bounty, he and Valen didn’t stand a
chance.

“
I’m blind in this light.”
Finley shifted, squinting. “No.”

“
Look close,” Horse Leg
urged.

Finley leaned toward Bode.
Sniffed. Grinned. “
Son of a broad-bottomed
bastard.
Kilroy Ballast’s
star.”

“
Mm-hm.” Horse Leg sounded
proud. “In the flesh.”

“
Oh, you cagey thing.”
Finley sized Bode up. “You’re wanted from coast to coast and back
again.”

Bode looked briefly at
Valen. “We thought—we’d heard—Harkville took in—”

“
Refugees?” Finley raised
his powdered eyebrows. “We do indeed. Oh, the Liberators will shit
their skirts.”

“
Who are the—”

Finley whirled to Horse
Leg, who was at the bar pouring drinks. “And Kilroy uses the blue
pills?”

Horse Leg was pouring a
fourth drink and jerked his head toward Bode. “Ask him.”

Finley looked at Bode.
“Blue pills?”

Bode nodded warily.
“There’s a drug he helped develop. It’s called the Haze, and it
lets you do just about anything without caring.”

“
We’ve heard you were kept
in coffins.” Finley strode to the bar and took the extra drink
before Horse Leg could sip it.

“
We
traveled
in coffins.” Bode was unsure whether he should be
giving details to this stranger. “We weren’t in them all the
time.”

Finley clapped his hands.
“They’ll
love
this!”