December 3rd, 1884
West of Willisborough
Tomas Luck adjusted himself in the saddle as another town came into view. This one looked much smaller. He pulled the reins back, bringing Wayward to a halt. He was about a mile away from the town. Before ever getting close, he had stopped to check his wounds and clean up. Nothing looked more suspicious than a stranger riding into town covered in someone else's blood.
“What a day, what a day,” he said, reaching into one of the saddlebags on the right, searching for his binoculars. “Ah!” Luck groaned, pulling his hand from the bag to reveal a bloody cut on his hand. “Great.”
Luck reached with his other hand into the saddlebags on the left and pulled out a tin box where he kept some medical supplies. There was a scalpel, tweezers, bandages, and a balm his mother had taught him to make in the box. Luck washed his hand with the remaining water from his canteen then covered the cut in the balm. Once a good coat was on the cut, he used a bandage to wrap his hand up. Luck put his medical supplies away and reached into the saddlebag once more. Carefully, he pulled out the binoculars and could see that the glass on one side had broken off.
Luck broke off the remaining shards and shook free anything that might be inside the broken lens space. With his new monocular, he swept the town, keeping an eye out for anything that could further impede his journey.
First, he noticed the large cattle pen south of the town and a large two-story house, a barn, and stables. There were houses on the side of town he was facing. Mostly small homes, nothing extravagant. At the northernmost end of town, there appeared to be buildings that curved in his direction next to a road. He couldn’t make out any of the buildings, but they varied in sizes, and they appeared to be in decent condition. Luck set his broken binoculars down and pulled out his journal. He started sketching and talking to himself again.
“A journey that ends is just a journey that starts. Still, the demons come.” He nodded and finished sketching the town from where he was, then wrote down what he said on the same page. “What do you think, Wayward? Am I getting better?”
Wayward kicked the ground softly.
“What? I’m not mad at you, girl,” Luck patted her neck. “Maybe you got curious and wanted to see the town. I get that. But I’m alive, and I’m here now. Plus, now I know to avoid that place.”
A hard breath left Waywards's nose as she moved her head around.
“If I would’ve left the stable hand alive, then he could’ve let people know that I was in town. And if word spread about that, then I’m not sure I’d be safe from whoever ordered that law bearer to get rid of me.” Luck put his journal and monocular away. He sighed heavily as he thought about the stable hand. He was old and unarmed. He didn’t like knowing his name because that made executing him harder. Luck rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was him or me. Doesn’t matter if he was unarmed. I’ve made mistakes before, and I’m not keen on making any more.”
Wayward neighed softly.
“It’s alright. Let’s get going.” With that, Wayward started towards the town.
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Approaching the town from the north, where he saw the road curve, Luck spotted the wooden sign with the words, “WELCOME TO ALICETOWN. START NO TROUBLE.”, painted in red letters. Understood, he thought to himself and continued down the road.
Looking around, he noticed various shops in the process of being opened. He kept an eye out for a place where he could rest, and one thing he noticed was that there was no building that looked like a constable or sheriff’s station. This made Luck wonder if they even had a jail. He did, however, find a saloon a quarter of the way down the road and on the left. The name read Richter’s Saloon and Inn, and along the left side of the building was a small road that continued west for a short distance before reaching the edge of town.
Luck led Wayward to the saloon and hitched her on a post. Dismounting, he patted her neck as he made his way up the three steps and past the doors into the saloon. Looking around, there seemed to be a few patrons. One well-dressed gentleman was walking down the stairs while a man and a woman sat together at a table, drinking what smelled like coffee. Behind the bar was a teenage boy, perhaps around the age of fifteen, who appeared to be taking stock of inventory. Luck took his hat off, ran his fingers through his unwashed hair, scratching his head as he did, and then put his hat back on.
“Morning, young man.” Luck said, resting his uncut hand on the counter.
“Mornin’, sir. How can I help you?” The teenage boy said. His voice slightly shifted from a low pitch to a high pitch at the end.
“I’m looking for a few things. A hot meal, provisions, bathing, a place to sleep, and somewhere to get my clothes washed. Any recommendations?”
The teenage boy closed the notebook he was writing in and turned his full attention to Luck. “Quite a to-do list, mister. If you want provisions, I recommend Ernest Good. They got a bit of everything. We’ll be serving breakfast in about twenty minutes for that hot meal. As for bathing, Alicetown gots a dedicated bathhouse a few buildings down from the D’Arcy’s Palace. They offer bathin’ and a service to wash your clothes. As for rooms, we’re currently booked up.”
“He can take mine, young sir.”
Luck turned to the source of the voice and saw the well-dressed man sitting at a table near the bar. The man had an accent that he’d heard a few times before.
“Are you English?” Luck asked.
“I hope that isn’t a problem. I only slept in the bed for a few nights, and I’ll be leaving at noon. I swear I carry no plagues,” the man said with a smile.
“We’ll have that room available soon, mister.” The teenage boy said to Luck.
Luck nodded and turned to face the well-dressed man once more. He tipped his hat and said, “thank you, sir. I greatly appreciate it.”
“Not at all,” the man stood up, “I learned a long time ago that freely giving out kindness is one of the easiest things you can do. Though the room was going to be available anyways, so I’m not quite sure if I did anything, to begin with.” The man pondered briefly, his eyes staring into the distance. He then smiled and stood up. “Sir Hargrave Elmerson. Full-time adventurer, part-time writer, and occasional womanizer.” Sir Elmerson took Luck’s hand and shook it.
Luck shook the man’s hand and introduced himself as well, “Tomas Luck, I’m just a simple drifter.”
“No, no, no, I’ve been to many places, and I’ve met many people, drifters included, and you are no simple drifter.” Sir Elmerson grinned and leaned in close to whisper, “There’s a fire in your eyes and power in your handshake. A gunslinger, perhaps? A vigilante? Or a knight to be.”
“Gunslinging is part of the drifter profession,” Luck smiled.
Sir Hargrave laughed and wagged a finger at Luck, “a young man with a sense of humor! I wish I were staying here longer; I have a feeling we could be good friends. But alas, adventure calls, and I must answer.” Sir Hargrave pulled out Free West Coins from his pocket and handed them to the teenage boy, “this should be enough to cover my stay for last night and to cover for three more days for young Tomas Luck.”
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary, Sir Elmerson.” Luck put his hand on the coins, keeping the teenage boy from grabbing them.
“Nonsense! Like I said, giving out kindness is one of the easiest things to do.” Sir Elmerson nudged Luck on the shoulder with a closed fist.
Luck sighed with a restrained smile and removed his hand from the coins. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Sir Elmerson pulled on his fancy coat with both hands, “Very well. I’ll go and empty my room so they may get it prepared for you. Until we meet again, Tomas Luck.”
Luck and Sir Elmerson shook hands again before Sir Elmerson disappeared upstairs. Luck looked over at the Free West Coins that the teenage boy was counting, “Is that really enough for three days?”
“Absolutely, mister. Plus, meals.”
“How about food for my horse?”
“Not enough for that, but you can put your horse in the Alisson stables at the end of town. With the fancy man leaving, they’ll have a spot open. And it ain’t too expensive either.”
“How much?”
“’ Bout a silver coin a day.”
Luck took a moment to do the math in his head. One of the things he asked Long Claw and Halifax before they parted ways was if Alicetown accepted Tejas Rozas, the currency used in Tejas, or Union Dollars, the currency used in the Union. They told him that Alicetown businesses preferred Free West Coins but accepted neighbor currencies since the driving force of the town was the cattle business, which sold to everyone. Luck opened his journal to a dog-eared page where the currency exchange rate was written down.
He flipped the journal over and showed the teenager, “These numbers still look about right to you?”
Taking out a journal of his own from under the counter, he checked the numbers to see if they matched. “One Free West Gold is the same as 5 Free West Silvers. That’s right. A Free West Gold is the same as 10 Tejas Rozas. And it's also the same 20 Union Dollars. Okay, numbers look good.”
Luck took his journal back and kept it open as he counted out the money for the stables. After going through his coin purse and billfold, he put together 16 Union Dollars and set them aside.
Once that matter was settled, Luck thanked the teenage boy and headed to the bathhouse. It was only a short walk, so he led Wayward instead of riding her. Taking the reins in one hand, he walked and looked around the town some more. Alicetown appeared to be a mix of boarding houses and businesses. One establishment looked like an apothecary with various plants growing outside. Some were rising from the ground and up the porch. Other plants were hanging from the roof in clay pots with their overgrown parts overflowing and hanging down. Just as Luck was about to take his eyes away from it, a woman in various layers of clothing and dreadlocks that had lines of grey came out from the shop and started burnings bundle of something and chanting some words.
He stopped to stare for a moment, trying to remember where he had seen that before. While searching his memories, the woman’s gaze fell upon him, but only briefly. Now I remember, he thought to himself. He recalled an old memory from his childhood when he saw his mother take a few sicks of burning incense and walk around his old bedroom. She went from corner-to-corner chanting words that he didn’t know.
“My mother called that a barrida.” He said to Wayward. “A sweep of some kind, but I don’t quite remember what they were for.”
Wayward nudged Luck with her nose and kicked some dirt towards him.
“I could definitely stop by her shop before leaving. I could always use more ingredients for the balm.” Luck pulled the reign and continued to the bathhouse.
As he neared his destination, Luck passed the brothel that the young barkeep had mentioned. The building was two stories and was painted dark brown. The burgundy accents had a floral design. A sign on the building read D’Arcy’s Palace.
The door to the place opened, and a tall black man exited. He looked to be in his late 40s. He was sporting a floor-length black duster, a wide-brimmed hat, and clean casual dark clothes. He looked to be in a huff as he made his way off the porch. Luck locked eyes with the man for a brief moment, and it felt like the man had already assessed him. Luck averted his eyes and turned to the woman standing at the door. Possibly of East Asian descent, the woman also looked the same age as the man. Her intricate burgundy dress with black trim gave the illusion that she was floating. An annoyed look was on her face until she noticed Luck. A warm and welcoming smile grew on her face. She waved goodbye at Luck before closing the door.
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“There’s definitely something going on there,” Luck whispered.
Wayward whinnied and snorted.
“Ha!” Luck kicked up some dry dirt, “I don’t think it has to with tracking mud on her carpet.”
After a short walk, Luck reached the bathhouse. The wooden post that held up the porch roof had a sign with the words, Twin Waters Bathing, carved elegantly into it. He put the reign on a hitching post, and Wayward pulled her head back and snorted.
“What do you mean, ‘no’? I know you won’t leave, but last time I left you unhitched in a town, I got a fine.”
Wayward blew a short breath from her nose.
“You’re right, that was in a Union state, but I rather hitch you than possibly get fined again.” Luck walked over to the saddle bag where he kept Waywards extra food. He also grabbed the bag that had the rest of his dirtied clothes. Before going inside, he fed her the carrots and loosened the reign a bit on the hitching post. “Happy?”
Wayward nodded happily.
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Stepping into the bathhouse was like stepping into a completely different place. Before stepping inside, a series of wonderful smells hit Luck when he opened the door. There were scents of lavender, vanilla, and cinnamon. There was also a sound that he couldn’t pinpoint.
Spinning around with his head tilted up, Luck noticed green poles lining the walls and ceiling edges.
“Bamboo.” A voice behind him said.
Luck turned to see an older gentleman in a fine green and gold robe. His hair reached his shouldered, going from straight to curly. “Bamboo?”
“Indeed. A sturdy plant mostly found in tropical areas. Can be used for building, framing, and water transportation.”
“Is that what that sound is?” Luck pointed up at the bamboo.
“Yes. It became known that the sounds of running water can be – relaxing. What better place for it than an environment designed to relax the body and mind.” The man waved his hand in an arc as if he was revealing the bathhouse to an audience.
“How much to get some of this mind and body relaxation?”
“One Free West gold. If you don’t have that, an equivalent of that will suffice.”
“I’m assuming the exchange rate is the same all over town.”
“Correct.”
“In that case,” Luck pulled out his billfold only and set down two, ten UDs. “Would this cover laundry?”
“Yes, sir. Including the clothing articles you are currently wearing.” The man said.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be here that long, Mister…?”
“Dalvo Waters. And not to worry, we have some clothes you can wear while you carry on with your day here in lovely Alicetown.”
Luck thought about it briefly. This wasn’t a practice he was accustomed to, but he was more than willing to try new things. “Very well, Mr. Waters. I’ll take the offer.”
“Very well. If you are staying in town, I can have one of my employees deliver your clothes. No extra fee.” Dalvo Waters smiled.
Luck put his name down on a slip of paper and where he was staying.
With that, Dalvo Waters hit a bell, and a bathhouse attendant emerged from a hidden door on the left and led Luck to his bathing room.
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Luck smelled the soap, and it smelled of honey. He’d taken some time to soak in hot water and let the built-up tension from that morning melt away. Steam filled the room, covering the stand-up mirror in the room with condensation. The attendant had given him a cleaning kit, part of the bathing service, and explained the products he didn’t know about.
He grabbed the glass bottle labeled liquid shampoo. It also smelled like honey. There was also a toothbrush and toothpaste. Davo Waters and his twin brother, Patrik, were inventors, according to the attendant. They had traveled the world, made discoveries, and ten years ago, they settled in Alicetown.
Luck poured a bit of shampoo in his uncut hand and plastered it on his head. He scrubbed until all the hair was soapy and malleable. He looked over to the mirror but couldn’t see his reflection. The attendant had informed Luck of the drain hole in the center of the room. So, he cupped some water in his hand and tossed it at the mirror. Now, he could see himself clearly. He styled his hair in different ways. Slicked back, swept to the left, swept to the right, parted down the middle, and finally slicked back again. “That’ll have to do until I get a cut.”
After washing the shampoo from his head, he opened the small hatch at the foot end of the tub, which was slanted, and water began draining out. While the water drained, Luck reached behind him and pulled on a braided rope. A bamboo tube lowered from the ceiling and filled the tub with clean hot water. He took the soap and started cleaning himself, “By the time I’m finished, I’m going to smell like all kinds of sweets.”
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Luck stepped out of the bathing room wearing the clothes lent to him. They were the same colors as the employees of the bathhouse. The square line designs were gold on the dark green base. The top was a waist-length robe, the pants were thin and ended above the ankle, and the slippers were surprisingly comfortable. He walked to the front, where another guest was in the process of reserving a room.
Luck stood to the side and waited for the guest to finish. Then he approached the counter, “Mr. Waters, first and foremost, the bath, the shampoo, the soaps, it’s all fantastic. But I do have a few questions.”
“Of course, Mr. Luck.”
“For starters, the toothbrush I used was new, right?” The thought of a used toothbrush had crossed his mind halfway while brushing his teeth.
“Indeed, Mr. Luck. Complimentary, too.”
“I see. I’m a semi-learned man, but by complimentary, you do mean….I…get….”
“To keep, yes. Along with the toothpaste, shampoo, and soap.”
“That’s terrific!” Luck said excitingly, surprising himself and Mr. Waters. He really enjoyed the pleasant smells and how clean they made him feel. Plus, the toothbrush was new, and that was a relief.
“I am glad that we were able to bring you joy with our establishment.” Mr. Waters smiled and bowed his head slightly.
“Some much-needed joy, sir. My other question is, these clothes, they’re very nice, and I would feel rude if I accidentally dirtied them up.”
“We understand the possibility that loaned clothes might become dirty, worn, torn, or perhaps even destroyed, and it is something we have taken into consideration with the pricing of the services we provide. So there is no need for concern, Mr. Luck.”
“A worthwhile service. But with this being the only bathing house here, and with the price, well, I’m assuming the residents don’t use it much.”
“The Twin Waters bathing house provides services mostly to travelers since we have taken the liberty to install similar baths in the homes and establishments of this town to those who so desire.”
“That must be nice, having a bath like this in your home. Especially out in a small town such as this. But where’s the water coming from?”
“We sit atop an underground river that empties out into Angel Lake in the south. My brother and I tapped into that river to provide water for a dedicated town water tank.”
“Fascinating.” Luck looked down to the floor and imagined a river. He realized he was going down a rabbit hole of question and was reminded of the lack of food in his stomach when it growled like a mad dog. “Thank you for the insight, Mr. Waters. I have one last question, and I’d like you to answer me honestly: Do I look silly in these clothes?”
“Not at all, Mr. Luck. You look like a man who knows his own worth and is unafraid to experience new things in life.”
“You don’t have to butter me up, sir. If I can return for another bath, I will.”
The two men shared a good laugh before Luck left.
A cold winter breeze greeted his fresh face. Wayward whinnied and started trotting in place when she saw him.
“That’s honey soap and shampoo, which I forgot to bring with me.” Luck put his hands on his wast. “I’ll be right back.”
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After finishing at the bathhouse, Luck took Wayward to the stables. The shops he had come across were open, but only the shop keeps were inside. There were very people about. It wasn’t until Luck arrived at the stables that he found out why. There were 12 stalls total, and there were only three horses. Aside from the horses, there was an older man. When Luck asked where all the horses were, the old man informed Luck that they were out on a cattle drive and wouldn’t be back for another week.
“How much to keep my horse here?”
The old man took the reins, “Not here. These horses belong to the town. But we got a spot for visitors. It’ll cost ya’ a silver a day, but I can groom her for an extra two atop the days.”
Luck handed over 16 Union dollars plus an additional 8 for the grooming fee. “I was told the town took UD’s?”
The man grumbled under his breath and reluctantly took the Union money. “Sure. We do.”
Luck gathered some of his belongings, primarily his guns, journal, and medical kit. He then patted Wayward and sternly said, “Behave.”
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Back at the saloon, the food surprised Luck as much as the bathing house. The portions were larger than most places, and the food tasted fresh, especially the orange juice he had requested. Everything in this town kept surpassing the expectations he had set a few months ago. Pedro and Bill had mentioned that it was a town full of criminals and fugitives from the Union, yet it was peaceful and welcoming.
Having bathed and filled his belly with food, Luck could feel the sandman calling. He had plans to gather supplies, but he was in no rush anymore. After months of traveling and avoiding bounty hunters, he had arrived at his destination. So instead of shopping, he retreated into his room.
When he entered his room, he fell into the twin bed. Within the minute, Luck was fast asleep.
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Later in the afternoon, Luck stirred awake as sharp beams of sunlight cut through narrow openings in the curtains, landing perfectly on his face. Bothered by the solar intrusion, he decided to get up instead of trying to sleep longer. Luck sat upright and started stretching out the knots he felt between his shoulder blades.
He undid the bandages on his right hand. While at the bathhouse, Luck had cleaned and applied more balm. Looking at the cut now, it was almost finished healing. He cleaned the dried balm and applied a small coat again before using the last bit of his clean bandages.
Luck tied the loose ends off, then fell back onto the bed. He never understood why or how the balm his mother taught him to make worked as fast as it did, but he was glad to have been curious enough to have asked her how it was made. Especially since it had come in handy on more than a few occasions. Gracias, ama. He thought, thanking his mother.
Shouting interrupted his moment of peace—muffled voices coming from outside. Then a few seconds later, gunfire erupted.
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The hell is going on?! Luck leaped out of bed and grabbed his gun belt, pulling the M1877 Colt Lightning free and slinging the belt across his chest. A few more shots popped off, and Luck reached for this sawed-off shotgun when an explosion rocked the dust off the ceiling.
Luck swung his door open and peeked down both ends of the hallway, the shots persisting. From the sounds, he could hear many guns going off non-stop. In the brief moments that a few shooters reloaded, he heard a familiar voice shouting.
“Pa! Pa!” It was the teenage barkeep. His voice cracked with every shout.
Another explosion boomed, this one further away.
Luck closed his door and ran to his window. He peeked through the curtain to check if the coast was clear. As soon as he decided it was, he opened the curtains, then the window, and dropped down from the second floor. Luck bent his knees on impact, rolled forward, then back onto his feet. He was now behind Richter’s Saloon.
With the gunfire not letting down, Luck sprinted around, right of the building. He kept himself low and close to the wall. Before reaching the edge of the wall, a man appeared ahead. They were wearing ratty clothes, and their eyes – blacker than obsidian. They were holding a rifle so tightly that their veins bulged, also matching the darkness of the eyes.
The black-eyed man stumbled a few steps back and raised his rifle. The first shot went to and through Luck's left shoulder. The second shot snapped near his ear. A third shot wasn’t an option as Luck fired his revolver twice. One bullet found purchase in the man’s throat and the other in his eye. Luck tucked the sawed-off under his right armpit and swiftly reloaded the expended rounds before reaching the edge of the saloon.
Once at the edge, Luck got a good look at the attackers. A small group of men and women, also in tattered clothes, shooting in every direction between two wagons.
Luck knew that he could make it halfway down the street before being gunned down. So instead, he crossed the road, shooting his revolver three times. Two rounds hit a woman, and one hit a man. Taking cover behind a different building, the bullets flying in his direction meant he caught their attention. He hoped that would give anyone in town a chance to hit someone.
More shouting emerged. This time, it was just incoherent speech. Luck peeked the corner and saw another group of these black-eyed people appear on horseback and picked up a few of the shooters in the street, then took off up the main road. One of the horses had a person on the back with a bag over their head.
Luck reloaded and came out from behind the building, shooting at the four individuals that were left behind. Caught off guard, one of the attackers went down with two bullets, one in the neck and one in the head. A second was shot three times by someone on the inside. Halfway to the wagons, a third attacker turned to fire at Luck but was killed when two bullets went through his left temple.
All that remained was a woman who ducked down behind the third dead man. Closing in, Luck could see her struggling to reload a jammed rifle. She looked up at him, her eyes an empty void, and her shirt bloodied from bullet wounds – she lunged wildly, but she stood no match. The blast from his sawed-off shotgun blew half her head away, and she collapsed at his feet.
Luck looked around at the destruction. The surrounding buildings were riddled with holes and broken windows. And down the street, he could see the front of the brothel appeared to also be in ruin.
“I appreciate the help, but who the hell are you?” A gruff voice said from behind.
Luck turned to face the blasted entrance of the saloon. Standing amongst the debris was the black man wearing the floor-length duster and black hat. A black steel Schofield revolver with silver engravings and pearl handles in each hand.
“Tomas Luck. Who the hell are you?”