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Chapter Text

The first one to be warned of the coming danger was the librarian.

Carina woke up earlier than most to gather eggs and tend the small herb garden out back of her cottage. As she shuffled down the back steps she almost stepped right over her warning.

Rosa stellata. She picked up the spiny branch, turning it over and over to count the light magenta blossoms with their sunburst centers. Nobody around here allowed the desert shrub to grow in their gardens; she'd only seen it in the high canyons of the Silvers, the mountain chain that formed the North and Eastern horizons of New Jorvik county.

Named for the river that’s fed by their snowmelt, the Big Silversong. Which in turn was named for a river, back on the island. Just Silversong. The rose branch could have been carried here by the wind, or snagged on a wagon. But she knew it wasn't so. No, there was one person who more than likely left this on her stoop, and if he was in town, trouble was coming.

Carina ignored the eggs- more for the various orphans and vagabonds for whom she left her henhouse unlocked, anyway- and spent her breakfast hour watching the sun rise as she drank a cup of strong black tea and cleaned her brace of pistols.

...

Meanwhile, a pair of outlaws called Jacqueline and Esmeralda were returning home. Home, for them, was the Rogues' Gallery.

The various outlaws, bandits, smugglers, roustabouts, anarchists, gangsters, and hired guns in the vicinity of New Jorvik tended to flock together. Since the founding of the town twenty-five years ago, there'd always been a rough settlement of the disreputable somewhere in the mountains a day's ride away. Its location was always a secret, but an open secret if you knew who and how to ask. It always had a romantic name- Smuggler's Notch, the Vulture's Nest- and the most recent version was no exception.

The Rogues' Gallery had been the active hideout for almost six months without discovery. Placed in a hanging valley tucked securely between two impassable peaks, it was almost unreachable. Almost. In those six months the inhabitants had built a straggle of huts, cabins, tents, and the odd cave dwelling around the perimeter. In the center was a communal corral for horses and whatever miscellaneous livestock had been rustled recently. This pen was proof of honor among thieves; those who made use of the corral knew that whatever animals they left there would still be grazing inside the next morning. Still, nobody ended up living in the Rogues’ Gallery because they’d been caught pushing ducks into puddles. It was home to murderers and thieves, professional criminals of all sorts.

One corner of the valley was home to the young women who made up "The Outlaw Ladies' Guild." The name had been coined by a patronizing cattle rustler with a drooping moustache. He hadn't lasted long in the Rogues' Gallery. In less than a week he'd ridden off in the night with a mysterious black eye and busted kneecap. Still, the name stuck ironically.

This morning, the Outlaw Ladies' Guild was just rising with the sun- that is, those of them not named Jacqueline or Esmeralda, who were riding home. They rotated through cooking duties, and today it was Clara's turn to light the fire, boil water for porridge, and dole it out in fair portions. She hated it.

Clara (as she stared, sleepy-eyed, into the beginnings of her breakfast fire) was ruminating on the short list of mistakes that had led her to this domesticated existence. She was not accustomed to cooking for anyone but herself- growing up, there'd even been a full-time employee cooking for her. She was growing tired of the close quarters and the fact that they had to draw straws to determine who'd go out marauding on any given night. But... things hadn't been safe recently. Honestly, it was the safety of the communal corral that had attracted her to the Rogues’ Gallery. Horses had been going missing, from everywhere, all of a sudden. She wanted her mare, Missy, to be as safe as possible. Missy was the one and only friend, horse or human, that she trusted to have her back.

"Are Jacqueline and Esmeralda back yet?" Allison emerged from her tent with a forceful kick to its doorflap.

Clara looked up from her fire. Allison was a fairly recent addition to the Rogues’ Gallery, but her credentials as a dishonorably discharged New Jorvik Ranger spoke for themselves. The Rangers had been, until recently, the scourge of outlaws all throughout the West, and carried warrants from the territorial government for all manner of searches, seizures, and arrests. They had the numbers and funding to find and lock up anyone with a mind towards banditry- until the past year. Allison had been disgusted to find that now, the Rangers operated at the whim of the highest bidder. If she was going to be a mercenary, she reasoned, she might as well do so on her own terms. Hence, Rogues’ Gallery.

"No sign of them," sighed Clara, adding a tentative log to the fire. It lit with a hiss.

Allison rolled her eyes. "New Åland's only, like, three hours North of here. They left before sunset so they should be back. Hope they haven't gotten caught."

"They didn't get caught." This last came from Izabella, the third Lady Outlaw remaining at camp. She emerged from her tent with a languorous yawn and stretch. "Jacqueline's a slippery little thing and Esmeralda's the best hand with a bullwhip in New Scandinavia. It would take more than the guard on the Crossland stagecoach to get them in irons."

"Sure they haven't got mixed up with each other?" Clara asked with a smirk. Esmeralda had a reputation for antagonizing anyone who she viewed as a rival.

"That's why I suggested she pair up with Jacqueline," Izabella said evenly, taking a seat across the fire from Clara. "If either of you'd gone with her she'd be more focused on one-upping you than robbing that coach." She took a drink from her canteen, then filled her cupped palm to splash some water on her pale face. "Jacqueline's more the thieving type, and good at disarming tricky situations. Different skills, less of a rivalry." Izabella, as the oldest of the Outlaw Ladies, was the de facto leader of their loose alliance. Clara and Allison both agreed that it had probably been a good plan, but both also thought to themselves, I could more than hold my own.

"Well I hope they make it back in time for breakfast. Otherwise I'm eating their porridge," Allison announced as she strode off to take her turn watering the horses. They'd be let loose to graze once the whole camp was up.

"At this rate it doesn't matter when they get here," Clara grumbled, "water's going to take forever to boil." The fire belied her pessimism, however, and she stalked off to fill a pot with water.

Izabella began plaiting her hair, idly wondering if it would be prudent to go into town today and pay a call on-

"HEY!"

Shouts and hoofbeats were rapidly approaching the camp. A narrow cleft in the sandstone rimrock was the only entrance to camp, and all attention- Allison's by the pasture, Clara's by the spring, Izabella's by the tents- snapped towards that opening.

"WAKE UP!"  The hoofbeats slowed momentarily, then burst free from the rock carrying with them Jacqueline and Esmeralda on lathered steeds.

"What is it?" asked Clara, skidding to a stop beside them.

Jacqueline leaned on her saddlehorn, breathing deeply, mask slightly askew. They must have been riding hard for some time. "We found a body at the foot of the pass," she managed between breaths.

Esmeralda nodded wordlessly for a few moments, then added "He's clearly a bigwig somewhere- fine linen suit, expensive jewelry, hair like wedding cake."

"Does he still have that fine jewelry?" Allison asked, shooting Jacqueline a look.

Jacqueline grinned broadly behind her mask. "Yep. Most of it, anyway." 

"How about the coach?" Izabella interrupted, reminding them what their priorities were.

Esmeralda made a no sweat gesture. "It was easy. Not a single shot fired. Jacqueline here-" she jerked a thumb- "hardly had to lift a finger."

"I made them let me pick the lock," Jacqueline deadpanned. “Too easy otherwise.” She then lifted a heavy, clinking sack from her saddlebag with a flourish. "Not a record haul, but it'll pay the bills."

"Our reputation preceded us," Esmeralda finished. "They gave us everything without a fight. But that body- he was still warm, not a scratch on him, but dead as a doornail. It's... creepy. and I think someone's trying to frame us. They dumped him at the foot of our trail. They know we’re up here."

"You don't think one of those clowns-" Allison swept her arm towards the rest of the waking camp- "offed him and didn't bother to clean up after themselves?"

Jacqueline shook her head. "Nobody up here operates like that. He was just lying in the middle of the trail. It's indecent."

Izabella sighed, rubbing her temples. What a headache, and all before breakfast. "That means we've got to bring him down into town. You know that, right?"

Clara shook her head violently. "They're going to blame us. That's what whoever killed him was intending- put us between a rock and a hard place. If we stay silent, someone else's gonna find him- and we get blamed then, too." She couldn't help but admire the conniving genius of the setup. It relied on the premise that there was, in fact, honor among thieves. Clara was willing to prove that premise false, bury their cadaver in a shallow grave, and wash her hands of the matter.

She was outvoted. “Saddle up,” Izabella ordered.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, in New Jorvik, the town was coming to life. Zelda, Eden, and Louisa, all horsewomen, were headed off at a trot towards the Moorland ranch. The school bell was tolling and the schoolmistress, Zoe, could be picked out among the swarm of pupils by the dark red of her hair. The blacksmith's shop added to the song of the morning as hammers began to ring on forges- Conrad and his assistants, Roo and Jamie, were working overtime filling orders now that roads and railways were free of snow and hoards of travellers were passing through New Jorvik. Miranda, the proprietor of the local house of pleasure, was chatting with Jack, owner of the town's most popular bar- their businesses complimented each other rather than competed, and the two got on quite well. Crystal, a barmaid at the seedier tavern at the edge of town, was picking through a bin of apples under the watchful eye of the general store's owner, Willow. Carina had stopped sweeping the library steps to fetch a book for the town doctor. All was as it should be.

This is what Sheriff Dorian Wolf saw as he unlocked his headquarters. He was feeling the oncoming spring course through his veins, and the warmth of a watery sun cheered him. But despite the growing goodness in the air, something was amiss. He couldn’t shake the feeling that all was not as it should be. And that something-

"Mornin', sheriff." 

Dorian turned to see the two townspeople he hadn't yet accounted for standing in the street, looking up at him expectantly. One was Hal Northwell, heir to the largest ranch in the county, freshly shaved with spitshined boots. The other was Ronja Thorinsson, his opposite, a scruffy vagabond of indeterminate age. Dorian observed that both happened to be clutching newspapers. Each was giving the other a look askance.

Dorian turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. "Come on in, both of you. I get the feeling that you have the same thing to share with me. Ronja, have you eaten?"

The young urchin nodded emphatically. A few townspeople made a habit of opening their pantries, kitchens, spare rooms, and haylofts to the homeless girl. She was known to be good at heart, if you could forgive her matted hair and filthy clothing. From the pastry crumbs on her overcoat, Dorian guessed that she'd taken breakfast in the back garden of The Calico.

He gestured to a pair of chairs and took his own seat behind the giant oak desk he'd inherited from the last sheriff. "What worrisome news does the Register report today?" he asked, propping his chin on his steepled fingers with interest.

Hal cleared his throat. "Take a look. My father and I saw this this morning and wanted to know if you'd heard anything more, or... had a plan?"

Dorian snagged the paper and unfolded it. There, under the letterhead of the New Jorvik Register, the headline read:

KEMBELL ENTERPRISES DECLARES BANKRUPTCY

A spokesperson for the mining company previously known as Kembell Enterprises, Incorporated has announced that all holdings and assets have been transferred to the ownership of Dark Corps, a multinational-

Dorian hardly had to read further. The last decade had seen Kembell and his men buy up vast tracts of land all over the West, but especially in the area surrounding New Jorvik. They were principally involved in open-pit mining and rode roughshod over the land, animals, resources, and people they encountered. Half of New Jorvik had wound up owing something to Kembell, whose agents speculated on land and pulled all sorts of rotten schemes to trick townsfolk into granting them access to their own property. It was all one massive, corrupt headache. The worst part was that nobody, Dorian included, knew what they were after. It had to be something more valuable than gold, more controversial than oil, for them to maintain the secrecy that they did.

"Do you Northwells owe something to Kembell?" Dorian asked quietly.

"They came to us about our summer grazing lands," Hal explained. "Said they found a vein of something up there that they wanted to investigate. We politely declined. They came again a month later, this time they offered to pay us. We still said no." Hal sighed. "We needed the land for our cattle. A year later they came back, and this time told us we had unstable earth up there, a landslide waiting to happen. Wouldn’t let up; they were at our door every day. My father allowed them to set up earthworks to stop it- and they never left. They billed us for their time. The expenses kept on piling up, somehow, and we had to sell them some of our land, then lease it back for grazing." Hal kneaded the space between his eyes. "It was only one parcel until the blizzard this winter. We lost almost a hundred head- that used to not be too many for us, but now it could force us to sell off our winter grazing, too." He looked Dorian square in the eyes. "My father says it's our own fault for trusting them, but I think something's wrong. I've heard they're doing this all over the valley. And I want to do something about it. Sunfields, Goldspurs, Moorlands, Dawnvalleys… they’re all in the same boat. So we’re all meeting today, at the theatre in town."

"And you think that, with Kembell bankrupt, you ranchers might have a chance against him now?" Dorian asked.

"Exactly." Hal leaned back in his chair, glad someone understood him. It was good to get that off his chest. His father blamed himself and wasn't willing to go up against such an intimidating foe as Kembell alone. His younger brother was still in school, not old enough to understand the stakes. Besides them, Hal had few friends, none of them close. He had a reputation as a bit of a hermit- someone who rode fences for fun.

"Yours isn't the first case against Kembell I've seen, but it's honestly the first with promise," Dorian said candidly. "I'll contact a lawyer, perhaps Linda Chandler, see what-"

"I got news too," Ronja mumbled from where she was slouched in her chair.

Dorian started. "Yes?"

Ronja was good at making herself inconspicuous; today was no exception. She might have been an especially deep shadow in the high-backed chair. She sat up straighter before saying:

"This morning. I was sleepin' in the smithy's hayloft and roundabout the witching hour, this big band o' riders comes walking past town, silent." She glanced at Dorian, then Hal. "They'd taken off their horse's bridles, so they wouldn't jangle, and muffled their hooves. And in the middle of 'em they had this wagon. I was looking down on them, see, and I saw in the wagon, they had..." she gently turned the newspaper Dorian had been reading over to show him the rest of the article. It included a printed photograph of Mr. Rutherford Kembell, erstwhile headman of Kembell Enterprises.

"They had him in the wagon," Ronja whispered, "an' he was dead as they come."

…

While the sheriff was consulting in his office, the bar next door was preparing for the lunch rush, due to arrive in a few short hours. Jack Wolfwatcher, proprietor, had just rolled a fresh keg of cream ale up from his cellar. He’d tap it for the first customer to order a pint. Jack had also eased the calendar he kept hidden out from under the till. It was riddled with marks- circled dates, days x’ed out, notes in the margins- and very clearly kept someone’s schedule. Certainly not Jack’s; his life operated like clockwork. His movements were other folks’ schedule. This was the schedule of someone whose location changed with the weather.

Jack and Ydris had met… how many years ago? Jack could hardly remember a time in New Jorvik that the tall, enigmatic showman hadn’t featured prominently in his life. Until that first summer that Ydris and his caravan had rumbled into town, Jack had felt out of place in New Jorvik, as if he’d maybe done better to stay in England. His bar had been an immediate hit, but that was just business. He’d had a difficult time being more than just the bartender, until Ydris had appeared at the door (in a characteristic fog of dry ice) to invite all comers to his Fantastic Caravan of Wonder, Just Outside Town and only One Penny A Head! He’d then plonked down at the bar and ordered absinthe, which Jack didn’t have, and his odd purple eyes had looked straight into Jack’s soul. They’d liked what they saw. Soon they were a couple, at least when Ydris was in town.

To make ends meet with his show Ydris had to keep constantly on the move. Over the years, his yearly round of towns had shrunk to include only those in the same territory as New Jorvik. By the time Ydris proposed to Jack- under an incredible fireworks display, in honor of Jack’s birthday- he was preparing to settle his act permanently in New Jorvik. The town was growing into a city; a museum of magic and curiosities could make a living for its owner. But until he had the capital to purchase a home for the museum, Ydris and his team had to keep travelling. The wedding would wait until they came home for good, and Jack would wait as patiently as he could.

According to Jack’s calendar, Ydris was due to arrive in New Jorvik in a week- one short week. He let a beam of a smile wash over his face, but briefly. If any of the troubling rumors- stolen horses, shady dealings with a mining company, roving bands of highwaymen- circulating through town proved true, it could turn into the longest week of his life.

“Trouble’d best not darken my door today,” he growled to Halli, his pet fox. She yipped at him, either agreeing or chuckling at the futility of his wish.

He was applying a coat of wax to the top of the bar when the swinging doors clacked somebody through. He looked up to see Madam Miranda gliding through. Miranda wasn’t trouble, she was a regular. He let the tension slide from his shoulders.

“How can I be of service, milady?” he asked with a courtly incline of his head. Miranda got more than her share of dirty looks and snarls from the more conservative townsfolk due to her job. Then again, the Temperance movement folks tended to treat Jack and the Bluenights, owners of the other bar, the same way. Jack, Miranda, and their friends knew who the real ladies and gentlemen in town were, and acted accordingly, sometimes with their tongues in their cheeks.

Miranda swept an overexaggerated curtsey. “Good day to you, fine sir. I need a word.”

“Have a seat.” Jack indicated a stool near where he was waxing the bar so their conversation could remain private if anyone else happened to arrive. “Is it Kembell’s louts again? Things going poorly at the ranch? Or worse?”

Miranda sighed. “None of the above. Yet. It’s Miss Crystal Bluenight. She came round this morning asking after any broken glasses, bottles we’ve tired of, even candle stubs. She’ll work herself into the grave before she’s twenty if she keeps on shouldering the burden of operating that bar alone.”

Jack sighed. Crystal was the granddaughter of Caspar Bluenight, the cantankerous old proprietor of the saloon across town. Caspar’d tired of barkeeping years ago, but bills to Kembell, his landlord, kept piling up. To close shop would mean putting everything the family owned into the hands of their creditors. Crystal’s parents had disappeared at the first hint of tightening finances, leaving their daughter to keep old Caspar off the bottle and the bar open. She came by Jack’s and the Calico every few months, looking for treasure in the well-off businesses’ trash.

“That girl should be putting her energies towards an accounting degree or starting afresh someplace else,” Jack said crisply. “Or at least working for someone mildly appreciative. That old barn of theirs is going to blow clean away one of these days and then where’ll they be? I-”

“Listen, she’ll be done going through my scrap heap and headed here any minute,” Miranda shushed him. “I’ve tried to talk to her about doing something else before, but you know how delicate I have to be when I give career counselling. She always thinks I’m suggesting my line of work, for which she’d be a horrible fit.” Miranda grinned wickedly. “I said a whoreibble fit.” Jack chuckled. “Anyway, I’m not saying you need to offer her a job, but you at least know where she’s coming from and-”

The saloon doors clacked open-shut again, admitting the topic of their conversation. Crystal, though only sixteen, had the careworn demeanour of someone older. Though her apron was threadbare and her hair tousled from digging through rubbish bins, she wore a wan smile that surprised both Miranda and Jack.

“I have a basket of chipped cups for you if you’d like, Miss Crystal,” Jack said casually, as if it were she doing him the favour.

“Oh, thank you, and thank you, Madam Miranda, for your generosity. But… I think we’ll be okay this time,” she replied. “You see, I just heard something… important. Things might get a little easier now.” Though she was doing her best to remain phlegmatic, they could tell she was barely containing her news. So they waited.

“I just heard from Ronja Thorinsson, on her way to see the sheriff,” Crystal blurted. “She showed me the paper. I know I shouldn’t be glad about the death of a man, but-” she let out an almost hysterical giggle- “it means he’ll leave us alone now. Kembell, I mean.”

“Dead?” Miranda and Jack asked, shocked, together.

“Ronja saw them taking his body away last night,” she explained. “And the headlines say he’s gone bankrupt.”

Miranda rose suddenly. “You’ll have to excuse me. That- that changes a lot. I’ve got some things to settle before whatever Kembell’s aftermath is, comes.” She turned on her heel and swung out into the street.

“Did I… say something wrong?” asked Crystal, dazed.

“Not a thing,” sighed Jack, wiping up the last of his wax and stowing his polishing equipment below the bar. “But it may surprise you to learn that most everyone in town- not just the Bluenights- have something to gain by Kembell’s sudden fall from power. And they’ll do their best to sort those gains out before whoever assumes his power-”

“They’re called Dark Corps, I believe,” said Crystal. “But surely they won’t just swoop in and keep bullying us all like he did?”

“Not just yet,” Jack said, “but soon.” He shuddered. “I fear Dark Corps far more than I ever worried over Kembell’s owning the land on three sides of my bar. Go tell your grandfather to get his deeds in order and have his shotgun handy. There’s a storm coming.”

Chapter Text

While all this transpired up and down main street in town, three cowgirls were just beginning their own long days out at the Moorland ranch. Louisa, head trainer for Moorland’s stables, was gently crooning to a leggy colt who’d have his first exercise in a halter that day. Zelda and Eden had checked in with Thomas, the rancher, and were headed out into a ravine just West of the ranch to find and bring in the first of the spring’s calves for branding, as well as do a headcount on the roping remuda that had spent their winter on the range.

“Hey, Z!” Louisa gave a subtle flick of the leadrope in her hand towards the ranch house. “Don’t look now.”

Zelda pulled Phantom up short and slowly eased around in her saddle to glance, casually, behind her.

“You guys.” Eden rolled her eyes as Genesis, her appaloosa mare, danced impatiently. “Genny needs a cow to chase, not a boy.” And Eden had a scant six hours to corral her day’s worth of calves before she was due in town to start work at Jack’s.

“Hush. I’ll meet you up there,” Zelda said under her breath, and reined Phantom at a leisurely walk towards the sweeping veranda of the Moorland estate. A young man with shining black hair was headed down the steps.

“Suit yourself.” Eden shared a shrug with Louisa and urged Genesis into a trot down the path towards the foothills, their valleys still deep blue in the morning light. Louisa went back to concentrating on the head-tossing colt, knowing that Zelda and Justin Moorland needed no help from her to start the morning off on the right foot.

“Where are you headed so early?” Zelda asked Justin playfully, sitting easily in her saddle. “There’s a canyon full of chuckleheaded calves that need brought in, if you want to help Eden and me out.”

Justin pulled a face. “Wish I could. But father’s sending me into town to represent us at the Stockmen’s Association emergency meeting.”

“Emergency? What’s more important than helpless baby cows, ripe for the rustling?” Zelda asked in mock horror.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s talk that all of our loans might get called in as early as next week. Kembell’s just… gone,” Justin said in a low voice.

Zelda bit her lip. “Then I guess you’d better go. But if that means Kembell’s lying no-good dirty rotten cattle-thieving hired men clear out of here, so much the better.” She shrugged. “But I’ll miss beating the living daylights out of them at the poker table. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Justin beamed up at her, the worry momentarily wiped from his face. “I should be back in time for supper. I’ll come bring in the stragglers with you, since Eden has to leave and all.” He tipped his hat and strode towards the stables.

Zelda watched him for a moment, holding back an almost-lovestruck sigh. Out of all the rugged, smooth-talking cowboys in New Jorvik she could have fallen for, sweet Justin Moorland was an outlier. But something about him brought out the best in her. When Justin was around she felt that she could be herself. Whether that self was a clever card sharp or a fearless roughrider didn’t matter; the pressure was off. She’d do just about anything for an evening ride alone with him.

…

And after a tense breakfast, Izabella, Allison, and Clara went to go collect the body and bring it to New Jorvik to be claimed. Jacqueline and Esmeralda turned in to make up for their sleepless night of banditry. If their companions hadn't returned to the Rogue's Gallery by sundown, they'd assume that they were locked in a cell somewhere in town, awaiting rescue, and ride in to break them out.

"Can't say I'm thrilled about making my triumphal return to New Jorvik with a dead guy on the back of my horse," grumped Clara. She'd drawn the short straw and had the inert body lashed behind her for the journey down.

"You're telling me. The last time I saw the New Jorvik lawmen, I had a Ranger's badge on my chest," sighed Allison. "Hopefully they'll have forgotten my face."

"You'll be fine," Izabella said through pursed lips. She regularly snuck into town for the odd poker game at Jack's. Passing for a law-abiding citizen came naturally to her by this point. Honestly, the New Jorvikers were a pretty trusting lot for the West. Unless you were actively brandishing a shotgun at them, hollering for their valuables, they assumed you were one of them.

"We'll just give them the truth, and if they don't like it, we grab a hostage before anyone gets the chance to draw," Izabella reasoned.

"The New Jorvik sheriff's a softy. He'll believe us," interjected Allison. "He can spot a liar from a mile off, and we ain't that. But it's not him I'm worried about. This time of year, the place'll be crawling with anyone with the cash to buy a train ticket. You never know who might recognize us and take issue with our bein' in town, in broad daylight."

"Well if we run into trouble, I have a few connections that'll give us a place to lay low," Clara offered reluctantly.

"You're from one of those New Jorvik first families, aren't you?" Izabella asked, halfway between accusation and approval.

"I was," Clara said grudgingly, and left it at that.

…

As soon as the clock tower above city hall chimed noon, blacksmith Freja- Roo to her friends, and by reputation- took off her heavy leather apron and hustled down the street to the library. Inside, she found Zoe, the schoolmistress, deep in conversation with Carina, their heads together over the circulation desk. Roo cleared her throat as she let the door click shut behind her.

“Roo!” Carina beckoned her over. “I have your History of the Catalan Forge and Bloomery Construction here.” She passed the two weighty books across the counter; they’d come on the last train, requested from the larger library in New Stockholm, the territorial capitol. Roo smiled: these would be perfect reading with her feet propped up and a glass of Scotch.

“We were just discussing today’s headline,” Zoe explained, her eyes lit with interest. “Seems the whole town has a week or so to make it seem like none of them owe shit to Kembell before his successors come and throw us all out in the street. Except those of us publically employed, drawing salaries from the county. Anyone come by the smithy with new developments?”

Roo laughed nervously. “Actually, I got it from Jamie, who got it from Miranda, who got it from Crystal, who got it from Ronja, who saw it with her own eyes and who got it confirmed by the sheriff. Kembell was murdered. But his body’s nowhere to be found.”

Carina visibly shivered. Her face had blanched a few shades. “I knew something was up.”

“You don’t look so good,” Roo said. “I got some brandy in my hipflask if you wanna-”

“I’m fine, just shocked at how shocked I’m not.” Zoe and Roo raised their eyebrows. “Someone left something on my back porch this morning. It was a warning- a clue, really, and it implicates that someone in the death of Mr. Kembell. I think I need to tell Dorian.”

Zoe threw up her hands. “Fine, be vague! Now I’ll be dying to know for the rest of the day, while I try and interest future cowpersons in algebra,” she sighed. “Tell me what he says, yeah?”

Carina smiled weakly. “You bet. Come by for tea at five and I’ll spill all. You want to come, Roo? I’ll make scones.”

Roo shook her head. “I’m behind on an order of rifles for…Kembell Enterprises.” She shrugged. “Or not. Guess I can move on to my next project, which happens to be the feet of all the Jarlasson Shires. But I’ll at least go see Dorian with you, I’ve got forty-five minutes left before lunch is over.”

Carina grabbed her handbag from behind the circ desk and blew out her lamp. “Have a good day at school, Zoe. Hope the kids aren’t too morbid about this whole Kembell thing.”

“I’ll just distract them with tales of Prometheus. That’ll turn their heads,” Zoe said with a cackle. "An eagle eats his guts for eternity." Then she glided out the side door that opened into the schoolyard.

“Mind if we stop by the general store on our way? Willow promised me a free sandwich in return for soldering her hitching post back together,” Roo suggested.

…

After Willow had given sandwiches- and a free jar of sweet pickles!- to Roo and Carina and caught up on the developments in the Kembell story, and waved them, smiling, down the street to the sheriff’s office, she eased into her office and locked the door from the inside. On her desk was a pile of mail: billing accounts from the mining and logging outfits that purchased their grub from her; a few promissory notes from townspeople buying on credit, and, at the bottom, a telegram. She sliced it open methodically, spread the pages neatly, and read:

RK ELIMINATED STOP RANGERS DISPATCHED STOP MY DEPUTY WILL ARRIVE IN TOWN TONIGHT STOP

SANDS

Chapter Text

“Don’t worry, I trust you: someone else killed Kembell. Besides, I have it on good authority that a group of men dragged his body off last night.” Dorian looked each of the Lady Outlaws in the eyes; he wouldn’t press charges.

Things were going surprisingly smoothly in the Sheriff’s office. Allison, Clara, and Izabella had stuck to the alleyways as they made their way to the police station, and had made it inside without incident. Now, Kembell’s body was stretched out on Dorian’s massive desk. “I may, however, need your help in tracking down his killer.”

The outlaws exchanged looks. “We can tell you what we heard, but some of our… colleagues are the ones who actually found him,” Allison finally said.

“They wouldn’t know anything about the New Åland stage robbery?” Dorian asked. He was greeted by stony faces. “Not my district; we’ll let it slide. A few hundred dollars is nothing compared to the murder of a mining tycoon. Now, will your colleagues be riding into town any time soon? I need to talk to them.”

Izabella shrugged. “I imagine they’ll come barrelling in round sunset. Not patient, either of them.”

“Fine. Then I’ll need to take statements from each of you and-”

The door to Dorian’s office banged open, and Zelda, Eden, and Louisa hustled through, clearly in a hurry.

“We just came from Moorland’s,” Louisa announced. “Z and Eden discovered that the whole driving remuda has disappeared.”

“We’ve spent the morning riding the entire West pastureland, where they were turned out at the end of the year,” Eden explained. “No sign of them. That’s thirty horses, gone. We’d like to report their theft.”

“I know every horse on that ranch, and that herd is definitely gone,” added Louisa. “Given the string of recent disappearances-”

The door slammed open again, and this time Hal reappeared.

“Sheriff, the Stockmen’s Association is in an uproar, nobody-”

Slam! Doctor Lisa Peterson squeezed in. In a town as small as New Jorvik, she also served as coroner. “I’m here for the autopsy- oh, hi babe!” she blew a kiss across the crowd to Louisa, who caught it and grinned with joy.

Slam! “There room for a few more?” came the muffled voice of Roo from behind Hal and Lisa.

“ALL RIGHT!” Dorian raised his voice to get everyone’s attention. “I suggest we move this complex web of crimes to Jack’s; we’re outgrowing my office. Doctor Peterson, you may operate in the back room. Everyone else, we reconvene across the street in five minutes.”

The crowd fairly stampeded over to Jack’s, and soon were arranged at tables, sipping whiskeys and beers as fast as Jack could pour them. Eden quickly switched her chaps for an apron and pitched in. Crystal, who’d been on her way out, automatically began waiting tables. Though she knew she’d be needed soon at Bluenight’s, she had to hear what was going on.

Sheriff Dorian sat on the bar, so as to better survey his audience. Izabella, Allison, and Clara clustered in a corner, trying to be inconspicuous. Zelda and Louisa were sharing a table with Roo and Carina, who’d offered a chair to Ronja, who had materialized with curiosity in her eyes. Hal was trying to act natural while wringing his hands and leaning against a wall (“a gentleman waits for all ladies present to be seated before taking his seat,” he remembered from his father’s decorum lessons). Miranda bustled in upon seeing the line of people trooping across the street, and took a seat next to Willow, who’d done the same. Dorian was just about to address the assembly when the door opened one last time and Zoe strode in, red in the face.

“I gave my students the rest of the day off,” she announced. “They’re either frightened that they’re going to be kicked out of their homes, or be kidnapped and murdered in the night, or worried that their pony at home has been stolen, or planning on sneaking down to the station to spy on the autopsy. It is not a constructive learning environment.” She plopped down next to Miranda.

As he drew a pitcher of bitter for the newcomers, Jack’s eyes strayed to the calendar. One week, he thought ruefully. Fuck.

…

Meanwhile, Jacqueline and Esmeralda had only been sleeping for a few hours when they both sat bolt upright in their tents.

“Did you hear that?” Jacquline asked through the canvas wall.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was firing a Gatling gun,” Esmeralda said sleepily.

Ratatatatatatatatatatatat!

Both outlaws started hastily stuffing their feet into boots and strapping on various holsters, sidearms, and other weaponry. “I now know better,” Esmeralda said. “now I know someone’s firing a Gatling gun.”

“And it sounds like they’re using our mountainside for target practice,” Jacqueline grumbled. Together they ran to the corral, caught their horses- Jacqueline caught Midnight, her steed from the night before, and Esmeralda snagged Charra, who hadn’t been out the previous night and was therefore fresh.

“Hope it’s not too far to our trigger-happy friends,” Jacqueline said worriedly. “Midnight needs a proper rest before he can outrun anything.”

The camp was coming alive with outlaws and bandits, catching and saddling their horses and charging towards the pass. Jacqueline and Esmeralda fell into a lope next to Rob, the leader of a smuggling ring, and James, a small-time grifter. Rob rode a Shire; James rode a pony. They single-filed through the cleft in the rock to join the ragged group of onlookers filtering from the Rogues’ Gallery.

Lined up facing the valley entrance was a neat array of riders, perhaps twenty. The center rider had a Gatling gun mounted on a wagon next to him.

Jacqueline scanned them quickly; all men, all disreputable in aspect. Their line was clearly meant to intimidate, but there was a weakness on their left flank where a stand of pine trees concealed a path past them. If she needed to escape, she’d head Midnight straight for those pines. Beyond was a near-vertical slope; even in his tired state he’d be able to run it.

Esmeralda was doing some sizing up of her own. She considered each of them individually: many were burly, hooded goon-types, and looked almost bored in their saddles. One or two stood out: an alert, bearded man in a bright, woven poncho; a steely-eyed older man in a black hat; and the leader, the one in the center, just about took her breath away. He wore his red hair pomaded elaborately, and a sneer to go with his black overcoat. His presence left no question as to who was in charge.

“What do you want?” someone yelled from the back of the Rogues’ Gallery crowd.

The leader looked around, making sure that he had everyone’s attention. “Greetings, criminals,” he boomed. “We’ve got an offer to make.”

Jacqueline leaned over to Esmeralda. “Why do I get the feeling that it’s an offer we can’t refuse?” she asked.

“Did you find our present to you?” the leader was asking. Murmurs of assent rumbled through the crowd; most of them had heard about the Lady Outlaws and the mysterious body by this point. “He used to be a heavy hitter around here, but there’s a new leader coming for the good people of New Jorvik,” continued the red-haired man, “and we’re here to cordially invite you to join us in helping him usher in a new era for our friends in town.”

Esmeralda shivered. “If Izabella, Allison, and Clara are trapped in town when this new era comes, I don’t envy them a bit.” Jacqueline nodded, and then: “What do you say we warn them?”

Esmeralda made a face.

“They’d do the same for us,” Jacqueline said pointedly.

The leader was speaking again. “The New Jorvegians have been sitting on a vein of the rarest, the most valuable, the most powerful element under the earth!” he proclaimed. “And they have no idea. Our friend Mr.Kembell tried to tap it, but,” the leader frowned, in mock regret, “he was weak. Didn’t have the guts to do what needed to be done.” His face cracked into a smile. “But we have an incredible machine that’ll accomplish what Kembell did in a decade in only a few months! And there’s plenty more of us readying it for action. You’re outlaws, like us. You aren’t afraid of a little bloodshed to get what we want!” Murmuring, again. It wasn’t the reaction that Red Hair had been hoping for. “Will you join us, and help make New Jorvik the greatest city in the West?”

A moment of tense silence followed. Then Rob, the smuggler, spoke up:

“Who’s paying you?”

It was the longest sentence anyone had heard him utter to date.

Red Hair chuckled. “Dark Corps, of course! Who did you think? Now when Dark Corps calls-”

“We’re nobody’s dogs to come when we’re called,” Rob thundered. “We work on our own terms.”

Nobody saw who fired the first shot, but everyone heard it. The two mobs descended into chaos.

Jacqueline wasted no time. “Esmeralda. DOWN!” She grabbed Charra’s headstall and pointed her friend towards the pines.

“Shit, Jacque, do you really think-”

A bullet whizzed by Esmeralda’s cheek.

“All right, the cliff then!”

Together, they charged for the shelter of the pines. Jacqueline and Midnight took to the craggy slope in a leap, and Esmeralda could hear the rocks clattering as they careened down. Esmeralda looked back, once- and saw the red-haired man, hand hovering over his pistol, sitting calmly, watching her. Why doesn’t he just-

Before her brain could say, shoot me, her instincts took the reins. Before she knew what she was doing she slung a .45 from her holster, fired it into the air, and was gone down the escarpment.

I don’t think that’s the last I’ll see of Tall, Dark, and Moody, she thought to herself. I’d best be prepared for a rematch. And this time, one of us will decide to shoot.

Chapter Text

“So here’s what we know,” Dorian was recapping. “Mayor Skoll has left town indefinitely, probably bought off at some point. Kembell and his company were trying to gain access to as much of New Jorvik as possible, for something having to do with industrial mining. He and his men used illegal scams and intimidation to set up their equipment on people’s land. But Kembell was suspiciously killed last night. A strange group of men were seen carrying his body into the Silvers early this morning. His body was later found at the foot of a mountain pass frequented by outlaws. We need to find his killer. We also need to stop Dark Corps, the company taking over from him, from seizing land previously used by Kembell. Is that it?”

“And there are a hundred-some horses missing from ranches all over New Jorvik,” added Louisa, slightly annoyed at the omission.

“Right. The horses. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were connected,” Dorian agreed.

Carina stood up. “Someone left a desert rose branch on my doorstep last night. That species of plant comes from the Silvers. I think one of the men who took Kembell’s body left it as a clue for us, and I’m assuming that that man is a Mr. Stoneground, a scientist who’s previously worked for Dark Corps.”

“All right, so we deduce that they came down from the mountains, found and killed Kembell, and brought him back up to the outlaws’ hideout?” Dorian asked.

“Correct,” Carina said crisply, and sat down.

Allison stood to speak. “Did you get a telegram off to the New Jorvik Rangers this morning, Sheriff?”

Dorian nodded. “As soon as Ronja told me about seeing Kembell’s body. A team had been dispatched and will arrive tomorrow on the three o’clock train.”

Allison shifted uncomfortably. “I hate to bear bad news, but during my stint with the Rangers we did some… errands for Dark Corps. I wouldn’t trust them.”

Hal stood and flashed Allison a penetrating look. “And why should we trust you? You’re a bandit and, if I recall correctly, were thrown out of the Rangers.”

“Yeah, for refusing to take out a hit on someone innocent,” Allison cried defensively. “And though the man who ordered the hit kept his identity a secret, we all thought he was sent by Dark Corps. It was in the way he paid us- freshly minted silver dollars. The kind of money you get from a direct exchange of currency. Dark Corps is the only company in these parts with their hand in the US Treasury’s pocket.”

Eden jumped into the fray. “Not all Rangers are corrupt,” she offered, her mind leaping to Alonso, her Ranger sweetheart. “We won’t know until they arrive whether or not we can trust them.”

Dorian made a calming motion. “We’ll deal with the Rangers when they get here. I think-”

The door burst open, and Jacqueline and Esmeralda stumbled in, having clearly ridden hard. Again.

“There’s a brute squad, hired by Dark Corps, headed this way!” Jacqueline cried.

Everyone stood up at that.

“The rest of the Rogues’ Gallery is slowing them down up in the Silvers,” Esmeralda explained, breathless. “We took a shortcut and rode here as fast as we could. They’ve got mounted guns and, from the sounds of it, some giant earth mover that they plan on using to dig up the whole county.”

“So they can’t move too fast,” muttered Clara.

(Willow, meanwhile, gave a mental exasperated sigh. Scratch “my deputy will be here tonight.” Make that tomorrow morning, at the earliest.)

The assembled people broke into nervous rabble until Jack, tired of the noise, grabbed his shotgun from under the bar and fired into the air. He needed to patch the roof anyway, and with all the recent goings-on, another hole was the least of his worries.

“We need to divide and conquer!” yelled Dorian into the silence. “First of all, we need to get to the bottom of Kembell’s murder. That’s the only real crime we can prove before the territorial courts.”

“Second, we need to apprehend the gang of criminals threatening to take over New Jorvik. They may or may not be the same as the Kembell’s killers, but either way they’re numerous and have a massive weapon, if they were telling the truth.”

“Third, we need to protect New Jorvik and its citizens. We need people to stay here, and prepare for the eventuality of having to fight the New Jorvik Rangers, but, fourth, we also need to be ready to negotiate if any of our worst-case scenarios come to pass.”

“FOUR,” cried Zoe, standing up so fast her chair fell over.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“Beg pardon?” asked Dorian, politely.

“The number four. It had special meaning for the Jorvegians who founded our town,” Zoe explained, as if to one of her classes. “There were four circles of power for the ancient druids. They worked together to protect the land they stood on. And to me, it looks like what we’re up against isn’t too different from cracks to the underworld opening in our midst, or whatever else happened in Jorvegian mythology. So we should divide. By four.” She sat down matter-of-factly.

Dorian shrugged. “Anything to make sense out of this mess. We need hunters, fighters, and guards. And one or two diplomats.” He surveyed the crowd. “Who’s our best tracker?”

Izabella rose, trying to exude trustworthiness and dignity. “I want to put forward Esmeralda and Allison. Both are exceptional trackers.” Esmeralda and Allison both shot her looks of disbelief as if to say We’re bounty hunters, not members of a do-gooder charity posse! Izabella stared them down cooly.

“I’m staying put,” Allison announced pugnaciously. “I know which Rangers are crooked and which can be trusted. You need me here. Take Esmeralda, though, and Jacqueline; they won’t do you wrong and Jacque’s a spy master.”

“That may be,” said Dorian carefully, “but all three of you- your whole group- are professional criminals. Why should we trust you to bring some other criminals to justice?”

“Because we’re trying to clear our names,” Izabella replied, crossing her arms. “Let’s say this whole Dark Corps invasion is a hoax and you don’t find out who really murdered Kembell. Then we’re the top suspects.” Then she grinned. “And I’m sure whoever did it has enough prize money on their head to buy half the town anyway.”

“I trust her. She tips well!” Jack volunteered, with a pound on the bar for good measure. Izabella kept a low profile when she came into town for late-night poker games with Jack, Eden, and Zelda after last call, but Jack knew that his opinion counted.

“Makes sense.” Dorian was nodding along. “But I’m still not trusting two known bandits without supervision. Just so happens, we have a bounty hunter of our own to keep you two on the straight and narrow. Carina?”

The librarian jerked her chin upwards in grudging acknowledgment.

“Congratulations Miss Lightlee, you’re out of retirement,” Dorian said. “Now we need one more.”

You could here the crickets and spring peepers outside.

Hal pointed across the room. “Diamondsong can do it.”

Clara flashed a what the fuck? face to him, but that didn’t hide her blush. Before Clara had skipped town to pursue a life of crime, she’d been the wealthy daughter of a prominent family- and Hal had been a year ahead of she and Eden Dawnvalley in school. She and Hal had been sweethearts, once upon a time, before they had parted ways and careened off on their current love-em-and-leave-em patterns of behaviour. The Diamondsong and Northwell families had had high hopes for a combined empire until then. Hal and Eden had stayed in town, hardworking, dutiful, law-abiding, while Clara had run off in the night and was known to be a wanted outlaw. They were worlds apart now, but in the same room.

“I know she won’t stab anyone’s back, though looking at her now you’d never believe me,” drawled Hal with a smirk.

“Fine!” Clara said in disgust.

Dorian smiled. “Progress! We have our bounty hunters. Next we need our soldiers to protect the town. Who’re my gunmen?”

Izabella, Zelda, Allison, and Roo all raised various firearms, with various levels of enthusiasm.

“Pardon me: gunwomen. Roo, Zelda, are you going to be able to keep two hitwomen in check?”

“Watch us,” Zelda smiled. Izabella often crossed swords with her at the poker table, but they got on well. As for Allison, she seemed harmless enough, if likely to disappear in the night once the Rangers had shown up.

Dorian assented. “All right. I’d suggest you all go with Roo to the smithy and stock up on any weaponry you’re missing tonight. Now, our town won’t operate without food, drink, love, or the law,” he chuckled. “So Willow, Jack, Miranda, and myself will have to stick close to home and protect the town from the inside. Louisa, Hal: I trust both of you to smooth-talk your way through whoever shows up on the train tomorrow.”

“I’m needed at the ranch,” Hal argued.

“I’m needed at Moorland’s,” Louisa said at the same time.

“Tough. You’re needed here more,” Miranda interjected. “All of us with businesses here are going to be tied up keeping town afloat. And if I’m not mistaken,” she added pointedly, “most of your livestock have disappeared anyway. You’ll be of more use wielding your fine diction down here.”

Louisa and Hal exchanged looks and shrugged.

“All right, I expect everyone to get a good night’s sleep and rest your horses. We start our missions at dawn tomorrow,” Dorian announced, and the gathering began to disperse in groups.

Eden, Ronja, Zoe, and Crystal all remained, in various stages of outraged silence. Eden slammed the tray of empty glasses she was clearing down on a table. Finally, when the last patron had clacked through the swinging doors, Zoe said, loudly, “Excuse me?”

Dorian was adding up the collective tab, to pay Jack out of town funds. “Yes ma’am?”

“What about us?” Zoe demanded. “Eden and I know how to handle guns. Crystal and Ronja have plenty of marketable skills. Do you just expect us to go about our lives like normal? I’m sure as hell not reopening school with a murderer on the loose.”

Dorian sighed. “Zoe, Ronja, Crystal. You three aren’t adults yet. I can’t ask you to put your lives in danger for the good of the town when you’re still minors.” He turned to Eden. “Eden, I know you’ve got valuable skills, but your family would have my hide if I let you get swept up in this whole thing. You’re barely grown yourself, and I’m sure Jack needs your help here.”

Jack dived into the back room noncommittally. He had no desire to get between his headstrong barmaid and the sheriff.

“Look, when I took my oath as sheriff I swore to protect everyone, but children, especially, need protected by the law. I won’t be responsible for the deaths of four innocent girls,” Dorian continued. “Now go home to your families or homes. Ronja, I'm sure Zoe will allow you to lay low in the schoolhouse with her. Morning will come early for all of us.” He tipped his hat and swung out into the night.

A long silence followed. Jack didn’t return. Finally Eden got up from the chair she’d sunk into and scanned the three other faces.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Not laying low, that’s for sure,” muttered Ronja.

Crystal looked nervous, but determined. “Hell if I’m going to hide for this whole ordeal,” she announced. “Count me in. On whatever we’re doing.”

Zoe shared a glance with Eden; both knew they were thinking alike.

“There’s one piece to this puzzle that the rest of the town keeps forgetting,” Zoe began.

“The hundred missing horses,” finished Eden. “And we’re going to be the ones to find them.”

“Fuckin right!” cheered Ronja.

…

Willow stopped on her porch and gazed out at the vast darkness of the Big Silversong’s plain. She scanned the darker blackness of the mountains from East to West. And there- yes, if you knew just where to look- an uncanny glow licked the sky at the Westernmost peak. They were delayed, but they were coming. She smiled to herself, unlocked her door, and climbed the three flights of stairs to her attic. In the North-facing gable window, hidden high beneath the eaves, she hung one large lantern. Its light could be seen from anywhere but down below in the streets.

Willow took from her pocket a small pouch and from this pouch took a pinch of what looked to be sand. But when it caught the lantern light, it shone an eerie purple. She tipped the contents of her hand down into the lantern’s chimney, and the flame blazed to the color of the underworld.

Chapter Text

Miranda never even went to sleep that night.

She hurried back to The Calico, where it was eerily quiet. She understood that with all the recent goings on everyone was hunkering down, planning to weather the worst. Nobody was thinking of pleasure at a time like this. But it was making her girls jumpy.

If only I had a safer place to send you, she thought as she peered into the formal parlor. The nine young ladies in her employ were dressed to kill- winking jewels, rouged faces, dresses like stained glass windows. They knew she expected no less on a working night. Except there was no work.

“The town’s in hiding ladies,” she announced, lifting her chin, putting on her madam face, and striding in as if she were the Queen of Sheba. “Might as well get a full night’s sleep. I hear there’s a trainload of New Jorvik Rangers arriving tomorrow, anyway. Tomorrow’ll be busy.”

“What about the outlaw gang?” asked one young woman. “I hear they have weapons of mass destruction.”

Miranda made herself laugh, and made it sound genuine by sheer force of will. “Not only are we members of the world’s oldest profession, we’re also protected by it,” she explained. “No matter who wins this fight over New Jorvik, our services will be in demand. If you hear gunshots in the night, though,” she added, “keep your guns handy and please remember the laundry chute.” The Calico’s basement rivalled Fort Knox in its security. When she’d bought and refurbished the building, previously an honest boarding house, Miranda had ordered a few modifications for the safety of her employees. She knew just how hard it could be to be a young, unmarried woman without family or fortune in these times, and a soiled dove on top of that. The laundry chute provided speedy egress in the event of unwanted attentions or a screaming mob.

Her girls nodded and shuffled off to their rooms, pulling feathered combs from their hair and jewelled baubles from their ears. Miranda did the same. The night watchman, a huge and humourless Confederate veteran whose primary responsibility was keeping the patrons’ horses off the dancefloor, was just clocking in with his watchdog.

“I won’t be gone long,” Miranda told him as she swept silently out the door. She’d traded her bustled dress for a plain skirt and an overcoat. She was going home.

Miranda stuck to the shadows until she reached the back gate to the smithy. It was situated on the edge of town and had pens for horses awaiting shoes, its own well, and a number of outbuildings for the many types of metalwork Conrad and his assistants provided. The apprentices lived in some of the lofts above these buildings, but Miranda skipped her usual gambit of tossing pebbles at Jamie’s window and instead let herself into the stables. Jamie was already there, harnessing Bullet to his buckboard.

Just the sight of him made the tension drain from Miranda’s shoulders. For now, she could put aside her feud with Kembell and the weight of others’ lives. She could pretend that this was her real life: an honest man, a house in the country, her young daughter. Jamie sensed her presence and looked up with a smile. “You still sure you’re coming back here?” he asked. She’d slipped a note to Roo at Jack's, to deliver to Jamie, in the guise of a payment for her most recent smithy purchase. Jamie turned to run his hand down his horse’s leg. It would be a quick trip out to Miranda’s ranch, but he wanted to be sure that if they met trouble on the road Bullet would be ready to run,

“It’s not safe out beyond the city limits- that’s where Kembell’s men are, and from the sound of things it’ll be… explosive once their reinforcements show up. But here in town I’m worried about a shootout,” she replied, hands on her hips and foot tapping. “Has Conrad asked you to do anything here?”

Jamie nodded. “As soon as I mentioned the name Dark Corps he went to his office and locked the door. I didn’t see him until right before the meeting. I came in here-” he gestured to the stable “-and he was loading his cart with this strange metal I’d never seen before. It must be scarce, brought over from the old country. He said he was heading South and ‘not to let the bastards burn this place to the ground.’ He also gave me leave to use our stock to arm the citizens who needed weapons, which Roo took care of in pretty short order.”

“So he just…took off? That’s uncharacteristic,” Miranda supplied.

Jamie agreed. “Whatever he was carrying must have been something Dark Corps wants. Anyway, I joined in with the cattlemen who’ll be fortifying the town.”

“They could use a good shot like you,” Miranda said, and extended a hand for him to help her up into the wagon. Not that she needed help; but when you’re the grandest lady in town you become accustomed to certain things.

They drove swiftly Southwest, across the newly laid North Sea Line tracks to Miranda’s ranch. Set in a sea of rolling hills forested with juniper, scrub oak, and red sandstone towers, it was the best kept secret in New Jorvik county. She lifted her head from Jamie’s shoulder to look up as they passed beneath the deadwood arch. A wrought iron sign, scrolled with intricate swirls, read “Rancho Escarlata-” a scarlet ranch for a scarlet woman. Though anyone riding by would interpret its name to come from the redrock stacks that populated the nearby hills.

“Mama!” the voice of Rose, Miranda’s daughter, came bursting out of the twilight, and the girl herself launched out of the cookhouse as soon as the wagon pulled up in the dooryard. Miranda jumped down to embrace her daughter and carry her inside, where Jasper and Mrs. Holdsworth, her aging hired help, would have supper on the stove.

One last peaceful night she thought later as she settled Rose in bed later. Then the fun begins. If only there was a place that she could spirit Jamie, Rose, her girls, her ranchhands off too… Rancho Escarlata used to be that place. Now, not even her secret haven was safe.

…

Zelda was waiting outside the Thalia Theatre when the Stockmen’s Association’s emergency meeting let out at a quarter to eleven. Justin looked bleary-eyed from listening to the older, louder ranchers argue themselves hoarse. The meeting had ended with the chairman firing a few rounds into the air for order. When he saw her waiting, though, he perked up and hurried to her side.

“What’ll they do? Stampede the sum total of their herds down Main Street when the murderous gang rides in?” asked Zelda.

Justin sighed and leaned back against the brick wall. “They’re moving their families into town until this all passes. They may be afraid of violence in the streets, but they’re even more concerned about bombastic mining on their land.” He met her eyes. “Dark Corps isn’t known for having scruples, Z. Goldspurs say that Kembell came by their place just yesterday, pleading with them to clear out. He seemed desperate. Said they could be blown to smithereens by underground gas pockets if they didn’t grant his men access to dig them up. Our guess is that he was a frontman for Dark Corps all along and when he failed to move fast enough in digging his mines, they had him killed.”

Zelda sighed. “That doesn’t bode well for anyone. But at least I’ll be around to keep an eye on you.” She grinned.

Justin tried not to look too relieved. Though a rancher’s son, he wasn’t exactly gunslinger material. “I’ll be staying with my Silverglade cousins on Riverside avenue,” he said. Zelda pulled a face; she had little regard for the muckety-mucks of New Jorvik and their ornate houses with views of the Big Silversong. “I bet Anastasia’ll have a spare bedroom, if you need a place to stay.”

“Thank you, but no thank you,” Zelda replied. “We’re starting our first patrol at dawn. They think that the headman for Dark Corps’ thugs will be arriving sometime tomorrow. And so will the Rangers, who we don’t know if we can trust.”

“Well.” Justin toed the ground pensively. “You’ll be careful, right?”

“Always,” Zelda lied through her smile.

“When it’s over,” Justin said, “please come find me.” He plucked her had from her side, gave it a sincere kiss, and turned to go.

“Wait-” Zelda grabbed his elbow, spun him around to face her and, on slight tiptoe cupped his chin in a calloused hand and planted a kiss on his mouth.

“I’ll find you,” she said with a smile.

…

Doctor Lisa’s orderlies, Frank and Igor, were cleaning up the last of the sheets and scrubbing down the operating table with alcohol when Dorian and Louisa entered the sheriff’s back room. Kembell had been nailed into his coffin, which was sitting out back, awaiting burial. Lisa herself was writing furiously in a notebook while humming under her breath.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” Dorian asked, flopping into his chair.

“It’s utterly confounding,” Lisa sighed. “Some sort of shockwave seems to have killed him- the damage is entirely internal. I’ve heard of these things happening with dynamite, but that usually comes with plenty of wounds and lesions. Kembell was spotless. Either way, he’s not waking up any time soon.”

“Good enough for me. I’m turning in. Rebeca’ll be getting concerned by this point,” Dorian yawned. “You’ll be able to bury him without spunking, right, boys?”

Frank and Igor nodded nervously as they shuffled out. They’d been caught bodysnatching years before, and Dorian made a deal with them: help the doctor and tend the cemetery and they’d not have to serve time.  

Dorian locked the door behind Louisa and Lisa, and tipped his hat to them as he headed for his house. The girls aimed down the shady, well-kept Valedale street, towards Lisa’s combined practice and living quarters.

“I don’t like anything about this,” Lisa was whispering. “No power on earth killed that man- at least not one known to modern science.”

Louisa squeezed her hand. “Well whatever it is, we’ll know a lot more about it tomorrow. But they’re going to make me one of the official spokespeople, so. There’s that.”

Lisa smiled. “You’ll be great. It’s that cute accent of yours that convinced them, isn’t it?” she teased.

Louisa huffed in mock annoyance. “I tell a few stories at Jack’s on Saturday nights and look where it gets me! First in line for a mysterious death by explosion.”

“That’ll learn ya to talk worserer,” Lisa said with a straight face. “And besides, it’s not in Dark Corps’ best interest to wipe out an entire town, especially one so prominent as New Jorvik. I’m glad you’re based here instead of marauding about on the range, hunting trouble.”

Louisa shook her head. “I know I’m not the best with a gun, and that’s fine. But I do feel guilty for being here, instead of out there with the hunters and fighters. Almost like I cheated.”

Lisa pulled up short and turned to face Louisa. She put her hands on each of her girlfriend’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Louisa. By the time this ordeal is over, everyone’s going to have gone through hell and back. Whether that’s through losing a loved one, or all they own in the world, or being taken out by a bullet with their name on it, we have no way of knowing until it happens.” She pulled Louisa towards her and buried her face in her neck. Louisa could sense that her tough-as-nails ladylove was on the verge of tears. “So you use your instinctive horse-calming voodoo and your silver words and keep the bullets from flying, okay?”

Louisa let out the breath she’d been holding and encircled Lisa with her arms. “Okay.” They stood embracing in the street for another moment, then Louisa muttered into Lisa’s short red hair, “Can we go in now? Dawn’s coming early today.”

Lisa kissed her, grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs to the doctor’s living quarters entrance. “Then we’ve not a moment to lose,” she said with a smile.

…

Clara had stabled Missy and was headed for the livery’s hayloft across the street when Willow appeared at her elbow.

“Clara, right?” Willow asked, frightfully bubbly for this late at night.

“Yes?”

“I need to talk to you,” Willow said, turning serious. “Come have a cup of chamomile tea with me. And then you can spend the night on my couch!”

Clara looked up at the hayloft, likely teeming with insects and itchy to boot. She hadn’t slept in a real bed for over a year, and even then it’d been in a cheap hotel. “Fine, but keep it quick. I have a lot of miles to cover in the morning,” she replied, and followed Willow into her house next to the store.

The tea was already brewed and steaming in delicate china cups on the table. Clara’s spine prickled. She knew I’d come.

Willow slid in to her seat and daintily fanned the steam. “Sugar?” Clara made a stony face at her. “I’ve heard, Miss Diamondsong,” Willow began through a smile, “so much about you. In fact, a friend of mine has some glowing things to say about you.”

“Which friend?” Clara asked. She had no friends herself, on purpose.

“My boss, actually!” Willow chirped. When Clara raised her eyebrows, she explained, “the person who financed my move to New Jorvik and purchase of the store. He’s a big investor out here, and he’s read of your exploits with interest.”

“I rob trains. And banks. And assassinate. And make people pay protection money,” Clara said flatly. “What does an investor have to do with that?”

Willow grinned toothily. “Let’s just say he admires your work, and would gladly reward you for any service you might do for him. For us!”

“Like what?”

Willow picked at a cuticle. “Look, out of all the girls up in the hills playing outlaw, you’re the one with promise,” she said. “You’re ruthless and clever and take no prisoners. You don’t fraternize with the local yokels, or pull your punches when someone makes you feel sorry for them. You do it for fun. If it wasn’t fun, you’d be sitting pretty in a ranch estate, married to that sad-faced Northwell boy.” Willow looked up. “Just consider my offer. Bring me some information about the movements of your little posse, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

…

The last person awake in town was Zoe, who had important business to conduct.

In her years as an orphan in New Jorvik, she’d learned a lot. Some of it came from the books at the library. Some of it came from Madam Miranda and the women of The Calico. Not much of it came from the previous teacher, a dry and severe man who enjoyed using a switch and ruler to enforce good behaviour. What she was doing now was a mix of all those things.

The method of telling the future came from a book on Scandinavian folk magic, borrowed from the library. The idea to try divination was inspired by Miranda’s yen. And the singleminded determination to see justice served, well, that came from a years-long battle of wits against the severe teacher.

Zoe’s coffee was brewing on the little coal stove in the corner. When it was ready, she took a moon-white cup from the cabinet and poured carefully. According to Finnish superstition, carried to the island of Jorvik by sailors in the seventeenth century...

A bubble bobbed into place in the middle of the cup, and, ever so slowly, drifted towards her.

She smiled to herself, and took a sip. The signs rarely lied; things weren’t so hopeless after all.