“Well,” Adelia Reyes said. “Well, well, well.” The most brutal contract killer of the late nineteenth century folded her hands over her distended belly and winked at Calhoun Hotchkiss, before settling her gaze on Houndstooth. “I’d be willing to bet you’re looking for me, Mr. Houndstooth.”
The crew assembled at the table watched as the outline of a tiny foot pressed at Adelia’s shirt. She pressed a hand to it. “Shhh, mija. Mama’s working.”
Calhoun slid sideways off his chair and fell to the sawdust on the floor, unconscious.
“Hello, Adelia,” Houndstooth said. “How would you like to make eight thousand dollars?”
Adelia pulled out a chair, not minding too closely whether the chair’s legs smacked into Cal’s head. She sat with her legs spread wide to accommodate her belly, resting a foot on Cal’s neck. She smiled at Houndstooth, her hands stroking the shifting mass of her stomach.
“Well,” she said softly, “what’s the job?”
Chapter 7
IT WAS QUIET IN THE SWAMP. Deep quiet—the kind that’s defined by the buzz of insects and the lapping of water and the thick wet heat of the day. The shade of the willow and sycamore trees that grew along the edge of the water dappled the golden light, but their shade wasn’t enough to cut through the weight of the heat. The hoppers rode slowly, easily—they shared an unspoken need to enjoy the calm of the swamp. It would be their last peaceful day. Soon, they’d reach the Mississippi Gate, and the chaos would begin.
Adelia rode Stasia, her heavily armored Arnesian Brown, without a saddle. She rode cross-legged, one hand wrapped around her belly; the other gripped the pommel of Stasia’s harness. Stasia, an exemplar of her breed, snapped at birds that flew too close to her snout. She grumbled at sticks that bumped into her legs, and squinted suspiciously at the other hippos. And yet, for all her aggression, she seemed devoted to Adelia—Adelia, who swayed with Stasia’s rolling gait, occasionally singing nonsense to her in lilting tones. “Stasia, my Anastasia, Ana A?a, A?a-ara?a . . .”
Neville rode next to her on her second hippo, Zahra. He knelt awkwardly in the borrowed saddle, but Zahra—an aging Standard Grey, nearly identical to Abigail save for the livid bolt of white across her brow—followed Stasia gamely, ignoring the way the boy pitched to and fro in the saddle.
“Miss Adelia, this is so hard,” he said, out of breath from struggling to maintain his balance. “How come you can do it without even a saddle?”
“I have been doing it since I was in my mother’s belly,” she replied with a wisp of a smile. “When my little ni?a is born, she will ride with me, and she will be just as strong as I am. Stronger, perhaps.”
“What if it’s a boy?” Neville asked, clutching at the saddle.
“It won’t be a boy.”
Neville stared at her for a few moments without speaking, his eyes lingering on her belly.
“You are wondering about the father,” she said, unsmiling. Neville stammered an incoherent denial, his blush destroying his credibility.
“There is no father,” Adelia said. “There is a man who gave me the child I wanted from him.”
Neville stared hard at his hands. “Alright ma’am,” he whispered, mortified. She grinned at his embarrassment.
“I am not ashamed, boy. I have no need of a husband. This girl will have no need of a father. Perhaps a second mother, someday—but if not?” She shrugged. “It makes no difference.”
A sharp whistle sounded from behind them, where Archie rode her diamond-white Rosa. Neville twisted in the saddle to look at her, then caught himself on the pommel as he nearly tipped out of the saddle. Adelia whistled back without looking away from the water ahead. Archie’s rich, deep laugh carried over the sound of the hippos’ splashing progress through the shallows of the swamp.
Ahead of them, Cal, Houndstooth, and Hero rode abreast. Ruby slid through the water like a shadow between runty brown Betsy and Hero’s grey Abigail. Shy, sweet Betsy bumped out of the way with a sidelong glance at the sleek black hippo, but Abigail didn’t seem to notice her. Ruby came close enough to Abigail that Houndstooth’s leg brushed against Hero’s. Hero startled.
“I didn’t—I didn’t hear her get so close,” they said, holding their hat on with one hand.
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Houndstooth said. “Some things just sneak up on you like that.”
Hero tried to stop the smile that spread across their face, but it was too late; Houndstooth was already grinning back.
*
As dusk settled over the marsh, the hoppers clustered closer together. Houndstooth rode in front. Behind him, Adelia, Archie, and Neville clustered together. Hero and Cal rode behind, occasionally shooting wary glances at each other.
“So, I’ve been wondering,” Adelia said. “What is that for?” She pointed at the coiled chain that Archie wore on her hip. “It looks like the strangest bola I’ve ever seen. I can’t imagine using it to disable a man, much less a charging hippo.”
Archie smiled. “I adore your idea of small talk, Adelia. This is my meteor ’ammer.” She patted the smooth metal ball that swung beside her thigh. “I will show you ’ow it is used sometime. I think you will like it.”
“It’s really somethin’, she showed me on the way here,” Neville piped. “She swings the chain around her whole entire body and then she just turns and whips it and pow!” He slapped Zahra’s flank. The hippo didn’t seem to notice. “It just crunches whatever she aims it at!”
“I hope I don’t have a need to see it in action,” Adelia said, “but I would love to see a demonstration.” She looked at the meteor hammer and for a moment, genuine affection ghosted her features. “At any rate, we should find a place to tie up,” Adelia said. “It’s unwise for us to be in the water after sundown.”
“Oui,” Archie said. “And we should go over the plan for this caper before we turn in.”
“Why?” Neville asked.
“It’s not a caper,” Houndstooth replied, sounding irritated. “It’s an operation. All aboveboard.”
“Well, we still need to go over the plan,” Adelia snapped.
“If you see a dry patch I don’t,” Houndstooth said, slapping at a mosquito, “you go right ahead and point it out.”
“There was a petit island a mile back or so,” Archie mused, “but too small, I think, for all of us.”
“Why can’t we be out after dark?” Neville asked again.
“Too small for your fat ass, maybe,” Cal called from the back of the group. Archie’s fingertips played over the revolver that hung from her hip.
“He’s not worth the bullet,” Adelia murmured to her.
“Why shouldn’t we be out after dark?” Neville piped.
“I could stab ’im, perhaps,” Archie said, giving Adelia a wry smile.
“Si, but then the blood would ruin your lovely blouse.”
“Excuse me,” Neville said again.
“Strangulation, then. The cleanest death of them all,” Archie continued, ignoring him.
“Ask Hero for some poison, maybe?” Adelia and Archie both laughed. Hero smiled from under the brim of their hat. Neville looked back at Hero, eyes wide.