Chapter Text
The plan was both stupid and complicated, with Dutch written all over it. It was so uselessly complicated that the only person he’d bothered to share it with was Hosea; everyone else had been privy only to the parts applicable to them.
As far as Arthur could tell, it required everyone to be in different places at different times, keeping numbers low but everyone in contact. Arthur had been summarily sent to Valentine to wait in the saloon. When Charles arrived, he was to pass on new information and the two were to ride towards Dewberry Creek, where Sean would be waiting. The aim was to make it to Rhodes before sundown, where the plan would really begin.
Arthur hadn’t had the will to question why they were being so spread out rather than just going straight for the train, so he’d nodded and went on his way.
The saloon was definitely a better place to wait than Dewberry Creek, that was for sure. Smokey and loud though it was, the direct access to infinite liquor was well appreciated. He made his way in quietly, shuffling between the swells of people and keeping his head tucked down below his hat.
It was why he didn’t notice the man at the bar until he was standing right next to him. He fumbled the coin in his hand at the sight of him.
His face wasn’t particularly noteworthy, despite a small scar running from his cheekbone to his jaw. His long, dark hair was unkempt and fell over shadowy eyes. It was his outfit that caught Arthur off-guard; tanned and freckled shoulders poked out of a ruffled ladies blouse, pinned at the chest by a navy blue corset sewn with delicate silver flowers. His waist tapered into well-fitting suit trousers. Apparently quite relaxed, he was tipped back against the bar, watching the passing drunkards through his eyelashes.
He glanced over as Arthur’s coin clinked against the wooden bar. His eyes drifted from the glint of metal to Arthur’s face, a smug smile fighting onto his face. Despite the scar, he was handsome. The bar owner laughed, muffled. Arthur snapped his attention back to him, shoving the coin away.
“Whiskey.” He muttered, pulling his hat further down over his face, though when he peaked from the corner of his eye, the man was no longer looking, back to surveying the room. Arthur watched the amber liquid set in front of him rather than the man who was desperately pulling at his attention, thinking carefully. He could only assume he was a prostitute, but it was most certainly the first time Arthur had seen a man one. Or at least the first in Valentine. He knocked the shot back, flicking another silver coin across the bar, this time for a beer.
He leaned down against the bar, swilling the beer slowly. He wasn’t sure how long he’d have to wait for Charles, but if they were aiming for Rhodes, it would have to be soon.
“You ain’t curious?”
Arthur started, turning to search for the strange voice. It took him a moment to associate it with the man leaning against the bar. It was low and gravelly, stained with cigarettes. It almost didn’t quite suit him. Arthur cleared his throat.
“‘Bout what?”
“I dunno. You was the one lookin’ at me funny.”
Arthur huffed into his beer, using it as an excuse to fill the awkward pause.
“I ain’t seen you around here before.” He tried, though the weak explanation didn’t really land. The man looked sceptical, but simply shrugged, apparently not willing to debate it. “Just moved here recently. I been in Blackwater for a while.”
As always, the familiar name made Arthur’s heart thud a bit. He picked at a nick in the glass of his bottle.
“Well I been there not so long ago, and I didn’t see you then either.”
“I wasn’t workin’ in saloons then.”
Arthur wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t know an awful lot about prostitution, besides the average cost and some level of etiquette. Abigail got a bit embarrassed whenever she had to talk about it, and Karen wasn’t all that much of a talker at the best of times. More of a drinker.
“What was you doin’ in Blackwater, then?”
Arthur shrugged, taking another swig of beer.
“Jus’ passin’ through. Weren’t there for long, honestly. Been in the mountains for a few weeks.”
“Oh, so you’s a mountain man?”
Arthur chuckled. He glanced up, half expecting the man to be watching the crowd again, and was a bit surprised to see him looking at him curiously. His chin was resting on his bare shoulder; it made Arthur’s breath awkwardly shallow, so he turned back to his drink.
“Nah. This world ain’t made for them no more.”
“Funny, people say that about me, too.”
“Well, I’m also familiar with the sentiment.” The man laughed lower and more gravelly than he spoke.
“Well, if you ain’t a mountain man, you gotta be a gunslinger.”
“What makes you say that?” Arthur asked, turning towards the man. He rested his elbow on the bar, using the other to tip his beer up. The man watched him, dark eyes glittering.
“You just look like it. Big an’ tough, you know?”
“Nonsense. I know plenty of women better gunslingers than me.” He rested the nearly empty beer against his hip. “Nah, I’m just a traveller, I s’pose.”
The man hummed, tipping his head to the side as he looked back out over the crowd. Arthur followed his gaze - it caught on a particular man, red faced and tipsy, hovering at the side of the full poker table. He was looking at the man at the bar, but when he caught Arthur’s gaze on him, his head dropped back to the table, face so red it was nearly purple. Arthur shook his head. Idiot.
“Sounds like a good life. Free, rollin’ fields, making your own life. Must be good.”
“Has its moments.” Arthur replied, catching the tone of something wistful in his voice. “It ain’t easy, though. You wanna take up a life like that?”
The man shrugged, adjusting the collar of his shirt with one hand. Arthur watched the movement distractedly, noticing a callous on his pointer finger, just below the pad. He catalogued it mentally. “I guess. Always had a silly dream of buying a ranch out in the middle of nowhere. I ain’t never worked on a ranch in my life, but I could figure it out.”
“Hard work, though.”
“I’m used to hard work. I’d be disappointed if it weren’t.” Arthur nodded, acquiescing. It wasn’t so long ago he’d knocked a feller out for putting Karen in danger. He knew the threats in this man’s line of work, and he knew it wasn't too far off Arthur’s, different though they were. Still, Arthur’s curiosity poked at him.
“Speakin’ of, I ain’t see many fellers in your line of work.”
The man chuckled, sounding almost surprised. Going by the look on his face, Arthur figured he’d been waiting for the question, and it had still caught him off guard.
“You’d be surprised.”
“You get much business, then?”
“Like I said, you’d be surprised. Plenty of fellers can’t keep closin’ their eyes in bed with their wives. Plenty of women with missin’ or useless husbands and plenty of money to spare. Hell, sometimes they pay for a lady too and jus’ watch. And I ain’t the only one. We just keep out of saloon’s most of the time.”
That explained why the sight was so unfamiliar to Arthur. He hadn’t really thought about all that before; but invert men would still want whores, and it made sense that women were just as interested as men were. Arthur wasn’t sure why he’d never considered it before.
“Where do you go, if not saloons?”
“Speak to the right people with the right connections an’ you can keep it all quiet. Suits most folk better that way, and keeps folk like me out of the way of angry fellers guns.”
“What brings you here, then?”
“Like I said. I moved recently. Ain’t built up connections yet, or regulars.”
It made sense. No sane invert wanted the whole town knowing their business. It could quickly put them in difficult situations with the law, especially if a fight started because of it. He suspected the man only managed on luck - or maybe that callused trigger finger had something to do with it.
“Must pay well to have regulars.”
“Well enough.”
“Then why ain’t you got that ranch you want?”
The man snorted. “Not that well. Pays my meals and my hotel room. Some new clothes every once in a while. I’d need a lot more to buy land.”
Arthur stopped to think. Dutch wouldn’t appreciate it. Since Blackwater, there had been a noted priority for making money back up. The job they were working was specifically to line their coffers. They hadn’t been doing much charity since the ferry job, mostly focussed on keeping to themselves and making money where they could, legal or otherwise. He’d be wary of Arthur lending any money when the gang was still in need.
Still, Dutch was aware of their system. The money allocated to individual members belonged to them only; it was their responsibility. It was up to the owner to decide how much went to the gang and how much did not. Either way, Arthur had his own fair share of money; some which the creeping paranoia borne in the snowy mountains had prevented from being shared properly with the gang tithe box. He knew that the fractures were expanding among them, and money would be vital to getting people out safe. Still, he had enough. He didn’t know much about the going rates for land in the area, but he could make an educated guess. It wouldn’t be impossible, especially if the train job went well.
“This is gonna sound a bit unusual-”
“Trust me, sir, I’m familiar with ‘unusual’.”
“Not like that. Look, I got money. I can get you money. All legal, no expectations, no tricks or anything. You want out? I can cover that, and any land or buildings. Whatever.”
“What?” His voice was sour. Arthur knew what he was thinking. Hell, he wouldn’t trust himself for a second if he was the one being offered it. He’d never been a good salesman. If Dutch was here, the man would already have been tucking bills into his pocket and heading out the door.
“I don’t know what you’re tryna offer but just ‘cause I’m a whore don’t mean I’m stupid. You can take whatever scam you’re sellin’ and fuck off.”
He looked hurt. Arthur grit his teeth.
“I ain’t sellin’ nothin’. And I ain’t sayin’ you have to take a penny of it right now, either. I don’t want nothin’ in return, or a debt. I’m offerin’ to help ‘cause I want to. Me and my people are stayin’ somewhere nearby; Horseshoe Overlook, you heard of it?” The man nodded hesitantly. “Go there if you decide you wanna hear me out. Ask for Tacitus Kilgore.”
“I don’t underst-”
The saloon doors swung open. Arthur felt the room shift and immediately knew Charles had turned up. Nothing got drunk white fellers moving like a half-black half-native man walking into their saloons. Charles, however, had mastered the art of not so much as twitching at the reaction, making his way quickly over to Arthur’s side. He didn’t seem to notice the other man at the bar at all.
“Everything is going smoothly. Sean is already at Dewberry. Sadie and Javier are coming in from the south-east, Dutch from the north, and Bill from the south. I know the point when we're meeting the train too.”
“Is it far out of Rhodes?”
“About 2 miles. We’re gonna try and keep it moving so distance isn’t too much of a worry. The main thing is being quiet.”
“Then why the hell is Sean there?”
“Well, it’s why Micah’s not attending.”
“Where’s he, then?”
“Waiting further down the track in case something goes wrong.”
Arthur sighed. It was better than having to deal with the bastard during the job. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make if it meant getting the money they needed for the next big move, be it west or Tahiti.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
“You’re an outlaw.”
Arthur turned around at the now familiar voice, even lower in an attempt at secrecy. He looked shocked, but not scared or angry. Simply surprised. Arthur wasn’t sure how exactly to reply. He stepped away from the bar, leaving the now empty beer bottle behind.
“I hope to see you around, Mister…?”
“Marston.”
“Mr Marston.” Arthur tipped his hat at the man, who nodded in response. With that, he led Charles out the door.
“And who was that?” He asked as they stepped into the muddy street. Arthur whistled for his horse as Charles unhitched Taima, swinging onto her back. From around the corner of the hotel, the silvery grey coat of his horse Hecuba flashed from a distance.
“Just some feller I got talking to. Might be helping him out with money.”
“Oh?”
“Not like that. Jesus, Charles.”
Charles laughed, rich and bright, and turned to lead his way out of town. They picked up a gallop as soon as they were out of the way of the busy carts and coaches, and began the trek to Dewberry Creek.
–
Carefully, Arthur smoothed the oil-damp rag over the metal of his favourite repeater. It was a Lancaster, all fitted in blackened steel and dark rose wood. He used a fingernail to dig into delicate inlaid silver engravings, wiping away dust and grime carefully. It was quiet work, a clear sign to be left alone - it was how he heard the approaching footsteps, and knew immediately it was Dutch.
“I just spoke to Charles.”
“Did you, now.” Arthur replied, folding the rag for access to the cleaner side. A stubborn spot of rust softed under his careful ministrations.
“He says you’re pickin’ up prostitutes. Payin’ ‘em above their rates.”
“That ain’t what happened. He’s misunderstandin’.”
“Look, Arthur, you know I don’t give a damn what you do with your spare time, but money is tight enough as it is-”
“And I ain’t stoppin’ that. I’ll keep payin’ my part, same way I always do. I ain’t givin’ this feller thousands, just enough to get him some land. That’s it.”
Dutch went quiet. Arthur didn’t have to look up to know exactly what look was on his face. It wasn’t an accident that he’d brought up Marston’s gender, and he knew Dutch had latched onto it hook, line, and sinker.
“I trust you, Arthur.”
Arthur sighed.
“I know, Dutch. I know.”