Lightbringers and Rainmakers - Felix Gilman [10]
We were all traveling light, really just water and food. Flood had made a big show about how he would not carry a gun because it would make no difference if the Folk turned against us, and so I did not carry one either; also I never could shoot straight.
When you get an hour out of town there are no trails any more. There is a band of rocks that are sharp to climb, but there is no going round them. My assistant helped me. He is an excellent climber, and so is Flood. At the top Flood turned to me and said:
“Who are you really, Harry Ransom?”
“Harry Ransom,” I said. “The ‘Professor’ is optional, and as a fellow man of Science you can drop it if you like.”
Actually I was not quite so cool, but you will indulge me, I’m sure.
Those were the first words he’d said to me since the lawyer’s office, and the last words he said for a while. Mostly he just walked in silence, and sometimes it was like he was talking to someone in his head.
Let me tell you about the lawyer’s office. It is on Main Street, not far from the hotel. It was where we went to put the deal in writing, between me and Flood and the town. Ordinarily I do not like lawyers’ offices, but it made others happy to put it in writing. On the wall outside there are posters for some of the people you are hunting for. Inside there are legal diplomas from Jasper City. I gave the lawyer my second-to-last business card and he gave me his. He is a well-educated man and must have hoped for more when he came out to the edge of the world than a little town dying of Drought. Like a lot of people here he traces his ancestry back four hundred years to Founding and to the first Governor, or thinks he does. There is a painting on his wall of an ugly man with yellowish eyes and an old-style ruff and buttoned velvet coat, and that is the Governor of Founding. Behind him there are pines and darkness, and it seems in the corners of the painting in the darkness you can see the Wild People waiting and watching. Anyway it is a frightening painting, and it was in my mind as we went out on the hill.
Once you are an hour outside of town there is nothing but silence—no wind. Everything is wide and empty and it looks flat, though it is not, it is hard work, believe you me. There are red rocks that look hunched over and cast long shadows in the morning.
Flood and me walked ahead, heads down, mostly in silence at first. Neither of us wanted to fall behind or let the other get in front. My assistant followed behind. He was not eager and I do not blame him. We did not know exactly where we were going, only northwest, and up, toward that witch-hat peak. We did not really know if that was where the Folk were to be found, but we needed a destination, so that was it. It was no closer by the afternoon than it was when we set out.
We came to a tree, the first green thing we’d seen. It had alarm-red fruit that I did not recognize or trust, but Flood jumped up to get one—have I mentioned he is short? a little shorter than me, and stout—and he put it in his mouth and bit down and smiled.
“I apologize,” I said.
He wiped juice from his chin and raised an eyebrow.
“You must be pretty sore,” I said. “About the money, and about the whole thing. I’d tell you it’s just competition, and competition is the lifeblood of business and science alike, but I don’t know if that would matter to you.”
He said nothing. My assistant took one of the fruit, too. He is also short but has this way about him where when he reaches for something it