The Arrivals

Chapter 26

Jack couldn’t say he wanted to stay and talk to Chloe, but he knew he’d have to and only hoped that she wasn’t too angry—or worse yet, weepy—when he returned to the room. He wasn’t going to go all namby-pamby with emotions or anything, but he figured he owed Chloe a little more explanation than he’d offered. Unfortunately, he didn’t exactly have an explanation beyond what he said: Mary was the only one in his bed the past couple years, so it was an honest mistake. She’d only been gone a little while. He’d meant it when he told Chloe he didn’t expect her to replace Mary in his bed just because she was here. Hell, it wasn’t like Mary had replaced someone either. It just happened that Mary was his friend, and Chloe was . . . he wasn’t sure what. He liked her in a way that he hadn’t expected, and it had nothing to do with replacing Mary. The timing was a bit awkward, and if not for the Verrot, he suspected that he’d have been better able to resist his interest, given them time to get to know each other first. Regardless of the timing, though, he felt something unexpected and good for Chloe. Back home, in another world and another life, he’d have thought about courting her, but this wasn’t that world.

And I’m not that man anymore.

Even though he couldn’t court her, he still wanted . . . something. He couldn’t believe that his interest was just a result of Verrot and grief. He knew it wasn’t—he also knew he couldn’t start figuring out what he and Chloe were doing until he tended to whatever Francis needed.

Edgar shoved aside the chair that leaned against the wall outside the door and opened the door to Francis’ room. It was a tinier version of Jack’s, and one he’d slept in from time to time over the years. Not a whole lot ever changed in Gallows. The rooms to let were all pretty familiar by now. Like a lot of the rooms at the Gulch, this one had two narrow beds, a privacy screen, and a small stand with a washbasin. Several folded cloths were stacked next to the washbasin.

He and Jack stepped inside the confining space only to be greeted by his baby sister aiming a pistol at them. Edgar held his hands out in a placating gesture and opened his mouth to apologize.

Before he could speak, Katherine snapped, “Knock or say something when you open the door. Goddamn monks and Ajani and his thugs are all roaming around town. I could’ve shot you.”

“Sorry, Kit,” Edgar rumbled.

Francis laughed. “Somebody’s in her mother-bear mode.”

With a sigh, Katherine lowered the gun and reached over to pat his shoulder. “Well, you’re a good cub.”

“Some of us aren’t lousy patients,” Francis teased her. Then he turned his head in the direction of Edgar’s voice. “Jack, are you here too?”

“Right here.” Jack looked at the blood leaking out of one of Francis’ closed eyes. Upon closer inspection, he could see that it wasn’t just blood. The liquid was too watery, as well as being more pink than red. “Does it burn? Hurt? What can you tell us?”

“Both eyes hurt, but this one feels like it’s on fire.” Francis paused as Katherine wiped his cheek again, and then he added, “I’m not healing at all, Jack. Kitty wants to believe it’s just a little slow, but even without the Verrot, I should’ve stopped bleeding by now. The other one shouldn’t be still blinded either. Something’s wrong.”

“Hush! You’ll be fine,” Katherine murmured. “We just need to figure it out. Garuda’s on it, and God knows you have enough herbs back at camp. We’ll brew something up, get some Verrot into you, and you’ll be as good as new.”

“I hope so,” Francis said in a wavering voice.

Katherine’s expression was more openly worried than it usually was when one of the group was injured, but Jack figured that was because Francis couldn’t see her.

As she wiped Francis’ blood streaks away, she lifted her other hand and held her index finger in front of her lips with a “shhh” gesture.

Jack nodded, letting her know that he understood, and then he gestured to the door.

“Are you all mouthing words at each other or staring at me in silence?” Francis prompted. He turned his head toward them, eyes still closed, and added, “If you’re not going to talk about plans in front of me, go somewhere else and do it. I need help, not pity.”

“Francis . . .” Katherine started, but her words faltered.

After a moment, Francis sighed and said, “It’s okay, Kitty. Go talk to Jack. Edgar?”

“Still here,” Edgar affirmed from where he stood learning against the wall. He glanced at Jack, who nodded in affirmation, before offering, “If Jack’s with Kit, I’ll stay here. I can’t imagine Melody is much comfort with Verrot in her.”

Francis snorted. “Why do you think Hector was in the hall? He needed to keep an eye out for trouble, and we all thought I might start randomly throwing knives if she was in my room much longer.”

“Katherine and I will figure this out,” Jack promised.

“Of course we will,” Katherine murmured in the voice that Jack expected she’d have used with her own children. Carefully, she folded a rag and covered Francis’ eye with it.

Without asking, Edgar ripped a strip of fabric off of another piece of cloth and handed it to her. As she’d done for so many years and to so many people, Katherine nursed Francis, tying the cloth to his eye so that it would keep the seeping blood, tears, and pus from dripping down his cheek. Jack watched her with the sudden awareness that part of her bond with Francis was simply that he shared nursing duties with her. She’d had a lot of years where the nurturing of the Arrivals was all on her shoulders, and Francis alleviated some of that burden—much as Edgar had shared Jack’s own burden of keeping order or stepping into the worst of the fracases.

Katherine didn’t look up from the knot she was tying to hold the makeshift bandage in place as she asked, “Where is Chloe?”

Jack wasn’t about to admit anything to his sister, not because he’d done anything wrong per se, but because what had happened with Chloe wasn’t anyone’s business. “She’s resting in my room.”

“In your room?” Katherine’s lips pressed together.

“You were with Francis, and she doesn’t really know Hector or Melody and—”

“And you’ve been looking at her like she’s a snack you intend to consume since she arrived,” Katherine interrupted. “Seriously, Jackson, we don’t even know if she’s going to stay with us or join Ajani. You’re right that she shouldn’t be left alone, but until we know more about her, keep it in your pants.”

There were a dozen different things Jack could tell his sister, but the sad truth was that she was right. Everyone who arrived in the Wasteland was a killer of some sort or another, and he knew better than to ignore that detail. The smart thing to do was to focus on work. That was how he’d kept his sanity the past twenty-six years: concentrate on the mission first, last, and always.

Katherine glared at him, as if daring him to tell her she was wrong, and Jack had the fleeting urge to do just that. Arguing wouldn’t help either of them just then, though, so he changed the subject. “Let’s talk to Garuda before we do anything else. If anyone knows what could be wrong, it’s him.”

Katherine’s face took on that faraway look that Jack was already associating with conversations that she was silently having inside her mind. How in the hell did I miss that all of these years? She looked at Jack and said, “We could meet him tonight.”

Jack nodded. He didn’t admit it aloud, but he was grateful that they had a way to quickly reach the bloedzuiger. Garuda knew more about the Wasteland than anyone else Jack had met in all of the years he’d lived in it. If it was a poison that was causing Francis’ condition, Garuda could find out what it was. If it was some sort of magic, he could direct them to the answers. Moments like this were why Jack found Garuda’s friendship so invaluable. He dealt fine with killing things, but he wasn’t sure what to do when one of the Arrivals was dealing with an injury that their peculiar biology wasn’t healing. He’d been in the Wasteland longer than he’d been in the world he’d been born to, and he’d become accustomed to their healing abilities. “We can discuss other options too. Maybe send Melody and Hector back to camp to get the rest of the Verrot.”

“Sure.” Katherine glanced back at Francis, but didn’t move.

Edgar walked to the door, opened it, and grabbed the chair that was in the hallway, presumably from Hector having been stationed there. Instead of closing the door, he looked at Katherine. “I’ll take care of him, Kit. Go on.”

Katherine kissed Francis’ forehead, and then, gun in hand, stepped outside. Once she and Jack were in the hall, she asked, “Do you want to talk in one of the other rooms or . . . ?” She motioned toward his room.

“Yours will work. We can move Chloe to your room later if you aren’t rooming with Edgar.” Jack wasn’t sure what he’d do if Katherine was staying with Edgar. He could order her to room with Chloe, but he’d much rather give Edgar and Katherine their space if they’d finally sorted out their drama—and even if Chloe wasn’t feeling very forgiving, Jack would still rather share space with her. The floor of the room wasn’t that hard, and he held hopes that they could get back to where they were before he’d screwed up. None of that emotional nonsense was anything he felt like discussing with his sister, though, so he asked, “Did you tell Garuda everything?”

“I did.” She opened the door to the tiny room where she’d be sleeping. “He’s been over toward the Divide, but he’ll be here soon.”

Jack followed her into the room and closed the door behind them. “Does he have any other ideas?”

“Poison.” Katherine dropped to the floor with the sort of bone-tired motion that she didn’t usually allow herself. “Monks. Ajani . . . or maybe the ‘natural collapse of unnatural physiology.’ That’s the extent of the ideas Garuda had.” She gave Jack a quiet look of desperation that reminded him far too much of their early years in the Wasteland, when the whole world was alien to them.

Jack responded the same way that he had all those years ago. He looked at his sister and tried to sound like he knew what he was doing. “We’ll give him the Verrot. We’ll talk to Garuda, and if we don’t get anywhere, I’ll go back to Governor Soanes. Either he knows something or . . . is involved. I’ll figure it out, and everything will be fine.”

And then he hoped to hell and heaven both that he wasn’t lying.