it’s called popularly,” Stanton said. “When large boluses form, it works its way out through thin places in the earth.”
“Like mines,” Emily said.
Stanton nodded approvingly. “The foul substance binds to any living thing that comes into contact with it. The result is horrible mutations, both physical and spiritual.”
“What about people?” Emily looked at Stanton. “They work in mines. Has a human ever been …”
“There was a famous case in Ohio before the war. A young man encountered quite a large black bolus and did not have the sense to know that it was something that should not be touched.” He paused, and Emily wondered if he was going to give her another lecture about grabbing things willy-nilly. “He terrorized an entire county before a detachment of military Warlocks was able to put him down.”
“He couldn’t be cured?”
Stanton shook his head gravely. “Death is the only cure—preferably a quick and merciful one. There is a period of vulnerability during the mutation. They’re easier to kill if you catch them early.”
“This man in Ohio … They didn’t catch him early?”
“He grew to fifty feet tall and smashed an entire township with his bare hands,” Stanton said. “Fortunately, such cases are extremely rare. Most Aberrancies are nothing more than a small animal, or insect, that has the misfortune to be present when a black bolus is expelled. In such instances, large-caliber silver bullets are typically sufficient.” Stanton cocked his head and looked at her. “You certainly are interested in Aberrancies.”
“Aren’t you?” Emily countered. “Oh, well, of course I suppose you’ve seen a hundred Aberrancies and dismissed them with a snap of your fingers.”
“It takes more than a finger snap,” Stanton said. “But forewarned is forearmed. We’ll ride well south of Sacramento, and avoid the area in which the Aberrancies have been reported.”
“I still think we should take the train,” Emily grumbled. “You won’t win any points with your professors if I get eaten by an Aberrancy.”
“You will not be eaten by an Aberrancy,” Stanton said. “Besides, the train does not stop everywhere we need to go.”
Emily registered the cryptic comment about going places the train didn’t, but decided she’d harassed Dreadnought Stanton enough for one evening. She smiled brightly at him and extended a hand. “All right then, you may retire. Downstairs by seven!”
He took her hand and gave it a wan shake.
“Good night, Miss … Euphemia,” he said.
“Good night, Dreadnought dear!” she chirped.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Aberrancy
The next morning after breakfast, Stanton made a trip to the general store, and when he returned the horses were loaded with supplies—mostly foodstuffs, Emily guessed—for the ride to San Francisco. The next leg of their journey would take them down the North Fork of the American River, high and wild with fresh snowmelt, down to where the rich Sacramento Valley spread like a green tablecloth. The morning was cool, and though a haze filmed the horizon, the pink-streaked sky held the promise of another warm, clear day.
“We should make good time today.” Stanton’s pleased tone suggested that making good time was a virtue right up there with Justice, Courage, Wisdom, and Moderation.
But the joke was on him, Emily thought, because there was no way anyone—especially not a clock-watching Warlock—was going to persuade her to remount that equine rack of torture. And in her constellation of aches and pains was one bright glowing sun of discomfort that she preferred, for obvious reasons, not to discuss. She simply insisted on walking the first few miles to stretch her legs.
As she limped before Stanton and his plodding horses, she imagined a smirk against her back. A couple of times she spun, trying to catch the Warlock out, but his face was always set with a placidity that suggested the deep contemplation of the noble virtues previously mentioned. She made a note of it; this Dreadnought Stanton was far sneakier than she’d given him credit for.
Finally, she could stand it no longer. Sore or not, she wasn’t going to be licked. Jerking the reins from where they were hitched to Stanton’s saddle, she muddled her way up onto Romulus’ back. This was not accomplished without considerable awkwardness and indignity. Finally, though, she sat stiffly, her back staff-straight, teeth clenched.
“I take it your legs are sufficiently stretched?” Stanton asked.
In reply, Emily used those legs to give Romulus a petulant nudge in the ribs and held onto the pommel for dear life as the animal leapt forward in a lively canter.
It was not until they stopped to eat lunch that Emily decided to