Want to know what’s happening? The first book Dust and Sand was serialised here at Geek Pride. A summary is available here. You can also buy the definitive edition of Dust and Sand at all good eBook stores.

The Solution carriage blazed across the Badlands, bright as a hundred lanterns. Least, it felt that way, with them employing no visible protection or stealth. Joshua knew the carriage’s intricate spellcraft made them look like an Elder, an enormous being of Omnis which anything with a brain avoided. He’d even tested it before setting off and got a good laugh scaring the shit out of the Governor’s visitors. So he knew they were safe. But he felt exposed nevertheless.

Rattling, screeching things of the Triangle ran blindly from them, racing like stampeding buffalo. Swarms of Bloats and other flying evils scatter as they passed. Proof they were safe. He might’ve felt powerful at seeing such fear if he were alone. But Sister Irujo sat beside him, eyes screwed shut in prayer. And Reeves held a Solution rifle, watching the creatures with disgust and fear.

Maybe that was why he really felt exposed.

Still, best try to forge some connection with his temporary posse. “This your first time in the Badlands, Reeves?”

The Marshall shook his head. “I came in once on a manhunt. Wasn’t right prepared for it, nearly died a couple times, so I had to give up the chase. Ended up waiting at the opposite side of this mess, where my target left. Only, well, he wasn’t the man I hunted no more.”

“Sounds about right.”

It took a desperate outlaw to enter the Badlands and a lucky one to leave them. Especially recently, with the Triangle in ascendency.

“I don’t mind saying, I’m awful glad of this coach,” Reeves admitted.

They were most of the way toward Crucifix when something arrowed in front of them. Quick as a starling. It whispered a message, two words. The horses didn’t notice, merely kept charging. Neither did Reeves or Sister Irujo. Only Joshua saw it, heard it.

Two words, meant for him. “The sphere.”

It was from the Solution. Something must’ve changed, or some clue to Dust’s whereabouts had surfaced. Maybe William’d changed his plans after finding out a Vatican representative was with Joshua. Either way, he eased up on the horses.

“Why are we slowing?” Sister Irujo asked immediately, eyes still shut.

“The… horses are tiring a little. They’ve been going for a while. I want to give ’em some feed and water. If that’s okay with y’all, that is?”

She turned her eyelids to Joshua. Weird thing was, Joshua felt like she could still see him. “You are in charge, Mr McManaman.”

Joshua nodded slowly. The Sister smiled and looked away.

He stepped behind a rock outcrop. The Sister remained still. Reeves climbed onto the carriage, his rifle’s butt resting against his shoulder, and span slowly to scan the horizon. Jumpy son of a bitch, really, but at least his attention would be elsewhere.

Joshua hopped into the back of the carriage. He wouldn’t have long before the others became suspicious, so he scrambled after the glass sphere hidden in the carriage’s floor. Pristine and clear, like an unbroken promise.

“Joshua McManaman reporting in,” he tapped onto the sphere. Morse code.

“The Wanted Man is abroad,” he received back. “Covered by a spell we cannot breach. Use your map to hunt him. Praise Omnis.”

“Praise Omnis,” Joshua tapped, feeling elated.

Loyalty to William and Omnis made him want to immediately break out the map, but he couldn’t risk being found feeding it. Instead, he grabbed the feed bags, some water, and the small trough to look after their rides.

Reeves held his unnecessary vigil still. The Sister whispered unnecessary prayers. Only the latter annoyed him: there was but one god who deserved praise.

As Joshua fed the horses, his thoughts drifted. If Dust’d finally shown himself, he had a plan. He’d probably figured out something to do with the Word, which could not be allowed: only Omnis deserved that glorious artefact. And only Joshua should retrieve it.

Not that he’d get that particular honour without a fight. It’d take a lot to bring down the Wanted Man. Hell, an Omnis’ Collar hadn’t stopped him, which Joshua still couldn’t believe. An ambush, though, could weaken him before he could shoot back. Particularly as the Solution guns had been modified recently: now, they would hurt anything with magic…

Joshua smiled to himself. Oh yes, the Solution’s true aim was progressing nicely.

When he was done feeding the horses, he poured some water into the small trough. The beasts lapped it up gratefully. He looked over the Sister and Marshall and decided enough time had passed for him to return to the carriage without raising any suspicions.

His little posse would hate the map, an artefact which used blood to portray the Badlands and anyone within them. With the right blood, you could find anything. The Solution usually used it to avoid powerful demons. Or track them when folks felt brave. Joshua had liberated it along with the special vial shortly after Eleanor’s death.

It was time to combine the two.

“Some of the shit in the carriage has come loose,” he announced before hopping in. “I’m gonna spend some time sorting it all back out. Don’t want any accidents or nothing.”

The nun asked, “Do you require any aid?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you. You two just keep an eye out.”

“Will do,” Reeves said, turning in a slow circle, his rifle gripped tightly.

Joshua leapt inside and closed the doors. Carefully, he listened. No movement from the others. When he felt safe, we withdrew the map from his possessions. Reverentially, like a newborn.

The map felt like leather. It wasn’t, least not any made from an animal. The smooth surface had no markings, no hint of the truth it would reveal if fed. Or what lived within it.

Speaking of which, it must be hungry after not being fed for weeks. Time to give it a feast.

Dust’d been too simple and trusting. Soon as the Solution popped up, he’d agreed to work with them. Never considered there might be more to the organisation. So he let them poke and prod, pissing and moaning all the while, and thought himself useful for doing a mission every now and then. Worse, he felt he was getting his own back by going out to drink. He was powerful, sure, but proud and simple. So proud he never considered where the blood drawn from him went.

Now, most of it went toward working out what in the heck he was. But not all of it. No sir. The vial sewn into Joshua’s travel pack proved that.

Working quickly, he cut into his pack and removed the slender glass container. He lay the map out flat and unstoppered the vial. It hissed slightly on contacting the air. Dust’s blood had a weird habit of evaporating, which the fool hadn’t taken as a hint, so Joshua poured the lot onto the map swiftly, making sure none splashed or was wasted.

The map hungrily absorbed the blood, quivering like a virgin on her wedding night. The smell of old tomatoes filled the cabin as it used the power within, the connection between blood and soul, to find the Wanted Man.

Then the map’s edges blackened. Fiery heat rose from its shivering form. Resistance wasn’t too pleased about this. Joshua hadn’t expected that: Resistance never fought this directly for his odd champion. But then, Dust hadn’t had something like that Word before.

Joshua put his hand on the map. Hot as blazing coal. His skin crackled. Closing his eyes, ignoring the pain, he whispered spells and prayers to bolster the burning artefact. A second presence within it, boiling and righteous rage, fought him and the map.

The map had to win. William had demanded it. So Joshua would have to sacrifice knowledge to bolster its chances. He rifled through everything he’d learned and selected something important enough for Omnis to accept. Something he cared about, had spent time learning. A moment later, he didn’t know what he gave up, but power swelled through him, a heady rush of strength and wisdom he poured directly into the map.

Resistance’s boiling, righteous rage was blown away, unable to handle the power of lost knowledge. They’d won. The map would find Dust.

Joshua sighed and used a quick ritual to heal his burned hand. The map would work away without him, trace their target, so he concentrated on forcing his skin to recover.

Sister Irujo opened the carriage doors. With Joshua’s hand regenerating, the air warm, and the sweet tang of magic mixing with the smell of burning flesh.

“What are you doing in here, Mr McManaman?”

Joshua shook his head, a little fuzzy from the pain and sacrificing some knowledge. “I… I was using the pause to see if I could track the Wanted Man better. Y’know, after I tidied up. I’ve got here a Solution map which should show us his location.”

The Sister frowned. Closed eyes turned to the map. “This is strange magic that you toy with, Mr McManaman. Is it common for the Solution to use such things?”

“Yup. Best way to fight against something is to use their own weapons.”

Sister Irujo examined the map with closed eyes, frowning slightly. “I suppose there is something close to holy magic within it, though I fear for you and your people if you regularly use such things: it is not God’s will that we toy with demonic influences.”

No shit, Joshua thought.

Reeves climbed down from the carriage. “I don’t know about magic and all that, but I’d sure be glad to have something more to go on. Did you find anything of our man?”

The sniper nearly curled his lip at being treated so familiar. A deep breath put his anger aside. Instead, he examined the map. In ink like old blood, the Badlands was drawn. A bruise on Texas. Two dots stood out: one was marked ‘Ritual site’ and the other, unmarked, must be the Wanted Man.

Resistance had lost. It and the Wanted Man’s protections couldn’t fight blood magic powered by knowledge. Not when he was so close. And they were pretty damn close too, only a couple of hours ride away. Praise Omnis.

Joshua looked to Reeves and the Sister, both so eager to do the right thing. He’d have another fight after they captured the Wanted Man. Praise Omnis, they hadn’t caught him doing blood magic, discovered his true purpose.

“We’ve found him. Just a couple hours south of here.” Joshua slid the map across the carriage floor. “Take a look. The map has him right there.”

Reeves picked up the map. “That is mighty close. We’re fortunate, praise the Lord.”

“May I see?” Sister Irujo asked, learning toward Reeves slightly.

“Of course.” Reeves turned the map to her.

The Sister deigned to open her left eye a crack and brushed a hand over the map. Disgust crossed her face, quick as the Solution messenger, but Joshua caught it. She wasn’t quite as accepting of the artefact as she’d made out.

Sister Irujo would be the first to die then. After Dust.

“Then we should set off,” the Sister said. “Our target will not remain for long.”

Reeves nodded, then slid the map back across the carriage floor. “Even if he moves on, we can track him. Just knowing where he is right now takes us halfway there.”

Joshua picked the map back up, a little amused that Reeves was now encouraging him to use it. Best to bolster that opinion. The unmarked dot had moved in the time they’d been talking, an arrow trailing behind it. Heading north by north-west.

“Look, the map shows where he’s heading. We should set up an ambush, somewhere we could fire for a mile around. Take him down safely. That’s the way I work, any road.”

Reeves shook his head. “Not that far out. Can’t give a man his fair warning if so.”

Joshua frowned. “Fair warning? For the Wanted Man?” He waited to see if the man was joking. He was not. “Boy, are you touched in the head?”

The Marshall took this insult calmly. “I am a man of the law, Mr McManaman, and that means giving an innocent man the chance to come peacefully before you shoot him. And he is innocent until a Judge has sat before him. I hate to be awkward, but I won’t have this going any other way.”

Sister Irujo nodded. “I agree with Marshall Reeves. Our target should be allowed to turn himself in and be tried for his crimes before we execute him. All deserve the chance for redemption.”

Joshua gritted his teeth. He’d have to do this their way. For now.

“All right, if you say so. We’ll work out the details when we get closer.”

And soon, Joshua promised himself, I’ll bleed them both like hogs.

Want to know what’s happening? The first book Dust and Sand was serialised here at Geek Pride. A summary is available here. You can also buy the definitive edition of Dust and Sand at all good eBook stores.

Horse nickered and snorted as they approached the edge of the Teotek’s wards. Damn happy to get out in the open. Dust’s ride had enjoyed living amongst the Teotek. Enjoyed it so much he’d been stationed on his own for the good of the band’s mares. But even busy evenings couldn’t compare to travelling, going along under the American sky.

A night sky. Sunset’d come quicker than expected. Packing hadn’t taken long, but securing ‘the Blanket’ had. His tattoo’d wanted a ton of praise before it gave up power. Still, that gave Penelope and Shadows Fade time to say goodbye. A goodbye that was still not done. A crowd watched them cross into the Badlands. Many, he guessed, expecting to never see them again.

Dust didn’t feel too confident they were wrong. Life with the Teotek had been comfortable. Safe. The moment Horse left the cover of the Teotek’s steaming totems and torches covered in sigils, all eyes would be on him. If the Blanket held, it’d take a good day or two before they were located. If not, well, they’d have a hell of a lot of fighting to do.

He looked back at the Teotek. Children, women, men. Chief Fighting Storm and the Elders were at their head. One Who Goes About wasn’t, away somewhere casting anti-scrying spells to obscure the Badlands for them. They were all damn kind. He had come here at Shadows Fade’s request, to help, but they hadn’t needed to move to Kehuadinune to protect him.

At least he’d given them that bowl back. And cleared away that Gift. But he owed them more. He owed them a better America.

Penelope and Shadows Fade trotted between him and the Teotek, sharing a horse painted with spells. A fresh tattoo was on Shadows Fade’s leg, replacing the one she’d lost fighting the Wastrels, and a new bow rested across her back. Penelope wore tanned Teotek clothes and Omnis’ Collar, a bulky growth around her neck.

Shadows Fade nodded. They were ready to step into the open.

Dust spurred Horse forward. He rose to a canter and left the Teotek behind.

Immediately, a hundred eager eyes turned toward him. Or the faint taste of That Which Sins’ Word. Didn’t matter which with a river of spiteful inquiry pouring onto him. The Blanket’s anti-scrying protection threatened to buckle under the weight of attention. A weight which only increased as more demons and demagogues felt magic being pumped into the Badlands and went to investigate.

The Blanket kicked in properly. A literal blanket woven with spells and anti-curses, it hung over him like a poncho. It was damn clever, even if he said so himself: with his ingenuity and Teotek runecrafting, they’d made it so any scrying or detection spells aimed his way struck not him but each other, like bullets shot from the sky. It’d be useless against a few scryers, but Dust would never’ve faced so small a number. With One Who Goes About helping to spread his presence, he was almost undetectable.

Shadows Fade led the way toward the Iron Soul. Horse had sense enough to follow her as Dust concentrated on maintaining the Blanket. They went at a good pace, not sparing their horses or each other. A hard couple of days were ahead, but the reward would be so damn worth it…

Their journey passed under his strain and frenzy. Maintaining the Blanket was like stopping rainwater getting through a leaky roof. He needed to concentrate on certain parts so the Blanket didn’t give way… until the pressure shifted elsewhere. Another pot was filled. It was an endless battle, but one he was winning.

The number of people paying an interest in him dropped to a manageable level, though at an achingly slow pace. By the time he could consider the world again, the moon had risen high and the stars shone like candles.

“Fuck me,” he sighed.

“Are you okay, Dust?”

“Fine. I expected trouble. Got a bit more than I’d thought. How’re we going?”

Shadows Fade nodded. “We are making good time and have not had any contact with dark spirits. That is likely because of your efforts.”

“I hope so.”

Dust looked around. The Badlands were no different. Still the same danger and impending agony. The usual warped insects on their way to becoming Bloats cricked and buzzed in the darkness. It was silent otherwise. At least the air tasted clean, a rarity in the Badlands but a luxury he’d become used to with the Teotek.

Dust found it in him to smile. It wasn’t just Horse who loved being out again.

Being on the trail meant danger though. He cast his magical senses this way and that for signs of trouble, but found none. That didn’t mean they were safe. After fighting the Faustian, witnessing the awful things he had done to himself, Dust couldn’t trust his judgements of the Badlands.

Something’d changed. It was getting worse. The Teotek believed the Badlands were deteriorating as more people joined the Three, subjecting their secrets to the same scrutiny and ingenuity which’d made steam-powered trains possible. A theory he couldn’t discount, given the Solution’s likely cultist infestation.

The Solution… Dust looked to the north west. Was Dick faring okay after what happened to the Naismith kid? He seemed a good enough political operator to survive politically, but you couldn’t negotiate or reason with worshippers of the Three in his midst. Much as he’d butted heads with the man, Dust hoped the General was all right.

Movement ahead. Something powerful. Damn powerful. A Gift of Melting Flesh, if he was any judge. One that’d cross their path.

“There’s something coming. We’d best turn east, go round it.”

Shadows Fade gave him a thumbs up and rode round an enormous outcrop. Horse followed.

Dust kept an eye on the Gift. There were eight of it, a posse of victims. That was unusual out in the open. At least, it had been until recently.

They headed up a narrow path through rising scrubland, out of the Gift’s eyeline. The air ran sour, the Badlands’ taint spreading like morning mist. Shadows Fade slowed, letting their horses rest and quieting their progress. Dust would’ve done the same: their outline at this elevation would be obvious if something looked their way.

In the quiet, Dust heard him. “Help me! Help me!” Young. Scared. About to die. Judging by where the shout came from, he would die at the hands of the Gift they were avoiding.

Dust wanted to ignore the shout. Well, not want: it was just prudent to not bring attention to themselves. He wanted to help, course he did, but that would be a damned big risk, given their mission and cargo and all.

His tattoo had other ideas. It punished him, though it felt different this time. Like acid against his skin. And it used a voice to communicate its displeasure.

“Your fight is for nothing if you let an innocent die,” it said, each syllable exploding like cannon fire. “Intervene.”

That was new. Dust supposed he’d been working closer with his tattoo… Their connection might have improved. He certainly accepted its wisdom and knowledge as somewhat representative of Resistance now. And the damn thing had a mind of its own, so a voice wasn’t too surprising.

“Ain’t we at risk if we ride out?” Dust asked through gritted teeth.

Shadows Fade and Penelope turned, both confused.

“I will fortify the ‘Blanket’ so you are not,” his tattoo boomed.

“What did you say?” Shadows Fade asked a moment later.

“My tattoo just gave me an order. We’re gonna help that boy in trouble.”

Penelope frowned. “Won’t that give us away?”

“Not according to my tattoo.”

Shadows Fade looked down. A figure fled from a pack of riders. Wolves after a lamb. “Let us go, then.”

She geed her horse and raced ahead. Penelope sighed, dragged along.

Dust smiled and caught up.

They took a steeper path down and set their horses to a gallop. Shadows Fade slowed only to leap from her ride, let Penelope take the reins, and prepare her new bow. Dust got a decent lead then. He felt the Blanket strengthen, as the tattoo had promised, freeing him to concentrate on the fight.

He’d wonder about his tattoo’s voice later…

The fleeing boy rode a wounded horse. Dark-skinned and terrified, eyes wide, his mouth frozen in a scream. From their gear and disparate weapons, his pursuers’d likely been mercenaries before the Gift broke their ranks. Even their horses were now the Gift’s. With all that power, it was confident in racing so obviously across the plains.

Overconfident. Dust drew his other gun and shot the Gift’s foremost victim. Crimson magic flew through the night, announcing his presence to everyone a mile around, but it struck true: the lead mercenary exploded, the Gift inside him and his horse searing in green flame.

“Why aren’t we trying to save them?” Penelope shouted. “They are victims!”

Dust tutted. Of course, Penelope wanted him to take these mercenaries alive. He didn’t have time for that, not when the entrance to Wound in the Air could soon close. Besides, he had to be at his best for anything else to come, so he couldn’t waste energy cleansing those things. It was a poor excuse, but his tattoo only mildly warmed at it.

“Let’s save the boy above all else,” Shadows Fade answered.

Penelope grimaced, but didn’t argue.

Dust took two more shots. Only one struck true, the other missing by an inch. But that finally got the Gift’s attention: the four remaining Gift riders turned to him. The riderless horses too, changing direction to come at him.

The boy rode even harder to get away. Probably couldn’t believe his luck.

Horse didn’t stop charging. Dust didn’t stop shooting, rolling his gun’s chamber twice. The riderless horses were the easiest to kill, went down with screams that made Horse’s ears twitch. The riders, though, summoned screens that blocked some of his shots. Not all of them, as another of the four was seared away by his other gun, but enough to be worrying.

Then Shadows Fade shot. Her magic was different enough that it surprised the Gift, took down another rider and their horse. Those remaining shifted, their magic changing tack to account for Shadows Fade.

That slight change, a weakness in their defences, allowed Dust to take a further Gift victim down. Only a final rider and horse remained. And they’d soon be within touching distance.

Dust fired relentlessly to save Horse. Shadows Fade joined in, separating the Gift’s attention. For naught: every attack was deflected with relative ease. The rider and its horse were the Gift’s only forms, so it could bring all its power to bear.

“We need to fire at the same spot,” Shadows Fade shouted.

“Okay,” Dust hollered back.

They couldn’t say where, else the Gift would protect that spot well. He’d have to guess where Shadows Fade would aim, because she was too definite to play that game with him.

He considered and then shouted, “Now!”

The warrior and Dust both fired at the horse’s head. Bullet and arrow, blue and red, blended into a twirling drill. As Shadows Fade suspected, the Gift couldn’t command enough magic to deflect the combined force of both shots. Dust’s bullet broke through. The Gift screamed horribly as the animal died and the rider, a woman, caught in green fire.

Both collapsed into singed messes, fodder for the Badlands’ scavengers.

Dust pulled on Horse’s reins, stopping him yards short of the rider. Penelope did the same. The aftermath was gruesome, seven rotting human and horse corpses, each aflame.

“Damn it, why did we have to kill them?” Penelope asked.

“We had no time,” Shadows Fade said. “Resistance would not want us to waste resources here.”

Penelope tutted. “Sounds like an excuse to me.”

“No, it’s a practicality,” Dust said. “There’s a difference.”

A horse approached. It bore the terrified boy. Boy was the wrong word: he looked twenty if he was a day. Either Mexican or a Native. He wore a look of astonishment and was sweating so much his shirt was soaked through, but was fine otherwise.

“I’ll say something, aside from thank you: you show the kind of practicality I can appreciate.”

Want to know what’s happening? The first book Dust and Sand was serialised here at Geek Pride. A summary is available here. You can also buy the definitive edition of Dust and Sand at all good eBook stores.

William B. Naismith hated anything less than luxury. On the road, he made do to foster a ‘man of the people’ image, but at home he lived as he deserved. His bedding contained the finest down and feathers, their sheets woven with silver and gold. The four-poster bed they lay upon was marble inlaid with spells of gems and bone. His chamber pot was the skull of a great beast of Melting Flesh. Misshapen familiars wafted him with ostrich feathers constantly.

As the sun set, he drowsed in such opulence, dreaming of things to come. Thanks to Omnis, he only slept four hours every two days. The drawback being that sleep came on him so suddenly he couldn’t resist. No one was to disturb him during these spells except with great or terrible news. To break this demand was to court death.

His defences were strong and his plans deep enough to survive for four hours, so he should never be disturbed anyway. As Omnis preached, a plan which cannot cope without its maker is no plan at all. So he rested easily. Confidently.

Two hours in, someone knocked on his oak bedroom door. He rose ready to kill. Moving sluggishly, a yawn on his lips, he threw on a robe and stormed to the door.

“What is it you wish to die for?” William demanded.

Platt, his manservant, cringed in apology. His mouth was sewn shut back when he was William’s property, so he raised a card from a deck hanging from his neck like a millstone. Each card had a meaning William had drilled into him over the years. He must even think in them now.

Platt raised the ace of hearts. Delightful, fortuitous news.

“Very well. What is it?”

Platt raised the jack of clubs and then the ace of spades. An enemy connected to something vile and horrible to William.

“It’s the Wanted Man, isn’t it?”

Platt searched the waxed cards and raised the two of hearts, a simple affirmative.

“Cecil has found him?”

He lowered the two of hearts and raised it again.

“This is fortuitous news.” William clapped his manservant on the shoulders. The man almost dodged the affectionate gesture, expecting something far worse. “I thank you for rousing me. Summon Cecil to my drawing room and have Mary dress me for the occasion. I will also take my leave of our humble home, so pack me attire for a week or so.”

Platt lowered and raised the two of hearts again. Then he left, his laboured breathing a cheerful whistle in William’s current mood.

The Naismith household burst into life. Meals were prepared, his horses and carriage were readied. Mary arrived to dress him in a freshly-laundered, white suit and shirt. She really was very skilled to tie his thin, black string tie so quickly with her burns.

Cecil Silversmith, a Semite from the North, waited in the drawing room. William best described him as slick. In a deep burgundy suit and silver waistcoat, with silver-tipped leathers shoes and a monocle inscribed with powerful magic, he was some sight. A real dandy. He sat in one of the drawing room’s plush green chairs, a map of the Badlands in his hands.

William broke into a wide smile. “Cecil, I understand you have good news for me.”

“William,” Cecil said, his voice deep with a Chicago twang. He put the map aside and rose. “A good morning to you.”

They shook hands. “Please, sit.”

Cecil did so with a nod.

William sat opposite him, the grand fireplace between them, vacant, filled with long-dead ash.

“What news do you have?”

“The Wanted Man has broken cover.” Cecil smoothed the map out on a round, varnished table between them and pointed to a southern region. “We felt him here. Indistinct, but definitely him.”

“Indistinct how?”

“The Wanted Man is using an obfuscation spell: it doesn’t hide his signal, per se, but spreads it in a circle about twenty-five miles wide. It’s quite ingenious, actually: we cannot tell what direction he moves in, or indeed if he is moving at all. If he is on the move, we could glean a direction in the next day or so, but it would only be vague.”

“That is most disappointing.”

Cecil nodded. “Know, sir, that we all want your daughter’s murderer caught. You will be notified once we know more.”

William kept his expression blank. Those outside his organisation thought the Wanted Man had turned traitor, allied himself with the Triangle, but that story wouldn’t work with believers. Instead, he told them Dust killed Eleanor when he unravelled their plot against those damned Wastrels. Technically, it was true.

“Thank you kindly, and keep up the good work.”

“We will. Starting by keeping the Wanted Man obscured. But the brief flash before our intervention will have alerted many. Keeping him to ourselves could prove a fight.”

“A fight we shall have to win. Though I will be of help in that regard.” William stood, prompting Cecil to stand also. “You shall have to contact me by ritual with further updates as I plan to head to the Solution within the hour.”

Cecil rolled up the map. “You’re going to make the change now?”

William nodded. Cecil was one of his inner circle, had proven himself time and again to William and Omnis. Those he worked closely with were allowed such intimacy. Not just to bond them: the biggest faults in a plan lay in its inception, so Omnis demanded its worshippers kept themselves honest by engaging with people who question their thinking. It galled William to share his strategies, but it was for the greater glory of Omnis. And his own good.

“Shall I message Mycroft for you?”

“Why, that would be a great help,” William said, genuinely delighted by the offer. “I will need my strength and it would be good if my son could meet me at the Solution.”

Cecil nodded. “I’ll do it now.”

“Thank you, Cecil. The efforts of you, your team, and your familiars is appreciated.”

The Chief Scryer bowed before leaving.

William took a moment to enjoy what was to come. The Word was his chief aim – and the chief aim of every cult and creature within a hundred miles, he believed – but he wanted to end its bearer almost as much. No careful, intelligent plans, no using him as a power source, just his death. The potential benefits of his living were outweighed by the lowered risks if he were gone. That and William wanted revenge for making him kill Eleanor…

After a light meal, he set off, his carriage driven by lower members of his organisation. The Solution was only a few hours away, which gave him the opportunity to catch up on his sleep. The carriage was plush and furnished, but not comfortable enough to sleep well. He merely dozed, a dreamless absence.

Comfort only graced him when they stopped. William rose, stretched, and stepped out of the carriage when the door was opened for him. Men of the Solution greeted him before their great sandstone fort. Lead-framed windows, walls patrolled by men with grim faces and tight grips on their rifles. It smelled of Triangle magic, cooked meat, and hard work.

Ah, the Solution. The great endeavour many viewed as his legacy. He took it in and smiled with a deep and abiding pleasure: the Solution wasn’t his legacy, but the means to one, the vehicle through which he would end Melting Flesh and That Which Sins, securing Omnis’ supremacy and making him the favoured son of the greatest and truest god.

Half of the men who greeted him were, like his drivers, members of his organisation. A cabal with no real name beyond Omnis’, which made it easier to keep their activities clandestine. Regularly updated signals and passwords identified them, but mostly they used subtle magics to detect one another. William knew everyone by sight. He’d inducted them all.

The Solution soldiers saluted. William waved them away. “Now, now, there’s no need for all of that. I am here to see General Ryman. Could one of you advise him? And could someone also request that Lieutenant Osmond meet us in the General’s office?”

Another round of salutes and the soldiers dispersed. Two remained to escort him, both Omnis’. They knew what this was, he could tell by their expressions. He took out a notepad and made a note to warn them to be more careful with their emotions.

William did not knock before entering. The General, fool that he was, stood behind his desk in full military dress. Lieutenant Osmond was already present.

“William,” General Ryman said, stiff as ever. “It is good to see you.”

“And you, General.” William approached the man’s desk, rested his hand on it. “Though I wish this reunion could have been under better circumstances.”

The General frowned. “What has happened? And why is Harvey here?”

“Sit down, Richard.”

“I don’t–“

“Sit. Down.”

The General glanced at Lieutenant Osmond and got only a blank look. He sat.

“Richard, I’m afraid that Congress and the Senate have reached the end of their tether with you. I have tried to argue your case – Heaven knows, this is an impossible job – but they just won’t have it. They view you as weak, incompetent, useless, in spite of everything I have said in your favour.”

The General’s face hardened. He knitted his fingers together. “Really?”

“It is true, I’m afraid,” William said with mock lamentation. “People want results. An end to headlines about the Dixie Problem: Mutated Wolf Attacks Child, Blacks Enchant Women, that kind of thing. In all these years, with all that funding – so they say, at least – you have not found any way to stem this tide. On top of that, you lost our key Eldritch Asset–”

“On a mission your daughter specifically requested.”

“She was just a girl, General.” Lieutenant Osmond said, smoothing that little fold away. “You had the authority to send more people or provide more equipment, even if Eleanor requested otherwise.”

The General looked between them, saw implacable expressions. “Do I at least have the honourable way out?”

William reached into his pocket for a folded note. “Of course. I have already taken the liberty of writing your resignation letter.”

General Ryman’s eyes flared with anger. He plucked the letter from William and looked surprised to find it dignified and elegant. Which William took as an insult. He was no monster.

“Very well.” The General took a quill from an inkwell on his desk and signed the bottom. An angry, rapid flourish and his career was over.

“It really is best for all concerned,” Lieutenant Osmond said. “Now you can retire, spend some more time with your family.”

“Your pension is assured, don’t you worry about that,” William said.

The General stood, brushed down his uniform. “I shall have the men unpack my office and will be out of here by the morning.”

William shook his head. “No. You will leave now. Your possessions will follow.”

“Damn it, will you not even let me speak to my men for the last time?”

“No.”

His noble face turned blood red. “I hope you rest easy with what you have done here today.”

“I’m sure we will, Richard.”

No-longer-General Ryman straightened, rolled his shoulders back, and marched away. Soldiers loyal to William’s organisation would follow him, make sure he didn’t give any final orders. They would gently insist he leave if he tried something. There would be no violence.

“I shall assume command until Mycroft arrives,” Lieutenant Osmond said. “If that is not too much of a presumption?”

“No. That would be much appreciated. Make sure he is assisted carefully in running this place.”

William stood.

“Are you leaving?”

“Only in a manner of speaking. The Wanted Man is abroad once more. I have something… special in mind for him.”