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  Then, after the swapping of the vows, the pianoman would finish the set by playing “Piano Man” as tradition insisted, before concluding the ceremony and transitioning from hitching mode to party mode by smashing a pumpkin into the keys.

  Clint adjusted his tie a final time, sighed, stood from his bench in front of the mirror, then walked through the batwing doors of the farback and entered the saloon’s main front room.

  The citizens of Solace turned to greet the gunslinger.

  Most towns scattered throughout the Sprawl were relatively large. Solace was small. With the tables pushed back to allow for the hitching party to stage their ceremony, the saloon seemed downright giant.

  Clint spied Mai across the room, past the waitingmen and the preacherman, standing beside her row of waitingwomen. She looked beautiful, dressed head to toe in pink. She smiled as he entered, her hand twittering at her side like a nervous bird, wanting to wave — out of character for a wedding, but plenty normal for Mai.

  The gunslinger smiled — in character for a wedding, but out of character for Clint. Then his hands went to his sides, finding them slim and too fleshy.

  I should have my guns, he thought.

  The pianoman kept banging his upright, finishing “Just the Way You Are” with a mellow voice as smooth as any Joelsinger in The Realm. For a second, the pianoman’s voice brought Clint to missing The Realm. Then he remembered his leaving, and the longing turned into a bolt of loathing. He shoved it down into his boots with the rest of his stew, reminding himself that he was at a wedding — his wedding, against all odds — and that a hitching was a time for joy, not anger.

  The room fell into a hush as the pianoman finished, and the preacherman started with his opening words, welcoming them all and reminding them that there was nothing greater than friends gathering together to witness two souls stitching their lives together like scraps in a quilt.

  The preacherman went on about the lovely day and the fair weather that would be remembered and remarked upon forever, or at least until the coming Harvest. He thanked Providence and the movements of the Sands for allowing them this great weather, then thanked Providence, on everyone’s behalf, for leaving them what remained of the magic, so far from The Realm.

  The preacherman finished his opening address in the traditional way, with three claps and a wink. The assembly answered his call by clapping thrice. Clint should’ve done the same, but couldn’t bring his palms together any more than he could make himself sing along to the Joelsongs like everyone else. Margaret Partridge, who always had her nose in everyone’s business, was watching Clint rather than the preacherman and gave him the reek-eye when he failed to clap. Clint ignored her.

  The preacherman raised his hand. Clint walked forward at his signal and stood beside Mai. Her hand found his, squeezing it in a strange reversal of roles. Clint was usually the strong one, but today he was a fish flopping on the desert floor.

  “Dearly beloved,” said the preacherman, “we are gathered here today to witness the joining of this man and this woman under Providence, in the town of Solace, if the movements of the Sands so will it.”

  “So will it,” the crowd murmured in repeat.

  “The Sands have spoken, and the union of Clint Gulliver and Mai Maneau pleases them. Does it please the assembled?”

  The guests, seated to the left of Clint and Mai, answered in one voice: “So it pleases us.”

  Mai looked over, smiling at her man. Clint couldn’t bring himself to smile at the crowd, so instead he smiled at Mai. The smile, like the happiness that was worn like another man’s hat, felt strange. She returned his smile, her pink headpiece framing her smooth, pale face and shining brown hair.

  Mai didn’t look like a Sands woman at all. She was pretty enough to grace the cover of one of The Realm’s glossy books. Like the swarm of men in the saloon, women of the Sands looked beaten by gritty wind and hard life. Their skin was rough, almost like cowhide, with hair that was dull and mostly dead. Mai looked nothing like that, and Clint was clear enough to admit it was her radiance that drew him to her, like he was metal and she was a magnet.

  Clint would never have shared that first slice of pie, or his tall bottle of apple brew, if Mai hadn’t stood out like she did. It wasn’t long before Providence let Clint know he was right. Mai wasn’t supposed to be out in the Sands. She was supposed to be in The Realm. Her half-magick blood meant that she had a home behind the walls. That’s where the gunslinger would take her again if The Realm could ever be found. He swore on his guns — be they a pair of sevens or a commoner’s six.

  Margaret Partridge belched from her seat. Not uncommon, but the sound still stole Clint’s attention. Nosy Margaret’s eyes weren’t where they were supposed to be. She was staring out the saloon window, interested in something that wasn’t a hitching.

  “Clint and Mai, it is my pleasure to preside over your union. You wish to be joined forever under Providence?”

  “We do,” they said as one.

  The preacherman turned to Clint. “Clint, I’ve known you for nearly a year. When you came to this town, it was so dirty, a decent woman couldn’t walk the street without worry of falling to the grip of roving gangs. Solace was no place to raise a child. Drunkenness and lawlessness ruled, until you changed that. You are a good man, Marshal, brave and upright. Has life prepared you for the challenge of hitching?”

  The preacherman held Clint’s eyes while he waited for the answer. The gunslinger buried a desire to leave him killt, which was what he usually had to do when a man dared to stare without flinching.

  “Are you prepared to tolerate Mai’s friends, even when they annoy you, and feign interest in theater and dance to please her?”

  The crowd should have chuckled, but something outside was stealing their interest away from the ceremony. Clint turned, spying the entire back row, which was all bodies twisted in their seats.

  Mai elbowed Clint, returning his eyes to the front.

  “And Mai,” said the preacherman, “can you accept Clint’s failure to notice changes in your hairstyle, from subtle to grand? Will you constantly pretend that the emissions from his rear don’t sour your stomach and curl the hairs in your nose?”

  Clint looked from the preacherman to Mai. The preacherman said, “These are the things you must consider when hitching.”

  Still, the saloon was missing its laughter. Behind them, Earl Lancaster, Bella Swinton, and Nicholas Willings all stood, then went outside in a line. Clint was wishing for his guns as Mai elbowed him again.

  The preacherman strained his neck, trying to see where the three had disappeared — and where the remaining assembly seemed to be looking — until remembering his place and returning his attention to the couple.

  “By entering into this union, you pool your strengths and shore your weaknesses. Clint, you bring grit, bravery, and a stubborn disposition. Mai, you bring compassion, stability, and a general sense of loving. If I’m right in my suspicions —” He scratched his head. “— you might even bring an increasingly rare share of magic, which even the… the…”

  Bill Maynard, George Telford, and Hattie McDonnough slipped through the saloon doors and out into the street.

  “… the… the…”

  Robert Beltham. Nellie Peterson and her two daughters. Queer MacElroy, the town oddity. Only Teddy, the orphan in half the town’s employ, still had his eyes aimed front and center.

  Clint looked at Mai’s uncommonly beautiful face and felt a twitching sort of nervous, like everything was suddenly slipping away.

  “The vows,” said Clint. “The vows are next.”

  Mai turned, watching the chairs and tables empty to nothing.

  “There’s something wrong,” Mai said.

  Clint curled his lip. “Ignore it.”

  “I want to go out and see.”

  “Ignore it,” he repeated. Then, to the preacherman: “Come on. The vows.”

  The preacherman looked conflicted. Mai was distracted and wou
ldn’t keep her eyes forward. It was pointless anyway, seeing as they were the only three people still in the saloon. Duty was the only thing keeping the preacherman from bolting outside himself.

  “Do it,” Clint growled. “Just finish quickly.”

  “This is ridiculous,” said Mai. “I’m not getting married in a rush so we can run outside. We’re here to be with these people.”

  “I don’t want any interruption in my hitching,” said Clint.

  “We’re already interrupted.” It should’ve sounded harsh, but it sounded tender instead. Mai set the back of her hand to the rough of Clint’s face.

  “What do you think we…?” Clint started to say to the preacherman, but the preacherman had already gone. They couldn’t get married now if they wanted to, unless the gunslinger planned to get ordained and play both the roles of both betrothed and betrother.

  “Dagnit,” said Clint.

  Mai pulled him toward the doorway.

  Outside, they found the assembly gathered around the Water Reader, his fingers dipped into one of three rain barrels that were submerged halfway into the sand alongside the main street. His eyes were rolled into the farback of his head as he chanted in readerspeak. The assembly stood in an eager semicircle, ears perked for the stray word to leave the Water Reader’s mouth in plainspeak, so that they could predict his prophecy before he fell from his trance.

  The crowd’s faces were pinched in worry, or maybe terror. The assembly turned to Clint, as if begging him to do something — like shoot the Reader right now between his rolled-up eyes, before he could spit a prophecy to ruin them all.

  “Mnmnmnm stone mnmnm falling town mnmnmn the winds sands mnmnmn…”

  “You people are terrible wedding guests,” said Clint.

  Mai hushed him.

  “This is how you thank your marshal?”

  “Mnmnmnm hassle return shifting sands mnmnmnm to the ends the edge mnmnmnm…”

  Hattie McDonnough looked up, her eyes wide. “No,” she said. “No…”

  “Shut it Hattie,” Robert Beltham snapped. “Let the man read the Sands.”

  “Mnmnmnm coming coming with the dozens mnmnMNMNM DARK SHIFTING SANDS MNMNMN.”

  Without the slightest pause, the Water Reader’s eyes snapped into place. He drew his fingers from the rain barrel and said, looking directly at Clint, “The Sands have told me that a bleak cloud is returning to Solace. They showed me dark riders. And at the front of the riders, I saw the face of Hassle Stone.”

  Queer MacElroy laughed. He was the only one.

  CHAPTER TWO:

  DELAYED

  The preacherman refused to continue the ceremony. He said he’d give the couple a rain check.

  Mai said, “I didn’t know preachermen gave rain checks.”

  The preacherman didn’t look at her, or put apology into his eyes. He simply said, “Looks like you learned something new.”

  “We’re to be married today,” Mai insisted. “Tomorrow’s magic is different. The moon was fullest this morning, and that made for the second moon this month, making it blue. I cannot be married except on a blue moon. Otherwise is trouble, and who knows how long we’ll have to wait?”

  Clint took Mai by the arm and pulled her away. The preacherman wasn’t listening, and wasn’t going to. He was tossing clothes, bibles, and religious trinkets into an open suitcase until it was so fat that the preacherman couldn’t buckle the straps. He sat on top, forcing it closed, chuckling as if Hassle Stone wasn’t galloping toward Solace when his Water of Holies vial shattered inside. The preacherman made a joke about how his wardrobe would be forever blessed no matter how fashion might change, then lifted the suitcase lid and started mumbling as he gathered pieces of broken glass.

  Clint growled at the preacherman, then dragged Mai upstairs, to his boarding room in the back.

  “We’ll need to ride to Sojourn now so we can find a preacherman to marry us there, and we’re smart to hurry since the moon’ll be different by morrow,” she said, standing in the doorway.

  “I can’t leave town,” he said.

  “But we’re to be married.”

  Clint grabbed Mai gently by both upper arms and pulled her eyes to his. “I told you, Mai, I can’t go. We’ll still be married, but not until Hassle Stone is right-handled.”

  “The blue moon. Our hitching must be on the blue moon. Your friend the preacherman is…”

  “The preacherman’s no friend,” said Clint.

  “He’s running from something, not even willing to take ten minutes to finish our hitching. Vows were all that remained. ‘Do you? Do you? I declare you married.’ Two minutes, not ten.” Then she went bright with an idea. “Maybe your guns could persuade him.”

  Clint smiled from the side of his mouth. “I can’t use my guns to force a man to marry us,” he said.

  “Then we must get to Sojourn. Today, Clint!”

  “It’ll have to be the next blue moon, Mai. I can’t leave Solace. Not now with Hassle Stone leaving horizon behind him.”

  “Who is this Hassle Stone, anyway?” she said. “And why is everyone so afraid of him?”

  Clint looked at Mai, her beautiful dark hair framing her frazzled face. She’d come to Solace after he had, and never knew a town polluted by the madness that followed Stone like an angry cloud.

  “He’s a bad man.”

  “The Sprawl is full of bad men.”

  “Yar’m, and a lot of them are amigo to Stone.”

  “Let Todd handle it. He was going to handle things while we were away anyway.”

  “Todd can’t handle Hassle Stone.”

  “Why the Sands not?” Mai was nearly yelling, and practically in tears. Clint never understood how women could cry when angry. He would comfort their sadness, if that’s what it was. But Clint had earned plenty a palm to his face after failing to notice a woman was angry rather than sad. Now that he knew the difference, the gunslinger might be able to survive a marriage…if he could get a preacherman to put him in the middle of one.

  “Because Hassle Stone doesn’t ride alone,” Clint said. “He has a way of drawing others to gallop behind him, and subduing those who might fight against him. You didn’t see what it was like when I first came to Solace. It was as if he were magic.” Clint rubbed his hand over his uncharacteristically soft and freshly shaven jaw.

  “But you have magic.” Mai reached out for his hand. “I have magic.”

  “I don’t have magic,” said Clint.

  “You know magic.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Mai. You heard the Water Reader. Hassle’s on his way, coming to laugh at the law. I am the law. You see what that means, don’t you?”

  “If Hassle Stone is bad, then of course the Reader said he’s bringing lawlessness. You know how Readers are.”

  “Yar’m,” said Clint. “I do know how Readers are. Several are in my family line, including Kullem the Brew. Everything goes double meaning to them. You don’t know Stone, Mai. He’s not back for Solace. He’s back for me. That is what ‘lawlessness’ means. It’s not chaos he’s seeing in the water. He’s reading a grudge against the local law man.”

  Mai shook her head, sighed, threw her hands in the air, then flopped onto the turkey feather mattress, starched undergarments rustling. Clint sat in the chair across from the bed. She lifted her head and watched him.

  “If we left,” he said, “if we traveled to Sojourn. If we made our home there and never came back? Hassle Stone would take this town over. Then he’d leave men to control it, like occupying armies in a game of Risk. He’d give chase, follow us until he found me. If I weren’t ready when he found us, he’d lay me in my grave.”

  A single tear painted Mai’s right cheek. Clint guessed her anger had turned to mostly vapor, and the tear a mere drop of frustration. Women cried for everything; getting learned on the various species of weeping should be part of a hitching.

  “What happened with him?” she asked.

  “With Stone?”

&n
bsp; “Yar.”

  Clint drew a deep breath, stood, walked to the window, and looked out onto the main street in front of the saloon and boarding house, his large gunslinger’s hands hanging limp at his sides.

  “Stone’s men used to control Solace. From the way-back, since the town was just one saloon and a pair of tall closets. Before Stone, the town had neither law nor lawlessness. Stone showed, and stepped into Solace like a key sliding into a lock. It’s like the bad men were already here, just waiting for the right bandit to lead them. At least, that’s what the Water Reader said, and what Todd told me later.”

  Clint’s jaw set as his eyes went to steel.

  “His roving gangs roamed the street, taking all they wanted from the stores, without a thankoo or pleasem. They chased women, and caught them often. Merchants were extorted, and left barely enough rupees to stay alive. The saloon was the only thing booming, and not with wedding business. Well, the saloon and the coffiner. Each night after the saloon went shuttered, Stone’s men would spill into the streets, falling in a heap until their bodies were finished twitching from the poison.”

  “Sounds like the Sprawl,” said Mai. “I’ve seen plenty of the same.”

  “This was worse,” Clint said from behind serious eyes. “Todd said once a barber tried to help one of Stone’s men up from the dirt after a long night. Got a bullet in his beak for the trouble. Smashed through his nose and sailed through the back of his head. The barber managed a final word before he fell in a pile of meat and skin.”

  “What was the word?” Mai asked, as if it mattered.

  “Lice.”

  Mai was quiet, waiting for Clint to continue. Then he said, “The entire town was their private pantry, their stock of supplies earned only from the sweat of others. They invaded homes just because they could, making sure everyone knew that everything in Solace belonged to Stone, regardless of the ink on any deed. No one dared fight back, or he’d have them arrested and put on trial in the street.”

  “Trial?”