Beautiful Blood

“Well.” She rubbed her hands together and beamed. “I need to start me cooking. Folks will be wanting their tucker.”

He would have liked to catch her hand and make some promise, swear an oath to right all wrongs done her, but shame and the fear of a weakness that shame might reveal locked him into a stoic posture, for he had come to think of himself as a hard man and now, recognizing he was not, understanding how drastically he had changed during the past six years, he thought he should try to preserve the impression, at least, of rigor. He lingered a while, keeping an eye on Martita as she moved between the stove, visible through a door at the back end of the bar, and the front room, hoping business would pick up and allow him to make an inconspicuous exit. A few more customers came in, but not enough to provide him with cover. He finished his second pint, gave her a casual wave and went out.

The cool air seemed to illumine him, bringing new and untried emotions to light. He hurried past Hangtown’s shallow, semi-permanent lake, filmed over by algae and scum, glazed with moonlight, realizing how isolated he had become. With Ludie leading a separate existence and Arthur spending every waking hour with the militia, his life had emptied out and, while he consorted with a variety of women and had no end of business acquaintances, he had not sought to replace these losses with relationships of an equivalent depth. In his solitude he’d had time to dwell on regrets and recriminations, and had developed a streak of self-pity; this in turn had created a sentimental side that he despised on principle, yet had come to depend on as a companion to his calculating and brutal nature, taking the place of lovers and friends. Whereas previously the sight of a mother nursing an infant or a small boy playing with a puppy would have barely registered on his consciousness, now these incidences seemed brightly human, striking him as emblematic of the world’s fragility and beauty, often causing his eyes to tear. Yet he knew better than to accept this change at face value and suspected that his reactions were linked to self-interest, perhaps to a renewed apprehension of mortality and a sense that his personal failures were unredeemable.

The thickets buzzed with insignificant life, the tops of the bushes swaying in the strong wind that flowed over Griaule’s back. He pushed into them, proceeding along a partly overgrown trail that led to the dragon’s crest, rising like a shadowy cliff above. He had never envisioned himself with children, yet the revelation that he’d fathered a son, even one stillborn…it was as if a pebble had been dropped into the waters of his soul, one from which ripples continued to spread long after the event, and he could not cease from thinking about the lost potentials of fatherhood. Overcome by frustration, an emotion never rising to the level of grief or rage, affording him no release, he cast his eyes upward. A scatter of stars lay directly above, like a throw of cowrie shells on a fortuneteller’s dark cloth, and he imagined he saw in them a blueprint for action, his life’s path revealed.

“Richard!” A woman’s voice at his rear.

Clad in trousers and a waist-length jacket, Ludie stood half in the spiky shadow of a century plant, considering him with a glum expression. Her presence put him on the alert—under ordinary circumstances, she would never set foot on the dragon—and he asked what she was doing there.

“Protecting my investment,” she said.

Arthur moved out of the bushes to stand behind her, a long-barreled pistol dangling from his right hand. He slipped his free arm about her waist, nudging a breast with his thumb, and grinned.

“I don’t know what you two have in mind,” said Rosacher. “But I advise you to think things over carefully before you act.”

“Oh, we done that,” Arthur said. “We’ve thoroughly analyzed the problem, as you might say.”

“Ask yourself if you’re capable of running the business,” Rosacher said. “You’ve no idea how complicated it is.”

Ludie extricated herself from Arthur’s grasp. “This has nothing to do with whether or not we can run the business. It has everything to do with your incompetence.”

“Incompetence? Are you mad?”

“In the past year demand has outstripped supply for the first time since we began. Between theft and poor management, our profits are down nearly thirty percent from our peak…which was five years ago. You’ve lost your entrepreneurial instincts, Richard. Your enthusiasm for the game.” She folded her arms. “We’ve struck a new agreement with the council. Breque has assured us he can handle day-to-day operations until we find someone to replace you.”

“You’re not qualified to deal with Breque,” Rosacher said. “He’ll have you for breakfast.”

Ludie’s mouth tightened.

“Why do you think he struck such a deal with you?” said Rosacher. “He knows he’ll be able to outmaneuver you if I’m not around.”

“I’m not an idiot. I understand that Breque will move against us.”