Тим Пауэрс - Bugs and Known Problems

“And there I had you figured for a lady who scares easy,” the schoolmarm said. She wiped at the whiskey stain with her handkerchief as she strode away. The schoolmarm hadn’t figured out what Jane was. She’d just been poking, trying to unnerve her.

“You really Guachichil?” the soldier asked.

“Yeah,” Jane said. “Hadn’t heard of that trouble the lady was talking about. Was she trying to play me?”

“Probably,” the soldier said. “Had other Guachichil come through here some months back.”

Every muscle in Jane’s body locked up. Her people had come through this very town. It had to have been them. Her newly-won Opportunity luck had struck already. She dug fingernails into her palms to keep tears from pooling in her eyes.

“Haven’t seen another Guachichil since I left home,” Jane said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Happen to know which way they went?”

“Heh.” The man’s eyes landed on her for just a second, then bounded away again. “You just won the strongest set I’ve seen in a while, and you’re looking for a favor from me?”

“All right,” Jane said, in a way she hoped sounded friendly. “We’ll help each other out. What is it I can do for you?”

“Gimme some time to think it over while I try to win some luck of my own,” the man said.

Another gambler slid into the chair the schoolmarm had occupied. The dealer looked at the deck and frowned.

“Only fifteen cards,” he said. “Someone dropping out?”

“I’m done for the night,” Jane said, standing. She looked to the soldier. “I’ll be waiting out front when you’re ready to ask your favor.”

The man met her eyes just long enough to nod. Jane made for the door. She could only hope that whatever the soldier knew, it would finally put an end to her years of searching. She’d grown weary of lying, of stealing, of doing terrible things just to survive.

Pomogi mne.

The voice in Jane’s head wasn’t her daughter this time. It was the voice of a man she’d known two years back. A withered man, his limbs as thin and pale as the branches of a birch sapling in winter. A man she shared no language with, but had been forced to share a cage with. A man whose eyes had begged her for help. A man she had left to die.

She hadn’t had a choice. She had to keep moving until she found her daughter. She’d only done what she had to.

I will find you, my precious girl. I’ve won strong luck to help me. Just stay hid until I get there. Promise me you will.

Okay, Momma. I promise. I’ll hide where the hunters won’t ever find me.

Jane waited outside the saloon for hours, watching stars inch across the sky, too rigid with excitement and fear to sit. The night air returned the heat it had soaked up all day. Sweat and grit lined the cracks of her skin. It seemed nearly every patron stumbled down the saloon’s porch steps before the soldier in the battered cavalry jacket hurried past.

“I know a place we can talk,” he said, with barely a glance in her direction.

She rushed to catch him. “Hold up, now. Where are we going? Do you even know where those Guachichil went?”

The man turned down the alley between Gideon’s saloon and the next building over. As soon as she rounded the corner, Jane knew she was in trouble. The worst kind of trouble.

The soldier stood between two thugs, one holding a pistol, the other a length of iron. Jane faded back. A blow like the kick of a mule stuck her full in the back. She collapsed face down in the dirt, blood rising in the back of her throat. Head dizzy with pain and lungs refusing to draw breath, Jane’s only thought was for regaining her feet. She got no further than hands and knees before the toe of a boot cracked her ribs and she flopped belly down again.

“Stay down,” the soldier commanded. “Ain’t no point in fighting. Told Gideon what you was and he sent us to corral you, and you know Gideon’s endeavors can’t never fail.”

Eyes blurry from tears, Jane could see one thing plainly enough: the thugs coming for her with a rope, like she was runaway cattle. Her only chance was to shift shape.

She never truly felt her body grow, never felt the wings sprout from her shoulder blades or talons rip through the leather of her boots. Instead, it was as if the fangs and red-brown scales and all the rest were always there, only she’d forgotten about them, and now her senses were waking up to them once again. Feeling her weight was like standing up after a long sleep, feeling the power of her muscles was like suddenly waking from a dream.

If the thugs had been able to hold onto their bravado, they would’ve laid into her the second her first scale appeared. But Jane had yet to meet the man who didn’t cower back upon seeing a woman transform into a dragon. A moment later, she’d gained her full height—triple that of the largest quarter horse—and her wingtips scraped the alley walls.

The thug with the pistol fired a shot. It struck her neck, cracking a scale. She howled in pain and lunged forward, swiping at the man with her front claws. The fellow had been smart enough to stay out of reach, but couldn’t help jumping back. Just as he did, the man with the iron bar darted forward. But he didn’t have an iron bar anymore.

The man flung a handful of white powder, fine as flour, up into Jane’s face. She reared back, but not fast enough. Fine-ground salt bit into her eyes. To a human, it would have been irritating, painful even. To a dragon, it was like being splashed with acid. The salt stung her scales and worked its way between them, stabbing her skin. Each draw of breath sucked more of the salt into her lungs, where it tore at her insides like the bites of a thousand tiny spiders.

The salt wouldn’t kill her, but that wasn’t the point. All they were trying to do was get her to shift back to human form. No matter how much she fought the urge, she wouldn’t last but a few seconds until she did just that.

Blinded and panicking, Jane roared and flung her tail about, smashing the man who had snuck up behind her against the saloon wall. She tromped forward, hoping to feel one of the men crushed beneath her claws. Like the inhale of a man who’d been underwater too long, Jane could do nothing to stop her body from shifting and shrinking. With only a second or two left, she drew a lungful of air and exhaled an orange blaze of fire.

Flames crackled up the saloon wall as Jane lay face-down, naked in the dirt, her human body trying to cry the salt out of her eyes. When she managed to look up, all three thugs were closing on her. By the scowls on their faces, she figured they were going to give her some extra bruises before tying her up.

A rapid thumping of boots raced up behind her. Painful as it was, she managed to swing her head around to see a pale man running her way, hauling a bucketful of water. He was aiming to save Gideon’s saloon from going up in flame.

No. His eyes were fixed right on her. The water was meant for her.

Just as he skidded to a stop and reared back to heave that water, the bottom fell out of the bucket and every last drop splashed to the ground.

“Asher, you miserable ol’ loser…” the soldier growled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man named Asher stood blinking, a look of shock on his face, as if he’d been sleepwalking and suddenly woke to find he’d stumbled into a wolf’s den. His distraction gave Jane the only chance she was likely to get. Biting her teeth against a cry of pain, she leapt to her feet and ran like the devil himself was just a step behind her.

A gunshot hammered her ears. One stride later, Jane reached the end of the alley and dodged behind the corner of the saloon.