October 25th, 1795 aex

Mak Garde

South of Picklewood, Watateje, New Alben

Plucker walked between Mak’s legs and those of the rickety old chair. Mak brushed his fingers along the bird’s spine, starting at the base of its thick neck and ending at the tail. “You’re losing a lot of feathers lately.” The bird pecked at something on the ground, an unseen seed or insect.

Mak looked around but found no more violet feathers than usual, in fact, he saw none at all, not even piled up against the walls from the wind. But Plucker certainly had thinner plumage than when Mak first brought him home from the traveling market in Picklewood. We all get old, I suppose.

Jerri barged into the coop, causing dozens of wings to flap maniacally. The two Dames gobbled and rustled their pompous feathers, puffing up as big as a coyote.

“Damn, Jerri, you know not to disturb me in here.” He raised his hands and signalled to the flying birds. “This is why.” She at least had the decency to quickly close the door. Mak had installed a two-door system to lessen the chance of escape, nevertheless, it was difficult to snatch a bird that made it past the first door and he’d rather avoid it altogether.

Sherik came in soon after. He nearly had both doors open at the same time before he remembered to close himself between the two. Mak rolled his eyes, despite the boy’s eventual realization.

“I’m sorry.” Jerri was out of breath. Mak hadn’t noticed until now. Sherik, however, was not. He cocked a brow, suspicious of his children’s odd intrusion. Jerri looked back to Sherik, with the same cocked brow as Mak. “Why are you following me?”

Sherik raised his hands. “I’m not. I was just coming to speak to Pa, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Kids, enough.” Mak kept calm despite the storm of flapping wings. “Why are you here?”

Sherik backed away and lowered his head.

Jerri stepped forward. “There are men on the road at the end of the path.” Mak shot to his feet before she could finish speaking, causing further protest from the Dames. “They aren’t moving. They’re just standing there, watching the house.”

He stepped over Plucker and advanced in a way that drove the kids out of the coop with him. He closed the doors before any resident could escape and dashed to the house. Sherik did not follow, but Mak had no time to see where he went.

“Will they kill us?” Jerri wasn’t the one who should have been at his heels. That damned boy.

“Of course not.” He took the loaded Lady Marlay from her corner and left the house.

“Why do you need that, then?” Her eyes were wide with terror.

He smirked to keep the mood light despite his shaking nerves and raised the gun slightly. “This is how I’ll ensure they don’t kill us.”

Jerri’s face expressed an uncertain blend of satisfaction and concern. Mak glanced in every direction in search of Sherik, but the boy was absent. He cursed then started for the slender dirt path at the front of the house. Konni and Skylde were there, standing side by side and staring at the visitors. Take her to the house, Konni, Mak thought.

His heart raced. Where was Net? His head whipped back and forth as he searched for his youngest son. A tiny head poked out from behind the outhouse. He sent stern eyes that told the boy: Stay put. He hoped the boy understood the look and moved up the path and settled a few paces ahead of Konni and the girls.

A horseless carriage with the sheriff’s golden star atop crossed sabres painted on the side, sat motionless at the end of the path. Red steam swirled beneath it and around the wheels clamped by brakes. It was a carriage like any other, but a heavy steel boiler replaced what would have been a horse at the front. It must’ve been a gift from the northerners as Mak had never seen the thing before.

Sheriff Marton Meadows and two of his deputies—Miles and Creek—exited the carriage, all wearing the dark green of Picklewood law enforcement. One fat deputy Mak didn’t know by name stayed seated behind the steering wheel. They were good men who kept Picklewood safe. Mak was relieved to see them. Jerri must have not gotten close enough to notice the sheriff’s logo. He planted the butt of his gun on the ground, and his muscles relaxed. Sheriff Meadows would never stand for such attacks on Mak’s rights, even if the mayor signed the papers. Then why is he here?

A horse snorted from somewhere out of sight, and a rider emerged from the far side of the parked carriage. It was the young man who’d ordered Valli to cook while Mak hid in Daun’s closet. He wore the same cream-coloured clothing as before and graced his saddle with a self-assured posture.

His mount was a mighty black stallion, rendered not-so-mighty by its myriad of adornments. Its long, flowing mane was a row of braids with ribbons of yellows, blues, and reds tied throughout. The leather saddle sat over what looked like a red silken blanket that hung loosely, only a few inches from the ground, its ends dirty and tattered. A dark leather bridle fitted with white flowers steered the horse and from multiple piercings in its ears hung columns of wooden beads, painted in dozens of different colours in no particular order.

The rider moved ahead of the officers on foot. When he came close enough, Mak could see a playful smirk. He was a young man, not much older than Sherik, maybe eighteen. His eyes were a light brown beneath two thin brows curved in a perpetual fiery look. His head was tilted slightly to the right, and wild fringes of brown hair emerged from beneath a small hat, the same colour as his pants. The young man surveyed Mak’s property and licked his chapped lips like a wolf eyeing its prey. Northerners hated the dry southern air.

Mak turned to regard Konni, who stood between her daughters with an arm around both. Skylde shook in fear, and even Jerri, who seemed enamoured with northern customs and style, trembled beneath her mother’s arm. “Get them in the house.” Mak spoke low so the visitors could not hear. Konni shook her head slowly. Mak sighed and turned back to the approaching rider. He could have raised his voice and ordered them inside, but he decided to keep calm. He hoisted Lady Marlay, leaned her over his shoulder, and cursed Sherik’s absence.

He glanced toward the outhouse. Net hadn’t moved an inch.

“Good morning, Sheriff.” Mak looked past the rider atop the flamboyant horse as if he wasn’t there.

The young man was the first to speak. “Oi, good man,” His accent was thicker than any northerner Mak had spoken with to date. This must’ve been his first time ever leaving the cursed city. “I am sure you know why I am here, so I will not bore you with small talk.”

Sheriff Meadows nodded a greeting, and only then did Mak’s eyes drift up to meet the rider’s. “I want your land,” the rider continued, “I am willing to make a generous offer, even though it is legally mine already, is it not, good lawman?” He did not turn to Meadows, but only swayed his chin in the sheriff’s direction, expecting an answer.

“That’s correct, Mister Guvson,” Sheriff Meadows grimaced.

Mak froze. Guvson. He’d heard the name from Mayor Bass and Daun. Both were not certain of who he was, but both assumed the same: that he was son to the owner of Westen Freight, heir of the company. Bass had begged Mak to accept his deal, and Daun had assured him that this Guvson fella got what he wanted. He would never have guessed the young cream-clad boy before him could bring fear to any man.

“Who is it, Pa?” Skylde called out.

Mak cringed at the sound, not knowing why. Konni shushed their daughter, and Guvson’s eyes moved toward them. “I’m not interested,” Mak said.

Guvson’s limbs shuddered. “You have yet to hear my offer.” He took a deep breath then added, “Good man.”

Mak clearly dealt with a man who had no handle on his temper or his horse. The stallion reared and started for the road. Guvson roared a ferocious sound that did not match his lean figure. He yanked the reins. The horse flailed its head up and down violently in response, but its hooves obeyed the vicious order. The rider and the steed returned to their dominant position before Mak. Guvson straightened his spine and tilted his head to the right again, acting like the comical display hadn’t happened.

“I’m not interested,” Mak repeated once the horse relaxed.

Guvson cleared his throat as if he choked for a moment. He snapped his fingers toward the sheriff without looking his way and patted the wrinkles from his shirt. Meadows pulled two thin stacks of paper from his forest-green coat. Mak was irrationally enraged by the action. He’d seen far too many pieces of paper of late. The sheriff brought them forward and handed them over.

“You should listen.” Sheriff Meadows spoke in a quiet voice and paced away before Mak could object.

Mak held the papers out behind his back. Jerri’s quick steps approached. She snatched the document and returned to her mother’s side. The pages rustled as she moved.

Sheriff Meadows cleared his throat. He raised his brows and grimaced as if watching a tragedy unfold, an odd expression from such a hard, burly man. Without words, the sheriff seemed to say: take the deal.

He was a good man, admired by the citizens of Picklewood, save for the criminals. Before he held the title, women were unable to visit the saloon unmolested and couldn’t walk the street alone. Even if escorted, no safety was guaranteed.

For nearly thirty years, Picklewood had been the favourite place of business for many of the most notorious bandit groups in the region, until Sheriff Meadows had captured and executed the leaders of both the Dawn Stars and the Powder Fiends. He’d killed the leader of the Rolling Storm in a duel—this occurred in one of his first years as a deputy—and the Prowling Posse had been completely pushed out of town, though their leader, the Lone Wolf as he was known, had fled, unharmed.

The sheriff had done many things for Mak personally as well. Young hoodlums had waylaid Mak on his way to Picklewood a few years back. He had a wagon full of grain to sell after a great harvest, but his wares were taken at knife-point. Meadows had acted promptly to the report and found the bandits before the night was through. He’d appeared at Mak’s door at dawn with no grain, but a large sack of cash. The bandits had sold the wares for far more than they were worth, and Meadows allowed Mak to keep the extra coin for his troubles. He’d refused to take any for himself at Mak’s offer, claiming he was simply doing his duty.

Mak locked eyes with Guvson. “I’ll hear your offer out of respect for the sheriff. Though you probably won’t like my decision.”

Guvson’s eyes shifted from Konni and the girls to Mak, back and forth a few times. “You did not even look at the papers.” He tilted his head to the left, then quickly back to the right. He pushed an uncomfortable smile onto his young face and hopped down from the distressed horse. “I think you will be pleasantly surprised with what I can offer, good man.”

The overly-garnished horse whinnied and rocked its head up and down. Guvson yanked on the reins, which caused the stallion to jump up. Skylde yelped. It bucked furiously with enough force to kill a man. Guvson dropped the reins and jumped back like a frightened child. Deputy Creek, the youngest of Meadows’ force, hopped forward and reached for the flailing reins. He caught them after a few missed tries, all while avoiding a few attempted bites, and pulled down gently, whispering calming words to the wild beast.

The panicked mount calmed, and Deputy Creek led the horse back to the carriage, where a layer of thick, red steam had built up beneath the vehicle.

“Take this beast away from me.” Guvson waved a hand. Creek was already a few paces away when he said it. The young man was delusional about his power, or at least, he wanted to delude onlookers.

Guvson brushed his milk-whiskey coloured coat and flattened any wrinkles that might have formed. He cleared his throat, took a firm step in Mak’s direction, and erected the fingers on his right hand. “Five hundred dollars.”

Mak stifled his reaction but heard a fair-voiced gasp behind him. The most he could get for his land on the open market would be seventy dollars. A hundred if he was lucky.

“There is more, good man,” Guvson grinned, no doubt sensing Mak’s inner struggles. “I will offer you four young cows, one strong bull, a year’s supply of grain for a family of eight.” He looked around, eyeing Mak and the gals. “I see only four. So, two year’s supply of grain, eh?” he smirked.

“There’re two sons unaccounted for,” Sheriff Meadows said. Mak threw him a fiery look, disappointed with how quickly Meadows was willing to divulge the information.

A terrible wailing sound pierced through the air as the fat deputy in the carriage released built up steam through a whistle that stood high above the engine. Skylde yelped again, Guvson flinched comically, and his stallion cried out from behind the carriage. Mak, Meadows, and the deputies barely reacted. Guvson’s head tilted to the left and settled back in a slightly off-centered tilt to the right. “We left the fizzore in the boiler. We were not planning on staying long.”

“I ain’t holding you hostage,” Mak said. “You’re free to leave.”

Guvson ignored the remark. “I will even offer you a horseless carriage, much like these good lawmen use, but better. Much better. The Dogford Red Jet ‘99. Large enough for you and your family to leave, and I will even throw in free transportation for any belongings you want to bring with you to wherever it is you go, including your animals, of course.”

“We have to leave now?” Mak crossed his arms over Lady Marlay’s butt. “I thought you only wanted a piece of our land.”

“You would not want to live so close to train tracks, good man,” Guvson waved a dismissive hand, and began to pace aimlessly. “They hiss,” he stepped closer, “they rumble like thunder,” closer, “they chug and chug and chug,” Mak tensed and lowered the gun as the young man was close enough for Mak to smell the whiskey on his breath, “and if you thought the sheriff’s whistle was loud, wait until you hear the vile screeching of a Westen Freight steam whistle.” He halted only three steps before Mak with an evil grin.

What kind of businessman could speak so poorly of his product? There was something odd about the young man, something off-putting. Mak couldn’t pin-point what it was, nor was he sure he wanted to.

“We accept your offer,” Konni blurted.

Mak spun and cast a burning glare in her direction. He maintained his angry gaze until her soft brown eyes fell to the ground in submission. He faced Guvson. “That’s not been decided.”

Guvson did not react, but Sheriff Meadows sighed and kept a hand on his hat as he lowered his head.

Footsteps rushed him from behind. Small hands clutched his arm.

“Take the offer, Pa,” Jerri said.

He gave her a similar glare, though not as intense as the one Konni had received. “Alright, girls, time to get back to work.” He locked eyes with her until she, Konni, and Skylde returned to feeding the chickens. “As for you,” he looked Guvson up and down once the girls left, “my land is not for sale.”

Jerri was still too close for Mak’s comfort. She sat on a nearby stump and read over the pages given over by Sheriff Meadows.

Guvson’s chapped lips lifted in a wolf-like snarl. “What if I just kill you right now?” His voice was low. Loud enough to reach the men around him, but hopefully not Jerri. “I could, you know. Block-headed, idiot farmers. I hate leaving the city. You people sicken me.” Spittle sprayed from between clenched teeth. “What if I killed you, right now? Your land is rightfully mine. Given to me by your coward of a mayor. You are on my legal property. I can kill you, is that not right, Sheriff?” His brown eyes were wild, and a trace of froth accumulated in the corners of his mouth.

Mak’s nerves fired up but he refused to react.

“Now, now,” Sheriff Meadows moved between Mak and Guvson. “The man has the right to defend his land. The governor’s new law regarding an official signing-off on a citizen’s property also states that the citizen has the right to appeal. Until both parties have settled and agreed, it’s not technically your land.” He spoke facing Guvson, but Mak felt the words were more intended for his ears.

“Why didn’t the mayor tell me this? It’s still my land, then?” Mak stepped forward.

Meadows faced him. “No. It doesn’t fully belong to you or Westen Freight. It’s in a sort of strange balance between the both of you. None of you technically have rights to the land at the moment. The law was terribly written and has many flaws and inconsistencies, but it is the first one Gallon Water has drafted. I’m sure he’ll get better in time.”

“He can’t get much worse,” Mak said.

“Shut your mouth, country swine,” Guvson snapped.

The sheriff acted as a barrier between the two. Guvson started for Mak but could not pass Meadows, not that he tried very hard to do so. “Get him to the carriage,” Meadows ordered his deputies.

They moved swiftly at the command. Guvson refused to let them touch him but followed without protest. Meadows stayed behind, alone with Mak. “You should’ve taken the deal.”

“You aren’t the first to tell me that,” Mak said.

“Then listen.” Meadows had no expression on his weathered face. “I doubt people are trying to give you bad advice.”

Mak said nothing. He was tired of hearing so many voices calling for him to leave the land his grandpa and pa had fought for. Steam hissed beneath the carriage and brakes released the wheels which started turning slowly.

“Take care of yourself, Mak,” Meadows offered a hand.

Mak nodded and they shook.

The sheriff sauntered up the path and caught up to the already rolling carriage. He hopped in the back and settled beside a raging Guvson. The young man whined about something the moment Meadows settled beside him. His arms flailed, and he pointed to Mak countless times, but he was too far to hear.

Deputy Creek rode Guvson’s stallion a few paces behind the carriage. The dark green garb of a Picklewood deputy looked out of place on the back of such a lavish steed.