Engines of the Broken World by Jason Vanhee Page B

was Jenny that was wrong, or different at least, in that part of her wasn’t there at all. She didn’t have her left arm, and maybe not her shoulder, either; though it was hard to tell because she was all bundled up too. But there was definitely no arm, and there was something wrong with that side of her face, too, which was turned mostly right at the bedroom. They both looked at me as I came in, and I could see what it was that was wrong—she didn’t have an ear, though her hair was tucked down over where it should’ve been. I tried to not stare.
    “What happened to your arm?” I blurted out before the sensible part of me could even say a hello.
    “And good evening to you, too, Merciful Truth. So glad to be here,” Jenny said. Her voice was tart and mean, like she was most times, when she wasn’t just out of sorts. She’d got a touch of what Mama had, a bit of wandering eyes and mutters, but not all the time and not so bad when it came on her. It made her right cranky, which was why after the Widow Cally’s son died she took herself away. Not that she didn’t like people, because she was social as anybody else, but they didn’t often like her for long, not even those of us who were used to her. The last time a tinker come through, six years ago, she had cursed him up one side and down the other before he was gone. For a long while we all blamed her for no one else coming, before we realized there maybe just wasn’t anyone left to come our way.
    “Sorry, Jenny. Hello and how do you do, I see Gospel already set you up with some tea, now what in the name of Heaven happened to your arm?” I plopped down on the bearskin rug as I finished, looking at her with a smile that I hoped didn’t show how fretful I was about the matter.
    It was Gospel who spoke, and he didn’t even answer me. “I found her partway up the mountain. She was already coming down, and guess what? The fog was coming down behind her. Not that I could see it, but that’s why she left her place.”
    “You saw the fog?”
    Jenny nodded. “Saw it, went into it, and came out with a little less, if you get my meaning.”
    I breathed out slowly with terror and awe. Jenny Gone exploring the fog and losing her arm. “How come you’re still alive, then?” It was a stupid question, but I couldn’t help myself.
    “Your sister needs some manners lessons,” Jenny said, looking pointedly at Gospel.
    “Ain’t neither one of us going to give them to her, though. So you might as well answer. You already told me and I’m dying to tell her, only it’s your story and you’re right here, so I haven’t. But if you don’t spill soon you’d better believe I will.” He seemed pleased with himself, as if he was having a great time now, which maybe he was. Going out into a dreadful storm to save womenfolk was just the sort of thing that would make Gospel’s eyes light up, so long as he didn’t have to take care of them after. But then, that’s what I was for: taking care of everyone. Though not, it appeared, as regards a woman like Jenny Gone, who didn’t want any caring for.
    “Fine and I will. Now you listen here, Merciful, and don’t interrupt, not that it’s too long in the telling. It was yesterday morning when I saw a fog rolling in across the hillside, where there’s a barren patch with nothing much growing in it, so even with the snow falling and all, I could still see the wall of white moving toward me. Up there, fog’ll tend to roll on up the mountain or on down, but not so much side to side, so that was peculiar. Well, I wondered about it, so I got all bundled up in my long coat and a wide brimmed hat and took a pack with some gear in it, because it was that kind of weather. In case I got stranded I didn’t want to just be doomed.”
    Jenny was a good talker, once she got to talking, and I liked to just watch the way her mouth formed the words, each one carefully made and placed by her thin lips. She was probably about thirty years