“Because,” he murmured. “I think you want it.”
Hero was thankful that their skin was dark enough to conceal the hot flush that was climbing their neck.
“I think you’ve only been retired for a year, and already, you’d poison a stranger just to break up the monotony.” Houndstooth knocked the sweet tea off the porch rail. It hissed as it ate through a rosebush. He leaned forward, still holding the porch rail. “I think you’d enjoy working this job a lot more thoroughly than you’ve enjoyed sitting in that rocking chair.”
Hero looked at Houndstooth’s burning eyes. “Is that what you think?” they asked, and sipped their sweet tea to relieve their suddenly dry mouth.
“Yes. That’s what I think. That,” he said, tilting his head to one side, “and I’ve got some things I need blown up. From what I hear, you’re the one to do it.”
Hero set their glass down and stood, clapping their hands decisively. “Well, then.” They walked inside, and emerged a few moments later wearing a battered leather Stetson and clutching a large, bulging duffel.
Houndstooth laughed. “I thought it would take more convincing than that!”
Hero walked toward Houndstooth until their boots touched. The laughter on Houndstooth’s lips died. They were nearly the same height, and their noses were less than an inch apart. Hero could smell the sweet iced tea on their own breath.
“Ask. I know you’re wondering. If we’re going to work together, you may as well ask.”
Houndstooth swallowed. “I . . .” He paused, looking down at Hero’s mouth, then looked back at their eyes. “How did you drink the poison? Without it killing you.”
Hero blinked. That wasn’t the question they had anticipated. “I’m immune. Small doses. Every day.”
Houndstooth smiled. “Well. That’s the only question I need the answer to.” He sat back down and unfurled a map of the Harriet on the table between them. “Shall we plan a route? I think we should be able to get into the marshes by midmorning, and then we can collect Cal before meeting up with the rest of the crew. . . .”
Hero let themself smile as they sat across from Houndstooth and began studying the map. This would be more fun than retirement.
Chapter 4
HOUNDSTOOTH WATCHED OUT OF the corner of his eye as Hero stretched their arms high over their head. The popping of their spine as they twisted made Ruby startle; her tail flapped irritably in the water of the marsh.
Hero and Houndstooth had been riding since dawn. The day’s ride had been filled with long, easy silences and the slow, steady rhythm of Ruby and Abigail’s treads through the water. The shadows were growing long as the sun began to dip, and Houndstooth had just started to doze off when Ruby’s flicking tail splashed water down the back of his shirt.
“Ah! Damn.” He wiped his brow with his handkerchief, then reached back into his saddlebag. The day was hot; the air was thick enough that even the mosquitoes seemed to be flying a little slower. Houndstooth swatted at one that was trying to find its dinner on the back of his neck; then he reached back into his saddlebag, pulled out two pears, and tossed one to Hero, who caught it without looking.
“Show-off,” he said with a small smile.
“Sleepyhead,” Hero drawled back.
Houndstooth was about to object, but interrupted himself with a huge yawn. He tried to cover it by biting into his pear, but Hero was already laughing at him.
“Keep me awake, then,” he said through a mouthful of pear. Hero raised their eyebrows and Houndstooth felt himself blushing. Hero let it lie for a moment before answering.
“Alright, if it’s my job to keep you stimulated. Let’s talk about your grand . . . caper.”
“It’s not a caper, Hero. It’s an operation. All aboveboard. All very well-planned and prepared-for.”
“And what’s the plan?” Hero asked.
Houndstooth coughed. “I was hoping you’d help me come up with that.”
Hero bit into their pear, spat a seed. “You’re funny.” They said it without smiling. They tossed the top third of their pear into the water in front of Abigail, who snapped it up without missing a beat. Abigail crunched and swallowed the pear, twitching her ears.
“That I am,” Houndstooth said cheerfully. “Have you ever been to the Harriet before?”
“No,” Hero said, “I’m not one for gambling.”
Houndstooth looked at them sidelong. He dipped his hand into his saddlebag and scooped out a little pouch of the white saddle-resin all hoppers used to keep their kneeling saddles from sliding around on the slippery, hairless backs of their hippos. He dipped his finger into it and drew a long oval with open, fluting ends on Ruby’s inky shoulder, where Hero could see it. He drew a thick line across the top third of the oval, where the narrowed end flared open again—the dam that had turned the Mississippi into the Harriet. Not quite a lake and not quite a marsh, the Harriet was a triumph of engineering, but the ferals trapped within it rendered it a national embarrassment. The riverboat casinos that dominated its surface did little to alleviate the distaste with which most of the country considered the entire region.
“So, if this is the Harriet, then this is the Gate.” Houndstooth drew another line across the bottom third of the oval. Hero snorted.
“You’re not much of an artist, are you?”
Houndstooth glowered at them. “This is the Gate,” he continued. “It keeps the ferals inside of the Harriet, so they can’t get out into the Gulf. The Gate at the bottom of the Harriet and the dam at the top keep the ferals penned.” He smudged white on each side of the circle. “Unbroken land to the east and west for a few miles in all directions keeps the ferals from traveling to other waters.”
“So, it’s . . . what? Twenty miles overland in every direction?”
“Give or take,” Houndstooth said with a shrug. “It’s enough land that the ferals can’t make it across. I’m sure a few try every year, and die in the process. Either way, the Gate extends far enough inland to discourage them from making a serious attempt at migration.”
“Do they want to leave?”
Houndstooth chewed on this. “I doubt it,” he said after a minute. “They’ve been there for a few breeding generations. It’s all they know. And other than the riverboats, it belongs to them.”