In the end, it didn’t take them all day. They were lucky enough to hitch a ride in the back of a junk wagon, heading east. They sat, dangling their legs off the side, among the scrap metal and broken furniture in the cart, swapping gossip with the driver. He called himself Swill, and he was a crusty old Dryad, as squat and withered as a stump, with only a single leaf on his antlers. He squinted suspiciously at Maine as she climbed on board, but then shrugged and seemed to forget about her. He was all too eager to share stories of what he’d seen during his years driving around Old Coney, but what he was especially keen on was this morning’s activities. To hear him tell it, he’d been right in the thick of things during the protest, and had only barely escaped with his life.
“Aye, that damn metal bastard came right at us,” he swore, “spitting fire and tossing people left and right! He singled me out, you know? Looked dead at me with those el-eckt-tric eyes of his!” He snapped the reins, and his old nag whinnied in agreement, tossing her mane and shaking the small, broken stub of her horn. “I thought I was a goner!”
Maine cocked her head, looking skeptically at him. Albert might’ve been huge, sure, but she’d never known him to hurt a fly, and the only time he’d ever spit fire to her knowledge is when the Forge crews soaked his morning coal with kerosine as a prank. “How’d you get away?” she asked him.
“Don’t rightly know,” he admitted. He scratched at his chin, picking a twig off and tossing it away. “He was right in front of me, those huge mashers raised in the air. I had a brick in my hand, pulled back, but what good was that going to do, I thought. Then, all of a sudden, there was a hollerin’ and yellin’ from the big house, and he turns about and starting heading back.”
“What happened then?” Dandy asked.
“I threw the brick at him,” Swill laughed, flashing a gap-toothed grin. The cart bounced over a pothole, and he clicked his tongue, guiding the mare down the road. “Didn’t do much good, of course, just plonked off the back of his head,” he shrugged. “But still, gotta represent 33rd street, right?” he asked Dandy, who nodded in agreement
As both of them celebrated, Maine rolled her eyes. She held Ifri in her arms, stroking the kitten idly as she watched the scenery of Old Coney roll by. “You should be thanking the Firstborn,” she pointed out. “If they hadn’t taken over the house, you’d probably be still laying out on the pavement.”
Swill nodded glumly. “Aye. Old Watt told me about that. Said they held up the Maierson boy, made him give over all his gold and jewels for the lives of everyone in the house! Including his devil of a sister!” He shook his head, as if impressed.
Dandy had to hide his smile. “He overpaid then,” he laughed, and Maine shot him a look.
Swill cackled. “Probably!” His laughter was short-lived though, and he sighed. “This woulda never happened under the Hag,” he said at length.
“I miss her,” he admitted, as they continued. This far east, most of the shops and tenements had been replaced with warehouses and old supply yards, run down and abandoned. The road was getting rougher too, with cobblestones giving way to sand and gravel, with deep ruts cutting across the surface. Swill guided the cart around another pothole, his face downcast. “She was a Hag sure, but she was our Hag. People respected her, feared her, so they feared us too. That was protection, you understand?”
He suddenly beat his chest with pride. “We were her people! Her people! They knew what would happen if they preyed on us. Who’d come for them if they started trouble.” He slowly sunk back down into the driver’s seat, his sole leaf drooping low over his eyes. “Who’ll protect us now?”
Maine frowned. “The Maierson’s are still there,” she said carefully, not wanting to be too obvious. “They’ll still protect you- I mean, us.”
Swill didn’t seem to notice the slip. “You mean the boy?” He gave a snorting chuckle. “He can’t even protect his own house. How’s he going to stand up to the gangs coming over?”
She looked up sharply. “What gangs?”
Dandy’s head dropped lower, avoiding her eyes. Swill cracked the reins again and the wagon picked up speed. “I’ve seen ‘em,” he said darkly. “Gangs of Jack Adams crossing the bridge, headed for the Glade or Dreamland.”
“People have always been going to those places. What’s different now?”
“Sure, fancy types,” Swill corrected her. “I’m talkin’ about hard cases, head crackers! The kind that won’t think twice about stringing up a lone Elder if they’re in the mood.” He spit off the side of the wagon. “And they ain’t comin’ to visit, they’re lookin’ to stake territory. Aye, they’ve been dreaming of carving up Old Coney for years. I hear even ole’ Tillie’s being hard pressed to keep ‘em out of her streets.”
“Old Coney’ll fight back,” Dandy said suddenly. He was tightly gripping the slats of the cart, staring out with a fierce expression on his face. “That’s who you can put your faith in,” he told Swill. “The gangs, the people! We’ll drive ‘em all out!”
Swill gave a barking, cynical laugh. “Right, the gangs.” He shook his head.
“What?”
“Which gangs? The Elves? The Wispy Nettles or the Jack Rabbits? Tough gangs sure, but think they could stop fightin’ the Gobbers long enough to notice what’s going on? What about the Dryads- the Briarpatch Boys? Last I heard they were wrapped up in their own little war with the Sidewinders on Brightwater street. What about the Rockeaters? Damn Trolls are even worse, they’re fightin’ everyone at once!” He spit again, looking sourly ahead. “Damn fools are fightin’ the wrong fight, so convinced that they’ve got so much different with each other, that they can’t see the common enemy.” He grumbled more and then sighed. “Eh, what’s the use? Fools ‘ll be fools.”
He cracked the whip and the cart hurried on in silence. Dandy seemed like he wanted to say something, to protest, but his face fell. He rested his chin on the wooden slat and stared out in silence.
Maine stroked Ifri’s fur, lost in thought. Swill was right: Matthew wasn’t able to help, not in the way Gran had. He was too distracted with the business, too busy trying to run the Factory to see what was really needed. He needed someone to step up.
Ifri twitched in her arms. The kitten was asleep, purring gently. She could feel his warmth against her chest, spreading out and seeming to fill her up. She would be the one to step up, she swore to herself. She’d be the one that Old Coney looked up to
After a while, the scenery changed again. The supply yards and warehouses became more scattered, with rough shacks and empty lots lying between them. Maine had never been this far east before. She could almost hear the surf in the distance. Abruptly, Swill pulled on the reins and the cart slowed.
“All right,” he told them. “Count yerself lucky, this is farther than I usually go.”
Dandy swung himself down roughly, and started walking. He waved back over his shoulder, “Thanks for the ride!”
Maine tucked Ifri into her pocket and then climbed down, taking her time. Before she started after Dandy, she stopped and bowed to Swill, just as Miss Imi had taught her. “Thank you very much for the ride,” she said.
He looked pleased and tipped a non-existent hat to her. “Well, you’re very welcome, Miss Maierson,” he said. He grinned and winked at her surprised face. “You’re not as bad as I heard. But you be careful now,” he told her. “This isn’t a safe part of town for good girls.”
She returned his wink. “Who said I’m one of those?”
He cackled and cracked the reins, turning the cart. “Ha! You’ve got the makings of a first class Hag!” he called. “First class!”
She watched him drive off, still laughing, and then she turned to catch up with Dandy. He had hopped up onto a discarded barrel by the side of the road, and standing still, nose in the air. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Instead of answering, he started to turn, moving his nose this way and that. “Do you smell that?” he asked.
Maine sniffed. There was a definite burn in the air, a scent that was very familiar. “Smells like the mixing stations in the Factory,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
He nodded. “It’s chemicals, I think.” He looked down the road, shading his eyes. “I think it’s coming from this way,” he said, pointing.
Maine took off running before him. “Beat you there!” He yelled and hopped down, scrambling after her.
They raced down the dirt road, laughing. The grass grew thick to either side of them, and they could hear the buzz of insects against the sound of the surf in the distance. Maine’s bag thumped and jostled against her back. Ifri popped his head out of her pocket, eyes open wide, and stood up against her shoulder, craning his head. Dandy passed her, making a face, and she stuck out her tongue. They both skidded to a halt by a ramshackle fenceline, trying to catch their breath.
“Beat-beat you,” Dandy laughed.
“Wha-what did you expect?” She pulled at the strap of her bag. “You’re taller than me and I’m carrying a bag!”
“Still won!”
She waved her hand dismissively as she turned around, looking over the fence. They were at the end of the road now, almost lost in the dunes. This was the only building left that seemed like it could still be habitable, not half-collapsed by wind and weather. It looked to be an old barrel-works, with stacks of uncured, split timber and rusting rings of metal strewn about the yard. Tools and other scrap lay scattered among the thick grass and weeds, but someone looked to have taken the trouble to clear the main path to the shop. The little building stood maybe fifty feet away. It was barely more than a shed, with just a hand-painted sign above the door that read ‘Potions and More’. Two windows lay on either side of the door, though one was shattered and broken.
Maine stared intently at the shop, watching for signs of life, with Dandy beside her. He shifted anxiously. “Are ya gonna go?”
“Of course.” She continued to stare however; she didn’t like how the shop seemed to be winking at them, all silent and mysterious-like. As she continued to stand there, Ifri hopped out of her pocket and jumped into the thick grass, his tail swishing back and forth. Dandy watched him go.
“He’s gonna start a brush fire,” he warned.
“It’s still pretty wet, he’s probably fine.” She frowned, hesitating, then made up her mind and started to climb over the fence. “C’mon,” she hissed at Dandy.
He looked worried as he followed her, then paused, still on the fence. “Are you sure about this?” he asked. “I mean, have you thought about what you’re going to say to her?”
“What do you mean? I’m gonna ask her if she had anything to do with the Firstborn.”
He still didn’t move. “I mean, have you talked to her since the accident?”
Maine landed roughly in the tall grass and ducked down, frowning. “What? I- Of course I haven’t,” she stammered.
Dandy’s face was serious as he climbed down to join her. “You haven’t?”
“How could I? I was at school- By the time I got back, she’d be kicked out and-” She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Why did he have to make it all complicated all of a sudden? “Look it doesn’t matter, alright? I just need to ask her about this morning!”
That didn’t seem to reassure him. “Maine, she killed your Grandma.”
“Shut up!” she yelled, spinning around. Dandy flinched back from her, suddenly looking afraid and Maine realized she had her fist cocked, ready to fly.
She took a breath and let it out slowly. “It was- It was-” She couldn’t get the words out.
“It was an accident, right.” Dandy said it for her. He put his hands up slowly, climbing to his feet. “Sorry I brought it up, okay?”
She nodded fiercely and spun around, dashing at her eyes. She hated those familiar words. How many times had she heard them, over and over again from Miss Imi, from Albert, from Kelphin, even from her own brother? An accident. An accident? Accidents happened to other people, normal people. Not Madelyn Maierson! It was absurd; impossible! An accident couldn’t hurt her Grandmother; not a witch of her skill and power! An accident couldn’t leave a smoking wreck where Lab 01 had been! An accident couldn’t leave a body so burned that-
Her boot kicked against something hard lying hidden in the tall grass. It was the end of a wooden signpost, snapped off and broken. She tugged on the post, pulling the rest of the sign out of the weeds. It read ‘Healing Potions and Cures!’ with a hand-drawn bottle and cauldron brimming underneath it. Scrawled over the sign however, in bold red paint, were the words ‘LIAR’.
Dandy looked at it anxiously. “Things got bad for her after the accident. People were angry, they blamed her. Even her own family turned her out. She had to leave, come all the way out here.” He kicked lightly at the tufts of grass. “Guess it wasn’t far enough.”
Maine dropped the sign back into the weeds. “No, it wasn’t,” she agreed.
The main shop looked pretty much abandoned as they climbed up onto the porch. Dandy rattled the doorknob a few times as Maine stared through the broken glass. Inside, she could see bottles and potions on display, along with shelves of ingredients; the usual types - herbs, powders, bones, insects (both dried and still squirming in cages and bottles), but it didn’t look like the shop was open for business. An overturned stool lay poking out behind the counter, and a few of the ingredients had spilled onto the floor, either knocked over by the wind, or in an escape attempt was anyone’s guess.
Dandy made a triumphant noise as he finally shouldered the door open. “There we go,” he said proudly, stepping foot inside. There was a sudden electric crack with a flash of orange light, and he seized up, freezing mid-step. He tottered slowly and then fell backwards, eyes wide, with his leg still extended.
Maine hurried over to the threshold and knelt, waving smoke and sand away from the wood to see the chalk outline of a rune, burning away quickly. She pulled a small leatherbound notebook, about the size of her hand, out from her bag and started to flip through it. The book was well worn and the spine cracked, riddled with bits of ribbon and scraps of paper as bookmarks. Each page was filled with rune diagrams and glyphs, along with notes and instructions, all laboriously copied down from her Grandmother’s books.
“Uh huh,” she said, nodding to herself as she found the right page. “Paralyzing ward.” She smiled at the memory. Wards had been one of the first things that Henna had taught her. Very useful for keeping staff or a snooping older brothers out of your room, she’d found.
She then bent over Dandy, poking curiously at his face. “Can you move?”
He let out a strangled grunt, but his eyes were darting around quickly in any case. She patted him on the chest reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I think the ward’s pretty old, so you should be out of it soon.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
She stood up and shook herself, letting her hands hang loose at her sides. Then with a deep breath, she hopped over the threshold. The rune gave another crackle and a puff of orange smoke, but much weaker this time, and Maine felt a shiver race from her toes all the way up to the wild ends of her hair. She stumbled as she came down inside the shop, but at least she could still move. She hopped up and down gingerly for a moment, shaking off the effects, and stared around.
The shop looked even more abandoned on the inside. Her boots scraped against loose sand and broken glass on the floor, and she could hear the scurrying of little feet and the clink of bottles in the corners of the room. The heavy stink of chemicals and chlorophyll was thick in the air, even with the broken window to air it out. She gave the ingredients shelves a professional once-over, and turned up her nose. Each shelf was neatly labeled, with bottles and cages clearly defined, but both the quantity and quality was far below proper Maierson standards. There were a few runty mushrooms and herbs, roots with the dirt still clinging to them, barely more than a dusting of mineral powders and shavings, a far cry from the tubs and vats of ingredients back in the Factory. A few crickets warbled pathetically in hand-made traps while grubs twitched in the bottom of a mossy terrarium. Maine tossed her head, she’d seen better stock in a back market stall. Henna was definitely slipping.
Ifri meowed as he leapt over Dandy and came into the store, sniffing curiously. The rune gave one last burst of smoke at his passing and then boiled away completely. With a loud groan, Dandy collapsed, twitching slightly. “Thanks for the help,” he moaned.
“It was only a freezing ward,” she told him. “You’re fine.” She smiled as she wandered around the shop, lifting a few potions bottles and stirring up the dregs left in the bottoms. She could remember sitting with Henna and tracing out the runes, her little fingers clenched so tightly around the chalk, desperate to get it right. It had been one of her first attempts at magic, and in spite of everything, she found herself laughing softly. They’d set so many traps for Matthew that afternoon, he’d been too nervous to open a door for weeks after. Of course, Gran hadn’t been quite so amused, and that memory made the warm feeling inside her evaporate like smoke.
She sniffed abruptly, running a finger along the edge of the counter to draw a line in the dust. “It was probably days old anyway from the look of it. I don’t think she’s been here for a while”
Dandy crawled into the shop, still shaking off the effects of the spell. “I hope not,” he said suddenly, reaching under a display table for something. He held it up to Maine.
It was a brick, probably what had broken the window. Scrawled in bold red letters over it was the word ‘KILLER’.
Maine opened her mouth and then closed it, turning away quickly. “There’s no way to know,” she told him. She ducked behind the counter and started tugging open drawers. “C’mon! If she’s not here, let’s at least try and find out where she’s gone.”
“What? Like she left a note - ‘sorry you missed me, hiding out here now’?”
“Well, maybe,” Maine admitted. “Look, they always leave a note or a clue in the stories. It’s a rule!” One drawer in particular was being stubborn and she tugged at it fiercely, finally yanking it open. Papers spilled out of the opening and she cried out in triumph. “Ah ha! Look here!”
Dandy dropped the brick and wandered over, peering across the counter. “I don’t think that’s a clue.”
A stack of newspaper clippings and letters had jammed the drawer closed. She recognized a few of the publications, The New York Times, The Washington Post, the Chicago Tribune, even a few clippings from Elder papers like The Old Coney Times and the Gnomish Fine Print (which exclusively came in 3 by 5 inch printings). But there were more; papers from all around the world, in French, Spanish, German, languages that even she couldn’t guess at. Even without being able to read them however, the headlines and pictures were more than familiar
Spilling out around her feet were dozens of copies of the same images: the blown out, smoking ruin of Testing Center 3, the black stone of the Pyramid behind it, heavy with graffiti. Her brother stepping off the train from Princeton, still in his school clothes, looking ashen and stunned. A funeral procession through Old Coney, with herself and Matthew following a black-draped hearse-
Maine slammed the drawer shut again, then turned around and walked back a few paces, breathing tightly through her nose. Dandy bent down, poking through the papers still on the floor. He looked confused
“There must be more than a dozen different papers… Why would she keep all of these?”
“Who knows,” Maine said shortly. “Maybe she just likes gloating…” She kicked fiercely at a nearby cabinet, making it shudder.
Dandy stood, looking towards the back of the shop. “Hmm, what’s this?” There was another closed door. He rattled the handle and pushed it open, glancing through. “There’s more back here,” he called. He started to walk through, then froze, backing up quickly.
“Um, your turn to go first,” he told Maine.
Below him, Ifri ran through the doorway, tail held high, his nose twitching curiously. Maine smiled at Dandy and strolled through after the kitten.
“Looks fine to me,” she called back. Grumbling, Dandy trailed after her.
The back room looked to be a laboratory of some sort. There were flasks and jars scattered about, with papers and books full of scribbles and notations everywhere. Just like the other room however, there were no signs that anyone had been here for a while.
“I guess she’s been living here,” Dandy noted, nodding to a small cot in the back of the room. He got close and then wrinkled his nose. “Probably for a while.” He looked over at Maine, who was studying the papers and books on a table in the middle of the room. “What do you think she was working on?”
“I’m not sure,” she frowned. The papers were all alchemical formulas, she could tell that much, but they were hard to read, with so much scratched out or written over. “I think she’s trying to work out the formulas, or change them? It’s hard to tell…” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “Wait… Wait a minute…” She grabbed at another paper, then another and another. “I can’t believe it!”
“What? What is it?”
She thrust the papers and books off the desk, sending a few of the jars flying. They shattered on the floor as the loose papers rained down, each one with the same M insignia on the bottom corner. “They’re all Maierson formulas!” she shouted. “That’s intellectual theft! It’s not enough that she got Gran killed, now she’s trying to rob us too!”
Dandy picked up one of the papers and then let it fall. “If she’s working with the First Born, she already technically robbed you,” he pointed out.
Maine continued to fume. “I can’t believe this. After everything we did for her… And Matthew! I thought she…” She yelled again, throwing up her arms. “Ugh, if she was here right now, I’d punch her lights out!”
Ifri darted to the side as she started to rage about the room, knocking over bottles and jars, finally even going to the cot and flipping it over with a bestial yell. As she stood there panting, Dandy calmly asked her, “Feeling better?”
Her shoulders slumped. “No,” she said in a glum voice.
“You want to go back home?”
“Yeah.”
Dandy nodded. “This was a long shot anyways,” he said, sounding like he was trying to put the best face on it. “I mean, who knows where she could be.”
Ifri had been sniffing at the edge of the overturned cot, when he suddenly went taunt, his head snapping around to look towards the front of the shop. His mouth opened and he gave a soft hiss.
KhIIIIssss!
Maine and Dandy both looked up. They could hear what sounded like horses outside, and a wagon pulling up to the gate. Dandy ran to close the door to the back room, but Maine stopped him, holding it open just an inch so she could peer through.
“Who is it?” he asked her, looking nervous.
“Shut up,” she hissed back. “I can’t see yet.”
They could hear many voices calling out; rough, male voices. They were laughing, calling to each other, and Maine’s eyes narrowed, pulling the door a little more closed.
A man appeared in the open doorway to the shop, silhouetted darkly against the light from the outside. “Hello the shop!” he shouted. “Anyone here!” Not waiting for an answer, he stomped in, swinging a stout cudgel over his shoulder. Maine gave a start of surprise: he was Human! The man looked like a common roughneck, dirty and unshaven, clad in stained and battered clothing with a red bandanna tied around one arm. He glanced dumbly at the shelves and cabinets, poking his stick at the cricket cages and worm bins. “What the hell kinda shop is this?”
Three more men entered the shop behind him. Each was dressed just like him, right down to the identical armbands. “Doesn’t matter,” one of them grunted. “Search the place for the jackrabbit. If she’s here, grab her.”
The last man through the door was lugging a pair of metal jugs in each hand. They looked heavy and sloshed with each step. As the others fanned out, peering about the shop, he dropped one of the jugs to the floor and started to empty the other, splashing its contents against the walls. Even from where she stood, Maine could smell the sharp stink of kerosene.
“Hey!” the first man yelled, getting the would-be arsonist’s attention. “Wait until we’re done looking first!”
Dandy grabbed Maine’s hand. He pointed behind them and she saw a small door in the back of the room. “C’mon!” he hissed.
Maine shut the back room door quietly, throwing the latch. Then, they both ran for the back door, Dandy in the lead. He pushed it open, dashing through, just as Maine remembered something. “Wait!” she started to yell.
As he stepped through the doorway, there was a sudden electric crack and another flash of orange light. And just like before, Dandy froze up, paralyzed mid-step by the ward. His momentum carried him forwards, and he fell roughly down the stairs to the sand below.
“Dandy!” Maine yelled, forgetting herself.
Behind her, she heard the break of glass and someone said, “Hey! You hear that?” There was the sound of heavy footsteps and then the office door started to rattle.
“Damn it!” she cursed. “Dandy, can you move?” Of course, he didn’t answer. All he could do was lay there, leg still extended in the air. She hesitated, looking down at the ward and seeing it still smoking on the threshold. Behind her, the door shuddered roughly as someone on the other side put their shoulder into it.
She had maybe a few moments. There was no way she could carry Dandy on her own and get away. No way to hide him either. Thinking quickly, she dropped to her knees in front of the office door. Sweeping the floor clear of papers with one hand, she pulled out her handy guide book again, and reached into her pocket for rune chalk. “Wards, wards, wards,” she muttered, trying to find the right page again. The door shuddered again, one of the hinges jarring loose.
She found the page and started to draw, her hand moving quickly. Tongue pinched between her teeth, her eyes flew back and forth from the book to the diagram, checking her progress. She couldn’t afford to get anything wrong now. “Start with the circle and move inwards,” she muttered, hearing Henna’s words somehow in her head.
“Start with the circle and move inwards,” she’d told her. “Remember the order of the brush strokes as well; it’s just as important how you draw a glyph as it is how closely you get it right.”
“What if I make a mistake?”
“Then you’ll have to start over. The more times you lift your chalk, the more breakpoints there will be in the drawing. Too many, and the glyph might not work.”
Maine remembered her hand closing over her small fingers, guiding her chalk. “Don’t raise the chalk, not until you’re done. Keep it one, complete stroke, that’s the Maierson way.”
She could almost feel those fingers now, guiding her hand. The chalk began to glow and tingle, and she could feel the magic building up in the diagram. Just a bit more to go…
The door shuddered once more, then burst open. One of the men stumbled into the room, staring wide-eyed at her. “Who the hell are-”
As his hand reached out for her, Maine lifted the chalk up finally. The glyph sparked into life, filling the room with an electric blue light. The man’s eyes flashed down, seeing his foot over the edge of the chalk diagram.
Maine threw up her hands in triumph. “Got yo-”
The glyph exploded all at once, hurling the man backwards and into the shop, bowling over the other men coming in behind him. Maine was lifted up off her feet and thrown through the air. She flew backwards, crashing through a window and landing roughly in the grass outside the shop.
She lay there stunned for a moment in the tall grass, hardly able to breathe. As she lay there, blinking, Ifri’s head popped into view, staring down at her curiously.
Mrow?
“I’m okay,” she groaned, pushing herself up. She coughed out smoke, and extinguished a smoldering piece of her hair between her fingers. All the windows to the backroom were blown out, and the door hung off its hinges. She blinked, trying to think of what had gone wrong. The glyph had looked right at least…
“Mai-Maine?” Dandy called to her.
Still groaning, she pushed herself up and crawled over to where he lay. “Can you move yet?” she asked.
He gritted his teeth and slowly forced his leg down, grunting with effort. “A little. Was that you inside? Doing magic?”
“Yeah,” she said, starting to pull him up to his feet.
“Stop helping,” he told her.
“Oh, shut up.”
From inside the backroom, she could hear loud groaning sounds. They didn’t have long. She looked behind her quickly. Henna had at least cleared a bit of space behind the building for her alchemy experiments, but it didn’t leave them many places to hide. Seven large jars were buried up to their necks in the sand, with each of their lids sealed tightly with wax. Behind them, past the tall grass, were rows of stacked, weathered looking barrels, leftovers from the shop's former inhabitants.
“Just get out of here,” Dandy told her. He was stumbling on his legs, hardly able to move. “Run, leave me.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Shut up,” she snapped. She pushed him towards the barrels. “Hide behind them! I’ll be there in a sec!”
“Maine! What?”
She turned around and dashed to the jars, looking quickly down the line at the symbols scratched into the wax. “No. No. No. N-Yes!” She grabbed the fourth jar and began to pull at the wax, trying to pry the top open. The wax was stubborn though of course, chosen to protect the contacts from the elements, and refused to give. She reared back and kicked at it with the heel of her boot, striking it once, twice, three times, and shattered the top of the jar.
The stink of rotten eggs and worse drifted up at her. She could see lumps of saltpeter and the corpses of sulfurmanders floating in the muck at the bottom of the jar. Holding her nose, she dashed to the side of the shop, where a rain barrel stood against the corner of the building, and a bucket.
One of the men staggered out of the shop, still woozy on his feet. Bracing himself against the wall, he blinked and stared at Maine. “Hey, stop right there!”
Maine dashed the bucket through the water, holding it tight as she ran back to the jars. She could hear the man stumbling down the steps behind her, still shouting. “C’mon, c’mon!” she said, pouring the water down into the open jar.
The muck at the bottom began to boil immediately as the water hit it. The pot started to shake, quivering in the sand. A pungent smell began to fill the air, and Maine backed away, holding her breath. She turned to run, when suddenly a hand grabbed her.
“Got ya now!” the man yelled, pulling her off her feet. He opened his mouth to say more, but then his eyes welled up and he started to cough, hacking fiercely. Bringing up her legs, she kicked at his gut. He dropped her, sagging to his knees, groping blindly for her. She could see the other men now, stumbling out of the back room. They ran headfirst into the gas cloud, leaking out of the pot, and they started to yell, covering their eyes and noses. Maine turned and ran for the barrels.
Dandy was waving to her by the barrels. “C’mon!” he yelled. They ducked behind the first row of barrels and started to run, Ifri dashing in front of them.
“Where are we going?”
“Who cares,” he told her. “Just run!” He was moving stiffly, but as fast as he could. She grabbed his arm and started to pull him along.
“Keep going! We can lose them in the dunes!”
Suddenly, the barrels in front of them went flying as one of the men plowed his way through with a roar. They both yelled as they were knocked back. He stood over them, eyes red with tears and still coughing. “Damn brats!”
Maine scrambled for her bag, but he was on top of her in a moment, twisting her arm. “No more tricks from you!” She stared up at him, and then she saw a blur of movement behind him.
There was the sound of something solid hitting bone and the man went stiff, dropping to his knees. Maine gasped, able to breathe again, and looked up.
A dark-skinned man stood overtop of her. He looked to be young, in his twenties maybe, with short, dark hair and a gray tweed suit. He hefted a sturdy looking cane in his hands like he knew how to use it, and on his lapel, was a silver US Marshal’s star.
His nose twitched suddenly and he smiled down at her. “Miss Maierson, I presume? Hoo, you led us on quite a chase!” His voice was friendly, with an irrepressible joy to it, and she couldn’t help but smile.
Before she could answer though, the roughneck staggered back up to his feet. “Hold on,” the Marshal said, “this one’s still got some bite in him!”
The roughneck lashed out at him, fist blurring through the air, but as quick as he was, the Marshal was even faster. He dodged the blow, jumping in to smash his cane against the man’s temple, before he’d even finished his swing. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes.
“Ha! There we go!” the Marshal crowed. He danced over the roughneck like a boxer, swinging his fists triumphantly. “Too long since I had a proper dust up!”
He continued to punch the air for a moment, till the sound of Dandy groaning seemed to reach him. “Whoa, sorry there! Didn’t see you, little friend.” He helped him up to his feet and then went to check on Maine. “How are you doing, Miss Maierson?”
“Okay,” she coughed, trying to catch her breath. He smiled at her, then looked up quickly.
The three other roughnecks were starting to recover in the yard. The pot had stopped bubbling, and the ocean breeze had blown away much of the gas cloud. Still, the Marshal put a hand to his nose and stepped back, laughing awkwardly at the men as they advanced. “Ya know, I’d love to tussle with you all,” he said to them. “I really would. But, I think I’m gonna leave you to my partner.”
A hulking Asian man appeared, walking out the shop behind them. Not tall, but broad-shouldered, with arms that would’ve put a Forge worker to shame. He wore a wide Stetson hat with a loose poncho and dungarees, and his hair was gathered into a messy ponytail that hung past his shoulders. “That’d be me,” he grunted, poking up the brim of his hat with one finger. An identical Marshal’s badge gleamed on his chest.
The nearest roughneck turned and rushed at him, swinging wildly. He was a huge man, well over six feet and thick bodied, but the man in the cowboy hat simply reached up and caught his fist, as easily as he might’ve caught a child’s ball. The roughneck grimaced, trying to pull his fist free, then yelled, dropping to his knees as the Marshal started to squeeze. There was a terrible cracking sound, and the roughneck sagged, his face white.
The two other roughnecks looked at each other for a moment, then turned and fled, running towards the road.
The Marshal snarled, his lips curling back. “Hey, don’t forget your friend!” With hardly any effort, he twisted sharply, hurling the first man over his shoulder and towards the fleeing pair. He struck them soundly in the back, and the three went sprawling, disappearing from sight around the house.
The first Marshal let out a whoop of delight and slapped his leg. “Not too shabby, Feng!” The other Marshal just grunted, rubbing his stubbly chin.
Maine stared at them. “Who are you people?”
The first Marshal grinned at her. “Why, we’re your babysitters, Miss Maierson. Your brother’s been worried. I think it’s time we got back home, don’t you?”