“I’m sorry, Jenny. Empty words, but I mean them. I’m truly sorry for it.”
“Worked in frontier pesthole near an old hot spot. Hotter than I thought. Got the cancer that’s eatin’ its way through my guts to my heart, Ryan. But what of you? And what of Trader?”
“Been around. Traveled a lot with John Dix, the Armorer. You recall him?”
“Some. Married, lad? Always thought that you’d make the worst husband between Portland, Maine, and Portland, Oregon.”
“No. Not spliced up. Got a woman. Good woman. Things about her remind me of you, Jenny. Got a boy. Dean. Twelve years old. No, eleven.”
She nodded, her rheumy eyes narrowing. “Settle down, ‘fore it’s too late, Ryan. You’ll be a guest of the old man with the midnight cloak for a long time. Do it.”
“Been thinking on it, Jenny. One day.”
“Trader? Everywhere I went, his name’d come up. Last was he’d been wiped out in a standoff up on Lakota lands.”
“Ran into him not long ago. Not changed much. Him and Abe were riding together.”
“Abe!” She went into a coughing fit that ended only when Ryan gave her another sip of water. “Runt o’ the litter. Tell you what, though. Little Abe was about the second best at lovin’ I knew. Don’t have to tell who was the best, Ryan. You always was and you always will be.”
“You taught me more than I’ll ever forget about bedding, Jenny.”
“If I didn’t pain so much, I’d ask you for a final ride, lad, for old times’ sake. No need to look so horrified. I’m not up to it, and I doubt you would be. Christ!” Her hands went to her chest, gripping through the sheet. “Heart’s goin’ like a trip-hammer, lad. Could be.”
“Can I get someone? We have a real doctor with us. Mebbe she could.”
Though he knew that she couldn’t.
Her right hand stopped him, like the claws of a small bird. “Like I said, lad, no shit between us.”
“Do you want something to eat, Jenny? I could have them make some soup?”
“Get real, Ryan.” A spark of the old spirit flared up for a moment. “The last train’s in the station, and I’ll be pulling out on it in a short while. I wanted to see you. Part to see how life’s treated you.” A single bright tear eased from her left eye and trickled down the furrowed cheek. “There’s something else, lad. Something else to warn you about.”
“What?”
“Sit on the bed, close, Ryan, so I can see you. Light’s failing. That’s better. Heard from Clinkerscales about your rescue. Blood knee deep.”
Ryan didn’t speak, watching as speech became a greater and greater effort for the dying woman.
“Part of what I did for Trader was navigate. Get cross bearings. Find the two facts that met together so we’d know where the sweet Jesus we were.”
“You were terrific, Jenny. Got us out the three-day whiteout in the Darks.”
“Flattery gets you most places, like Trader used to say, lad. But here’s two facts for you. One is that Baron Sharpe collects mutie animals. Folks around the Hole know it ain’t just animals and birds. It’s stickies and ghoulies and swampies and doomies and any poor son of a bitch that’s not like norms.”
“I heard this,” Ryan said quietly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were still alone.
“Cross bearing comes from the black-haired little woman you saved. Clinkerscales said she was the most frightening out-and-out, knock-’em-down doomie he ever saw. That true?”
Ryan nodded. “Scary thing is that Emma can’t understand it or control it.”
“Emma?” Jenny repeated mockingly, with a momentary glimpse of the sparky young woman that Ryan had known and loved. “Suppose you’ve been tucking ‘Emma,’ have you, lad?”
“No.”
“Then you’re getting old, Ryan. Remember that predark song that Ches used to sing? ‘Hope I die before I get old’?” Ryan nodded. “Better believe that, Ryan.”
“You think that Sharpe’ll try and keep Emma, if he gets to know her mutie skills?”
“Sure as eggs is eggs. Never saw a truer cross bearing in my life, lad.”
“One of his sec men said as much. Only a matter of time before the baron finds out. I owe you some serious thanks for the warning, Jenny.”