long time. Lifting her heavy, lumpy carpetbag onto her lap, she wrapped her arms around it, hugging it to her chest.
“I don’t like mean people,” Rose said, finally. And then, surprisingly, she did not speak again for a long time.
It was later that day that they encountered the Aberrancy hunters.
Emily had wended her way to the back of the train, to the observation deck, and was watching the plains roll out behind them. She’d never seen anything as big and flat and queer. The plains were like looking at a huge body of water; it was hard to tell if the sky was being reflected by the land, or the land by the sky. The emptiness seemed to go on forever, bisected into two infinite halves by the scar of black track. The new green mist of the plains was dotted with blooming wildflowers; the air was thick with the smell of them.
The train gave a lurch, slowed, then stopped. Emily was seized with a sudden, inexplicable nervousness. What if they were trapped in the middle of all that emptiness? Who could ever find them? How could they ever find themselves? She went to look for Stanton, who was in the smoking car reading the papers.
Stanton was puffing contemplatively amid a sea of gentlemen. But while Stanton was casually perusing a copy of the North Platte Sentinel, the other men in the car were clustered around the windows on the right side, talking in excited tones.
“Do you see them?”
“Aberrancies, sure as shooting!”
Emily gave Stanton a questioning glance as she pushed her way through for a better look.
In the distance, three black, misshapen figures the size of oxcarts galloped over the plains. They had once been jackrabbits. How three of them had encountered a black bolus at once, Emily couldn’t guess.
They were being chased by a cavalry squadron; the soldiers were firing on them. Puffs of smoke issued from their rifles, and a second later came the sound of echoing pops.
Some of the men in the car dug into their pockets and brought out charms of protection and hung them around their necks, as if having them visible made them more effective. One man in a bright purple and yellow waistcoat saw this general action and laughed.
“Out come the charms!” he guffawed. “What a bunch of old women.”
“What are you laughing at, mister?” someone replied hotly. “I been wearing this charm for thirty years, and I ain’t ever been eaten by an Aberrancy yet.”
This remark elicited approving chuckles. But the man in purple and yellow snorted dismissively as he leaned against the doorjamb, thumbs tucked into the armholes of his waistcoat.
“Aberrancies are nothing more than freaks of nature. Scientific explanations for them are easy to find. A gentleman by the name of Charles Darwin, in his book Origin of the Species, says that we all evolve. Aberrancies are just evolution gone haywire.”
“Rubbish.” Stanton did not look up from his paper.
“Excuse me?”
“Rubbish,” Stanton repeated. “First of all, the correct title of the book you’re referring to is On the Origin of Species. Second, Aberrancies are the result of toxic residuals exuded by the Mantic Anastamosis. That is the accepted understanding.”
“That’s what the Warlocks say, friend.” The man laughed. “Either you been listening to Warlocks, or you are one!”
Stanton tapped ash from his cigar.
“No,” he said. “Just a hobby of mine.”
“Well, those Warlocks … they want you to believe that everything is bad magic. Part of the way they convince people into buying their services. But science can explain most things.”
“Yes, science.” Stanton’s icily dismissive tone suggested the man in the purple and yellow waistcoat was the most dimwitted cretin it had ever been his misfortune to meet. “I fail to see why men who espouse the benefits of science so often advance their cause by dismissing the great natural power of magic.”
“Oh, I ain’t dismissing nothing, Mr….”
“… Smith,” Stanton said.
“Mr. Smith. Science and magic can work together, I guess. Come from the same roots, some say.”
“Precisely so,” Stanton said. “Thus, it is foolish to scoff at men who take the perfectly sane and sensible precaution of wearing protective charms. I’m sure all these men have families, duties, responsibilities … I’m sure Mr. Darwin could offer little assistance if any one of them ever came face-to-face with a slavering, rampaging Aberrancy.” Stanton fixed the man with a gimlet glare. “Could he?”
This comment brought sounds of loud agreement from around the compartment.
“As you say, sir, as you say …” The man in purple and