Sheriff Watching
Several bullet holes riddled its surface.
“Should we take bets on how many outlaws bother reading signs?” Javi asked with a grimace that she felt in her chest.
The road continued through the gate, bisecting the town ahead. Crammed on either side of the street were the abandoned, skeletal remains of large wooden buildings and squat stone structures that looked more like husks than like banks or post offices. Wind rustled through crumbling halls and sent window shutters banging on theirhinges. The buildings that did remain standing were made of either stone or rough boards and nails, cobbled together in a hurry and left to fall apart over time. At the end of the road, bone-dry dunes painted the horizon beige, and a lone scarecrow had been strung up, watching over the town with a wide-brimmed hat on its obscured head.
The sun beat down on the deserted streets. It was evident that rain was a rare thing in these parts, the dusty road and distant dunes parched beneath a cloudless sky so bright it was almost white. An unbearable heat rose from the ground, and explained why the streets were empty of people. At times, Risa thought she caught sight of a figure huddled in an alley or peeking from behind a fluttering curtain, but when she looked again, no one was there.
Loose, dry dirt was kicked up with each footstep and settled over them in a fine layer. An eagle screeched overhead, no doubt considering Brunie for dinner, and a lone tumbleweed rolled past them before disappearing into an alley.
Risa tamped down the wild beating of her heart. An empty, lawless town might be exactly where Javi’s assassins were regrouping and assessing their botched plan, but surely that was too on the nose.
“Remember when you said you’d listen to me more often?” she asked.
“No.”
“Give me your circlet,” she said, holding out her hand. “We don’t know who might be watching.”
At least he didn’t argue as he removed the thin gold diadem and handed it over begrudgingly. She crammed it into the velvetpouch Brunhilda had given her, where magic seemed to muffle the sounds of whatever was inside, and stuffed that back into her pack. The bag felt much emptier than when this ill-advised adventure began.
Ahead, voices floated out from one of the few wooden buildings that hadn’t fallen into complete disrepair. Two shaved-down planks served as swinging doors, their once-red paint chipped and dulled brown, matching the exterior paneled walls. They creaked in protest with every gust of wind or movement from within, echoing the creaks of the sign overhead that readMEAN-EYED CAT SALOON.
A shout rang out, followed by a bang, and then the faint notes of a piano floated through the doors.
Risa felt that they should walk right out of the town, but the truth was that she was hungry and tired and she didn’t know the way to Madros. What she did know was that she and Javi were not going to survive on their own. They would have better luck giving an outlaw all the coins in her pouchandJavi’s circlet in return for protection.
“We’re going in there, aren’t we?” Javi asked.
Risa nodded, took a deep gulp of air, and strode in.
At least a dozen people sat at rickety tables, with pints of beer and knives and daggers and pistols in hand. One man held a nasty contraption that was the ugly child of a knife and a pistol, though Risa couldn’t begin to understand how it worked. Someone else caressed the easily identifiable handle of a rusted pan. A lady in a red dress trimmed with black lace arm-wrestled a bearded man without a shirt; she looked mildly disinterested while he sweated rivulets. In a spot off to the side of the door, a pair was engaged ina fight that looked near its end: A hand gripped a mustache, a boot ground a head against the sticky floor. The struggle paused in its last throes as the pair turned to consider the new arrivals.
Javi breezed past, Brunie draped fashionably over his shoulder. He leaned against the sticky counter—and regretted it, if his disgust was anything to go by—before flashing the disgruntled worker behind the counter a cheeky grin.
“Table for two.”
CHAPTER ELEVENIn Which the Pair Does Not Make a Good First Impression
The barman pointed a finger at Brunie. “Three.”
Javi winked. “Indeed.”
The man did not react. He led them to a table that had deep gouges in the wood and was littered with broken pieces of what might have been a teacup. Next to it was a pillar covered in wanted posters that did not liven up the ambience. Several of them had large redXs over the faces, which meant they had been captured or were dead.
Before the man left, Javi swept a hand over the broken ceramic. “Would you mind clearing this?”
“It’s decor.”
“Ah.” Javi nodded, as if he could suddenly understand the vision. “What do you recommend?”
“The soup.”
“Great. We will take two soups.”
The man grunted. “It’s salted bacalao.”
Javi frowned, a line forming between his brows. “Do you mean to say you salted an already salty fish?”
