The road between Woody’s and where I stopped to rest and look had been curving, but it ran straight as a string to the city’s gate. The woods began to draw back a few miles ahead, and I saw abandoned carts and what might have been hand plows in overgrown fields. I saw something else, too: a vehicle, or some sort of conveyance, coming in my direction. My eyes are good, but it was still miles away and I couldn’t make out what it was. I touched the butt of Mr. Bowditch’s .45, not to confirm it was still there but for comfort.
“Rades? You okay?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw her looking back at me from the front of the cart. That was good. I grabbed the poles and began to walk again. My hands were raising a pretty decent crop of blisters, and I would have given a lot for a pair of work gloves. Hell, even a pair of mittens. At least it was downhill for awhile.
A mile or two further along （the towers sinking behind the high city wall as the road descended）， I stopped again. I could now see the person coming my way appeared to be riding an oversized tricycle. As we closed the distance between us, I saw the trike’s rider was a woman, and making good speed. She was wearing a black dress that billowed all around her, and it was impossible not to think again of The Wizard of Oz. Specifically the black-and-white part at the beginning, when Almira Gulch rides her bicycle under threatening Kansas skies to get Dorothy’s dog and have him put to sleep for biting her. There was even a wooden carry-basket on the back of the oncoming tricycle, although this one was much bigger than the Toto-sized one on the back of Miss Gulch’s bike.
“Don’t worry, Rades,” I said. “She’s not taking you anywhere.”
When she got really close, I stopped and flexed my stinging hands. I was ready to be friendly in case this was who I thought it was, but I was also ready to defend myself and my dog if she turned out to be the Empisarian version of the wicked witch.
The woman stopped by reversing the pedals of her tricycle and sending up a pretty good squelch of dust. Her dress quit billowing and fell limply against her body. She was wearing stout black leggings beneath the dress and big black boots. No need for any of Dora’s replacement footwear for this lady. Her face was rosy with exercise and without the slightest trace of gray. If forced to guess, I would have said she was in her forties or fifties, but it would be just a guess. Time is strange in Empis, and so is the aging process.
“You’re Claudia, aren’t you?” I said. “Wait, I have something to show you.”
I opened my pack and took out the gold door knocker. She barely gave it a glance, only nodded and leaned over her handlebars. Her hands were dressed in leather gloves that I bitterly envied.
“I’M CLAUDIA! DON’T REALLY NEED TO SEE THAT, I DREAMED YOU WERE COMING!” She tapped her temple and barked a laugh. “DREAMS AREN’T TRUSTWORTHY, BUT THEN THIS MORNING I SAW THE SNAB! ALWAYS A SIGN OF RAIN OR COMPANY!” Her voice wasn’t just loud, it was utterly toneless, like the voice of an evil computer in an old sci-fi movie. She added something I hardly needed: “I’M DEAF!”
She turned her head. Her hair was done up in a high bun and I could have seen her ear if she’d had one. She didn’t. As with Leah’s mouth and Woody’s eyes, there was just a scar.
4
She hitched up her skirts, dismounted her trike, and strode to the cart for a look at Radar. On the way, she tapped the butt of the holstered .45. “BOWDITCH’S! I REMEMBER IT! AND I REMEMBER HER!”
Radar lifted her head when Claudia stroked her, then scratched behind her ears in the way Rades really liked. Claudia leaned close, apparently not the least bit afraid of being bitten, and sniffed. Radar licked her cheek.
Claudia turned back to me. “SHE’S SICK AS HELL!”
I nodded. There was no point denying it.
“WE’LL KEEP HER GOING, THOUGH! WILL SHE EAT?”
I waggled my hand, meaning a little. “Can you read lips?” I patted my own, then pointed to hers.
“NEVER LEARNED TO MUCH!” she blared. “NO ONE TO PRACTICE ON! WE’LL GIVE HER BEEF BROTH! SHE’LL EAT THAT FOR GOD’S SAKE! BRING HER BACK A RIGHT SMART! DO YOU WANT TO PUT HER IN MY BASKET? WE MIGHT GO FASTER!”
I couldn’t tell her that I was afraid of hurting Radar’s sore back legs, so I just shook my head.
“ALL RIGHT, BUT COME ALONG SMART! THREE BELLS WON’T BE LONG! END O’ DAY! THERE ARE GODDAMNED WOLVES, YOU KNOW!”
She pushed her big trike—the seat had to be at least five feet off the ground—in a circle, then clambered up. She pedaled slowly, and the road was wide enough for me to walk beside her, so Radar and I didn’t have to eat her dust.