Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) by Ben Galley

Sheriffsmen hollered and barked, but nobody seemed to be listening. Everybody was drowning in their own importance: whether they were escaping the war or heading towards it, they pushed and shoved, no matter who stood before them.
    All around the edges of the chaos, the residents of Cheyenne looked on, their faces screwed up in confusion and bewilderment. This appeared to be a new state that they found themselves in. Wherever people are found in great quantity, there is always coin to be made. Here and there, stalls had been set up, selling dubious wares to those too frantic and too short of time to care about prices and quality. Gunsmiths, farriers, leather-workers, hat-vendors, travelling waresmen—even the general stores and saloons had relocated to the railroad to make a few extra dimes and florins out of the maelstrom of people. Merion heard one man, his tall stovepipe hat reaching high above the crowds, braying over the cacophony.
    ‘Charms, potions, medicines, philtres, cure-alls! Get ’em here while they last. Don’t want to find yourself on the frontier without one of Doctor Jabber’s famous remedies! Step right up!’
    Sometimes it helped being a thirteen-year-old boy amongst a crowd. Merion weaved his way between the people, still holding his nose, heading for the stall. He pushed his way to the front of the throng, where a kaleidoscope of bottles and vials lay on a crescent-shaped table. Doctor Jabber flashed him a silver-toothed grin and beckoned him forwards as he doled out wares, receipts, and raked in coins with his white-gloved hands.
    ‘What seems to be the malady, son? What do you need?’
    Merion didn’t reply. His eyes flicked from one bottle to the next, flashing over the hand-written labels and spurious descriptions:
    ‘Wasp Juice: For all colics and coughs!’
    ‘Extract of Pig: Balding? Devoid of a beard? Rub on your face, head, and chest for a full growth of hair!’
    ‘Bison Bone Brew: Cures palsies, boils and all manner of rashes!’
    ‘Jabber’s Jamblay Tonic: For blind eyes and cataracts!’
    ‘Come on now, son, we ain’t got all day. We got sick people here in need of my remedies!’
    Merion pointed to a bottle full of a thick, red liquid. ‘That, what’s in that?’
    Doctor Jabber held the bottle aloft for all to see. ‘This, son, is Doctor Jabber’s famous Viper Oil, distilled from the skins of Kansas vipers, boot leather, and hawk feathers. Cures all sorts of deafness, son. Yours for just a handful of dimes!’
    Merion scowled at the preposterous man and melted back into the crowds, his hope crushed like a viper under a heel. Others around him surged forward, eager for a taste of the magical remedy. Almighty’s sake!
    The young Hark battled his way through the crowds and back into the town proper, where citizens stood idly by, unsure of what to do with themselves. Once he had escaped the throngs, Merion passed by a group of women standing under lace sunbrellas, their long, billowing dresses already dusty at the hems. Their heads bobbed like geese and their painted lips twitched with gossip as they stared and pointed at the newcomers. He followed their gaze, taking a moment to stare at the madness from its fringes.
    Those that were heading towards the front were a strange mixture of people. Most were soldiers or workers, most likely headed for Kenaday or further west. They were dressed to match their weary, worried faces, the soldiers in blue uniforms almost grey with the dust. Every time a train hissed, or a whistle blew, or another young lad standing on a crate bleated out the news from the frontier, their heads sank a little lower.
    The other sort, squeezed in between their ranks, held their heads high, turning this way and that with every noise. Some shouldered packs as big as themselves, while others battled to drag carts and baggage behind them. They looked dusty, rough at the edges, half-excited or half-scared, Merion couldn’t tell.
    War or no war, the wild west