The Chronicles of Fone Bone Oathbreaker

D. G. D. Davidson

BONE is © 2006 by Jeff Smith.

Chapter 5: Portsmouth

Take out your map and look at it. See what a real corner of the world it occupies; how it stands there, away off shore, more lonely than the Eddystone lighthouse.

--Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

Cedric and the Headmaster stepped out of the room and onto the dark, winding staircase. They closed the door and stood there, staring at it.

Gran’ma was waiting in the hall with her arms crossed. “Well?”

“Mermie is dead,” Cedric whispered.

“Blood loss,” the Headmaster muttered. “At least in part. That demon’s teeth savaged her artery, but there was also an infection of a like I have never seen. Probably some poison, one that rots the flesh.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I believe I chose a poor time to come out of retirement. Your Majesty--may I speak with you? Cedric, do you think you can handle things from here?”

“I believe so,” Cedric whispered. His voice was hoarse.

Gran’ma followed the headmaster up the twisting steps. They emerged at the tower’s pinnacle, a small room flanked by only two walls. The wind through Atheia could be bitter and the air often howled down the length of the Valley, blew through and over the city, and tumbled down the steep cliffs overhanging the mountainous wastes to the south. That wind could blast through the open tower room with tremendous force, but this had been Tarsil’s favorite haunt. Apparently, he had enjoyed the ferocity of nature’s stormy displays.

The wind whipped through the tower now, but not fiercely, and it was a warm wind. Gran’ma and the Headmaster gazed over the festering city below them, watching the shingles prickle and the peasants’ hung washing flap in the breeze. The streets teemed with merchants, buyers, and thieves. Indeed, it was easy to see why Tarsil preferred to rule from this height where he must have felt a greater control over Atheian politics than he actually enjoyed.

Gran’ma leaned on the wall near the door and let her breath out in a long sigh, joining it with the wind.

“You have seen the creature lately?” the Headmaster asked.

“Yes,” Gran’ma said. “It never leaves Fone Bone’s side.” She touched her head. “And...it gives me the Gitchy whenever I see it.”

The Headmaster scowled at her with penetrating eyes. “Has the mere sight of a person or object ever before set off the Gitchy?”

She shook her head. “No, it has always been prescient only.”

“And on the night the monstrosity was conceived, you said it was the worst Gitchy you had ever felt?”

She nodded.

The Headmaster turned his stern gaze on the city. “Dark times indeed. Foolish me, I thought the dark times were over.”

“As did we all, Headmaster.”

“This unnatural creature is the product of an unlawful lust, and the very fabric of its being is disorder and chaos. The best thing would be to destroy it before it can cause real harm.”

“I do not know how easily that could be accomplished,” Gran’ma said. “Fone Bone loves his son, and Thorn--”

The Headmaster slammed a hand into the wall. “You have coddled that girl her whole life, Your Majesty. The Dreaming is again unbalanced and we must right it. Such things demand blood sacrifice and they always have. That is the price of balance.”

“I am aware of the teachings, Headmaster,” Gran’ma whispered.

“Are you?” the Headmaster asked. “Were you aware, then, of the bone’s perverse feelings for your granddaughter?”

“I was.”

“And you did nothing? Were you not aware, then, of the effect they could have?”

Gran’ma closed her eyes. “I thought it was harmless. I thought it was...cute.”

“Cute?” the Headmaster demanded.

“Yes.”

“You knew? You dare to tell me you knew, and yet you allowed the bone to remain in our Valley and you allowed him to be close to the queen?”

Gran’ma looked at him.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” Gran’ma said.

“By the stars and dragons, why?”

Gran’ma sighed again, and the sigh this time was longer. “Because it was what Thorn wanted.”

The Headmaster stood straight. “It is time, I think, to teach that girl that queens cannot have all they want. This creature is worse than an animal, and it has already cut its teeth on one victim. You must slay the beast. Rumors of its origins are already alive, but if that blasphemy itself is dead, they will quiet in time. And get rid of the bone. Kill him as well, if necessary, and to the blazes with the queen and what she bloody well wants.”

Gran’ma looked away.

“Queen Mother...”

“I heard you,” Gran’ma said.

Grunting in frustration, the Headmaster turned back to the heavy door. “You must kill it,” he muttered. “Kill it like a dog.”

The Headmaster left. Gran’ma kept her breathing steady, but only with an effort.

88888

The bones took several days to prepare for their desert journey. They filled packs, stockpiled supplies, hoarded water. Women spent their days salting meat, drying dingleberries, and baking stuffed bread-thingies. The sporting goods store ran out of backpacks, pup tents, hydration systems, and guns.

As the bones prepared and Phoney mustered his troops, Bartleby started stalking Dolly Bone.

Smiley, face downcast, strolled with Bartleby about the city, going nowhere and doing nothing. Smiley pointed out the sights of the city, but without enthusiasm. As Bartleby saw the bones walking past, their expressions ranging from fear to fascination, he felt the saliva building in his mouth, and he had to swallow to keep from drooling.

I’m so hungry, he thought. I’m sooo hungry.

He ate, and he ate in large amounts. At Bartleby’s request, Smiley fed him raw steaks, but what Bartleby craved was blood, and what he craved most of all was bone blood. Since he had eaten that bone in the dumpster, Bartleby could think of nothing but that taste.

Dolly Bone ran up to them with her polka-dotted yellow dress bouncing around her knees. “Mister Smiley, Mister Smiley!” she shouted. “Can I ride your doggie?” She jumped into Smiley’s arms.

Even in his morose state, Smiley could still smile at little Dolly Bone. “Why, Bartleby’s not a doggie, Miss Dolly! He’s a rat creature!”

“Can I ride your rat creature, Mister Smiley?”

“Shore. Bartleby wouldn’t mind, would ja, Bartleby?”

Bartleby looked at the little tot in Smiley’s arms. Her flesh looked fat and supple under her summer dress. Bartleby swallowed his collecting spit and rasped, “No, I...wouldn’t mind.”

Dolly jumped from Smiley’s hands and, digging her fingers into Bartleby’s fur, climbed onto his back and straddled his neck. Bartleby shivered as her soft body touched him.

She leaned over his head and looked into his face upside down. “What big eyes you have, Mister Bartleby!”

“The better to see you with,” he whispered.

She sat back. “Giddyup!” she shouted as she thumped her feet against his sides.

Bartleby pranced, making a show. He cavorted up and down the street with Dolly bouncing on his back.

“Whee!” Dolly yelled.

Bartleby circled around, ran a little, and stopped at Smiley’s feet. Dolly flung herself across Bartleby’s neck and hugged him. As she did so, he considered how moist, how tender her meat must be, and again he found himself near drooling.

“I love you, Mister Bartleby!”

“I love you, too,” Bartleby rasped.

And he meant it.

Dolly Bone walked about the city with Smiley and Bartleby. Smiley pointed out the sculptures, the buildings, the religious centers, but Bartleby watched Dolly as she skipped along, dimpled cheeks spread in a grin, yellow pigtails flapping against her shoulders.

They came upon Floyd Bone. He was wearing a leather flight jacket and a hiking pack, obviously getting ready for the trip to the Valley. Floyd was an experienced bowhunter and he was cradling his compound bow.

“Hello, Mister Floyd!” Dolly said, waving.

Floyd smiled. “’Lo, Miss Dolly,” he said. “And ‘lo to you, too, Smiley Bone.”

“Hiya, Floyd!” Smiley returned, doffing his hat.

Floyd stared into Bartleby’s eyes as he spoke to Smiley. “You hear the news, Smiley? Ol’ Gunder Bone, janitor out at th’ interpretive center, he gone missin’. Ain’t nobody seen ‘im fer weeks and weeks now. His wife is plum frantic. You heard the news?”

Smiley frowned. “Gosh, no, Floyd! What with everything...” He trailed off before continuing, “I guess I just haven’t kept up on the news!”

“Nope,” Floyd agreed, his eyes never leaving Bartleby’s face.

Bartleby tried to return Floyd’s bright, piercing gaze, but he couldn’t. As he and Smiley and Dolly continued down the street, Bartleby looked back at Floyd. The tall bone pointed his bow at Bartleby and pantomimed pulling back the string. He opened his fingers and, as he did so, mouthed a slow, quiet sound--

“Psssshhhheeeeew.”

Bartleby swallowed, turned his head, and quickened his pace to catch up with Smiley and Dolly.

88888

They were ready to go. The bones were gathered, a hundred and twenty of them. All were equipped. Most were armed. Several were children. They stood in rows in the middle of Main Street near Round Square. Around them, the rest of Boneville was milling, pointing, and cheering. The Firehouse Band was assembled and the players were tuning their instruments. A few pieces of confetti floated from upper-story windows.

Phoney would have felt better about the expedition if he could just shake the strange dreams he was having. He wasn’t sure when they began, but they were frightening. Every night, when Phoney closed his eyes, he found himself in a dark room or a void or some kind of empty space without light. Even though he couldn’t see, he could sense some sort of object before him. He would try to touch it, and he would be horrified to find it was moving. It was an enormous creature, a being of cloud or an amorphous condensation of the darkness of the void, and in the center of its head was an even deeper void that pulled like a vacuum.

This creature or monster or whatever it was uttered a harsh whisper. As it spoke, Phoney was overcome with terror.

It whispered, “You are mine. You were mine from the beginning, and you do my will.”

Phoney awoke each night covered in sweat and breathing hard. The dream was vivid. It seemed so real.

He wasn’t sleeping well and he was getting tired, but he couldn’t let it show.

Phoney marched down the front line of his troops. They included some of the toughest and unruliest bones of the city. First among them was Squamous Bone, beady-eyed and rail-thin, packing two old-fashioned six shooters on his hips.

“How ya doin’, Squamous?”

“Nit bed. Y’self, Phoney?”

“Good, great.”

Next to Sqaumous stood the squat, overweight, and perpetually dirty Funny Bone dressed in his ever-present red wool sweater. He had a war surplus 30-30 repeater rifle slung over his back. Funny gave Phoney the creeps. He was a jobless drifter, much like Smiley.

“Ya ready, Funny?” Phoney asked.

“Good ta go, Phoney Bone,” Funny answered through his adenoids.

Beside Funny was Tiberius “T.” Bone, the owner of a fast food chain some believed to be the cover for a narcotics ring. He carried a .30-06, had a 12-guage over-and-under on his back, and wore a .22 handgun stuffed into his belt.

Phoney looked T. Bone over and noted the numerous gold chains around his neck. “Uh, hey, T. Bone, I see ya got a lot of, er, bling, there.”

T. Bone glared over his dark sunglasses. “Smooch you, pie-hole.”

“Okaaay,” Phoney said, moving on.

Beside T. Bone were Boneville’s famous survivalists, the muscular Mastoid Bone and his wife Tibia, decked out in their typical camouflage. Tibia packed a 30-30 deer rifle and her husband carried a double-barreled 12-guage loaded with solid slugs.

“Loaded fer bear, Mastoid?” Phoney asked.

Mastoid grunted. “Loaded for more of ‘em rat creatures, Phoney. Or them human bastuds.”

Floyd Bone stood apart. Riding on his shoulders was little Dolly Bone, who was busy playing with Floyd’s thick, soft hair. But Floyd wasn’t paying attention. He was checking the string on his bow for fraying.

“How about you, Floyd?” Phoney asked.

Driven by some secret emotion, Floyd’s hands tightened and then relaxed before they went back to petting the bow. “Jist fine, Phoney Bone,” he said. “I’s jist fine.”

Smiley, Bartleby by his side, ran to Phoney and grabbed his shoulder. “Phoney!” he said. “You can’t let ‘em bring children. It’s dangerous!”

Phoney pulled Smiley aside and whispered, “A lot of ‘em will head home before we get there. They think they’re off on a lark. Don’ worry, Smiley. Everythin’ll be fine.”

“You keep saying that!” Smiley grumbled back.

Phoney ignored him. Hands behind his back, Phoney paced back and forth in front of the bones. He raised his voice so most of the assembly could hear him. “Fellow Bonevillains,” he announced, “we go this day to rescue a hapless brother from the unclean hands of those who have perverted his mind.”

“Tha’s right!” Squamous shouted.

“We go into danger,” Phoney said. “This desert can be crossed; my cousin and I have proven that. But we traversed it in late fall and early spring. Summer is rising and the heat will be great. Conserve your water and keep your hats low on your brows. We need not fear, however, for we do not go unequipped or unarmed.”

“Dang right!” yelled Mastoid Bone.

Phoney gazed over the army, looking each bone in the eye. The thought came to him again, Why am I doing this? He couldn’t see any way to make money off of it, and as he thought back to his nightmares, he wondered if his will were really his own.

Of course it was. Nobody rolled the dice for Phoney Bone.

“Bones,” he said, “let’s go.”

Phoney climbed onto Bartleby’s back and drew Piecemaker, holding it over his head. With a great cheer, the bones followed him, tromping up Main Street toward the park and the river. The Firehouse Band began a rousing march. The traveling bones waved to the crowd and the crowd waved back, blew kisses, and threw colored paper into the air.

Smiley lagged behind, but he followed.

Bartleby turned his head several times to spot Dolly bobbing on Floyd Bone’s shoulders. Bartleby was relieved that she was among the children traveling to the Valley. He didn’t want to be separated from his new pal.

No, he didn’t want to be separated from her. Not even for a moment, if he could help it.

88888

Rictus and Annie continued their march through the forest. Days had passed, and the forest’s pleasantness and hushed sense of expectation had ceased, for clouds had rolled in from the Big Bum-Smack Mountains, and their gray underbellies dropped a continuous drizzle of chilly, enervated rain.

Annie tried to shift her pack, the wet straps of which were digging into her shoulders and, no doubt, leaving red rashes. An umbrella, she thought as the windbreaker clung to her like an itchy and clammy second skin, that’s what I forgot. An umbrella. And I bet the books in my bag are ruined.

“You know,” Annie said, “the walking’s a lot easier on the other side of the river.”

“Yes,” Rictus said with his limp fedora hanging around his ears, “but the bone-suckers come out of the desert and congregate at the water’s edge, and there are other dangers.”

Rictus glanced through the sopping trees to the far bank of the Rolling Bone. Without mountain streams to moisten the ground, the land to the east of the river was arid. High sandstone cliffs rose above the pebbled shore and marked the edge of desert. Dry, grass-filled channels cut through the cliffs and opened to the river. The east bank did look pleasant compared to the thick brush and overgrown ravines they were now traversing, but Rictus knew those stream channels were prone to flash flooding, and though the present rain didn’t look to be enough to cause danger, a real torrent could follow.

Annie stopped walking.

Rictus turned to her. “Don’t tell me you’re tired.”

“Not really,” she said, “but my shoes are soaked and I think I’m getting a blister.”

He looked at her as if he were studying a peculiar zoo exhibit. “A blister? On your foot?”

“Yes.”

“On the bottom of your foot?”

“Yes.”

Rictus scrunched up his mouth and sighed. “Your parents put you in shoes as a kid, didn’t they?” He shook his head. “Big fad, I remember it. ‘Shoe your children,’ the ads said. And then all these kids’ feet don’t form properly and they’re stuck in shoes for life.” He picked up one of his own feet and tapped the bottom. “Hard as wood,” he said. “I’ve never needed shoes...”

“Rictus,” Annie interrupted, “if you’ve finished criticizing my mother’s parenting, might I suggest a means of speeding up this little expedition? Why don’t we build a raft and float downstream to Portsmouth?”

Rictus put his hands on his hips. “You’ve been reading too many children’s books. A raft? And what, pray tell, are we going to build it with?”

“Well,” she said, “we’ve certainly got wood, and you’ve got your big knife thingie--”

“It’s a machete, Annie.”

“--so why don’t you use it to cut down some trees and build a raft?”

He nodded. “Good idea. Why don’t I use my machete to cut down some trees? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?” He ran to a large oak and kicked it. “Three and a half feet through, I’d wager. You want me to cut it down with a machete? You want me to hew it into boards with a machete? You want me to build you a smoochin’ cabin in the woods with a machete?”

Annie crossed her arms and glared. “Rictus Bone, I will remind you that I’m a lady, and I will not tolerate such vulgarity in my presence. The proper word, if you absolutely must use it, is ‘osculate.’”

“Save it for yer kindergartners. And try this one: Osculate you.”

“Rictus!”

He rolled his eyes. “Sorry.”

She gestured around them. “Look, Rictus. Fallen trees. Fallen limbs. All you need to do is cut the branches off and we could tie the limbs together and we’re off down the river.”

He rubbed his neck. “Dangerous. River’s high.”

“If we don’t find a way to pick up the pace, Phoney’s going to be in that Valley before we have a chance to catch him.”

“I don’t have any rope.”

“I have rope. Lots of it. Good, strong climbing rope.”

Rictus didn’t argue further. They found a clear spot where the trees didn’t reach to the edge of the water, and they dragged together the largest, straightest limbs they could find. Most of the branches they simply broke off, and Rictus used the machete very little. Already wet and miserable, they received numerous cuts and scratches as they tromped through the underbrush. The wetness and clinging bits of bark and leaves made the cuts itch. It took most of the day, but in the end, they had enough for a raft large enough for the two of them. Annie pulled the rope out of her pack and cut it into lengths, handing each to Rictus, who set about lashing the logs together. By this time, the light was fading and the wind had increased, and it was clear it would be a chilly, wet night.

It did no good, but Annie pulled the windbreaker tighter. The rain had stopped, and the only drizzle came from the dripping leaves of the oaks and maples. That at least was some relief.

Annie heard a curious hissing in the woods behind them. She turned her head to listen.

She heard it again. Some forest animal.

“Rictus?”

“Shhh,” he answered. She looked at him and saw he had stopped tying.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Don’t know.” He pulled the pistol from his belt and gazed into the shadowy trees.

The hissing came again, this time accompanied by a harsh clicking.

“Thermites,” Rictus said. “Nasty buggers. Let’s get this thing in the water fast.”

He holstered the gun and set about finishing his knots. Annie joined him.

Something dropped out of the trees about twenty yards away.

“Almost done,” Rictus muttered.

About ten yards away, a wall of dense rhododendrons rustled. Annie squinted, trying to make out the source of the noise.

The rustling stopped. She slid her eyes carefully over the glen, noting the dripping leaves, the rain-darkened bark of the trees. She searched for something out of place--

There. A pair of bulbous, insect-like eyes gazed from under a tangle of flowers. The eyes were about a foot across each, and Annie had no desire to see the creature attached to them.

A red glimmer appeared under the creature’s eyes, and the eyes reflected the light like a glass honeycomb. Annie tried to make out the source of the light and discovered that the giant insect had a straight horn, about a foot long, situated above its mouthparts. The horn was glowing an angry crimson. When the dripping water touched it, Annie heard a hiss like liquid striking a hot griddle, and faint wisps of water vapor floated up before the thing’s eyes.

“Help me push the raft into the water,” Rictus whispered, “and try not to provoke it.”

Annie nodded. Helping him push meant turning her back on the monster. She didn’t like it, but she swallowed and did it.

The thermite snarled.

Rictus swung around as the insect launched its huge body out of the undergrowth. Rictus fired the gun and the thermite’s head exploded, but its body was still flying towards him. Annie leapt at Rictus, knocking him to the ground as the bug’s forward momentum carried its carcass over them and into the river where the hot horn hissed and squealed.

Annie jumped up. Rictus stood a little more slowly, rubbed his back, and grimaced. “I am definitely too old for that.”

“And too heavy,” Annie added, rubbing the shoulder that had struck him.

Behind them, hundreds of heavy objects thudded to the ground out of the trees.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rictus shouted.

They shoved hard against the raft and waded into the water as a hive of thermites appeared out of the woods, horns glowing. The bones hopped on the raft and poled away from the shore.

Rictus waved to the thermites as the swift current carried them away.

“Yeah,” he said. “The raft was a good idea.”

The river was high and swift, but it was broad and deep, and the travel was smooth. The clouds hung low and looked threatening, but with any luck, it would be a quick, safe ride to Portsmouth.

Night drew on, and they shivered in their wet clothes. They pulled soggy food from their packs and ate what they could. It didn’t look as if either of them would get much sleep.

Rictus chewed a watery dingleberry cake and said, “I know you’re dying to ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“Why I stole the money.”

Annie looked up for a moment and then looked back at her food.

“Don’t you care?” Rictus asked.

“Does it matter?”

Rictus had to think about that. “It matters to me. At least let me confess. Pretend you’re interested.”

Annie finished her food, closed her pack, clasped her hands in her lap, and looked at him. By her expression, she was either interested or good at feigning it.

Rictus scratched at the back of his neck. “Well...where to begin?”

Annie sighed.

“Okay, okay,” Rictus said. “Here it goes. You know I fought in the war. Five years, and most of ‘em I spent in a trench near Darton. We thought it’d be a picnic, easy as pie, over in months. We were developin’ machine guns and flame-throwers and the humans mostly had flintlocks, but they had tactical geniuses and they were desperate. They knew if we won, we could wipe ‘em out. Hell, maybe we would have, I don’t know. I married Claudia Bone just before I went off to fight. I ran right out of the ceremony into a troop transport and never saw Claudia for those five years. Prime years of my life I spent in a trench. And for what? What the hell were we fighting over? Some misunderstanding, some diplomatic snafu, and bones and humans died over it. Fortunately, it ended with the armistice and they drew the borders with this forest in between. If they hadn’t, I might’ve died in that trench.”

He paused to take a drink. “Shortly after I got home, Claudia and I had a son, Ortho Bone. We spent three days on the roof with a spotting party and telescopes. It was ol’ Floyd Bone--er, that’s the current Floyd’s father--who saw the Stork first, and then everybody was pointin’ as that distant white speck grew closer an’ closer until we could see the bundle he held in ‘is beak. Oh, it was beautiful. I dunno if you’ve ever seen ‘im, Annie, but he’s incredible. Big, majestic bird. He lighted on our roof ever so gently and Claudia rushed up to him and knelt, and he placed our baby Ortho in her arms, and she was crying--just crying--and the Stork gave her this little nod and stood aside lookin’ all regal as I passed out the cigars and champagne. The Stork wouldn’t take any, ‘course, ‘cause he never does, but he stayed a few minutes and watched us celebratin’ as everybody admired the new baby.”

Rictus scratched the back of his neck again. “That...was shortly before the Polio epidemic. It started with the humans, and there were even a few bones who said it was judgment from God, but then it hit us. At first, I was almost pleased, because I figured those self-righteous bones would have to shut up. But then I thought maybe they were right. After all, I couldn’t see as we were much better than the humans were.”

He swallowed with difficulty. “Ortho...got it. They licked it a few years later when they made the vaccine, but by then a lot of kids were maimed, and Ortho was dead, and Claudia had left me.”

Annie’s steady gaze faltered.

“What was left of Ortho’s generation grew up. I used my war-hero shtick to get elected mayor and stay mayor. Then came the worst industrial accident Boneville’d ever seen--the Custard Pie Incident. What was so sick was it was preventable. I had pressed for years for more workplace safety, and nobody listened. The taxpayers didn’t want to pay for it.”

“I lost my father in the Incident,” Annie whispered.

“A lot of kids did,” Rictus said. “Yer Fone Bone and his cousins all lost their parents. The last of Big Johnson’s line, and they were street urchins. Through it all, Annie, I saw a lot of hurtin’ kids. Parents lost in the war, kids maimed by disease, parents lost in an accident. I pressed and pressed for a children’s hospital and an orphanage. But guess what? Nobody wanted to pay for it. I couldn’t pay for it myself. My salary wasn’t that high. So I thought, Why not just take it? So I did. I took the money over several years until I had a fair amount set aside. I was gonna build that orphanage, and then I realized if I did, I’d get caught.”

“So you kept the money.”

Rictus shrugged. “It was stupid from the start, and I admit it. But I was angry, and I figured after everything...I figured Boneville owed me one.”

Annie closed up her pack and lay down as if to sleep.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Rictus asked.

“Aren’t you done?” Annie asked in turn.

“Yeah...but don’t you wanna call me an idiot, something?”

Annie turned over. “It’s time I tried to sleep, Rictus.”

Rictus looked up at the darkened gray sky, lit only by an eerie sliver of moon peeping through the clouds. “This girl,” he mused, “doesn’t have to say a thing to lay a guilt trip.”

88888

The night was long and cold, but morning finally came. The sun drove amber rays between the jagged sandstone cliffs flanking the desert. The light was the color of fire, but it turned gray as ash when the sun rose higher and disappeared behind the clouds that still hung low over the land. The air was chilly, but as the gray, gusty day wore on, the air grew warmer and the bones’ clothes began to dry.

Annie watched the forest as it rolled past. She saw the huge, leafy Trees of Yearning towering over the lower oaks, and she saw grassy swales where gigantic hungrisaurs covered in leathery gray hide stomped their broad, flat feet, swung their thick tails, stretched their long necks, and munched placidly at the leaves.

Annie shuddered. “I’m glad we avoided those.”

“They’re docile unless provoked,” Rictus said, “but this is the time they lay their eggs, so it is the most dangerous season to approach them.”

They slid by a thick, dark area of the forest that was somehow dreadful.

“What’s in there?” Annie whispered.

“Heart of the forest,” Rictus replied. “Rumor has it the Wood Shriek lives in there, if it really exists.”

On their left, the white-faced cliffs still rose between the grassy wadys. While the forest on the right was ever changing, the desert on the left was still the desert.

Then the eastern cliffs stopped, leaving a broad, sandy shore in their place. On the right, the land opened out. The forest ended, replaced by heathery hills with eroded sides revealing chalk. Villages dotted the hills, hunkered beneath curling strands of smoke.

“The land of the humans,” Rictus said. “Portsmouth.”

To the left, Annie could hear the herdsmen calling to the cattle grazing at the desert’s edge, and plodding, fat brown cows lowed as they munched the cropped grass. To the right, she could glimpse farmers working their fields among the rolling hills. Up ahead, on a series of low cliffs and jagged plateaus, stood a jumble of unpainted wooden buildings. The buildings stopped at a high wooden wall topped with sharpened stakes. Annie guessed that the wall surrounded Portsmouth’s city center. The only substantial structure she could see in the human settlement was a lighthouse of rough-hewn stone standing on a rocky cliff at the end of the river mouth. The tower’s glassed-in top shone with a candle, a stark point of yellow light against the dull sky. Wooden boats of many shapes and sizes plied the wide river, and beyond them, the open sea stretched to a flat horizon now vague with the misty clouds overhanging it.

Annie could smell salt. A loud horn bellowed and she jumped.

Rictus, face grave, poled the raft to the right bank as they approached the sprawling limits of Portsmouth. They ditched the raft and walked up row after row of rude houses. Humans peeked out of windows or doorways. Some in the street saw the bones and moved aside. Some glared. Some spat.

Rictus made sure his pistol was visible.

Annie wasn’t as eager to stare at the humans as she had expected to be. They were big, and they were scary, just as Rictus had warned. Their faces were lined and strangely featured, and their clothes were faded gray or brown and covered in patches. The men, she realized with some horror, were wearing clothing on their lower bodies, which lent them an unpleasant effeminacy. The humans looked bizarre, but more than that, they stank. Annie could hardly believe the odor that flowed down the street. There were the animals, of course, but there was also a rank, fetid stench of human sweat. It was dense and suffocating.

“Do they always smell like that?” Annie whispered.

“Shhh!” Rictus hissed back. “You wanna rile ‘em up? Besides, they say the same thing about us. Serge once told me walkin’ into Boneville is like gettin’ smothered with ground mint. Now keep quiet and don’t talk unless I tell you to.”

As they approached the wooden wall, Annie reached out and seized Rictus’s arm. He looked at her and saw she was clenching her teeth.

“You were all enthusiastic to meet the humans, but now you’re nervous?”

“Yes.”

Rictus patted her hand. “Well, relax. I am on good terms here. And besides, you need to keep calm--they can smell fear and that’s when they attack.”

He turned away from her, but when he noticed her shocked stare, he turned back. “That was a joke.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

A shout from the room overhanging the gate cut off the impending argument: “Halt! Wer da?”

Rictus called back, “Is Serge still Master of Portsmouth?”

The voice above the gate replied in broken Bonish, “Eh? Who asking?”

“Rictus Bone and Annie Bone of Boneville!” Rictus shouted.

“Do you haf goods to trade?”

“No!”

“Zen go ‘vay, Bone!”

Annie heard a clatter and a different voice said faintly, “Idiot! Zat is Rictus Bone, zer mayor! Do you vant all zuh bones down here to kill our vomen und our children?”

Rictus grinned sheepishly at Annie. “Of course, there are still some tensions...”

“Stay zer!” the new voice said. “Ve get Serge for you now, ja?”

Annie and Rictus stood in front of the gate for several minutes. Annie tapped her foot. Rictus joined his hands behind his back and whistled.

The broad wooden gate opened. Standing before a long, narrow street lined with wooden buildings was an enormous, bald man flanked by soldiers carrying what looked like bone-made hunting rifles. The bald man wore a faded green shirt and baggy, khaki pants. He held out two thick, meaty hands and a lopsided grin appeared on his face, showing a few broken teeth. When he spoke, he bellowed as if he were used to making himself heard over a wind tunnel. “By zuh Flaming Vheels und zuh Burning Car! Rictus Bone, you sumbitch!”

Rictus bellowed right back, “Serge, you smoochin’ bastard!”

Serge tromped up, picked Rictus up from the ground, and squeezed him in a tight bear hug.

Serge held Rictus at arm’s length. “Rictus Bone! You look...fat, actually. But ozervise, you look good! Vhy haf you not visited your friend Serge?”

“Busy, busy,” Rictus answered.

Serge set him down and turned to Annie. “And who is zis? Rictus, you dog! Still at it at your age?”

Annie narrowed her eyes, sucked in one cheek, and said, “We’re just friends.”

Rictus cleared his throat and gestured to Annie. “Uh, Annie Bone, this is Serge, der Bürgermeister of Portsmouth. Serge, this is Miss Annie Bone.”

“A pleasure,” Serge said, bowing deeply. Annie answered with a curtsy.

Rictus said in a lower voice, “I expect her to be unmolested during our stay.”

Serge nodded and waved a hand. One of the soldiers jumped from the line and ran to Serge’s side. Serge clapped a hand on the soldier's shoulder. “My lieutenant, Dietrich. If you vish, Dietrich is Annie’s personal bodyguard vhile in Portsmous.”

Annie looked at Dietrich and swallowed. She wasn’t sure how to judge the age of humans, but she guessed him to be a young man. He had a rigid jaw, a narrow nose, and peculiar, complicated human eyes that appeared to be black from pupil to iris. He gave her one glance and nodded. Annie felt her skin go damp. She didn’t want Dietrich as her personal bodyguard.

“Come, Rictus,” Serge said. “Ve must smoke cigars, get stinking drunk, und talk of old times, ja?”

“That sounds marvelous, Serge,” Rictus agreed. “But no cigar for me. I quit.”

“Vheels! Not so?”

“Yup.”

“You still drink?”

“Absolutely.”

Serge nodded, looking very happy. He turned and led the bones into the citadel. Smells of wet wood, mud, molding hay, and a few fouler things ran under the human reek. The gate creaked shut behind them, and the soldiers secured it with a heavy bar. Annie felt trapped, not so much by the fortress as by the smell.

They turned several corners as they threaded through the claustrophobic acropolis. Everything was made of rough and untreated wood. Mud ran up the sides of the buildings, apparently splattered by the gigantic horses Annie saw clopping through the streets. Everything in Portsmouth seemed so large.

They had to ascend a flight of creaking steps to reach Serge’s room. Annie and Rictus had to climb the high stairs on hands and knees. The room they entered, though it had a tall ceiling, seemed close because of the brown wooden walls, the darkness, and the heavy smell of stale tobacco. A fire blazed in a fireplace on the far side of the room, but it cast more shadows than light. Serge pulled out chairs for the bones, the bones climbed into them, and Serge pushed the chairs up to a heavy oak table.

Serge took a chair himself. Though the other soldiers had dispersed, Dietrich had come silently into the room and now stood at Serge’s shoulder.

“So,” Serge said, rubbing his hands together, “somesing to vet your sroat after zuh long trip, ja? Dietrich, bring me scotch und vater. You, Rictus?”

“Scotch,” Rictus said. “No water.”

Dietrich turned his liquid eyes to Annie and asked quietly, “And you, Fräulein Annie?”

“Water,” she said. “No scotch.”

Dietrich moved to a small wet bar in the corner, put together the drinks, and moved them to the table. He poured two glasses of water for Annie and himself and pulled up a chair next to Serge.

Rictus took a dangerously large swallow of scotch and said, “I might as well cut to the chase, Serge. Much as I’d like it to be, this isn’t a social call.”

“Ah, ja. I sought not. I know you, Rictus,” Serge replied, sipping at his own drink.

Rictus took another gulp. “Where to begin? Well, I’ll make this brief. There’s an army--no, more like a mob--of bones heading into the desert. They’re going because a certain Phoncible Bone has hoodwinked them. I believe you know him.”

Serge scratched his jaw. “Phoncible? Phoncible? I don’t believe...”

“Alias Phoney.”

Serge slammed a flat hand onto the table, rattling the glasses. “Phoney Bone! Ja, he vas in Portsmous vis his tall, skinny cousin about two years ago. He started somesing called zuh ‘New Age School of Lamaze und Bungy-Jumping.’ He ran off vis a good deal of money before ve had zuh chance to kill him, and he left behind many injured mozers und children.”

Rictus nodded. “That’s the one. We drove him out of Boneville again last year when he gave most of the town a serious case of food poisoning. And that’s no joke for a bone, ya know. We lose all our bodily waste through sweat, so some of the people there dehydrated pretty rapidly.”

“They had to rush them to St. Bone-aventure’s and put them on IVs,” Annie added.

“What is it you are asking of Portsmous, zen?” Serge asked.

Rictus finished the drink and dropped the glass on the table with a clunk. “According to Phoney, if you believe him, there’s a valley across the desert and there are humans there. Do you know of them?”

Serge shook his head. “Ve know of no ozer humans except zuh Full-Figured Gals, und ve haf no dealings vis zem.”

Rictus continued, “Phoney’s off with a bunch of armed bones to rescue one of his cousins, who he says is being held there. I don’t know the weapons capabilities of this Valley, but I think Phoney could start a war. I was hoping you and a team of yours would come with me across the desert, all the way to the Valley if necessary, to intercept the bones--peacefully--and drive them back home.”

Serge sat back and crossed his arms. “Vat do you sink vould motivate zuh bones to cease zer operations?”

“A show of superior force.”

Annie grabbed Rictus’s arm. “Rictus...”

“Not now, Annie.”

“Rictus,” Serge said, “you know ve do not haf zuh technological capabilities of zuh bones. Our best veapons are bone-made hunting rifles.”

“Rictus, what about Fone?” Annie asked.

“Cut the sweat, Serge,” Rictus said. “We both know Portsmouth bought illegal assault weapons from bone smugglers--who we never caught, by the way--and we both know you would never, except in a moment of insanity, turn over your entire inventory of military weapons to me just because I asked nicely. Weapons in Boneville are regulated, so it’s the bones who have only hunting rifles and the like; I’m sure Phoney didn’t break into the armory to equip his mob. This isn’t a military strike, but a group of misfits and ne’er-do-wells. Whatever weapons you have here--preferably big, scary ones--will make for a superior force.”

“Herr Bürgermeister,” Dietrich interrupted, “ich muss--”

Serge stopped him with an upraised hand. “Nein, Dietrich. Ve haf guests. Speak in zuh Bonish.”

Dietrich frowned, but he composed himself and said, “I must protest zis, Herr Bürgermeister. Ve sould not reveal secrets to zees bones. Zey may be spies.”

Serge laughed and waved this off. “Spies? Dietrich, zis is Rictus Bone!”

Dietrich scowled at Rictus. “I know.”

“Dietrich,” Serge said, “it seems Rictus und I haf private matters to discuss. Please vait outside.”

“But...”

“Now, Dietrich.”

Dietrich stood, straightened his uniform, walked to the door, and left.

“Can I trust you, Rictus?” Serge asked.

“Of course,” Rictus answered, voice still jovial as if nothing had happened. “We tried to kill each other in the war, remember? If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?”

“Und your voman?” Serge asked.

“I’m not...” Annie began.

“Annie, wait outside,” Rictus said.

Annie turned a fierce look on Rictus. He answered it with a cool gaze. “Out, Annie. The boys need to talk things over.”

Annie was furious. She clenched her teeth but remained composed. She was afraid to walk outside without Rictus nearby, but she was mad enough that she didn’t want to show it, so instead of complaining further, she slid off her chair and walked to the door with her nose in the air.

Annie stepped out and climbed down the steps to the wooden sidewalk fronting the street. The night felt cold after Serge’s sweltering fire, and Annie felt her skin grow taut as her glands released insulator oil into her dermis. She wrinkled her nose as the scents of Portsmouth wafted past her olfactory membrane. No doubt about it, humans stank. That would take some getting used to.

A creak in the boardwalk startled her. She looked over to see Dietrich sitting on a bench by the wall under a mounted candle. He hunched over a prayer chaplet, and his mouth moved silently as he fingered the beads. After a moment, he noticed her gaze and looked up. He gave her a faint, embarrassed smile as he crumpled the beads into his palm.

“Do you believe in zuh Holy Chariot, Miss Bone?”

She clasped her hands behind her back. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of it, Mister Dietrich.”

He played idly with the beads and gazed into the dark town. “Zuh first ancestors of zuh humans sinned. Zuh Chariot brought us here for a time of testing, and vhen ve die, zuh Chariot comes to take zuh righteous back to Paradise.”

“How does it know if you’re righteous?”

He looked into her eyes and gave her another faint smile. “By vhezer or not ve love.”

“Well.” Annie tried to look nonchalant rather than frightened of this tall human. She walked toward him, looking out over Portsmouth’s evening fires. “It sounds as if it doesn’t matter much if I believe in it or not, since it’s all about humans.”

“I never sought of zat. Perhaps zuh bones came here vis zuh humans.” He shoved the beads into a pocket. “Or perhaps zuh bones find redemption anozer vay.”

Hollow footsteps sounded from the boardwalk. A tall woman entered the small circle of yellow light and smiled. Her skin was fair and crinkles appeared around her eyes as she grinned. “Dietrich!” the woman said. “Does Serge have you vorking late again?”

“Ja,” Dietrich answered, standing to greet the woman. “But only for a little longer, Isabella.”

She smiled up at him, but then noticed Annie. “Oh! You are entertaining zuh bones, of course.” She patted Dietrich’s arm. “He keeps you such long hours! You need your rest.”

“I vill be fine, Isabella. Let me introduce you. Zis is Miss Annie Bone of Boneville.”

“How do you do,” Isabella said, curtsying.

“And zis is Miss Isabella.”

“Charmed,” Annie replied. She looked at the two humans standing beside one another. To her eyes, they looked similar, although Isabella was a good deal paler and had lighter, wispier hair. “Your...sister?” Annie asked.

“His fiancée,” Isabella replied. She turned to Dietrich. “Good night, Dietrich. Get some rest.” She kissed his cheek before turning and walking into the dark. Her long dress whisked about her narrow ankles as her echoing footsteps faded.

Annie bit her lip and tried not to look revolted. She had told herself during the journey that the humans would have strange customs and that she ought not to be offended, but it shocked her to see non-relatives kissing, and in public, and so perilously near the mouth.

“It is late, Miss Bone. Vould you like me to show you your room?”

His voice cut into Annie’s thoughts. She jumped. “Of...of course, Dietrich. Yes, please.”

He bowed and gestured into the darkness. “Zis vay, denn.”

Still struggling to hide her nervousness, she followed him out of the light. Her heart thrummed in time to the beat of her hiking shoes against the creaky wooden boards.

88888

Serge ran a hand over his bald pate. His head reflected the orange firelight. “I apologize for Dietrich,” he said. “He is young und very--how do you say?--by-zuh-book.”

“Don’ worry about it,” Rictus answered. “Annie’s the same way. Sweet girl but kind of a prude. But now--what about those guns?”

Serge sighed. “Ja, your guess vas correct, Rictus. Ve gave back only enough to look honest. In fact, ve bought many veapons and returned only, say, von tens of zuh total.”

“One tenth?” Rictus said, amazed. “Serge, you gave back over a hundred firearms!”

“Ja. Ve spent much money vis your city’s criminals.”

They stared at each other across the table. “Jeez,” Rictus said, “I’d hate to be our guys in the next war.”

“Let’s hope zer is no more var, Rictus. Our peoples have seen enough pointless bloodshed, und zat is vhy I am joining you on zis ridiculous scheme visout any furzer qvestions. I vould not do so und risk more hatred if zer vas no chance of stopping var. It is time to bury zuh past und put it in textbooks ver it belongs.”

“Fine,” Rictus said, “but right now, let’s deal with practical matters. Where do you keep the goods?”

“In several caches around zuh town. Von is here is zis office.” Serge rose and moved to a shadowed wood panel on one wall. He tapped it at the corners with his knuckles, loosening it. Pulling it aside, he revealed a cupboard lined with a hodgepodge of bone-made firearms. On the back wall of the hidden compartment, Rictus could see stacked boxes of bullets and shells.

Serge pulled out several handguns and dumped them on the table. Rictus sorted through them.

“These are empty, right?”

“Ja, und safeties are all on.”

Rictus picked up a couple of black .25 automatics and grimaced. “Someone sold you some cheap stuff, Serge. I wouldn’t trust my life to these.” He tossed them back on the table. “Leave those behind.” He picked through the guns until he found a few revolvers and automatics he trusted, and he pushed them to one side. “These are good makes.”

Serge’s upper body was in the closet. He emerged with rifles, shotguns, and submachine guns tucked under his arms. He laid these on the table.

Rictus picked up a rifle, looked it over, cocked it, and peered through the scope. “This is a pretty good 30-30. I’d trust it.”

He picked up a submachine gun and shook his head. “Not this one.”

“Vhy not? I haf found it powerful und accurate.”

Rictus pointed to the empty slot for the clip. “This thing has to be loaded with greased bullets. You get sand in there and the whole thing’s gummed up. Leave it.”

He picked up another, glared contemptuously, and put it back down. “Too many bells and whistles.”

He picked up a pump-action riot gun with a pistol grip and a flashlight built on the front. “...Mmmm, police model. This amuses me. Go ahead and take it.”

He looked at the small pile of weapons deemed acceptable. “Anything else? Anything fully automatic that doesn’t have to be greased?”

Serge dove into the closet again and came back with more weapons. He laid them down.

Rictus looked over the new pile and nodded. “I like these. This 9-mm is our military standard. Those fully automatic pistols are corny, but they get the job done. And this .32 overheats easy and I’ve seen it cook off, but it’s fine if you don’t use it like an idiot. Is that it?”

“One more sing,” Serge said, pulling out an enormous weapon that looked too big even for him. “Zis is somesing of our own design. Zuh ‘boys downstairs,’ as ve affectionately call zem, haf been vorking on zis for some time. Zey have been studying zuh bone designs and haf ‘scaled zem up,’ you might say, and built zuh first Portsmous machine gun.”

He dropped the clunker on the table with a heavy thud. A few of the pistols fell off the table’s end.

“That thing’s huge,” Rictus grunted.

“Ja.”

“What is it? It looks like you made it out of cast iron.”

Serge laughed. “Nein. Fully automatic belt-fed .50-caliber centerfire. Six hundred rounds a minute.”

Rictus blinked. “Holy hell.”

“Ja. Und zat large barrel contraption underneas is zuh grenade launcher.”

“An automatic .50? Aren’t the grenades sorta redundant?”

Serge chuckled. “It is overkill. But it is zer first design, and zey ver...over-ensusiastic, perhaps.”

Rictus rubbed his chin. “This thing’d be tough for me to lift, and if I tried to fire it, I’m sure it’d knock me on my butt. Surely it’s gotta be hard to shoot even for a human.”

Serge shrugged. “It is heavy, so it kicks less zan you sink. Ve haf only five of zees so far; ve cannot mass-produce zem. But I haf five men who handle zem reasonably vell.”

“What is ‘reasonably well’?”

Serge shrugged again. “Zey blow zuh bloody hell out of everysing in zuh general direction zuh barrel is pointing.”

“Except what they’re aiming at, I presume.”

Another shrug.

Rictus looked the gun up and down. “Well, it’s a real piece o’ work, Serge, I gotta hand you that. Sure, take these, too. Might be good for punchin’ holes in stuff or scarin’ off monsters if that’s necessary. What do you call this thing, anyway?”

Serge looked uncomfortable and rubbed at his bald dome. “Vell...zuh boys downstairs did give it a little nickname...”

“Which is?”

“Zey call it zuh Bonebreaker,” Serge admitted.

Rictus chewed his lip. “Nice.” He sat back. “Serge, I hope I’m not making the worst mistake of my life. I’m sure you understand, and I know you don’t want another war...I don’t want to kill my fellow bones. I want to send them home.”

Serge nodded. “Zuh sought had occurred to me, Rictus. But I haf no intention of shooting bones, und my men vill listen to me. Ve do not suffer under zis mob rule you call democracy, und zuh Bürgermeister of Portsmous has more power zan your ‘mayor.’ My men know zat if zey breach orders, I can punish zem.”

Rictus said, “I trust your judgment, then. Hopefully, intimidation will be enough to send the bones home. When do you think we can set out?”

“I believe by tomorrow evening. Ve vill consult zuh scholars in zuh morning, pack, und go.”

Rictus raised a floating eyebrow. “That quick? Good. We might even find Phoney before he reaches this Valley.”

“Ja. Get some sleep now, Rictus. I’ll show you your room.”

88888

Annie was relieved when Dietrich left. The man made her uncomfortable.

She threw down her hiking pack at the end of the straw bed and kicked off her shoes.

A bed, she thought. That’ll be nice.

In spite of the smell, Annie performed her usual custom of taking in the night air before sleeping. Shoeless, she stepped onto the boardwalk outside her door. No streetlights, she thought. Pitch black. She looked up, hoping to see the stars, but was disappointed. It was a cloudy night.

What am I doing here? Coming had been a mistake. If Rictus’s plans went well, they’d stop Phoney and turn right around and come back. Annie had expected they would find Fone Bone and at least check on him, make sure he was okay. She wondered for a moment if she shouldn’t have gone with Phoney’s party instead.

Callused hands reached out of the darkness and grabbed her. One covered her mouth before she could scream, and another yanked her out of the cone of light emanating from her open door. Her captors pulled her around the corner of the building. Judging by the feeling of mass in front of her and the dry, cracked skin crawling across her clothes, at least two people were manhandling her. She knew this guess was right when two harsh voices broke the town’s creaking silence--

“Vot haf ve here, eh?” one of the voices asked. “Von of za bones, ja?”

“Ja,” a deeper, more menacing voice answered. A hand clutched her face and its finger bit into her cheek. "Ah, zuh sleek skin.” The hand pinched harder. “Glossy vite, no pores. Vaterproof.” She felt whiskers brush her face as the man put his mouth right next to her auditory membrane: “You know vhat a gut pair of patent lezer soos you’d make, girlie?” His hot, wet breath blew on her with a mixed odor of gin, tobacco, and rotten teeth.

“How you know it a girl?” the other voice asked. “It got no tits.”

“It vearing a skirt, Dummkopf.” The hands kneaded and pinched at the flesh on her chest and stomach under her windbreaker. The calluses on those hands rasped against her skin. She kicked at those hands, but in vain. She was pinned. “Ja, see ist fighting, eh? See don’t vant to be a nice chacket. You know zey alvays take zuh girl bones, girly? Skin is softer, and it best if you skinned alife.”

“Ja,” the other voice agreed, and a rough hand snatched at one of her floating eyebrows. She gasped in shock and terror as a white-hot pain shot into her left eye. “After Darton, know vhat zey do? Zey find bones und hang zem by zuh eyebrows. Zuh bones scream und kick und sink to zuh ground ofer several days. Und visout zuh charge betveen zuh brows und zuh head, zey haf no sense of direction. Zey run into each ozer and moan und cry like babies.”

“Yank harder. Zee if zuh eyebrow come off.”

The pain increased and stretched from her eye, through her brain, and clear to the back of her head. She tried to yell for help, but the hand over her mouth allowed only a pathetic, wet retch.

The pain stopped and she heard a deep “Oof!” The hands on her body released and she fell to the ground, flat on her face in rough gravel. She ran a hand over her eyebrows to make sure they were still there.

Annie backed toward the wall and put up her fists. A shape was moving in front of her, and it was moving rapidly. It appeared to be another man, and he was delivering well-placed punches, kicks, and chops to the ones who had accosted her. She saw him grab one of them and swing him around, and she heard the solid smack of the villain's head against the wall beside her, followed by the thump and rustle of his body hitting the dirt. She ran to the stunned man and kicked him several times in the face to make sure he stayed down. She ignored the pain shooting into her feet and kicked until he stopped moving.

That done, Annie turned to run, but two strong hands scooped her up and one of them clamped over her mouth. It seemed her rescue was short-lived, for the rescuer himself was some new terror.

The figure who held her burst into her room, snatched up her pack, doused her lamp, and then ran back into the night, shutting the door behind.

My shoes, Annie thought. If she could escape, she could probably run along the boardwalk, but sharp rocks in the street would slow her down if she had to go there.

She felt heavy cloth enclose her body. She realized her captor was wearing a long coat and had shoved her under it to keep her unseen. He still had a hand around her mouth, but that meant her limbs were free. She began pummeling her feet against his hip and, though she could not swing any punches in her awkward position, she grabbed at the skin around his abdomen and pinched hard. She felt his strong stomach muscles clench as he grunted.

His pace quickened and he fumbled his other arm under his coat, trying to pry her fingers from his flesh. Every time he pulled her hand away, she managed to get her hand free and pinch somewhere else. He showed no sign of dropping her, but she would leave him with some nasty welts.

She felt a pressure against her back and heard a creak of rusty metal as he shoved through a door and slammed it behind. He threw her out from under his coat and she landed on a soft, straw-filled mattress. Annie sucked in her breath to shriek--

The hand clamped over her mouth again.

“Please not to make noise, Miss Annie,” a smooth voice said.

She gazed into the dark, trying to make out the outline of his face. The hand released its pressure on her mouth.

“Dietrich?”

“Ja. Von moment, please.”

His face moved back into the surrounding shadows. A curtain rustled as Dietrich pulled it. A match snitched as he lit it, and the orange glow captured the lines of his face as he pulled the glass from a lamp and lit the wick.

That done, he turned back to her. She looked again into his face and was again startled at the complexity of his eyes. In the lamplight, they shimmered wetly. They were black circles in colored frames, surrounded by white delicately brushed with gossamer strands of red. She had thought before that Dietrich’s dark-on-dark eyes were a deep brown, but she now suspected they were blue. Yes--when he turned his head slightly, she could see through the transparent film over the black center, and the blue of the iris stood out as it captured the light.

“I apologize for my townspeople,” Dietrich said, sitting in a creaky wooden chair near the door. “Angry memories last long, and goodvill is soon forgotten. Zer are some who remember zuh Bonevar, and zer are even some who still sink on zuh Darton Massacre, zo all from zat time are long dead.”

“Would they have really made me into shoes or a jacket?” Annie asked.

“Nein. Boneskin is illegal; ver vould zey vear it? Zey vould have done little besides beat you. But I sought it best to take you here so zey do not know ver you are and come back vis friends.”

“You scared me to death.”

“Zey vould haf done more zan scare you.”

She sat back on the bed and let her breathing calm and her heart slow. “You left my shoes behind,” she said.

“I get zem in morning, ja? No more prowlers zen.”

She swallowed. It seemed a new nervousness was rousing in her stomach. “Why did you come back?” she asked.

He looked embarrassed. “I return because I have forgot to tell you, Miss Bone, zat it is not safe to leave your room at night.”

She managed a smile. “Thank you, Dietrich. I’m sorry I pinched you.”

He chuckled. “Like Spartan boy and fox in story, ja? Sink not on it.”

Annie’s eyes moved around the room. The walls were of dark wood and appeared unfinished, and Annie anticipated splinters if she ran her hand over anything. The furniture consisted of the low-slung bed, the hand-made chair in which Dietrich sat, and the small table with the lamp. Another door across from the entrance was apparently a closet.

There was a cracked painting on the wall above Dietrich’s head, half shaded from the lamplight. Annie tilted her head to get a look at it, and she sucked in her breath.

Dietrich, looking to where her gaze was focused, said, “Ah, ja. Tintoretto. Zat is his ‘Origin of zuh Milky Vay.’ A copy, of course, but a fair von. Do you know his vork, Miss Bone?”

She shook her head. The painting was busy and confusing, and she doubted she would understand the subject matter even if Dietrich explained it. There was an unclothed human at the center, but Annie couldn’t tell whether it was male or female. A number of other figures surrounded it, including winged children and some muscular person in the upper right...no, she couldn’t understand it at all.

She twisted her mouth and said, “I’ve just not seen a painting like that for quite a while. Bone art is going through a ‘stripe phase.’”

Dietrich looked confused.

“Let’s just say it’s a sort of painting only an art critic could love,” Annie said. She sighed. “I don’t think there’s a bone in all Boneville who can do art like the humans can. Not anymore. It’s pathetic.”

Dietrich crossed his arms. “Don’t say zat, Miss Bone. I’m sure zuh bones have many fine talents, and ve depend on you for technology just as you depend on us for art.”

“Yeah,” Annie muttered, “but if we were worth much, I don’t think we’d run off into the desert after that awful Phoney Bone.”

Dietrich smiled. “Surely not every bone is following Phoney. After all, you and Rictus are here.”

“No,” she said, “not every bone is going.” She scrunched her floating eyebrows. “I know Father August Bone always opposes Phoney’s schemes, but he also admonishes everybody for the way they treat Phoney when they uncover one of Phoney’s scams. And Rabbi Moshe Bone says much the same thing.”

“You see?” Dietrich said. “Good bones. Bones vis whom I vould proudly ride zuh Chariot. But now, Miss Annie, I sink it best if ve get some sleep. You vill take zuh bed, of course. I sleep on zuh floor.” He moved to the lamp and blew over its mouth. The room plunged into darkness.

Annie was alone in a strange room, in the dark, with a large human.

“Pleasant dreams,” Dietrich said somewhere in front of her.

Next: Into the Desert