Our first hand hitched aside his slicker. As it was not his nature to be a ‘slinger nor a duelist, he did not bear his arm at his belt. An embroidered lunar doe skin strap ran across his chest, and down over one shoulder. The make was wide and soft, with bright thread stitched into arabic prayers shaped as flowers. Set ‘neath his armpit, sat the second great blessing of Ghost Perch, the revolver whose name was Gentleman’s Retort. The steel of the weapon glinted bright silver. Its grip was set with ivory cut from the radiant hippocamp Yáchǐ Liàng, which my Momma had once called Nagasaki Special. Its holster was burnt-umber and tanned from the skin of the wild ur-boar Lil’ Sauce: a beast some years back who’d once drank itself so deep into fire it found madness (and been the death of a hand).

Mr Sadiqi did no more than to put his palm on the handle, but it was enough such that the watchful eye of the Lady fell upon the wide plain – and on us.

“It shouldn’t be,” the Six-Shot Buckaroo begrudged; and there was warning in his voice. “There’s nothing left of Forge’d keep a bird in the air. In ten years, I haven’t heard any power survived’t could do this.”

Applejack sidled anxiously; her neck was never built to regard heaven. She could only rely on us to be her intercession towards the plane of sky. The flyer appeared to me as a tiny figure, skating along the crowns of nimbi and stratiform quilted cloud. I hadn’t the sense then to suss the distance, but it would have been low and intimate cover for that varietal of vapor.

At that time, I could not know if our airborne vagrant was great or small. I could only tell it was present, that its bearing was easterly, and that it was possessed of the wherewithal to curve towards the subterfuge of cover. It had the hope to evade us, and what that meant to me said: intelligence.

The Lady pressed down on me. I could swear by its pitch, that my fragment of Revel was strained and delicate beneath her fullness of expression. She was the complexity of dark coffee, poured reckless overtop a sprig of candied ginger. I wanted urgently to retreat from her in a way I’d never had need before.

My mouth was dry. “Could it be from out’ve the Twelve we’ve yet not named?” I touched our mount light on the neck with my fingertips, such that I might calm her, and held the rein such to temper the worst of her swivel.

Ursula gripped on the pommel (and on my arm) to the whitening of her knuckles. “Am I meant to know this is some unwelcome thing?” She inquired of either of us.

“I’m not sure. Looks less like a plane than a glider – see how wide those wings are?” Mr Sadiqi cast a gesture backwards towards us without turning. “Now, back up a smidge!” He bid us.

So I leant our nag into a shimmy as best as I could, so to make the distance. I winced as the bit inflicted force on her I hadn’t intended.

“We never made them like that before.” He narrowed his eyes till the whole of him was weathered creases. “Maybe by the end…” he trailed off. Then he resolved and hollered: “I’m going to challenge the edge of their governance, be ready as I draw.”

Frightful that my little Grace would break, I hustled the mare to a full canter and enjoined my kin to secure her hat.

“Would you not be stronger ahorse?” Cried Ursula, leaning dangerously out from under my arm.

“S’fine! She ain’t fierce enough a hoss to tip the scale much,” rejoined his shout. Then all roads grew longer, and the taste of iron reflected off of drizzle. “Drawing!”

The Gunman held his arms at an angle, tilted such that the muzzle of the gun made its line carefully still towards the ground. The oiled metal sighed as it slipped from its leather: all threat and elegance, like a leopard into a silk chemise. His finger rested gently along the side of the trigger, just on the verge of commitment.

It was not in his power to make manifest the throne or crown, but Rahit Sadiqi knew Diana’s name, and he ruled with the authority of her rod. My music curled up on itself and screamed, but the glider was hit worse. It actually hitched, up in the sky. The bright of its white actually greyed for an instant, and it must have fell some hundred feet before it recovered.

I could taste ozone, and my skin crawled from the slick of silicon. Bright sun flared from where wispy stratus was boiled away, as (whether it was craft or pilot) their Opinion reasserted itself. The glider swerved, effecting a roll and yaw which deflected it sharply southeast and at speed.

None of us spoke for a moment. But our beast was skittish, and the necessity of her calm compelled me to set to her soothing. Taking my cue, Ursula reached out and stroked Applejack gently. She (I believe) had come into a breakthrough that day, and learnt the inaugural of the tender whispers which were the secret of horsecraft.

The first hand holstered his iron, and like that I felt I could breathe easy again. The rain was stopt, and he stood frozen and preoccupied in the starting breeze. With caution and deliberateness, I swung off and dismounted from the stirrup, then I raised up my arms and urged my cousin down as well. We walked our animal back slow to our guardian, to ease our cardiology and respire the mare.

Mr Sadiqi’s face was screwed up, like his thinking was taking a toll on him. For a moment, he would not acknowledge us. “We forgot that before he was the Ingeneur, he walked the Path of the Sword,” he murmured. His eyes flicked wildly under his brows. Then his fit was cleared and he returned to us.

My cousin’s voice shook. “Have you set all to right, Sir?”

He produced a smile so quick and genuine, it tickled my skepticism. “Ain’t no cause to mind. They understand the price of mustard,” he assured us.

My eyes drifted to his fingers. A score of pale lines oozed scarlet, gathering to swollen droplets. “You’ve taken a cut, Sir,” I pointed with my chin.

“Ah,” he frowned, striking out his kerchief against his slicker and then wrapped his fist around the cloth. “No real harm. It’s just that whoever it was’s gone and fouled a blessing with a color somehow. Been a while since I’ve faced a juice so sharp.”

The open patch of blue above was widening, but our unwelcome strangers had outpaced the clearing and were long gone. My attention drew back to the hand’s covered wound. “Is that possible, Sir? To profane a Grace with flavor?”

Deferring, our man snatched my cousin’s hat and disposed of it on top of my head, then he ruffled the top of the girl’s head to her anguished squeal of protest. After an insincere and impish apology from our elder, Ursula and I were ushered back towards the gate and home with a stealth of urgency. Applejack whiffled with all the gaiety of being adjacent to consequence and the sufferance of none. Along our way, Mr Sadiqi directed us in (and to) various minutiae of care for the beast and her tackle, while he chewed visibly on his reply.

The sodden stink of wet clay mixed with the ambition of grass. The proofing grease of our water repellents bloomed into stink under direct and plentiful solar candelas. The horse – well, it was a wet horse; ain’t nothing more needs be said on that account.

“I’m not so much interested in whether the mixing of ‘vader-stuff is possible,” conceded our man. “There is, I hope you understand, a difference between could and should, and I expect y’all to be on the right side of both. Treat them like they were both one and the same.”

I shared a look with Ursula, and we gave him our sincere nods as promise.

“I’m more thinking about what it means. Sure, I figure folk could finagle that fusion, but.” He paused to sate his propensity for patting his pate, but was briskly remembered of being bandaged and bleeding. “Da – ang,” he caught himself.

Then he stopped midstride, bent down and vigorously rubbed an ache out of his knee. “But I’m also weighing the chances that something’s fallen into enemy hands which oughtn’t’ve.” He uprighted himself and matched our gaze with severity. “Do you understand?”

Me and she, we nodded again; this time with all the gravity our scant years could muster. We understood, at least, that the alien should not be suffered to build their advantage.

“The two of you should redirect yourselves to the instruction of your cousins for the day. I’ll have to conference with Quade and your aunties. Given that thing’s heading, might even make sense to ride out and warn the Maytubbys. See what Ed thinks.”

My heart rebelled at the thought of being set aside. These were portentous goings on, by my calculation. What nature of anthropoid, man or ‘vader, had been the pilot who’d soared so free of the earth? Were they a threat to my family?

We passed then into the russet view of the barn, and Mr Sadiqi trusted us to break from his company for our Mare’s disposition.

“By the way,” he cracked half a weary smile. “The answer to my question was: Su Juris Vacua Terrum. The land under empty claim.”

“Right of the dirt vacuum,” I corrected him under my breath.

Mr Sadiqi only raised one hand to us as he turned and strode off towards the Residence. “Ain’t nobody left kicking that cares, Todd. Go teach Saleena her number tables.”

Once he was gone, I allowed myself to be snared by the horizon, and all the far things it hid from me. I could not be rushed even as Ursula tugged at my elbow to hurry me.

Could I one day also, in the spirit of adventure and the seeking of fortune, renounce the chains of my obligation? Could I take to the air above and -

liberated from all debts of blood,

fly

so very far

away?

But, wait.

Did I see

figures

in the distance

looking back

at me?