The Native Star (22 page)

Emily’s mouth went dry.

“That’s why Komé was trying so hard to turn back the magic we were putting into the stone,” Stanton said. “The more magic the stone absorbs, the larger it becomes …”

“The larger what becomes?” Emily said, softly. Stanton looked at her, his eyes holding hers.

“Komé was cradling something. Holding something black. I know what it is now.” He paused. “There’s a black bolus forming in the stone.”

Emily said nothing, but the horror of it grew within her slowly.

“You mean … in my
hand?”

“It is the nature of the stone to segregate and excrete Black Exunge,” Stanton repeated carefully. “The stone is doing that. Those black inclusions—when there’s enough of them, they’ll become a bolus. When the bolus is large enough, the stone will expel it. There’s no way you could avoid coming in contact with it.”

Emily’s heart thudded in her chest, and she thought of the grasshopper, shrieking and crackling as it burned to death. Or the Aberrant raccoon, dripping with black slime. She looked up at Stanton, and she saw the fear on her face reflected in his eyes. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she clutched his lapels and hid her face against his chest, squeezing her eyes shut tight. At first, Stanton pulled back imperceptibly. But then he placed a warm hand on her head, stroking her hair for a moment, a gentling touch.

“I’m sure that Komé is helping,” he murmured. “I’m sure she’ll do everything she can. But we can’t let the stone absorb any more magic. If an actual bolus forms, she might not be able to control it …”

There was the sound of voices approaching—train passengers returning to the cars, chattering about flaming grasshoppers. Stanton seized her shoulders, put her at a manly arm’s length, and gave her a bracing shake.

“Buck up,” he said firmly. “It’s only a few days to New York. Professor Mirabilis will know what to do. You’ll be fine, Emily.” He paused, giving her another little shake. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

The Aberrancy hunters finished their work, leaving behind a neatly capped Exunge pit, and the train got under way a few hours later. Emily and Stanton were both very quiet for the rest of the day.

If she hadn’t been “tormented” before, she certainly was now. She wished she could cut her hand off and run away. What had Stanton said about that man in Ohio? Fifty feet tall, he’d smashed up an entire township with his bare hands? And it took a whole detachment of military Warlocks to “put him down”?

She bit her lip hard and stared out the window. The sunshine of earlier in the day had vanished, replaced by brooding black clouds. In their depths, streaks of lightning flashed like distant signal flares. When the rain began, it came down in great gouty sheets that rattled against the windows like handfuls of pebbles. The temperature plummeted; passengers began pulling out shawls and coats against the cold. Emily just stared out the window, shivering.

Night came again, the lanterns were lit again, the conductor moved through the car to fold down the seats. Stanton and Emily took their now-accustomed places on the floor. But even with the coal stove on one side of her and Stanton on the other, she couldn’t stop shivering. She wrapped her horrible plaid coat more tightly around herself, listening to the rain lashing against the roof.

The longing to run never left her, nor the nauseating understanding that there was nowhere she could run to. She tried to comfort herself; Komé had protected her, and would continue to protect her. But what if she couldn’t? What if the Exunge in the stone was already on the verge of overwhelming the conscribed spirit’s ability to control it?

“What will happen to me?” Emily asked quietly. Stanton, lying beside her, pushed up his hat.

“What?” he asked. It was clear that he hadn’t been asleep; Emily guessed he was no more pleased to be sleeping next to a person who might at any moment become an Aberrancy than she was to be that person.

“If the stone expels the Exunge, what will happen to me? Specifically, I mean.”

Stanton was silent for a long moment. When he finally did speak, his voice was matter-of-fact.

“There is a process of mutation that lasts about a minute. During that time, the Black Exunge works upon the physical system of the affected … creature. After that time, the Exunge is fully ingrained in the living spirit, and the transformation is complete.”

“Back in Dutch Flat you said that Aberrancies were most vulnerable while they were mutating. Like the Aberrancy hunters burned that grasshopper while it was still growing.”

“Yes,” Stanton said.

“You have the misprision blade,” Emily said. “Could you stop me with it?”

“Don’t say such things,” Stanton growled. “It’s not going to happen.”

“Now who’s trying to believe unpleasant things into being untrue?” she murmured bitterly. “I suppose there’s always your
flamma
trick, but that would hardly be fair to the other passengers.”

There was a long silence.

“You will not become an Aberrancy, Emily.” The finality in his voice was like a door slamming shut, but it did not make her feel better.

Emily turned her head, looked up at the shadows on the pressed-tin ceiling. They kept resolving themselves into giant loping jackrabbits, slavering raccoons, Aberrancy hunters with flamethrowers. The song of the rain snickered in her ears.

The next thing she knew, the cold apricot-colored light of dawn was threading through the windows of the car and there was a soft sound of metal grating against metal. It was the rattle of the stove door; the conductor was throwing in lumps of coal. In her sleep, she had curled close to Stanton, snuggled against his side. He’d draped an arm around her shoulder, and she’d pillowed her head on it. The rise and fall of his chest, the smell of stale cigar smoke in the fabric of his coat was reassuring. She let herself drowse that way for a moment, until a thought made her heart leap unpleasantly.

And what if the stone decided to expel the Exunge right now? What if you turned him into an Aberrancy right along with you?

She pushed herself away from him, cursing as she climbed to her feet. She staggered out of the car, wanting suddenly to put as much distance between herself and Stanton as she could. She decided she would go sit on the observation platform. For some reason, the idea of watching the plains’ endless repetition appealed to her this morning.

The conductor nodded his head to her as she made her way back through the car.

“Mornin’, son,” he said. “We’ve passed the storms. Gonna be a nice day.”

“I doubt it,” Emily said.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ososolyeh

Emily spent the early part of the morning alone on the observation platform at the rear of the train, thinking deep thoughts about life and death, until she finally got hold of herself, reclaimed her uncommon good sense, and scolded herself for being so tragic.

All right, you rotten mineral
, she thought.
It’s you or me. And it’s going to be me. Because with all the power of my belief, I believe it’s going to be me
.

Pulling herself up straight, she walked back to the seats, where Rose was regaling Stanton with another of her interminably winding tales. When she appeared, he stood, his eyes searching her face.

“Are you all right?”

“Yep.” Emily flashed him her most confident smile.

“And where were you, Mr. Elmer?” Rose batted her eyelashes at Emily. “With all the Aberrancies running around, I couldn’t think what might have become of you!”

Emily worked to keep her smile from dimming.

“I think we’ve left all the Aberrancies behind,” she said.

“Horrible things,” Rose said, confidingly. “You know, they say they’re all the fault of Warlocks. That if godly people would finally take a stand and put their foot down against all these Warlocks and Witches running around … why, there wouldn’t be any Aberrancies. They say that they’re a punishment on godly people for allowing sin to walk the earth unanswered—”

“Who is this ‘they’ you’re always referring to?” Stanton glared at Rose, his eyes gleaming with unhidden malice. “Your mongoloid Aunt Kindy? Your drunken Uncle Sal? Or are you talking about the slack-jawed hacks who bang out those dime novels for a bottle of whiskey and the price of a flophouse?”

Rose stared at him, her mouth open in astonishment. But Stanton pressed on, his voice flat and awful.

“Or maybe you’re just using the word ‘they’ as so many pea-brained idiots use it, as a cowardly rhetorical device, an excuse to say the things you really believe without giving anyone the chance to judge you for the narrow-minded, stupid creature you are.”

Rose’s lip trembled for a moment. Then she snatched up her carpetbag and ran out of the car. Emily stared at Stanton.

“What has gotten into you?” she asked. “That was awful. How could you—”

“That girl is an albatross.” Stanton pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. “Saying those things to you, after everything that’s happened—”

“She didn’t have any idea what she was saying,” Emily said. “And if you were trying to protect me, at least you could have picked on someone your own size.”

Rising abruptly, Emily went out in the direction Rose had gone. She found Rose sitting in the vestibule between cars, collapsed in a tearful heap. She was sobbing, clutching the carpetbag to her chest.

“Miss Rose?” Emily said softly.

“I’m sorry I bothered you.” Rose dashed drops from her eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, him.” Emily cast a scornful glance back toward the car where Stanton was. “He’s a meaner varmint than Sheriff Black, the Skull Mountain Kid, and the Scabby Badger all rolled up into one.”

Rose giggled, sniffling, at what was certainly quite a ridiculous combination.

“You’re awful nice, Mr. Elmer,” Rose said. “I have a brother like you. He’s nice, too. Whenever anyone’s mean to me, he knocks ’em down.”

Emily sat down next to Rose, suddenly wishing that she were Rose’s brother. At that moment, she wouldn’t mind a life spent taking care of a girl like Rose. A life spent protecting her from all the terrible things in the world. More than anything, she envied Rose’s wide-eyed innocence, the cozy narrowness of her existence. She had no idea how vast the world could be, how many horrors and mysteries lurked in its dark places. Emily felt she had discovered far too much—far more than she’d ever wanted to, just as Lawa had promised.

Rose caught the faraway look in Emily’s eyes, and something sly crept across her face. She leaned closer to Emily, whispered words in her ear.

“You’re outlaws, aren’t you?”

Emily pulled back a little, looked at her warily.

“What?”

“I know you’re a woman,” Rose said. “I knew it from the first time I saw you. That’s why I was interested in you two. I thought … oh, never mind what I thought. I’m just a pea-brained idiot.”

“No, you’re not. Tell me what you thought.”

Rose looked at her, her eyes sparkling with sudden excitement.

“I tried to guess what your story was,” Rose said. “I do that sometimes. I just look at people and try to figure out their lives.”

Rose hitched herself closer.

“Here’s what I guessed. You can’t have been outlaws long, because you sure don’t do it very well. Maybe you robbed a bank or something. But you’re madly in love, and you’re on the run from the law. Is that it? You can tell me. I promise I’ll keep the secret.”

“That’s not it.” Emily felt herself blushing, but she didn’t quite know why. “But that would make a good story, wouldn’t it?”

“Things work out in stories,” Rose said. “If this were a story, I wouldn’t be going to Aunt Kindy’s, I’d be going someplace … exciting.” Her lip trembled. “I hate Aunt Kindy. All those things I told you about her weren’t true. She’s mean to me and she smells. I don’t know what Mr. Smith called her, but I’m sure it meant that she’s unpleasant. And she
is
. She’s a spiteful woman who wants me around just so she can smoke cigarillos and drink gin on the sly.”

Emily
tsk
ed sadly and put her arm around Rose.

“Maybe it won’t be that bad,” she said, aware of how useless the words were.

“Yes, it will be,” Rose said. She was trying to hold back her tears, but they kept trickling down her cheeks. “She just wants me for a slave. And I have to go. What else can I do?”

“I’m sorry, Rose,” Emily said softly. “It’ll be all right. I’m sure it will.”

Rose leaned against her, resting her head on Emily’s shoulder, and Emily held her companionably. From behind them came the sound of a cleared throat. It was Stanton, looking down at them disapprovingly.

“Elmer,” he said. “I need to speak with you. Now.”

Emily glared at him. She gave Rose a strengthening squeeze before standing and following Stanton back to the seats.

“You’ve broken her poor heart,” Emily said accusingly.

“Oh, please!” Stanton rolled his eyes. “You really
don’t
know anything about being a man, do you?” Stanton gestured curtly to the seats, indicating Emily should sit; Emily shook her head furiously.

“I can’t leave her like that. I’m going back.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Stanton growled. “You can’t go putting your arm around a girl like that … you’ll be facing her father down a shotgun. I have no doubt that her broken heart will heal before lunchtime. Now sit.”

“Why are you being so horrible?” Emily hissed at him, sitting.

“Why are you being so naïve?” Stanton returned. “Of all the difficulties I thought we’d encounter on this trip, I must say a farm girl falling in love with you was one that never even crossed my mind.”

“She’s not in love with me,” Emily snapped. “She knows I’m not a man.”

Stanton’s face hardened.

“You told her?” he said, in a low voice, leaning forward. “Damn it, Emily—”

“She figured it out herself,” Emily said. “You said yourself that I’m unconvincing as a man.”

“I had hoped you could at least convince someone like Rose,” Stanton said. “The fact that she knows not only puts us in danger, but it puts her in danger right along with us.”

That thought made Emily pause. Stanton saw the realization on her face, nodded soberly.

“Another one of the joys of being a fugitive.” Stanton sighed. “It’s high time we distanced ourselves from her. When we come into Omaha, I want you to get new clothes. We’re going to get out of these damn Zulu cars and into a Pullman, where she can’t follow us.”

“Switch to a Pullman? Can we afford it?”

“We’ll be in Chicago tomorrow night, and in New York a day after that. We’re close enough that we can take the chance.”

Emily sighed, chewing her lip. She thought of the tears on Rose’s face, thought of how she was going to be sacrificed to the despised Aunt Kindy with little more than her good nature and her carpetbag full of half-baked heroes to keep her company. But then she thought of Rose at the hands of Captain Caul. Any loneliness the girl would suffer without them would be negligible compared to that.

“All right,” Emily said finally, nodding her head in resigned agreement. “But it does seem a shame, she is so—”

Emily stopped speaking as Rose returned. Her eyes were red, and she did not meet Emily’s gaze as she sat down, staring quietly out the window.

No more words were exchanged between the members of the sad little party. Rose looked out of the window dejectedly, sniffling at odd intervals. Stanton sat, arms crossed, staring at some invisible object in the middle distance that seemed, from his scrutiny, to be of incomparable interest. When they pulled into Omaha, Stanton rose stiffly.

“I’ll go see to the arrangements we discussed,” he said to Emily. “I believe you were going to find a general store?”

Emily murmured assent, made to follow him as he moved quickly toward the exit. But before she could go, Rose seized Emily’s hand. She held it fast, looked up at Emily with red-rimmed eyes.

“Don’t go,” she said. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m sorry, Rose. I have to.”

“Something terrible is going to happen. I just know it,” Rose whispered. Her eyes were big with fear, and her hand, clutching Emily’s, was trembling. “Something
terrible.”

“Once we’re gone, you’ll be safe,” Emily said, under her breath. She prayed it was true.

Rose said nothing.

“Good-bye, Rose.”

Emily had to pull hard to remove her hand from Rose’s grasp. When she finally succeeded, Rose brought her hands up to her face, covering her eyes.

“I hope we never see each other again,” Rose said, her voice husky. Then she turned her back on Emily, slumping over the hard seat, her shoulders shuddering with a fresh flood of tears.

Emily turned, climbed off the train. She did not look back.

The train had only an hour’s layover in Omaha, so Emily put the sobbing girl out of her mind as best she could. She had a specific errand, and a limited amount of time to accomplish it. She couldn’t be worrying about Rose.

She hurried through the crowds and ducked out of the station, spying a general store just across the street from the depot. Navigating the press of carriages and wagons that were lined up to pick up or drop off train passengers, she made it inside, quickly scanning the selection of women’s clothing available off-the-shelf.

On one hand, Emily thought it was rather a shame to spend good money when her suit still had plenty of wear left in it. On the other hand, Stanton was right about the excessive memorability of the ugly plaid. Also, the thought of not having to use the gentlemen’s rest anymore appealed to her greatly.

It took very little deliberation to settle on a simple black dress, for that was about all there was to be had. Even so, Emily was able to bargain the clerk down considerably because it was made of heavy wool and too warm for the coming spring. She also bought a chemise and petticoat and pantalettes—all the things she’d left behind when assuming her disguise in San Francisco. It was a shame she couldn’t afford different shoes; the heavy men’s boots were bound to look odd under the skirt of a dress. She bought a hat, too, with a heavy dark veil.

Crossing back to the station, she was faced with a thorny dilemma: Where was she going to change? Should she enter the men’s restroom and emerge as a woman, or risk the brouhaha that would certainly ensue if she were caught entering the ladies’ restroom as a man?

She decided that both options were far too risky, and instead ducked into a small broom closet conveniently located between both restrooms. It was cramped, but she managed to effect the change without too much indignity. She very much appreciated the opportunity to remove the bandaging that flattened her chest; she’d forgotten how nice it was to take a deep breath.

While she was changing, she checked the injury on her arm. To her surprise, the bullet wound was completely healed, leaving behind only a faint pink scar where the laceration had been. She threw away the dirty bandage and crumbling moss, not bothering herself to wonder how it could have healed so quickly. Having encountered so many strange things that worked to her detriment, it was downright refreshing to run across a strangeness that behooved her.

She folded her men’s clothes into a neat pile. Stepping out of the broom closet, Emily dropped them into the first garbage can she passed. The only thing she kept was the safety pin Rose had given her. One never knew when a safety pin would come in handy, and Emily felt like having a memento of the poor, sweet girl whose chatter she’d already begun to miss. She fastened the pin inside her sleeve and smoothed fabric over it.