“I just want to get a few things clear. I’m not an Eldritch Asset, I’m the one in charge of this mission. Your safety is my responsibility so you’re going to do what I say; the Naismith name carries weight in civilization but in the Badlands it’ll be worth less than a soap kettle. I’ve fought what we’ll likely face and lived. Most men can’t say that. Most women neither. I’d like you to be able to say it too, got it?”
She snarled. “How dare you, sir.”
“Because-” Dust snapped.
But he stopped. Because there was a burning sensation in his lungs, like he was drowning in boiling water. He put his hand to his chest but that only made the agony intensify. He didn’t so much as wince because it was a familiar pain; it was punishment from whatever lived within his tattoo.
“What’s wrong?” the kid asked, her haughty anger gone.
Okay, maybe he had winced. Damn but the pain was stronger than he remembered. It often triggered when he indulged himself, when he didn’t hold his nerve. Or his tongue. For some reason, it never triggered when he went out to Low Tracks or any other drinking establishment. So why go off now, without so much as a warning? It hadn’t messed him about in… well, in a long time.
Horse grunted, moved nervously; he sensed something was wrong as well.
“Nothing,” Dust croaked, patting Horse on the neck. He took in a breath and wiped a tear from his eye. “Nothing’s wrong.”
She crossed her arms. “It is not nothing, Dust.”
He withdrew his hand from his chest and relaxed his face; he wasn’t about to get sympathy from the kid. The pain didn’t matter any more. He couldn’t have her thinking him weak or ordering him around, not if things really went to Hell. As it were.
“Yes, it is. It’s nothing.” But his voice sounded like a rusty gate as he said it. He was fooling no-one.
After eying him for a few moments, she said “If there’s anything I should know-”
Dust interrupted. “I’d tell you. Remember, I want you back here alive.”
The kid favoured him with a smile. “I must say, I would rather like that too. So I understand that you’re in charge here. I’ll do as you say.”
“Thank you.”
The burning started to fade at that, became more manageable. Now was not the time for the tattoo to start playing games. Perhaps it had wanted to remind him it was there, that there would always be a price for indulging himself, that it was not his place to get what he wanted but to do what he ought to.
Or, at least, what it thought he ought to do.
They rode on for a while longer. Dust held his back straight, looked like he was fine. The pain faded as they went. When he felt like he could talk without sounding like his throat had been fried, Dust asked. “Can you shoot that thing? Do you often hit your targets?”
She looked over her shoulder, at her rifle. It wasn’t a make or brand Dust recognised. But the ornate pearl inlay and unusual alloy in the barrel showed that it was no normal gun. Perhaps it was custom, made by the Solution. If so, it might not even matter if she missed. “Yes, I’m quite an accomplished marksman.”
“Good.”
Looking back at him, her young brow creased. “Why do you ask?”
“I prefer having a good shot watching my back.”
She smiled timidly. “I’ll do my best.”
A little humility looked good on her. Dust decided to encourage it. “I’m sure you will, Eleanor.”
At that, the pain disappeared. So Dust geed Horse and started the mission proper.
