Thomas was weary as they headed toward Houston. Because it was as far as the rail line extended, it was the last point they could reach by train. For the remainder of the journey to Blackwater, they would have to transfer to a stagecoach. This transfer would leave them exposed and stationary while their luggage was being loaded, making it an ideal time for any interested parties to make a move. But, If they could get out of Houston, the trip to San Antonio would be the easiest part of the journey left. Even so, it would still fall short of the ease and comfort of the train.
As he leaned down to clean some blood off his shoe, Thomas noted that the third armed man who had boarded back in New Orleans was still on the train. Though the man had done nothing suspicious, he hadn’t even made eye contact with anyone. He had kept his hat low, and partially obscured his face with a bandana, this raised an alarm in Thomas' brain. Although, he didn't feel confident enough about the mans intentions to act just yet and so had to wait.
The scenery outside the window shifted to expansive prairies dotted with sparse farmland. A swarm of wisp weavers floated over the fields—tiny, bright white, ravenous insects that made farming in these parts especially dangerous.
Before long, they entered the bayous surrounding Houston. The dense vegetation of the swamps attracted countless species of both ordinary and magical beasts, creating a rich hunting ground for trappers and trophy hunters alike. Thomas watched as a well-equipped party fought a Bayou Grim. The creature stood ten feet tall, covered in tendrils resembling Spanish moss. Beneath its camouflage, the Grim had thick, dark green scales and a head shaped like an alligator's but with a shorter snout and two elongated teeth protruding from its lower jaw.
The hunting party had cornered the Grim against the raised train track and a massive veilwood colossus tree. Blood seeped from its wounds, darkening the surrounding water. The Grim began whipping up mist and fog to conceal itself and escape. Before the mist could thicken, one of the hunters fired a shotgun loaded with fire salt. The tiny red flecks tore through the creature’s magic tendrils, striking its face. Though the fire salt wouldn’t cause real harm, it stung, distracting the Grim. As it raised its webbed hands to its face, two other hunters lunged with iron-tipped pikes, knowing the Grim’s weakness to iron. The pikes pierced the beast’s tough hide, hitting vital organs and bringing the creature down with a final, piercing cry. The display reminded Thomas to check their weapons, ensuring they were prepared for any beasts they might encounter.
Soon, the train was crossing the San Jacinto River, entering Houston’s industrial outskirts. Lumberyards and warehouses quickly gave way to a bustling town in rapid expansion, demanding more rail lines, more buildings, and more industry, all flowing in by rail or boat. The streets teemed with merchants, townsfolk, carriages, wagons, and street vendors, creating a chaotic scene. This was precisely what Thomas had hoped for—a crowd large enough for them to blend in and avoid any trouble.
The station here was slightly nicer than the one in Beaumont, boasting better paint and an actual platform. As the train pulled in, Thomas spotted their stagecoach and prepared Mr. Liu to disembark. They maneuvered into the crowd as passengers poured off the train, heading with the flow toward the stagecoach. Thomas quickly ushered Mr. Liu inside, locking the door, and then directed the driver and guard on which bags to load. After what felt like an eternity, they were finally loaded and ready. Thomas scanned the area one last time for any threats before climbing in and signaling the driver to move.
The driver assigned for this leg of the journey was a man who typically handled smuggling operations for Mr. Porter. His stagecoach was reinforced for the job, with sturdier axles, wheels, and suspension, allowing for faster travel over rough terrain. The false branding as an overland mail coach helped them avoid unwanted scrutiny.
They left the train station at a steady pace, following other coaches and wagons to blend in. Most roads were little more than dirt, though well-maintained, allowing for a smooth exit past the town’s edge.
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Once they cleared the town limits and entered open prairie, the driver began pushing the horses harder, causing Thomas and Mr. Liu to be jostled in their seats. Mr. Liu looked irritated, frustrated that he couldn’t focus on his work.
Every fifteen miles, the stagecoach stopped to swap horses, allowing them to maintain a swift pace. Richmond, San Felipe, Columbus—they all seemed to blur by. Traveling through the night, they pushed on through Schulenburg, Gonzales, and finally reached Seguin, their last stop before San Antonio. Here, Thomas and Mr. Liu got out to stretch and eat.
Thomas observed the quirky little frontier town. Primarily an agricultural settlement, Seguin was unique in its extensive use of concrete in building construction. This sturdy material had helped the town thrive despite the threat posed by a large mudspine population in the near by lakes and rivers.
As he took in the scenery, Thomas caught a glimpse of a figure on the distant horizon. He turned to get a better look but the figured had disappeared. A frown crossed his face, he was not one to ignore such things and assumed they were being followed.
He hurried everyone back into the stagecoach, and they resumed their journey. The dusty road carried them past more farmland, which gradually gave way to open grasslands and scrub. Pushing hard, they neared San Antonio by afternoon. More ranches and small settlements became visible, as did a minor military presence, with soldiers and supply carts on the move.
Approaching San Antonio proper, the blend of cultural influences was evident, with buildings reflecting Spanish, Mexican, Anglo, and Prussian styles. Although the roads were dirt, the buildings displayed a sense of pride. The Spanish missions and historic structures were well-maintained, and the adobe and limestone architecture was clearly tended to regularly.
As they approached the central plaza, they passed numerous Spanish and Mexican-style homes with beautiful courtyards and shaded verandas. The plaza itself was a broad, bustling square lined with shops, government buildings, and market stalls. The east of the plaza was dominated by San Fernando Cathedral, its massive bell tower visible throughout the town. The plaza center teemed with activity—mariachi bands, dancers, street performers, and an open-air theater entertained crowds of people.
Their driver turned down a side street, avoiding the crowded plaza and guiding them to their accommodation for the night. Thomas had planned very few stops along the way, but he considered this one essential, as the upcoming stretch to El Paso would be long and grueling. Their lodging was a safe house used by Mr. Porter’s organization, a modest adobe building that blended seamlessly with the surrounding neighborhood. Its reinforced doors and windows, however, offered Thomas some peace of mind over the security of Mr Liu.
After settling Mr. Liu in and instructing the driver and guard to keep watch, Thomas decided to take a brief walk.
He wandered through Plaza de las Islas, taking in the sounds and atmosphere. Unable to resist, he sampled several food stalls, enjoying tamales, empanadas, and sopaipillas. Though he rarely shared this, Thomas found great pleasure in food. Exploring new flavors and indulging in old favorites, he especially loved cooking, having invested in a high-end kitchen for himself. He found that cooking offered both intellectual challenge and creative expression. Something that he used to feel about fighting.
As he wiped honey from his face, he noticed what he had been searching for. In the shadows beyond the plaza, the man from the train lurked, confirming Thomas’s suspicions from Seguin.
Thomas continued to savor his food, moving casually through the plaza, pausing at stalls or watching performers. Gradually, he worked his way to a crowd gathered to watch a Jarabe Tapatío dance. The colorful costumes and intricate, lively dancing drew all eyes to the performers. As they reached a particularly energetic movement, Thomas used the distraction to slip into a nearby alley and ducked behind a doorway, concealing himself from the plaza.
As expected, the man from the train soon dashed into the alley, hot on Thomas’s trail. Once the man passed him, Thomas silently stepped out and began to follow from the shadows. The man wound his way through narrow streets, doubling back briefly to scan the plaza for Thomas before continuing. He crossed the San Antonio River, weaving through more streets until he reached the grounds of the Alamo. The chapel still bore scars from its historic battle, and the open ground in front of it was bare, apart from a few low stone walls. The man stopped here, searching for any sign of his quarry.
Thomas seized the opportunity to attack, charging the man and throwing a powerful right hook just as the man turned. The punch missed by mere fractions of an inch.
“Luck just saved this guy's life" Thought Thomas. As he replayed the moment in his mind, he corrected himself "No, not luck. Skill. I didn’t miss by a fraction—he dodged by that much because that's as far as he needed to dodge. Efficient movement. A fighter.”