Shannon Trevor
One Thousand Club
It was a short trip from the wooden planks of the sidewalk to the rain-laced thoroughfare. The landing was relatively soft too, thanks to the soft mud. A small mercy, Nat thought, considering he had just lost the power to raise his hands in order to break his fall. In fact, he seemed to have lost the power over all his bodies faculties.
As he considered just how deep a puddle needed to be for someone to drown in it, he was flipped over onto his back. A woman appeared above him with a length of rope and began to tie his hands. At least that’s what Nat assumed she was doing, he couldn’t raise his head enough to actually see.
“You hit me!” he said. Or rather, what he meant to say. It came out more like, “Yoooohhhemmuhh!”
The woman ignored him until her task was complete. “Relax,” she said. Her voice had a slight husk to it. “You got hit with this.” She held out wa long, thin, cylindrical stick. With a press of her right thumb, two prongs at the end of the stick crackled with blue light. “Stun baton,” she explained, rather needlessly. “You’ll be back to normal soon.”
Unable to move his head, Nat had little choice but to take in the woman hovering above him. She was handsome, perhaps a year of two older than Nat’s twenty nine years. Her chestnut brown hair was tied back into a messy bun and strands of loose hair framed a lean and tanned face. Her tone seemed relaxed when she spoke but dark green eyes watched him warily.
“Whyyyooodoootht?”
“Because you’re a dangerous man, Mister Othic.”
“Awhic?” Nat did his best to sound surprised, a difficult task when it felt like his tongue was three sizes too big for his mouth. “My nmmmes Cnnredd -”
“-Don’t.” She held up a hand to cut off any protests. “I don’t go around stunning random men for the hell of it, Othic. I know who you are.” She didn’t offer any more explanation as to who she was or why she had attacked him, although the list for the latter could be quite extensive. Her attention turned away from Nat to scan what he could only assume was by now, a rather healthy crowd of gawkers. Not much happened in Haverlind. This would be the talk of the town for weeks.
Slowly, some sense began to return to Nat’s extremities. After a few minutes, the woman checked the time on a large stainless steel watch on her left wrist. “Ok, you’ve had enough time.” With impressive strength, as Nat had no intention of helping her, she was able to haul him to his feet. As he took an unsteady step, a hand reached up to take him under the armpit.
“Thanks,” he said as he took a test pull of the ropes binding his hands. Tight, but not impossible to work free of, if he had enough time.
“Don’t get used to it. I’ve got horses stabled at-unnngfh!”
Nat pulled back and elbowed the woman hard in the stomach. “Sorry!” he called out as she doubled over, unleashing a rather unladylike epithet in his direction as she gasped for air.
He made it three steps before his jelly legs gave out and he face planted into the muck for the second time in five minutes. He had enough time to pull himself up to his knees, shake the muck and water from his eyes and see the woman stride over toward him, her jaw set. “Shit.”
Her boot caught him under the jaw, hard enough to rattle his teeth and send him crashing back into the mud. As Nat looked up to the sky, he scolded himself for being such a gentleman. He knew he should have cracked her in the jaw.
The woman grabbed a fistful of his jacket and pulled him close. “I’ll give you that one for free.” She didn’t raise her voice but the anger was unmistakable and just about under control. “My fault for not expecting it.” With her free hand she reached into her coat and produced a folded sheet of paper. “A warrant. I have legal authority to bring you in. That includes any force I deem appropriate. Don’t test me again.”
A warrant. It seemed almost impossible to Nat. He had left his old life behind three years before and had not expected it to catch up anytime soon. He had never shared the notoriety or infamy of some of the men and woman he had rode with and had got out before the gang had violently broken apart. There was no bounty on him, yet someone the woman had a warrant.
“Don’t worry, you’re not for the gallows,” she said, seeming to sense just where Nat’s line of thought was heading. My employer wants to talk to you. Just talk.”
“Just talk?” Nat asked, unbelieving. The woman nodded. “Wants to talk and has the power to issue a warrant just for that purpose?” The woman nodded again. “What the fuck could I possibly have to talk about to someone like that?”
“Best you let him answer that question. Now, will you stand?”
Nat exhaled slowly. “Aye.” I wasn’t like there was much of a choice.
It seemed like the entire population of Haverlind was crowded into the town thoroughfare. Most seemed to be enjoying the show but Nat could pick out a look of confusion on some of the faces as he was marched past. People who had known him as Conrad Healy, caravan guard and regular at the Three Trees Saloon, who had come to the town at the start of the year looking for work.
Aside from the name and new occupation, Nat had changed little about himself. He still had the same dry humour, the same enjoyment of good whiskey and poker. He still kept himself in decent shape and while he could do little about the first signs of his short blonde hair thinning at the front of his head, his trimmed beard still didn’t hide the long scar that ran down his left jaw.
The change of name had been a precaution that he was never certain he actually needed. If he had stood on the bar in the Three Trees and shouted to all present that he was in fact, Nat Othic, former outlaw, he doubted anyone would have reacted much. Or so he had thought until the woman jabbed a stun baton into his back.
“So, looks like you have the advantage,” Nat said, once they were clear of the main throng of their audience. “You know my name.”
“Addison,” the woman replied, her eyes scanning each balcony and alleyway as they approached. “Addison Rayne.”
“Alright, Addison,” Nat said. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet your acquaintance but...you know.” He flexed his jaw as he held up his bound hands.
The woman’s grunt was about as close to a laugh that Nat expected to get from her. As they walked to the stable at the far end of town, Nat took the time to study Addison from the corner of his eye. Her dark duster was good quality but speckled with dirt. Her hard leather boots were heavily scuffed and her pants, clinging tightly against a pair of long legs, were as dirty as the jacket. He couldn’t make out the model of the watch that peeked out from the left sleeve of her duster but it was clearly expensive.
The quality of her clothing told Nat that she was reasonably well off, which meant that she was likely very good at her job. The dirt and worn-in boots told him she wasn’t afraid of roughing it and was likely more comfortable outdoors than he was. The pain in his jaw told him she was a hell bitch when crossed and that it would be advisable not to do so again.
“You didn’t actually say where we going.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I’m asking now.”
“Rushport.”
Rushport.
Nat hated Rushport. Canton’s capital city had been built on swampland a hundred years before. Haverlind was only thirty miles away but the differences were stark. Haverlind was quiet but it had character. The people were friendly but minded their own business. The town could boast two good saloons and one dive, a theatre, a smokehouse if you were inclined to puff your money away and good fishing up at Hoskin’s lake.
Rushport had nothing but people and pollution. It was the smell that Nat always noticed. Thick smoke from industrial stacks mixed in with the fetid smell of the swamp and the wide, brown river that snaked slowly through the city. The heat was oppressive in the summer and the air dirty all year round. Much of the poorer population lived in cramped terrace housing in the inner city, close to their factories, while the elite lived behind walled mansions. But penniless fisherman, politician or anyone in between, it didn’t matter, everyone in Rushport had the same stick up their ass.
“I hate Rushport,” Nat offered.
“Same.” Addison admitted. “But you go where the work is.”
The stable owner had been waiting for them and he smiled as the pair approached. “You got your man then?”
“I did,” Addison replied, flipping a gold coin which the man eagerly plucked out of the air.
“Your horse is fed and watered. It’s a fine animal. Can’t say the same for the one you just bought, mind.”
“Only needs to get us to Rushport.”
“Reckon the saddle I put on her is worth more than the nag herself.”
Addison nodded. Nat was quickly getting the impression she was not a stirring conversationalist. They waited for the man to lead the two horses from the stable. Addison’s was a beautiful creature, dark brown with dabbles of white on its flank and standing close to seventeen hands tall. He saw the ghost of a smile on her lips as she took the reins.
Nat’s horse was a more pathetic affair. All gray with a matted mane and sad, black eyes. It looked like she already had one foot in the knacker’s yard and would probably consider ending it all herself if her hoof could navigate the trigger of a pistol. Addison ignored Nat as he asked whether he was meant to make it to Rushport alive.
Twilight was giving way to night by the time they trotted the horses out of town. The stable owner had been obliging enough to help Nat into his saddle. Addison had no intention of loosening his ropes and insisted that he lead the way. Her assertion that it was much easier to shoot him in the back this way was of little comfort.
Not that Nat could have done much anyway. The first thing she had done after stunning him was to take his pistol and knife from his belt. She had left his spare ammunition but unless he somehow got her to choke on one of the bullets he doubted they would be much use.
He had been resigned to the fact he was going with Addison since his embarrassing attempt at an escape. She was clearly comfortable using force when required to and she had all the advantages. He could overpower her in a fair fight but Addison was never going to let herself get put in a situation where a fair fight could happen.
Nat knew he wouldn’t be nearly as placid if he had thought he was going to the gallows or a jail cell but Addison had said she had only wanted him to talk to her employer. It could be she was telling what he wanted to hear but Nat didn’t sense she was playing him false.
“Be morning or close enough to it by the time we reach Rushport,” Addison said, tapping the face of her watch. “I’d like to get there quicker but I don’t think your nag is up for any hard riding.”
“I don’t think she’s up for much, ‘cept maybe the glue factory.”
“Or scalteth food. We’ll be hitting the bayou dead on their feedin’ time.”
“Thanks for that,” Nat said, suppressing a shudder. His years riding with the gang meant he was familiar with a lot of the critters who made their home on the new frontier but there was none that scared him as much as a scalteth. The creatures lived under the murky waters surrounding Rushport. Just hearing their distinct clicking as they called to each other was enough to give him nightmares for a week. When he had seen one up close, it did little to improve his disposition. Four rows of fangs in a gaping mouth. A jawbone that could unhinge and swallow a child whole. A creature from the deadlands thriving in civilization.
“Hope you’re a good shot with that,” Nat said, nodding to the rifle Addison had removed from her saddle and slung over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I’d never let them eat the horse.”
“Funny.” Nat sighed, reflecting on how his night had taken such an unpleasant turn. “Alright, Addison Rayne. Let’s go meet your boss.”
As he considered just how deep a puddle needed to be for someone to drown in it, he was flipped over onto his back. A woman appeared above him with a length of rope and began to tie his hands. At least that’s what Nat assumed she was doing, he couldn’t raise his head enough to actually see.
“You hit me!” he said. Or rather, what he meant to say. It came out more like, “Yoooohhhemmuhh!”
The woman ignored him until her task was complete. “Relax,” she said. Her voice had a slight husk to it. “You got hit with this.” She held out wa long, thin, cylindrical stick. With a press of her right thumb, two prongs at the end of the stick crackled with blue light. “Stun baton,” she explained, rather needlessly. “You’ll be back to normal soon.”
Unable to move his head, Nat had little choice but to take in the woman hovering above him. She was handsome, perhaps a year of two older than Nat’s twenty nine years. Her chestnut brown hair was tied back into a messy bun and strands of loose hair framed a lean and tanned face. Her tone seemed relaxed when she spoke but dark green eyes watched him warily.
“Whyyyooodoootht?”
“Because you’re a dangerous man, Mister Othic.”
“Awhic?” Nat did his best to sound surprised, a difficult task when it felt like his tongue was three sizes too big for his mouth. “My nmmmes Cnnredd -”
“-Don’t.” She held up a hand to cut off any protests. “I don’t go around stunning random men for the hell of it, Othic. I know who you are.” She didn’t offer any more explanation as to who she was or why she had attacked him, although the list for the latter could be quite extensive. Her attention turned away from Nat to scan what he could only assume was by now, a rather healthy crowd of gawkers. Not much happened in Haverlind. This would be the talk of the town for weeks.
Slowly, some sense began to return to Nat’s extremities. After a few minutes, the woman checked the time on a large stainless steel watch on her left wrist. “Ok, you’ve had enough time.” With impressive strength, as Nat had no intention of helping her, she was able to haul him to his feet. As he took an unsteady step, a hand reached up to take him under the armpit.
“Thanks,” he said as he took a test pull of the ropes binding his hands. Tight, but not impossible to work free of, if he had enough time.
“Don’t get used to it. I’ve got horses stabled at-unnngfh!”
Nat pulled back and elbowed the woman hard in the stomach. “Sorry!” he called out as she doubled over, unleashing a rather unladylike epithet in his direction as she gasped for air.
He made it three steps before his jelly legs gave out and he face planted into the muck for the second time in five minutes. He had enough time to pull himself up to his knees, shake the muck and water from his eyes and see the woman stride over toward him, her jaw set. “Shit.”
Her boot caught him under the jaw, hard enough to rattle his teeth and send him crashing back into the mud. As Nat looked up to the sky, he scolded himself for being such a gentleman. He knew he should have cracked her in the jaw.
The woman grabbed a fistful of his jacket and pulled him close. “I’ll give you that one for free.” She didn’t raise her voice but the anger was unmistakable and just about under control. “My fault for not expecting it.” With her free hand she reached into her coat and produced a folded sheet of paper. “A warrant. I have legal authority to bring you in. That includes any force I deem appropriate. Don’t test me again.”
A warrant. It seemed almost impossible to Nat. He had left his old life behind three years before and had not expected it to catch up anytime soon. He had never shared the notoriety or infamy of some of the men and woman he had rode with and had got out before the gang had violently broken apart. There was no bounty on him, yet someone the woman had a warrant.
“Don’t worry, you’re not for the gallows,” she said, seeming to sense just where Nat’s line of thought was heading. My employer wants to talk to you. Just talk.”
“Just talk?” Nat asked, unbelieving. The woman nodded. “Wants to talk and has the power to issue a warrant just for that purpose?” The woman nodded again. “What the fuck could I possibly have to talk about to someone like that?”
“Best you let him answer that question. Now, will you stand?”
Nat exhaled slowly. “Aye.” I wasn’t like there was much of a choice.
It seemed like the entire population of Haverlind was crowded into the town thoroughfare. Most seemed to be enjoying the show but Nat could pick out a look of confusion on some of the faces as he was marched past. People who had known him as Conrad Healy, caravan guard and regular at the Three Trees Saloon, who had come to the town at the start of the year looking for work.
Aside from the name and new occupation, Nat had changed little about himself. He still had the same dry humour, the same enjoyment of good whiskey and poker. He still kept himself in decent shape and while he could do little about the first signs of his short blonde hair thinning at the front of his head, his trimmed beard still didn’t hide the long scar that ran down his left jaw.
The change of name had been a precaution that he was never certain he actually needed. If he had stood on the bar in the Three Trees and shouted to all present that he was in fact, Nat Othic, former outlaw, he doubted anyone would have reacted much. Or so he had thought until the woman jabbed a stun baton into his back.
“So, looks like you have the advantage,” Nat said, once they were clear of the main throng of their audience. “You know my name.”
“Addison,” the woman replied, her eyes scanning each balcony and alleyway as they approached. “Addison Rayne.”
“Alright, Addison,” Nat said. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet your acquaintance but...you know.” He flexed his jaw as he held up his bound hands.
The woman’s grunt was about as close to a laugh that Nat expected to get from her. As they walked to the stable at the far end of town, Nat took the time to study Addison from the corner of his eye. Her dark duster was good quality but speckled with dirt. Her hard leather boots were heavily scuffed and her pants, clinging tightly against a pair of long legs, were as dirty as the jacket. He couldn’t make out the model of the watch that peeked out from the left sleeve of her duster but it was clearly expensive.
The quality of her clothing told Nat that she was reasonably well off, which meant that she was likely very good at her job. The dirt and worn-in boots told him she wasn’t afraid of roughing it and was likely more comfortable outdoors than he was. The pain in his jaw told him she was a hell bitch when crossed and that it would be advisable not to do so again.
“You didn’t actually say where we going.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I’m asking now.”
“Rushport.”
Rushport.
Nat hated Rushport. Canton’s capital city had been built on swampland a hundred years before. Haverlind was only thirty miles away but the differences were stark. Haverlind was quiet but it had character. The people were friendly but minded their own business. The town could boast two good saloons and one dive, a theatre, a smokehouse if you were inclined to puff your money away and good fishing up at Hoskin’s lake.
Rushport had nothing but people and pollution. It was the smell that Nat always noticed. Thick smoke from industrial stacks mixed in with the fetid smell of the swamp and the wide, brown river that snaked slowly through the city. The heat was oppressive in the summer and the air dirty all year round. Much of the poorer population lived in cramped terrace housing in the inner city, close to their factories, while the elite lived behind walled mansions. But penniless fisherman, politician or anyone in between, it didn’t matter, everyone in Rushport had the same stick up their ass.
“I hate Rushport,” Nat offered.
“Same.” Addison admitted. “But you go where the work is.”
The stable owner had been waiting for them and he smiled as the pair approached. “You got your man then?”
“I did,” Addison replied, flipping a gold coin which the man eagerly plucked out of the air.
“Your horse is fed and watered. It’s a fine animal. Can’t say the same for the one you just bought, mind.”
“Only needs to get us to Rushport.”
“Reckon the saddle I put on her is worth more than the nag herself.”
Addison nodded. Nat was quickly getting the impression she was not a stirring conversationalist. They waited for the man to lead the two horses from the stable. Addison’s was a beautiful creature, dark brown with dabbles of white on its flank and standing close to seventeen hands tall. He saw the ghost of a smile on her lips as she took the reins.
Nat’s horse was a more pathetic affair. All gray with a matted mane and sad, black eyes. It looked like she already had one foot in the knacker’s yard and would probably consider ending it all herself if her hoof could navigate the trigger of a pistol. Addison ignored Nat as he asked whether he was meant to make it to Rushport alive.
Twilight was giving way to night by the time they trotted the horses out of town. The stable owner had been obliging enough to help Nat into his saddle. Addison had no intention of loosening his ropes and insisted that he lead the way. Her assertion that it was much easier to shoot him in the back this way was of little comfort.
Not that Nat could have done much anyway. The first thing she had done after stunning him was to take his pistol and knife from his belt. She had left his spare ammunition but unless he somehow got her to choke on one of the bullets he doubted they would be much use.
He had been resigned to the fact he was going with Addison since his embarrassing attempt at an escape. She was clearly comfortable using force when required to and she had all the advantages. He could overpower her in a fair fight but Addison was never going to let herself get put in a situation where a fair fight could happen.
Nat knew he wouldn’t be nearly as placid if he had thought he was going to the gallows or a jail cell but Addison had said she had only wanted him to talk to her employer. It could be she was telling what he wanted to hear but Nat didn’t sense she was playing him false.
“Be morning or close enough to it by the time we reach Rushport,” Addison said, tapping the face of her watch. “I’d like to get there quicker but I don’t think your nag is up for any hard riding.”
“I don’t think she’s up for much, ‘cept maybe the glue factory.”
“Or scalteth food. We’ll be hitting the bayou dead on their feedin’ time.”
“Thanks for that,” Nat said, suppressing a shudder. His years riding with the gang meant he was familiar with a lot of the critters who made their home on the new frontier but there was none that scared him as much as a scalteth. The creatures lived under the murky waters surrounding Rushport. Just hearing their distinct clicking as they called to each other was enough to give him nightmares for a week. When he had seen one up close, it did little to improve his disposition. Four rows of fangs in a gaping mouth. A jawbone that could unhinge and swallow a child whole. A creature from the deadlands thriving in civilization.
“Hope you’re a good shot with that,” Nat said, nodding to the rifle Addison had removed from her saddle and slung over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I’d never let them eat the horse.”
“Funny.” Nat sighed, reflecting on how his night had taken such an unpleasant turn. “Alright, Addison Rayne. Let’s go meet your boss.”
