named Harley, stamped his hoof and snorted, impatient to be gone. I ran a hand over his soft muzzle, and he nuzzled me back. We waited until Mike spoke. When he did he seemed far away.
“Nomads wait at the corner of Elm and Humphrey in the ruins of the rock house on the northwest side.”
“How are they armed?” Grant asked.
“One revolver that works. Two rifles and one shotgun are bluffs. Three rounds for the revolver.”
“Who is the child?” Laith asked. “She’s sick,”
Mike blinked his eyes open and seemed startled. “Sorry. I couldn’t get that.” We discussed the information, questioning Mike on what he picked up. Meg sat watching, not understanding.
“Any crossbows, spears, swords?” Grant asked.
“No,” Mike said, quite sure. That made things easier. Crossbows were perhaps only a little less deadly than rifles. These once medieval weapons had gained a popular revival for their accuracy, and dependency on scarce ammunition. We used them.
“I think we can pull it off,” I said, and looked around for opinions. Three silent nods greeted me.
“What about the revolver?” Meg asked.
“Easy to handle. One weapon anyway,” Laith said.
“How?” she challenged.
Grant said, “Time is plastic, not fixed, Meg. You think of it as a stream of moments one after the other that can’t be altered. It can be changed if you know how.”
The rain had stopped. We led our mounts out into the sunshine. Few things smell better than the earth after a rain. We made our way across Beaver and the one block to turn up Humphrey. Two blocks went fast.
We’d almost made it past the intersection of Elm and Humphrey when three men jumped out behind us, weapons ready. With a loud dramatic voice a thin hollow faced man announced, “Hands up.”
We raised our hands, according to the script. “What do you want?” I asked innocently.
“Idiot,” roared the leader. “Jack, Harold, Ike see what guns they have. I’ll keep them covered.” The three men ran up. I could see the revolver protruding from the leader’s belt. Two women stood up. They were unbelievably dirty. Suddenly a young girl’s thin wailing pierced the air. A curse followed. One of the women ducked down. The leader looked back. In less than fifteen seconds the three men lay on the ground grunting with pain.
“Through playing games?” I asked the startled leader.
“We could kill you easily,” he said, gesturing with the shotgun. “Get your asses up,” he swore at his men. We sat on our mules quietly. His men crawled off to one side in no condition to get up.
“Your guns won’t work,” I said easily.
“This does.” He jerked the ancient .38 revolver from his belt, pointing it at me. “Get off that beast.” I got off Harley.
“Won’t work,” I repeated.
His hand holding the revolver trembled. “What are you doing?” I held my hands up. “I feel off.” He extended the weapon, aiming point-blank at my face.
“Don’t.” It was one of the women. The leader wavered. “Can’t you see it’ s Jamie. Maybe he can help the girl,” she pleaded. “Lord knows we can’t,”
The leader’s gaunt features mottled with rage. “He said my gun wouldn’t work.”
“Maybe it won’t. The man’s a wizard,” the woman said. “They have no weapons. Give them the girl and let’s go.”
The man named Ike spoke up, “Give her to them. God, Harry, she’s a stone around our neck. They ain’t got no weapons, but it’s a way to get rid of the girl.”
“Shut up, damn you. She’s my niece.”
“What’s wrong with the girl?” I asked.
“She’s crippled. Fell
“Nomads wait at the corner of Elm and Humphrey in the ruins of the rock house on the northwest side.”
“How are they armed?” Grant asked.
“One revolver that works. Two rifles and one shotgun are bluffs. Three rounds for the revolver.”
“Who is the child?” Laith asked. “She’s sick,”
Mike blinked his eyes open and seemed startled. “Sorry. I couldn’t get that.” We discussed the information, questioning Mike on what he picked up. Meg sat watching, not understanding.
“Any crossbows, spears, swords?” Grant asked.
“No,” Mike said, quite sure. That made things easier. Crossbows were perhaps only a little less deadly than rifles. These once medieval weapons had gained a popular revival for their accuracy, and dependency on scarce ammunition. We used them.
“I think we can pull it off,” I said, and looked around for opinions. Three silent nods greeted me.
“What about the revolver?” Meg asked.
“Easy to handle. One weapon anyway,” Laith said.
“How?” she challenged.
Grant said, “Time is plastic, not fixed, Meg. You think of it as a stream of moments one after the other that can’t be altered. It can be changed if you know how.”
The rain had stopped. We led our mounts out into the sunshine. Few things smell better than the earth after a rain. We made our way across Beaver and the one block to turn up Humphrey. Two blocks went fast.
We’d almost made it past the intersection of Elm and Humphrey when three men jumped out behind us, weapons ready. With a loud dramatic voice a thin hollow faced man announced, “Hands up.”
We raised our hands, according to the script. “What do you want?” I asked innocently.
“Idiot,” roared the leader. “Jack, Harold, Ike see what guns they have. I’ll keep them covered.” The three men ran up. I could see the revolver protruding from the leader’s belt. Two women stood up. They were unbelievably dirty. Suddenly a young girl’s thin wailing pierced the air. A curse followed. One of the women ducked down. The leader looked back. In less than fifteen seconds the three men lay on the ground grunting with pain.
“Through playing games?” I asked the startled leader.
“We could kill you easily,” he said, gesturing with the shotgun. “Get your asses up,” he swore at his men. We sat on our mules quietly. His men crawled off to one side in no condition to get up.
“Your guns won’t work,” I said easily.
“This does.” He jerked the ancient .38 revolver from his belt, pointing it at me. “Get off that beast.” I got off Harley.
“Won’t work,” I repeated.
His hand holding the revolver trembled. “What are you doing?” I held my hands up. “I feel off.” He extended the weapon, aiming point-blank at my face.
“Don’t.” It was one of the women. The leader wavered. “Can’t you see it’ s Jamie. Maybe he can help the girl,” she pleaded. “Lord knows we can’t,”
The leader’s gaunt features mottled with rage. “He said my gun wouldn’t work.”
“Maybe it won’t. The man’s a wizard,” the woman said. “They have no weapons. Give them the girl and let’s go.”
The man named Ike spoke up, “Give her to them. God, Harry, she’s a stone around our neck. They ain’t got no weapons, but it’s a way to get rid of the girl.”
“Shut up, damn you. She’s my niece.”
“What’s wrong with the girl?” I asked.
“She’s crippled. Fell
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