Jesse sits there in silence, feeling the riverbreeze through his hair and looking to the passing countryside. Faintly on the air a tinge of campsmoke, far off in the chimney of a passing and long abandoned factory a swirling of swifts, greatly dervishing and whistling as they climb and swoop among the shattered windows and torn up roof. The water passing by quickly in the dead light, yet a thin violet glow on the horizon casting up against white bead stars, the ships twin lanterns glowing bright and guiding their way casting their pale glow onto the shoreline. Watching them are pairs of green eyes from the shore, men standing there with hands on canes and cigarettes glowing in the evening. Jesse sends their way a wave but they do not respond.

“We’ll be having to stop soon.” Monty Merce calls, his pipe clasped in his teeth and blowing up to join the billowing of steam which rises from the rear of the ship.

“That’s just fine.” Jesse calls back, his first words in the past hour.

“Well what’d yer cards read?” Sunny had asked him. Jesse had only shook his head, rolled himself a cigarette.

They pull to the shore in a nestle of magnolias and myrtles, the river narrowed here and the trees flowering leaves forming almost a canopy over them, visible through the gap in its center the half-eye moon looking upon them like pure carat silver. Faintly visible in this clear country sky is Mars a glowing and purest of rubies and Saturn, its rings a color of astral ivory there, the two planets dancing there as counterpoint brothers of war and wealth, forgotten and great pagan gods these far off astrologies their only memorial.

“Ye’ll dine with us.” Monty says.

“We can eat on our own.” Sunny says.

“I insist.”

“Alright. If you insist.”

“Just help me with this table here and I’ll set out the silverwares.” The Knights help Monty with a long table of ornate and dark grained wood, setting it out between the towers of crates and ladening it with tablecloth of clean white linen, then fine china plates and silverware to match. In total eleven chairs are set out. Monty looks the knights up and down and then turns back to the cabin, raising a cupped hand to his mouth.

“Ye can come out now.” He calls. From within the cabin a rustling as the knights shuffle on their feet awkwardly and then come the Merce children, all five in a line of curious and peering blue eyes. They line up there to face the knights from oldest to youngest, the eldest daughter perhaps eighteen or nineteen and the youngest son perhaps eight or nine, three daughters and two sons in total. Standing there they look like a set of fine porcelain china dolls, all tall and gorgeous with the same black hair, milky skin and freckled faces, and those stark eyes.

“Howdy.” The Eldest Daughter says, smiling at the knights. Jesse looks into her eyes and his heart beats faster, her dressed there in an ornate white dress on which are painted images of swooping birds, robins and canaries and bluejays and red cardinals, almost seeming a fine artwork there in its make, hanging from her slender neck a crucifix of well polished silver.

“These here are my children. Florence, Francisco, Clementine, Joan, Alain.” Monty says, pointing from oldest to youngest. All five of the children are dressed in fine merchant clothes, elegant and seeming slightly excessive in this summer evening still stuffy.

“Good to meet ye.” Francisco says, eyeing Jesse suspiciously as he looks at his sister. Jesse averts his eyes, coughs into his hand. The knights sit on the starboard side of the table while Monty sits at the head, the youngest children sitting on the port while the older go to fetch dinner. The entire setup feels unusually formal, reminding almost of the grand feasts hosted by The King back in Dullwater’s castle though on a much smaller scale.

“We can help lay out the food.” Sunny says uncomfortably, shuffling to get settled on his chair.

“Nah, not our guests. We don't get company often, you know.” Monty says.

“Usually we are the company.” He adds. There laid out in front of them are silver platters of cooked duck, potatoes and a fine vegetable gravy, jams of lingonberry and fresh summer strawberries, and a huge pitcher of wine poured out into crystalline glasses. Florence’s hair falls near Jesse’s face as she pours out his wine and he scoots back uncomfortably. Sunny sees this and holds a hand to cover his smile and pats Jesse on the back discreetly.

“Fine evening isn't it?” Jesse says, Florence taking the open seat directly in front of him on the table. Jesse pours the wine into his crystalline glass, finding the taste fine, hinting vaguely of strawberries.

“Just fine. Was a long winter spent holed up outside Dullwater.” Monty says, carving away at the duck as the Merce Siblings and The Knights pile their plates high.

“Did ye like the place?”

“Well. In fear of being impolite, it's a stinking city.”

“I’m afraid I agree.”

“Most cityfolk tend to hate the city, most countryfolk tend to hate the country.”

“And traveling folk?”

“Most traveling folk want to settle down.”

“Ah, the old curse of desire.”

“I don't want to settle down.” Florence chimes in quietly.

“And why’s that?” Jesse asks. Florence motions to the country expanse, pointing up at the moon and stars as she does.

“Better view of the stars.”

“Fair enough.” Monty clears his throat.

“Dullwater’s too close to.” Monty hesitates.

“To what?” Sunny says.

“Well, I ain’t ought to get into politics.”

“It's alright.” Sunny seems on edge, dark eyes drained of humor.

“Too close to The King, I was going to say.”

“Well. Everyone’s entitled to their opinions, as long as they’re a law abiding citizen.” Giles says.

“Well. So it is, I suppose.” Monty coughs into his hand.

“How did it treat ye?” He says.

“Fine enough.”

“Not of noble stock, are ye?”

“No. Does it matter?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Well, if I thought you were nobles I might not want to dine with ye.” Monty laughs.

“Pa.” Florence says, eyes flitting about.

“What?” Monty takes a long drink of wine, emptying his cup.

“Enough with the politics, Pa.”

“Yer, yer, fair enough. I'm a lightweight I am.” Monty says, tapping at the cup and winking. Jesse smiles slightly.

“These boys ain't though. Got their horses stolen back in Greenhorn by some-”

“An unfortunate accident, that was.” Morgan interjects quickly, eyes going first to Jesse then to Florence.

“Well.”

“Indeed it was.” Duncan says. A long silence falling across the table, the food proving wonderful. The grease of duck fat soaks into the potatoes, the whole thing forming the finest meal the young knights have tasted in a long while.

“And yer name?” Florence says politely. Jesse looks at her a second not comprehending her question, following the contours of her freckled face with his eyes.

“Jesse.” Sunny nudges him, failing to cover his wide smile.

“Oh. Jesse Black.”

“Well. Good to meet ye Jesse Black.”

“Good to meet ye.” Jesse shifts on his chair.

“The rest of the company here is Sunny, Duncan, Giles, and him there is my brother Morgan.”

“I could tell.”

“I figured you could tell. Uh.” Jesse coughs, cheeks flushing hard as he finishes his meal. He pours himself another glass of wine, draining it all in one gulp.

“Good wine.”

“Only the finest.” Monty says.

“Where from?” Duncan saves him.

“Way upriver. Contentious neck of the woods there but not so bad.”

“Contentious how?”

“Well. I promised no politics.”

“It's alright.” Florence shifts uncomfortably.

“Well, the war’s brewing hot there.”

“War?” Sunny says, laughing.

“Ain't no war. Some rebels killing folk doesn't constitute a war.” He says.

“Well. That's a matter of some debate isn't it? Sure seems like a war to me, and I would know.” Monty says. Sunny begins to speak up and Jesse taps him on the back. Sunny slumps back in his chair.

“All the rebels will be strung up from trees or shot dead by the end of the year.” He says.

“All their children too, the way the monarchists like it.” Monty says.

“Pa!” Florence says, face shocked.

“Sorry, sorry. I ought to retire now, before this wine makes my lips too much looser. Have a good night.”

“You ought to. Have a good night.” Sunny says after him.

That night Jesse struggles to sleep with the rocking of the anchored boat, looking up to the stars and wrapping himself tightly in his blanket. This late in the summer, nearly september, the nights growing colder and colder, the leaves already beginning to tinge with red and brown and gold. He closes his eyes and feels the prickles of his skin, listens to the chorus of bullfrogs, hears faintly in the distance a trotting of horses and chattering amongst traveling men. He looks to his fellow knights and sees they are already fast asleep, Duncan snoring and curled up into a ball like some great and hibernating bear, Sunny's long legs splayed out with his hat tipped over his eyes. He sighs, lays back down, and closes his eyes.

Soon after he hears a clicking of a door opening, looks to the cabin. There walking out of it is Florence Merce lit by silvery moonlight, where she strolls with silent slippered feet to the bow of the ship and lights there a cigarette. Jesse watches her as she takes long drags, the glow of its cherry rising and receding in waves, long trails of smoke rising and disapparating on the wind. She turns to look at the young knights, finally setting her eyes on Jesse’s. She gives him a wave and a beckoning motion.

Jesse stands uneasily, walks over to her careful not to creak the boards of the ship and wake his fellows. He sits there at her side with feet dangling over the bow, and she passes him her cigarette. He takes a long drag and coughs before handing it back to her.

“Fine tobacco.”

“Fine enough. It’s a poor habit.”

“Many habits are poor.” Florence laughs.

“I suppose. I’m sorry about my pa. Sometimes he gets carried away.”

“It's alright. Everyones entitled to their own opinions.”

“Maybe.” Florence sighs.

“I’d just rather not think about the whole thing, if you'd believe that.”

“I wish I could spare not thinking about it.”

“Amen. Yer dispatch. Does it have anything to do with the rebels?”

“Not that I know of. Simple territorial dispute between two families over in Fortune.”

“Is Fortune by the sea?”

“It is. You never been out to sea?” Florence shakes her head.

“I haven't. All this time on the water and never once have I touched the ocean.”

“You seen it?”

“I have. Once or twice.” Florence tips her head back, lets her long hair fall about her face, seeming luminous and almost impossibly beautiful there in the lunar cast. Jesse looks up to the moon there, sees its ancient rivers and craters and seas where once perhaps life had teemed, for all he knows.

“I haven't even done that.” Jesse says.

“No ocean in Dullwater I suppose.”

“Hardly any water either, unless you go into the sewer.” Florence laughs.

“You a frequent sewer dweller?”

“No. Uh.” Jesse coughs.

“Just teasing.” Florence looks back to the knights sleeping there.

“Interesting company you have.”

“No better company than strange company, I used to be told.”

“You got parents?” Jesse falls silent, shakes his head.

“Well. I'm sorry about that. I had a ma once upon a time.”

“So you know what it's like? To lose yer family.”

“I suppose I do. I wish I didn't.” Jesse sighs, rubs at his head.

“I have my brother, and he's all the family I need.”

“I make fun of my siblings enough but I do love em.”

“Aye, as family is.” The two fall silent there, looking out over the water. Florence turns to him with something strange in her eyes but doesn't say a word.

“Well, goodnight then, Jesse.”

“Goodnight Florence.” She gives him a sad smile and turns off to go back to the cabin. He watches her walk away, black hair falling pleasantly across her back. Tucked behind one ear a magnolia of pure white.

The next day steaming down the river, hot wind blowing through the countryside, perhaps the last hurrah of summer stifling in degree. Sweat drips down the young knights faces as they sit under shade of hat and crate watching the country slip by, great and sprawling pastures and aristocratic plantations where laborers look at them from weary face as they tend the fields of cotton and tobacco. Those great mansions startling in their grandeur, two and three stories of perfect maintenance, great columns and rooftops looking much like ancient temples of marble in their ivory gleam and vine wrapped banisters.

“Some say they hide slaves in these mansions.” Duncan says, spitting off over the edge.

“Mostly blacks.” He adds.

“Maybe so. What are we to do about it?” Jesse says. Passing by a flag hanging from one of those grand balcony patios, the royal colors of green and gold there, the olive branch, the perched owl, and the rifle the symbols of the crown. There in its shadow a tilling cart drug not by a mule but by two men of dark skin, laboring and sweating hard under the sun. Up and around the bend of the river and they are gone.

“Nothin, I suppose.” Duncan says, shaking his head.

Around noon Jesse begins to smell a vague stench of smoke on the wind, just a tinge smelling like nothing more than campfire woodsmoke. It grows stronger and stronger, and Jesse begins to smell another scent on that smoke-a smell like searing pork. He turns to Sunny sitting there at his side.

“You smell that?” Sunny sniffs at the wind.

“Yer, I smell it. Wooh God, that's strong aint it.” Sunny says, eyes watering and the smell getting stronger.

“Almost makes me hungry.” He jests. Jesse smiles weakly, wiping sweat from his brow. Up the river and around a curve populated by dangling hyacinths and Jesse stands suddenly, pointing up the river.

“Sunny.” Jesse says. Sunny shoots up, eyes wide, and the rest of the knights follow.

“Ah, shit. Boys, get yer guns ready.” He calls. Up the river there stands the source of the smoke still ablaze and casting off poppings of embers and sparks into the hot air, a burning plantation of three grand stories which were once white but are now charred black with heat.

“Aye. Watch out on the left here.” Monty says, dragging from his pipe and seeming strangely calm. That stench now nearly overpowering as they approach the cotton fields where cotton of snow white turns alight to black, the raging inferno spreading and licking at the boat as they approach the banks.

There cast in the plantations leaping shadow the hanging tree where the rebels have strung up the plantation owners family, hanging from lengths of rope there five in a row, all dressed in fine and rich clothing and with their eyes bugged and faces swollen and purple. One wife, one husband, and three children, one boy, one girl, and one baby of indistinguishable gender hung up not by rope by its small neck but instead by a length of shoe string, swaying there in the wind like a grotesque christmas ornament. Carved into each of their foreheads in fresh and running blood the symbol of the rebels, the sightful eye of jagged edge and sin seeing pupil.

“Oh, God. That's just awful.” Giles says, at Jesse’s side. He holds a hand to his mouth and then vomits, Jesse not noticing as he scans the burning fields for signs of the assailants with hands on his twin guns.

“Stop the ship.” Jesse calls to Monty.

“Can’t do that.”

“Man I said stop the ship.” Jesse calls.

“I can’t do that. Not my fight and this is no place to get killed.” Monty calls back. Jesse locks eyes with him in there a cool venom. He shakes his head, seeing far in the distance a dozen riders of black horse and cloak riding off over the hills.

“Oh, God.” Florence says at his side, holding her hands over her mouth and eyes bugged in shock. Jesse sees cast away into the grass there the shoes of the baby, dainty and pale blue. It was presumably a boy. Scattered amongst the cotton fields the flaming corpses of the laborers, desiccated by bullet and blade and flame and with their blood strewn across the cotton bubbling in the heat, coming from it all an iron stench overwhelming in intensity.

Around the bend and the plantation is gone save the stench, much like that of burning pork.