Kick back, relax, and recuperate.

  Them’s the doctor’s orders, but life on the Frontier don’t wait for no one. There’s always something to do when managing a whole village’s worth of property all by your lonesome. A village up and abandoned for more than a month after the first winter you’ve spent there, meaning I got my work cut out for me. Luckily, I ain’t all by my lonesome no more, as I got a bunch of eager, able-bodied neighbours to help now, and you can bet your bottom dollar that I put them all to work as soon as I get back from Uncle Art’s hospital with a clean bill of health and only a marginal weight on my conscience since he don’t know what I really been up to.

  Don’t get it twisted though. I did what I had to do to keep my friends out of the crosshairs of the AICC, and I’d do it again if I had to. As for my neighbours, I ain’t taking advantage of free labour. Instead, I’m giving them all a chance to salvage their pride. Like Aunty Ray said, they are a proud bunch, but they still found it in them to come here with hats in hand hoping to find a place to call their own. Now they found it, as I do be an obliging sort, but it prickles their pride to accept a handout, especially from a kid half their age, so me giving them work is like a balm for their wounded egos, ones I don’t begrudge them for.

  They’re settlers from the First Wave after all, folks who’ve survived almost nineteen years since stepping through the Gate. Got no hard statistics on how many settlers we’ve lost since then, but I know good and well the number ain’t pretty. These folks here? They’re survivors who’ve made it this far, and more than that, they’re survivors of the lawless hellscape that is the Coral Desert. Roving bands of Gobbos, Orcs, Trolls, and Ogres ain’t nothing to sneeze at, to say nothing of bloodthirsty Independent Warlords looking to expand their territories and opportunistic Scavs ready to salvage anything you build and sell it for scrap as soon as you look the other way. While Pleasant Dunes fell far short in comparison to New Hope, they serve the same purpose for their respective locals, a hub of trade and industry around which other settlements were built.

  With a few differences of course. Timing for one, as Pleasant Dunes was about ten years behind New Hope in terms of progress, if not more. What’s more Ronald Jackson was no paragon of virtue, not like the Marshal, as Ron didn’t much care for silly things like human rights, civil liberties, or even basic decency. He made sure his people were fed, sheltered, and kept happy enough to keep them from rioting, and anything more was seen as an unnecessary expense. Which oddly enough, made him better than 99% of wannabe warlords out there, and it showed. Even providing the bare minimum meant there were people willing to work, fight, and die for him, right up until he plied his boyish charms and strong-armed approach on the wrong fucking Qink.

  Honestly? If not for me, I bet Ron would’ve risen up to become a real power on the Frontier. Not just in the Coral Desert, but on a global scale as an arms manufacturer assuming he could ride out the Watershed with minimal losses. Or better than most at the very least, and I’d give him better odds than most minor governments. Fact is, I don’t disagree with his rationale about the Frontier going full Independent, free of old world influence aside from the trade partners they’d one day become after the Frontier’s Aetheric Concentration and knowledge technological development reached a level where we could support our own Gate. Might be after a second Watershed, but there’s a theory going round that the first Watershed might only bring us to Fourth Order Spells as opposed to Sixth like we’re hoping. The idea is that up to Third Order, you’re still working in four dimensions, with time being the fourth. After Third Order, things apparently get a little tricksier when it comes to Spell Structures, in ways I don’t entirely understand just yet as it’s beyond my ken. The long and short of it is that it’s possible that every Order of Spells after Third might require its own Watershed event to enable us to access Spells of that dimensional magnitude, though there do be arguments for and against it.

  Me? I’m firmly in the camp of figuring it out as we go, because no amount of math and theory will allow us to reach a firm conclusion, not before we see more of the Watershed and how it plays out. It’s all unknown from here on out, so everyone’s just putting out their best guesses, while I got more pressing matters to attend to than making baseless conjectures. Like fixing up the houses that done been damaged over the long winter. The former residents did a bang-up job building their homes, but they done it all themselves meaning it could’ve been done better. Got a few stone walls that cracked from the cold and thaw, amateur mortar that crumbled away, shifting foundations, warped door and window frames, and even one chimney which split and collapsed. A few houses are showing gaps in the wood, as fresh-cut timber do tend to shrink and twist over time, and don’t no one want gaps in their walls letting snow, rain, wind, and vermin in. Sagging roofbeams, snapped rafters, rotten thatch, blown shingles, and more, there’s plenty of work to be done here in the quay, and plenty of hands to do it now.

  Unskilled hands, but that don’t mean the same as incompetent. You don’t get far on the Frontier without learning a little bit of everything, because it ain’t like you can call a handyman to fix all your woes. While my new neighbours got little to no knowledge of woodwork, they’ve worked with stone before, so all it takes is a little instruction and maybe a demonstration or three before they’re off filling cracks and fixing shingles with minimal oversight. Which is good, because Aunty Ray has decided she ain’t heading back to New Hope until I’m back to 100%. Sure, I still need a cane to get around, and yeah I get winded real quick, but that don’t mean I can’t do nothing besides sit around and twiddle my fingers. That’s all I’m allowed to do though, as she done made it her mission to check in every few hours to make sure I ain’t doing nothing besides demonstrating, supervising, and sharing my wealth of knowledge.

  Knowledge they’re all more than happy to partake of, even when it ain’t to their own benefit. I don’t even gotta ask them to work on the other houses, as they got that community mindset built right in. Ronald Jackson kept them down and out, as he wanted to make it the haves versus the have nots, in that you had to join up with Vanguard National to be a part of the winning team. Might’ve worked out in the long run, but instead, all he done was unite the have-nots and teach them to look out for one another. That’s how they be, with Carl being their nominal leader and Vicente coming in as the number two as they help me catch up with all work that been piling up since I took charge of the quay.

  Their presence draws more than a few eyes from the endless march of labourers coming and going from the docks, and the first real test of community comes when Gordie pops in a few days later to see a man about a house. “Glad you’re here,” I say, waving the mutilated man over with a smile while watching the rest out the corner of my eye. “If you still interested in movin’ in, then come on over and lemme introduce ye to yer prospective neighbours.”

  Breaks my heart to see Gordie stutter and stammer his way through an introduction while doing what he can to hide his mangled features, but Carl don’t bat an eye to see it. Just reaches out and takes the other man’s hand while looking him dead in the eyes. Not exactly friendly, but not scared or standoffish, and Vicente is the same. The others blink a bit, but don’t no one outright recoil away at the sight of Gordie, which is a good start. Once everyone’s had their shake, I say, “Gordie here was thinking about runnin’ a bunkhouse for them labourers to overnight in. With that in mind, I said he could have the empty foundation that’s already dug out on the north side of town.”

  “To keep the visitors as far from you as possible,” Carl says, having read me like a book. Smiles to hear it, but nods along too, as I suspect he ain’t all that sociable either. “Should probably put all our commercial buildings up to the north and keep it all separate from the residential. Got all sorts out here, and there’s no telling how they’ll get once they’re fed, drunk, and entertained.”

  “Mi bonita, she’s home cooking and baking so she have something to sell to the labourers come dinner time,” Vicente says with a grin that don’t fit his ugly mug, and I can’t help but envy him for it. “I go with her and see how they behave, but she no have enough to sell to them all. Twice already, she ask me to build her a bigger oven in the yard. Only so much she can do in her diminuta kitchen. In Pleasant Dunes? We no even have this, but already she have big dreams, yes?”

  “W-w-w-with s-some stone b-b-bricks and help, I-I can b-build you a b-b-beehive oven t-t-tomorrow,” Gordie stammers, and they all look to him with interest, which only amplifies his stutter some more. Don’t no one rush him or make fun of him for it, and lo and behold, his stutter gets better as he builds up steam, momentum, and confidence while explaining the ins and outs of the oven. I could’ve explained it for him, but I figured it’d be better for everyone present to get used to one another, as I don’t much care for the day to day of running a village. I’m more about the big picture, mostly to make sure don’t nothing bother me later on down the line.

  Or at least that’s how I see it, right up until I share what I been up to with Aunty Ray. “Oh Howie,” she says, giving me a look like she got no idea how she done raised me so well and have me come out so borked. “You can’t just leave them to do whatever they like wherever they please. Don’t no one like red tape, but it exists for a reason. You know how a beehive oven works?”

  “…Like any other oven, I suppose. Light a fire and bake some bread.”

  “It works by burning cones and green twigs to produce smoke,” Aunty Ray explains, glossing right over my wrong answer with little more than a twitch of her eye. “That smoke coats the oven interior with black soot which serves as an insulating layer. Then you push that smoky fire to the back of the oven before adding regular firewood to get the oven up to temperature. That smoke though? It’ll keep billowing out the whole cook, and their neighbours won’t thank them for it, so make sure to tell them to build those ovens well away from the houses, as opposed to right in the Ortiz’ backyard.”

  Which is how I learned Vicente’s last name. I ain’t ever claimed to be a people person, but it occurs to me that my lays aye-fair approach ain’t gonna cut it when it comes to running a village. Luckily for me, I got Aunty Ray who been unofficially handling this sort of thing in New Hope since before I was born, so I get to picking her brain for other road bumps to watch out for. Problem is, while Aunty Ray is one sharp cookie, she likes to play things by ear and go with her gut, so she can’t exactly lay it all out for me and give me a checklist of things to go through. Soon as I bring an issue though, Aunty Ray cuts right to the quick and knows exactly how to handle it.

  “You know,” I say, after swallowing a spoonful of delicious elk stew with plenty of beans and bread to go with, “It’d be a real big help if you could talk to them about all this, help everyone get all settled in as it were.” While Aunty Ray ain’t one to say no, I ain’t about to make her work for free either, as I’ve long since resented how folks in New Hope take all her efforts for granted. “What say I make you mayor of this fine village, with a salary and everything?” Which I’ll be paying out of pocket, seeing how I’m the only one with money in town. At some point, I’ll talk to everyone about implementing some sort of village dues or fees, which only sounds marginally better than taxes. Not for awhile yet though, as they’re all still living hand to mouth, to say nothing of how I gotta float them the cash for guns and materials.

  Aunty Ray gives my cheek a pinch while beaming from ear to ear. “About time you asked,” she says. “I was actually thinking that you ought to…” With that, she launches into all the things she wanted to bring up, but didn’t because she was worried she’d be stepping on my toes. Far as I’m concerned, she can trample all over them so long as it means I don’t gotta deal with the minutia of community living. The next few days shows just how great a decision it was to ask her for help, as she takes charge and helps us all get over the growing pains because she’s seen it all before.

  Like convincing Agnes, (the Euro gal shacked up with Carl) to ask Jacinta (Vicente’s wife) and Mireya (Thomas’ wife, with Thomas being one of the other guards whose name I’d forgotten) if she could help with the baking. Having worked in a brothel for several years now, Agnes was worried she wouldn’t have any marketable skills, but there’ll be more than enough work even if all three go into the bakery business together.

  Johann won’t have no trouble getting the smithy in working order and turning a profit, but his idea of servicing them big ships would’ve never taken off. See, most them ships are company ships. That means that even the captains aboard them won’t have the pull to authorize a costly repair without checking in with the company first, and they’ll typically keep things in house. As such, Johann would be better off focusing on making straps, brackets, bands, and rivets for minor repairs, as those will always need replacing, since anything metal that sits on a ship is bound to rust right quick and won’t no one balk at the cost of minor repairs.

  Then there’s Yussef, who made decent money as a guide in the Coral Desert, albeit at great risk considering most of his clientele would’ve been outlaws looking to lay low. So he got skills, but guides ain’t in high demand around these parts what with the Highway around. Now me, I didn’t even care to ask what he used to do, only what he planned to do, so when he said something about textiles, I just nodded along and hoped for the best. Aunty Ray though? She got his whole life’s story out of the taciturn man’s wife Nadia while teaching her how to cultivate Mervyn’s deliciously crunchy caddishes that have sprouted in their front yard. Then Aunty Ray convinced Nadia to convince Yussef to try going legit and picking up the trade route I done abandoned. All he’d need is a wagon, some goods, and some draft animals to carry him around. It’s decent money taking goods from New Hope all the way up north to Wabasca at the tail end of the Highway in the Muscari Steppes. Little late to get started in the year for the best profits, but if he’s willing to go off trail, he’ll find plenty of folks with the goods to barter for rare luxuries like fine silks, aged alcohol, rare spices, or even books that they can’t get themselves way out in the sticks.

  Course, he’ll need some seed monies to start off, but lucky for him, I got plenty lying around and not much to really do with it after buying a whole butt tonne of building materials for a decent enough price in wholesale.

  Oven placement, bunkhouse layouts, laundry shacks and more, Aunty Ray’s forgotten more about building a working settlement than I’ll ever learn, to say nothing of her ability to defuse a situation without having to draw the shiny new 1911 she got on her hip. Being charismatic got nothing to do with Magic, but it seems like Magic to me when she flashes her big smile and bats her baby blues to get everyone marching to the beat of her drum by their own volition. She even handles the talks with Levi when he shows up to talk mortgages and interest rates, getting them all a damn good deal while making sure I earn a decent amount in exchange.

  And just like that, I make a good chunk of change selling 7 houses and a plot of land, money that goes right back into the quay paying wages and buying food, supplies, building materials, and trade goods to make sure my people can earn a decent living and pay back what’s owed.

  Truth be told, I considered cutting Levi out of the equation entirely and just keeping things in house between me and my first batch of neighbours, but Aunty Ray convinced me otherwise. Don’t want the neighbours owing me too much, as that could easily foster resentment, whereas it’s easier to owe money to faceless bank even if you have a face to put to it. The best part though? With so much invested into the quay, Aunty Ray easily convinces Levi to offer his services as financial consultant and accountant for the village, freeing me from a whole host of paperwork as I still gotta report this as Federal Income for the year since I ain’t Independent just yet. Levi even decides to move in with his wife and kids, a decision made on the fly after seeing so many applications come in once word got around of how Gordie just up and moved on in alongside 7 other families, forcing me to go through all them applications with a fine-toothed comb.

  Some are easy enough to accept, like Hugh Rhodey, Gordie’s somewhat simple-minded manager who tried to warn me about them thugs who was connected to the Catteneo’s. Others not so much, but with so many applicants, I can afford to be picky. Lots of folks looking to get out of Rimepeak lately, where rival gangs are still vying for control of the lucrative mining operation and fighting in broad daylight. The Feds ain’t doing shit about it, nothing besides issuing more bounties, but with all the fighting that’s going on, most them bounties are being claimed by criminal associates, meaning the Feds are indirectly funding the gangs as they slaughter one another in the streets. Funnily enough, even though I been gone for more than a month, there are still articles being written that blame me for their woes, so I got no desire to rush out and claim a couple bottom of the barrel bounties for no reason at all.

  Course, there’s no way Aunty Ray would’ve let me go on a hunt, as I still wheeze walking from the big house to the edge of the village. That’s where I spend my days digging foundations with Mould Earth while the others cart the dirt away and construct the new buildings that will become their businesses. It’s all she’ll let me do, and while Tina had to go back to being a Ranger, Chrissy is more than happy to keep me company while I toil away. Got no interest in helping out, even though she can use the Cantrip almost as well as I do. Nor does Cowie care to do any hauling, but his newest and cutest calf loves to watch me work and roll in the dirt. Add in how her white fluffy coat got a whole lotta spots of brown, and naming her Pebbles came all too naturally, as did loving her to bits. While Cowie can turn into a calf, he don’t got the same mannerisms of a tried-and-true baby calf, what with the shaky legs and awkward steps as Pebbles prances and rolls all about, so I can’t help but fall in love with the sweet little baby who I’ve decided I’m not gonna sell to the Rangers like I’ve done with all her other siblings.

  Had to be done. I got issues enough keeping Cowie out of trouble, so I can only imagine how difficult it’d be with double digits of magical cattle.

  Frowny is charmed by Pebbles too, having made the calf his official mount whenever I won’t let him up on my shoulder, and the two become inseparable in less than a week. Stella and Terrance stick close to me too, but absence makes the heart grow fonder and the other kiccaws have finally decided I’m safe enough to love and harass without restraint. Which I love, because even their not-so-loving bites don’t actually hurt, but it irks me to see how quickly they’ve warmed up to nancy pants Sasha who’s down in the dirt digging alongside me.

  The slim, pasty white kid works with a shovel as he’s still learning the Cantrip, and say what you will about his short and twiggy build, but the boy got spirit in spades. Digs until he’s too tired to keep digging, then practices the Cantrip until he catches his breath, only to rinse and repeat without complaint. Keeps at it for as long as I do, even though my fatigue is all mental as opposed to both, and sets his long shaggy hair to shaking at any and all offer of snacks, candy, or juice from me. Is more than happy to accept anything Aunty Ray offers, though he do look real shy and sheepish whenever he do. I can understand why, for more reasons than one, as I can’t imagine life in a scav gang was all sunshine and rainbows. Kid probably had to fight tooth and nail for everything he’s ever had, including mouthfuls of water or morsels of food no doubt.

  So of course he get skittish when offered something for nothing, as he’s thinking I might turn things around and say he owes me later on down the line. Don’t turn down getting paid for his work, though he gonna hafta dig a whole lot more to pay back a whole durned house. Especially since I went and acted as guarantor for his loan since Levi was feeling understandably wary about lending all that money to a kid. Aunty Ray was gonna do it, but I wasn’t about to let her, because she’d probably end up paying the loan for him if he ever missed a payment.

  Only time will tell if Sasha’s a good investment, but so far, he don’t talk much and shows up to work bright and early every morning, though it might have to do with the fact that Aunty Ray’s also feeding him three squares a day. I don’t mind it all that much, as that’s just how she is, though I do wish he’d find somewhere else to read besides the couch across from me in the big house’s living room. Food is one thing, but company another, and while I know good and well he ain’t here for my company, it irks me to have a stranger around the house at all hours of the day.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Or in my workshop right there with me, watching what I do and judging me for my mistakes.

  The worst part of all? The wallies and kiccaws have warmed up to Sasha right quick, always happy to see him show up. Which is fine, but not when they’re happier to see him than me. I done raised some of those stupid wallies from a little baby joey, but they don’t hop on over to curl up in my arms now, do they? The same goes for Cowie and Pebbles, so much so that Cowie don’t get all in a huff when I cuddle with his baby, not like he has in prior years. Mostly because he got another man to cuddle with, and I hate that so much.

  Might have something to do with the fact that Sasha knows his way around animals, as he was one of the scavs who handled the Ornitheros, them big, angry flightless birds that were the only option for pack animals out in the Coral Desert. Considering he still got all ten fingers, that means he was a damn good handler, as I hear them Ornitheros weren’t named for the orn in ornithology, but rather the orn in ornery. Takes a brave man to handle a giant, omnivorous bird while wearing a hat made of that bird’s friend’s hide, but I done plenty of stupid things myself, so who am I to judge?

  Course, not everything goes smoothly, as there do be folks who either be trying to take advantage or don’t seem like the type to mesh well in a community like ours, so I simply refuse to sell to them. Don’t take much to figure out who ain’t suited for the life here, like when they get to asking about how I’m gonna ensure their safety or some other such nonsense. If you want that sort of safety, then stick to living in towns with tall walls and dedicated guards, and see how well that works out. Out here in the sticks, ain’t no one gonna look after you, not in the way they’re expecting. God helps those who help themselves, so if you want to live here in my daddy’s quay, then you best be ready and willing to scrap.

  Now granted, you need more than harsh language to fight off thugs and Abby, so I made it my mission to arm everyone with rifles and sidearms once I was sure they all knew how to handle themselves. Nothing fancy, as even though I could probably afford brand new, state of the art Aetherarms, I don’t see no reason to break the bank doing so. Instead, I mostly handed out what I had on hand. Everyone got a Squire revolver since I had four spares, though I bought 5 more from Mr. Kalthoff on the down low using Carl as my front man. For rifles, I had the 44-40 Majere-Nagash 3-Line sitting in my gun safe, which is a top-of-the-line weapon I considered using as my new everyday carry, but decided against it as it’s more of a dedicated long-range rifle, whereas I need a lighter carbine with a shorter barrel and faster rate of fire.

  So I figured I’d lend Carl the 3-Line, but he passed it over to Einar instead. Man’s a 6ft2 blonde Swede who’s married to Malika, a Moroccan woman who don’t care much for me seeing how I done killed her friend Miss Laura back in Pleasant Dunes, alongside a fair few other ladies who’d joined the party in the bunker. Course, don’t no one know I done also set Miss Laura on fire before putting a Bolt through her chest, and then and only then did I shoot Ronald Jackson. Wanted him to know she was dead before he went to his grave, that she died hard and in agony for what he done, and that shames me to the core.

  Ain’t no denying there’s a darkness inside me, one that’s been there from the very start without any need for a Mimic to egg me on.

  Now no one really knows exactly how things went down, as I ain’t ever told anyone the truth. Everyone present knows I’m responsible for all those deaths though, even if they got no proof. In my eyes, Ronald Jackson was a monster, but while he a harsh taskmaster, he was also the devil they knew. Kept a whole lot of people alive and in relative good condition for a whole lotta years, while arming them with guns and building tall walls to keep them safe from Abby, so most folks from Pleasant Dunes don’t look too kindly upon me. Same goes for Einar, who’s polite and standoffish, but he’s the best shot in the group and thus gets the best rifle. For the rest, Miles from the army surplus store got me a great deal on a bunch of used 22-10 El-ministers and Fireforge 870 pump action Blastguns. The Rangers have moved up to 44-40 or even 44-80’s for rifles, and full-on Armour Penetrating Blastguns in preparation for the Watershed, so they got lots of surplus to get rid of.

  As for the paperwork? Miles didn’t even bat an eye about putting the purchase under names of my new neighbours even though weren’t none of them there with me besides Carl. Would’ve had to jump through a whole lot of hoops to buy guns in bulk otherwise, but Miles is good people and has always looked out for me.

  I also bought a good number of Sickle Industry Stoats for dirt cheap from Clayton. Them bolt-action compressed Blast Guns ain’t exactly accurate, but if they do hit something, they’re liable to put it down for good. Those are more anti-Abby weapons than anything else, which is important because Abby tend to come flooding out of the badlands every spring, and they’ve yet to make an appearance this year. I was a little worried about Aunty Ray up in the quay all by her lonesome while I was in the Deadlands, but the watchtowers would’ve given her at least two days warning of any impending attack, which is plenty of time to herd all the animals into town. Or failing that, over to Carter’s compound which is only an hour to the south, to say nothing of the option last resort, namely the giant underground cavern accessible through a door in the floor of the centremost barn. One I’ll have to really investigate sooner rather than later to make sure Luisa and her flock of Nahuatl adherents didn’t leave any unwelcome surprises behind. You’d think that would’ve been higher on my list of priorities, but in my defense, I didn’t do much of anything that required leaving the house in the six months following Josie’s death, as I just couldn’t bring myself to do all that much.

  That’s in the past though, and even though I’m still recovering from almost dying, I’m ready and raring to get back on the road again. Or at the very least find something to do that ain’t digging around in the dirt, but Aunty Ray won’t have it. Tried climbing a tree with Pebbles to practice Featherfall for a bit, and Aunty Ray just about had a conniption when she heard about it. Marched right on over and gave me an earful right in front of the new neighbours and any labourers who just so happened to be hanging about, and no amount of assurances would convince her that I was hale and hearty enough to be climbing trees, much less jumping out of them.

  Didn’t help that I told her my initial idea was to head up to Silver Summit to see about helping Levi with his move, all so I could jump off the cliff and use Featherfall multiple times on the way down to really maximize my air time. Was hoping to get a good feel for the Spell, as it do be a foundational element of the Fly Spell. That along with Levitate ought to give me more insight onto how to stretch out the 10-minute duration of Fly and maybe even clue me in on how to maneuver better, but I suppose that sort of practice will have to wait until I’m back to 100% again.

  Instead, I get to practice with Conjure Weapon, so long as I keep my swinging and striking to a bare minimum. Doesn’t leave me much to go on, but I’m hoping to learn how to Split one axe into two for more coverage as I Echo them in circles around my head. Course, I can’t imagine I’ll have much need for the Spell once I go back to hunting Bugs and Gobbos with the brand spanking new Aetherarms I bought for myself. Ain’t much call to be in close combat with most Abby, but I won’t lie and claim that I didn’t have fun smacking all them Zombies around with my chain-axe. Who knows? Maybe there’ll come a day when it comes in handy, like if I get pinched in by a horde of Gobbos and run outta ammo before gunning them all down.

  Or if I ever go under dark again. Ain’t likely, as I don’t got a crew I can count on or a Federal Government willing to hire me on at mercenary rates, but never say never.

  Not that I need the money. Got more than I can spend after selling a few houses, and the village ain’t even half full yet. Got so much I even float the idea of hiring people to build my house for me, but not for long as I want to build my own home myself. Still gotta wait on the official documentation from Mr. Tillman, but declaring Independence ain’t simple, so instead, I throw a bunch of cash at Danny to get him to build me a second steel wagon for Pebbles to pull once she’s all big and strong like her daddy. Still don’t know what Magics she’ll awaken to, as it’s not like every one of Cowie’s babies get the same suite of Spells he does. Granted, they’re almost always Transmutation specialists, which is a pretty useful School of Magic all things considered, with only a handful of outright dangerous and wholly restricted Spells in the lower Orders. Going on experience, it could take up to a full year before Pebbles shows off her first Spell, but I want to test a theory out.

  See, Astrid told me all about how Frowny came up with a Ritual to track me down, one Chrissy cottoned onto and had him cast on me before I headed out with Gunnar for the pickup. That got me to thinking, as the whole Ritual is just Frowny doing his normal, everyday routine. All the kiccaws like to sing and dance every morning, and according to Elodie, that’s just an affirmation of their status as flock so the birds that set out to hunt for bugs and water know good and well they got a family to come back to. Frowny went and turned that concept into a full-blown Spell, even though he’s only been a Magical Beast for all of a few months now. Which is crazy, especially considering how he ain’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, what with being a bird and all.

  So my working theory is that Frowny developed that little Ritual because he was already going through all the motions day in and day out, and ended up weaving magic into it by instinct. As such, if I can get Pebbles acclimated to Featherfall in her daily life, then there’s a good chance she’ll pick up the Spell herself. Which ain’t much of Spell if I’m being honest, as it’s only really useful when you’re falling from a great height, but I’m thinking long term. With the Watershed almost upon us, everyone and their mother is expecting motorized vehicles powered by liquid Aether to be developed soon enough, cost effective ones that anyone can just up and buy. When that happens, Cowie and Pebbles won’t be needed for transportation no more, as why have cattle-driven wagons when you can drive a car with 150-horsepower instead?

  The good thing is that the wagons can still be hitched to the back of an Aether powered vehicle, so they’re well worth the investment. Pebbles not so much, so really, the smart move would be to sell her. Course, that all changes if Pebbles learns to Fly, as then she’ll be the holy grail of battle mounts, one that can take to the skies and allow you to rain death down from above. I’m still holding out hope that Cowie will learn the Spell himself, but it’s not looking likely seeing how he don’t know Featherfall or Levitate. As such, I’m hoping I can encourage Pebbles down that path by exposing her to Featherfall early and often so she can see the magic in action and maybe work it out for herself. Two birds with one stone, as it lets me get some Spellslinging practice in while laughing along at Pebbles antics, as she do so love being carried and jumping out of trees. It’ll have to wait though, as Aunty Ray don’t want me doing anything more active than walking up and down them streets, usually with Chrissy on my arm and Cowie and Pebbles close on our heels alongside a whole flock of kiccaws who don’t much care for being left alone.

  To make things even better? Old Tux comes to visit every few days, as without Elodie to keep him company, he’s feeling lonely and likes to drop by to see me and his herd. Ivory, Sunshine, Fifi, and Winnie are all still around now that Tina got herself a Federally issued mount, and my horses are getting bored roaming about the massive ranch day after day. A ranch that’s mostly sitting unused as the land wasn’t included when selling houses to my new neighbors, as they didn’t have any need for it. Means there’s plenty of untapped potential to be had in the quay, with Levi already talking about building a second row of houses that back onto the first. While the new houses won’t have a lakeside view, which I’d say is the best feature, they’ll be far more insulated from the traffic along the docks, and he says a lot of folks would much prefer that to the view. Seems like a decent enough idea worth exploring, as even though I promised use of the ranch to Gunnar for his experiments with Geomantic Lattices or Directed Thaumic Accretion or whatever they want to call it, they won’t need the whole ranch to start off with.

  Mostly because even though I got a whole lot of money to put into the project, it most certainly won’t be enough to turn the whole ranch into a Geomantic Lattice. Aultman and Son’s was raking in money hand over fist selling Phoenix Ashes, but they only had the one field set up for it, and were only just looking to start work on their second. While the Askefjord’s have yet to work out all the nitty gritty details of the process, they know good and well that it’ll cost a boatload of dollars, dollars I’m willing to invest given the lucrative payoff should things work out.

  And if not? Well, easy come, easy go. Money is meant to be spent after all, and I’m happy enough with a new wagon, new guns, and a couple pricey Spell Cores to play with.

  One of which I’m doing some research for in the living room when Sasha pops in to intrude on my me time once again. The scrawny little ruskie don’t pay me no mind or respect as he marches on in like he owns the place and gives all the kiccaws and cattle a greeting pat. Traitor that he is, Cowie follows Sasha over to the couch for more head scritches, though to be fair, I’ve been giving Pebbles more attention lately just because she’ll eventually grow too big for the house. At six weeks old, Pebbles is already a good hundred pounds, and she’s only gonna grow bigger from here, so I’m doing what I can cherish these moments while we still. If she don’t learn Minify, a Second Order Spell that’s some ways away, then it won’t be long before she can’t fit in my lap no more, at which point Cowie can have his spot back, so I can’t exactly be upset when he runs off to curl up in someone else’s lap.

  Except I am, because truth be told, I don’t care much for Sasha. He works hard, but he got manners like he was raised in a barn while treating me like I’m some sort of rabid animal that might snap and tear his throat out, and I don’t much care for it. I understand it, seeing how he knows I didn’t just take down Vanguard National, but his old boss Gunin too. Ain’t no denying the facts, not when I got Gunin’s fancy Nanfoodle rifle sitting up on the mantle. Kid recognized it the first time he saw it, which is why I put it up there, as I wanted to see how the kid would react. Froze up at the sight of it, but didn’t look angry or overly upset. More pensive and engrossed, as he don’t miss a chance to stare at the weapon what with it’s golden Orichalcum Etches and polished peach-wood stock.

  At first, I figured it for greed, as Sasha no doubt knows how pricy the weapon be, but after a few days of watching him close, I realized the kid’s interest was more academic than anything else. He knows his way around tech, I’ll give him that, but more in the putting together, taking apart, and making sure everything works sort of manner. Kid went through the pile of spare parts I’d built up trying (and failing) to put together a new stove for Aunty Ray, and managed to come out of it with two working stoves. Granted, I trashed three in my misguided efforts, but that just means the kid’s only a mechanic as opposed to a miracle worker.

  Which is what I’d call him if he knew how to Etch, but he don’t. I looked over what was left, and it was mostly stuff with ruined circuits that looked easy enough to fix. So long as you know your Etches that is, but it appears the kid don’t know the first thing about them, else he’d’ve asked for a Wand by now. Seems real interested in the subject matter though judging by his choice of reading material, as you can’t craft an Aetherarm without knowing your way around an Etch.

  Now I’m all for fostering interest, and I don’t even mind supporting the kid in his endeavours to learn, as again, I got more money than I know what to do with at the moment and still more houses I have yet to sell. Thing is, the kid ain’t ever asked for nothing, nor has he even thanked me or Aunty Ray for anything we done, so I ain’t feeling all that generous when it comes to Sasha. Unfortunately for me, Aunty Ray got a soft spot for orphans, and I can’t bring myself to say no to anything she asks of me, and she’s asked me to see what I can do to help Sasha.

  And I will. Eventually. Just not right this moment.

  Out of pure spite, I sit in silence across from the kid for a good hour working on my new schematic until my head’s ready to spin from doing all the math and harmonics. Don’t know what it is, but something just sorta clicked in my head regarding the magic side of things, and it’s been easier than ever to figure out how the Etches come together and what pitfalls to avoid while building a frame. Got all sorts of ideas, but I can only work on one thing at a time, and I picked firepower to focus on first so I can change my Spell loadout a bit and rely less on having Fireball each and every day.

  In that same amount of time, Sasha’s glanced at the Nanfoodle at least a hundred thousand times, though I might be exaggerating by just a bit. Fed up with all his waffling about, I sink back into my recliner and give him a hard stare overtop of my notebook. “You know,” I drawl, doing my best to hide a smile as the kid almost jumps out of his skin. “If you want a closer look, then all you’s gotta do is ask.”

  Sasha scowls like I done asked him to do a whole song and dance, then goes back to his book in a concentrated effort to ignore me. That’s how it’s been since we met, with the two of us acting like the other don’t really exist. Which is all fine and dandy, preferable even, except for the fact that he’s traipsing about my house, eating my food, reading my books, and returning home to a house I done pretty much gave him while taking out a loan on his behalf and making payments on just so he has a roof over his head at night.

  Not saying he ought to drop to his knees and thank me with tears streaming down his cheeks, but is a simple thank you too much to ask for?

  That’s why Sasha didn’t get no rifle, as I was planning on lending him the Ranger Repeater on account of it being just the right size for his smaller frame. It’s also why I don’t make conversation, or offer to teach him anything about anything even though I know he’s interested in what I been doing. I’ve also held off on giving him any advice, because truth be told, I done enough for him, and if he can’t appreciate it and make something of himself before my patience wears thin, then I got no issues with giving him the boot and selling the house he living in to someone else.

  So yeah. I’m being a little petty, but I think I done earned it seeing how I’m bending over backwards to help the ingrate out. If he wants to look at my fancy pants rifle, then he ought to at least do me the courtesy of asking nicely, and if he don’t care to do that, then he can carry on stealing glances. I pay him no mind and give Pebbles a few extra scritches while she nuzzles right up against me, and Frowny does the same because he expects to always be the centre of attention.

  Eager as I am to hit the road again, I can’t say I hate having to sit back and relax these last couple weeks. Got plenty of monies after all, and it’ll take time to turn said monies into a real advantage. Like replacing the Second Order Bolt Cores in my new and unused Dragunovs’ with Bolt Salvo Cores to really up the RPM, or putting together some new and improved Floating Disc sleds so I can drag them through mud or even water without having to worry about them shorting out. So why not take a few weeks to rest, recuperate, and watch the money come rolling in? I done been shot after all, so I deserve to indulge just a bit, enjoy the fruit of my labours while kicking my feet up and building me a real home right here by my daddy’s quay.

  A big house, not like the little shack my daddy built. Was good enough for the both of us, but I’m thinking bigger. Could gift the house we’re in to Aunty Ray, but I could also build one with enough rooms for everyone to live it. A saferoom is a necessity of course, something underground and heavily fortified, to say nothing of spare rooms for whoever might care to visit. A proper workshop too, one situated a little ways away from the main house just in case one of my projects happens to blow up one of these days.

  And maybe, just maybe, a big master bedroom for myself and my future wife, to say nothing of rooms for all of our kids. Not saying I’m looking for love just yet, or even ready to considering it, but even though I still miss Josie something fierce, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life all by my lonesome. I’d still like to get married and have kids someday, and while I don’t see that day coming any time soon, ain’t nothing wrong with preparing for the future, is there?

  “I can look at rifle?” Sasha asks, his Soviet accent pulling me out of my melancholy thoughts and filling me with ire over having to sit across from a stranger even in the comfort of my own house. Rather than correct his grammar or give a pithy comment, I just wave at him to go ahead while trying to shake off my internal funk. Can’t even blame it on a Mimic, as that sort of internal moping is par for the course when it comes to Howie Zhu, which I suppose is an argument against staying idle and indolent while counting all my cash.

  Now that I think about it though, that uncharacteristically lazy notion might well have come from a Mimic, as they do like to play the long game and tempt their hosts with bits and crumbs. First it’s a season at home to rest and recuperate, which then becomes two as I get out of shape and need time to train up again, only to put it off in favour of other pursuits until I’m not suited for the road no more. Then if I do head out, I’ll be more vulnerable to temptation, because what’s more tempting to a lazy, indolent go-getter than the promise of quick and easy results?

  Or it could just be me overcorrecting after getting shot in the chest. Difficult to say, which is what makes Mimics so damned daunting to square up against. How are you supposed to know which thoughts are your own and which are whispered suggestions from a Spiritual Parasite looking for ways to take control over you? You can’t, so you just gotta stay vigilant and keep on keeping on without ever giving in.

  Something to work on, as it takes a few seconds to pick up on the fact that Sasha is crying while he holds the Nanfoodle in his palms like its some sacred Artifact out of myth. He don’t take it in hand or look down its sights, doesn’t put it to his shoulder or work the bolt free to hear how it sounds. No, he just holds it there and runs his fingers over the Etches while quietly crying his heart out, because it ain’t about the gun, but rather the memories it invokes.

  And then it hits me. “Shit. Gunin was your daddy, wasn’t he?”

  Sasha’s dark, tear-stained scowl is one for the history books as he hits me with all the rage and disgust he can muster. “No,” he says, and for a second, it seems like that’s all he cares to say, but he’s got too many emotions swirling around in his chest to keep it all contained. “Gunin was leader, keep me and Papa safe, but horrible man. My papa was Georgy Abashin, great man and gunsmith. He make this rifle for Gunin, and many other guns too, all in exchange for protection. For many years, things are good under Gunin, but then Ronald Jackson rise up, and he say he want my papa to make guns for him. Gunin have no choice but to send Papa over, but Papa, he make Gunin promise to look after me. He know Ronald Jackson have no honour, would use me against him with no hesitation, but at least Gunin look after his own so long as debts are paid.”

  Yeah, Gunin seemed like the type. Hard to hate a leader who walks into somewhat hostile territory all by his lonesome instead of sending some lacky, but them’s the breaks. People ain’t all black and white, just varying shades of grey, and while Gunin’s heart might well have been darker than most, he still had his bright spots it seems. Least Sasha don’t seem all that broken up about the man’s death, more with seeing this gun that his Papa made, as he probably don’t got many of those left. I recall Jacob Senior saying something about how Junior stepped up big after Georgie died, meaning Sasha’s daddy probably died after teaching Junior just enough to get by. Also means he wasn’t around to teach Sasha the same, which explains why the kid’s got such a big gap in his knowledge. Got the fundamentals down pat, but you don’t teach someone how to Etch until after they’ve been slinging Spells for a good bit, and from what I’ve seen, Sasha ain’t much of a Spellslinger.

  Part of me says I ought to give the kid the rifle, or at least offer to sell it to him and tack the cost onto what he already owes me, but another part says that it’s my rifle which I earned with blood, so I ain’t about to give it away so easily. Instead, I split the difference and say, “If you want to learn how to Etch, I can teach you some. Depending on how good you get, you could easily get a job in a factory over in Riverrun, or maybe even an apprenticeship under a bonafide Gunsmith.”

  I know Mr. Kalthoff been looking for someone worth teaching, as he ain’t one to hoard his knowledge. He’s got Marijke, but teaching one is the same as teaching five or ten, so he’s made me the offer more than once. I tried to talk Danny into trying his hand at it, but he’s happier tinkering away with all manner of Artifacts and don’t much care to specialize in Gunsmithing.

  Sasha though? He’s real interested in following in his daddy’s footsteps, but light on thanks and gratitude. Ain’t a word of appreciate cross his lips, as he wipes his tears and nods his head as if it’s only a matter of course for me to make this offer as he shoos the kiccaws aside before pulling the coffee table closer so he can sit on it and look at my work. “This is for gun, yes?” he asks, pointing at the schematic I been working on the last few weeks. “It look wrong.”

  Alright. It’s settled. I hate this kid, but I made the offer, so I might as well see it through. “Yes and no,” I say, putting the schematic away while sending a Mage Hand over to the bookshelf for a basic textbook on Etches. “It’s technically an Aetherarm, but not for your standard Bolt or anything. Way above your paygrade.” Even though he hit the hammer right on the nail and saw that it was all sorts of borked. I had something rigged up to just activate the Spell Core, but the schematic was an effort to add just one Metamagic into the mix, and so far, it ain’t going well. Mostly because I ain’t a gunsmith either, which means it’s a little like an amateur whittler trying his hand at carving out a full set of kitchen cabinets without any new tools or knowhow.

  Who knows? Maybe Sasha will prove to be a quick learner and end up solving the issue for me, though probably not in time for me to test the weapon out this summer. No matter though. The schematic was mostly me doodling it out to see if it made sense, because I can’t really understand the theory behind it until I see it all laid out. Putting my doodles aside, I gently kick Sasha off of the coffee table and into an actual chair before explaining the bare basics, because this here is my house and I’ll be damned if I let the little shit forget it.

  Why am I even doing this? Oh right. Because Aunty Ray asked me to, so ain’t no helping it.