The Half-Made World by Felix Gilman

Author:Felix Gilman [Gilman, Felix]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: SteamPunk, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780765325525
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2010-10-11T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

OVER THE BORDER

They rode south toward Greenbank across open country. It was just before dawn, and the sky was banded red and gray. Distant trees were black silhouettes.

They rode along the crest of a steep rocky slope. At the foot of the slope, far below, were white rapids; beyond that, wilderness stretched out into the west.

The General rode with Creedmoor, lashed inelegantly to his back. Creedmoor was telling stories.

“. . . so in those days, I was part of Fanshawe’s circle back in Gibson City. Young and new to the Cause. We were the finest fellows in town. All Gibson’s fashionable folk paid court to us.”

Liv gave him no encouragement. She hated the sound of his voice.

“The banks all owed us a cut. No doubt it went to finance some struggle somewhere; I don’t know. Fanshawe was the strategic thinker among us. But so one fine day, Liv, Fanshawe and Casca and I—Oh, Casca! So dark, so beautiful. This was after we’d fished Casca half-dead from the river, a suicide in her black dress, and recruited her into our number. . . .”

Liv’s hands tingled on the reins. The urge to break and flee was so great that she could hardly resist it. Her hands twitched.

“Fanshawe and Casca and I paid a visit, listen, to a certain bank manager, I shouldn’t name him, who had refused our cut; and Fanshawe, cool as you like . . .”

Would he gun her down? Perhaps, perhaps not. He would almost certainly retrieve her, slung over his back most likely, a humiliation she did not wish to endure.

“On another occasion, I recall, Fanshawe . . .”

She clutched the reins. Now, she thought; now or never. While he was lost in his horrible, ugly memories. . . .

Creedmoor fell silent.

The next instant, he yanked on his horse’s reins so that it reared, and he screamed. Had the General not been roped in place, he would have been flung limply to the ground, and most likely rolled helplessly down the slope and into the rapids below.

Liv froze. She held her breath.

Creedmoor’s face went red, and the veins on his neck bulged. He drew his Gun and he fired again and again into the rocks, shattering them into bloodred dust; he was screaming in rage and the Gun was screaming, too, in its way; she could not tell which one controlled the other.

Suddenly it was over.

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