I Went Down (NaNoWriMo Read-Along)

37 Dapper Jack

They rode across the Plain of Angiers. The appellation was not entirely accurate; many areas of the Plain were wrinkled by hills and valleys. This was not one of them, though. If Jack glanced back, he could see the small cluster of buildings shrinking in the dust behind the horses. Ahead, the baked earth lay flat as a fried cake of chickpea paste. The mountains which he had crossed earlier with Jimmy Primrose to approach the railroad spur from the other side were a distant scar on the horizon.

Andin rode half a length in front. Occasionally he twisted from his slim hips to glance back at Jack. There was some question swelling inside him; Jack could almost see the words pushing out against his lips, pressing their corners against his cheeks from the inside. Dapper Jack kept his eyes on the horizon, forestalling the boy as long as he could. The sun overhead gave a deceptive impression of warmth, but there was snow on the mountains where their peaks merged into the bleached rim of the sky. When Andin wasn’t looking, Jack curled his gloved fingers together and traded first one hand and then the other into the pocket of his duster. The coat, at least, was warm, but the gloves were more fashionable than practical in truly cold weather. He should have known better.

“Mister Dorsane?” Andin slowed his horse so they rode side by side. “How’re we going to kill Baccarat? We didn’t get any dynamite this time.”

“There’s more than one route across the Plain,” Jack said.

Andin’s face scrunched up for a brief instant of frustration. “My father used to say that,” he said. “But he died.”

“I assure you, dying is not part of the plan for anyone except Baccarat.”

“Are you going to knife him?” Andin’s gaze flicked towards the blade at the small of Jack’s back.

“That’s the most plausible option, certainly.”

Andin chewed on his lip for a few silent paces. Finally the real topic burst out of him. “I want to do it! I want to kill Baccarat.”

Surprise tightened Jack’s legs around his mount’s barrel chest. His horse took a few steps forward in a quick trot and then stopped in confusion as Dapper Jack sat back heavily in the saddle. “You?” he asked. His earlier comparison of the boy with the innocence of the Ibai girl evaporated. Andin carried an anger within him that the girl hadn’t had time to learn. “You’ll have to get in line with every other man of Angiers, and half the women, too.”

Andin turned his horse to face Dapper Jack. Behind him, the butte with three fingers rose from the Plain of Angiers like a wounded, defiant fist.

“I don’t know what grievance with Baccarat, or his railroad, you think you’ll be erasing,” Jack said before Andin could regroup his thoughts for a further outburst. “But I’ll tell you this. Blood makes a poor glue. You can wash your hands in it but it will never mend anything that’s broken.”

“But you’ve killed men,” Andin said insistently.

“I’ve killed men so that you wouldn’t have to.” It was mostly true. Every Pel who had left his life on his blade was one less who could turn the wheels of Baccarat’s plans to overrun the Plain.

And the others? The Plainsmen who had taken jobs on the wrong side of the line, the ones who had done nothing to further Baccarat’s work but had earned Jimmy’s displeasure in other ways? The little Ibai girl with her bare throat helplessly exposed to his hand?

Andin was staring at him. All the boy’s facial muscles were tense with emotion and the cords of his neck stood out sharply beneath his skin. Beneath his bright eyes, Andin’s lip wobbled. Jack looked away to let the boy save his pride. He was so very young, without a trace of beard yet sprouting on his chin.

They rode in silence the rest of the way. The butte slid up into the sky as they approached. The sun had begun to sink in the northwest and the long shafts of light painted the rocky outcrop in ocher hues of red and orange. In the butte’s thin cover, Danick was sitting with another man beside the remains of a small camp. As they saw Andin and Jack’s approach, they jumped to their feet. Danick kicked dirt over the coals of their fire and the other man hoisted saddlebags onto the horses.

“Jackdaw,” said Danick when they were close enough to speak. “Back so soon.”

“Yes,” Jack said. “And without the millstone around my neck this time.”

Danick laughed, short and harsh. “Fair enough. Are you ready?”

“Are you? Is Merritt?”

“We’re ready.” Danick put one boot into a stirrup and mounted gracefully. “The others are waiting with everything you asked for. Let’s go.”

They continued east. Andin maneuvered his horse so that Danick was always a buffer between himself and Dapper Jack, but did not go so far off as to miss any of their conversation.

“Are you sure this will work?” Danick asked. “Baccarat will be wary.”

“There’s no doubt of that.” Jack leaned forward to rub his horse’s withers, letting the animal’s warmth seep into his fingers. “Which is why we use a different tactic, something that you haven’t done before.”

“This is how you always got in trouble with Granny.”

“But I never got in trouble for the same thing twice,” Jack pointed out.

Danick nodded, giving Jack a sidelong grin. “No, but you ruined it for the rest of us. There was hardly any trouble I could think of that you hadn’t already tried. She was always prepared for it.”

“Well, all we have to hope for, then, is that Baccarat isn’t a tenth as wily as Granny,” Jack said. He could see the shattered remains of the switchman’s shack amidst a jumble of ruined railroad track ahead. The twisted metal stood out sharp against the fading colors of the evening sky, black on a wash of canary yellow. To one side of it several horses stood hobbled together. Small puffs of steam appeared and evaporated again around their long muzzles.

In the shadow of the wreckage, a cigarette glowed orange briefly. Merritt stepped out as Jackdaw and his companions approached. He dropped the cigarette to the ground and ground it under his boot. “Mister Dorsane.” He tipped his hat. “Lieutenant. Rance. Andin.” His gaze flicked briefly over each of his men and returned to Jack. “We’ve gathered the dry wood and the tar. I trust you were able to get the sleeping compound?”

Jack patted the satchel that hung from his shoulder. “I have it here.” He slid down from the saddle and handed the reins to another of Merritt’s men who had appeared from the growing darkness. “You have the diversion arranged?”

“Arvin and several men are waiting further up the line,” Merritt said. “Andin will take them word.”

The boy, who had been leading the horses over to join their hobbled fellows, stiffened at the captain’s words. “But—”

“This is a job for men,” Danick said sharply. “You will be well away with Arvin and the others.”

“What time do we expect Baccarat?” Merritt asked.

“Twelve minutes to three,” Jack replied. “Most of them should be asleep anyway. We’ll just make sure they stay that way.”

Merritt pulled out a dented pocketwatch and held it up in the fading light to see the time. “Rub your horse down, Andin, and let him eat. Then it’s off you go.”

Andin walked away with heavy footfalls, but there was not enough of him to stomp effectively.

Danick sighed heavily. When Andin was out of earshot, he said, “I should have sent him with Arvin this morning.”

“He’ll ride fast with the message,” Merritt said. “His horse will hardly know he’s carrying anything but the tack. Anyone else would be slower, and get lost in the dark besides.” He turned to Jack. “So, now we make some smoke bombs?”

Jack unslung the satchel and pulled out a thick parcel wrapped in brown paper. It crinkled softly as he undid it. “Keep your gloves on,” he said. “It’s individually wrapped inside, but you don’t want it on your skin. Once we get them tied up, we can handle the detonating cord instead.”