Want to know what’s happening? The first book Dust and Sand was serialised here at Geek Pride. A summary is available here. You can also buy the definitive edition of Dust and Sand at all good eBook stores.
Joshua McManaman had hated every moment of the last few weeks. Hated wasting time fighting those… things whilst the damned Wanted Man was still out there. Hated that he still drew breath after killing Eleanor. Hated being unable to change that, Alone in his room, his hands shook as he cursed the man’s names in whispers.
Now he had his chance. He would get revenge. For Eleanor. For William.
Joshua was always prepared to rush into the Badlands at short notice. That was the nature of his job. So, he kept several travel packs ready for when a glut of rabid things was spotted. When, not if. One in particular was kept for the Wanted Man. He collected it and checked it held the map, provisions, and components he would need. It did.
Except for one thing. He opened a compartment within his drawers and stashed it in with some spare clothes. Its contents would ensure his success. Which was funny, given its origins, the casual arrogance of the man.
This done, he reported to the quartermaster for his gun, Solution bullets, and, of course, the magnificent coach.
The General hadn’t been lying: his ride was impressive. Nothing to look at – a standard coach with runes and prayers instead of paint – but it thrummed with barely-contained power. He climbed into the cab with great care, like it was a mobile antique, and admired its handiwork all while he drove to the Governor’s office.
It was a long, quiet journey. Fine by him. Snipers don’t go in for large groups or loud friendships. During the war and his work for Mister Naismith, he’d preferred to range alone and pick out spots for ambushes, then wait for his prey. Most of his career, he’d been still. Silent. He’d changed since working for William, but he still preferred to work alone.
No such luck with a posse. But he’d need back up to take down the Wanted Man.
The Governor inhabited a former slave house set amid acres of farm land. A grand white palace built on black bodies and bones. Joshua could almost feel that pain and suffering as he rode through the fields. It was like electricity.
‘Free’ men in white suits waited outside the master’s house to look after the Governor’s guests. All in clothes too fine for them.
Joshua pulled on the reins to halt the carriage by this gaggle. “Make sure the damn carriage isn’t opened or damaged, boy,” he spat to the one who stepped forward. “I’ll tan your hide until you’re red as an Indian if you do.”
“Yessir,” he replied meekly. Didn’t even have the balls to fight a shitkicker like Joshua.
Joshua closely watched him drive away. Until he was out of sight.
Two stories, tiled roof, shining windows. The Governor’s manor was a sight to behold. Well-dressed, decent folks trickled through baby blue doors with bright brass hinges and handles. Them and the white walls must’ve been regularly repainted to keep them so pure. The tobacco fields around it were tended by men and women arrested on small or false charges. A common practice since the emancipation forced on the state by the Dixie Problem.
Like many a Texan afternoon, it smelled of blood and pollen, a potent mix.
Stepping inside, it was all polished tile, varnished wood, and enough marble to make a Catholic jealous. More wealthy folks and government workers passed, giving him ugly looks. He gave them curt nods and tips of his hat. But he remembered each face. You could bet on that.
The secretary behind the front desk was a pretty little thing. She looked vapid with her tied-back hair and flowery dress, but Joshua reckoned there was a little more to her, if only because there pretty much had to be.
“The name’s Joshua McManaman,” he said, presenting his badge. “I’ve been called for the Governor’s Wanted Man posse. Brought some Solution gear too.”
The woman inspected the Solution symbol in his palm, a square of silver bullets. “I see. The others are already here. Go right up, Mr McManaman.”
“And that’s the second door on the right?”
“Yes, it is,” she replied with a small smile. Shy like, but cute.
Joshua gave her the same nod the fancy folk got, only he meant this one.
The woman flashed him her wedding ring, which was but a challenge. He made a real good note of her face before heading to the Governor’s office.
Governor Lester was in the middle of a tough campaign. A brawl most boxing fans would appreciate. No one liked being the worst place around and Texas was just that thanks to the Badlands. If you shouldn’t mess with Texas, the Triangle had somehow missed that message.
The Badlands’ continued existence fuelled Jebediah Angus’s challenge. A second generation Scot, he was a self-made man who sold rope. The kind he aimed to use to hang Governor Lester with. Angus was plain-spoken – i.e. charismatic but a bit simple – and had people questioning Lester on everything from taxation to trade. Most of all, he had Lester on the ropes – pun intended – over the Badlands mess.
And you could tell. When Joshua climbed the stairs, the air changed. Desperation, urgency. Just from the folks worrying over maps of Texas coloured red and blue, he knew the General was right: the Governor felt this posse was his best chance at re-election.
“Can I help you?” a strained-looking man with a posh accent and small, round glasses asked. He almost appeared out of nowhere. Soft feet, soft walk. Probably a soft head too.
“Joshua McManaman from the Solution.” He showed his badge again. “I’m here to lead the posse against Dustin Longe.”
The soft man frowned.
“The Wanted Man?”
“Oh, of course. One moment and I shall see if the Governor is prepared to see you.”
Great, more pomp and bullshit. General Ryman loved that stuff too, having layers around him so someone could only see him if it mattered. It was supposed to make him seem important. It just looked stupid. But Joshua would eat their shit and grin. He had ever since joining the Solution.
The soft man popped his head back out of the Governor’s office. “Please, Mister McManaman, do come inside.”
Within was a bright, white room. Might once have been the slave-owners’ master bedroom. If so, the beds and furniture were gone, replaced with desks and people shuttling paper around like gold. Before the great windows, the Governor stood. Beside him were two men who looked like clerks, a black man in a cheap linen suit and bow tie, and a Mexican-looking woman in a nun’s habit.
“Ah, Mister McManaman. It is so good of you to come. General Ryman said he was sending one of his best men. That would be you then?”
“I hope so, sir.”
The Governor smiled. Fake as a wooden nickel. He had a thick moustache, like most Southern politicians nowadays, but everything else about him was thin: slender face, thin form, and a smile to match. He had more to him before he took up office, no doubt. The rigours of the role had blasted the meat from his bones.
“Please, meet the other members of your posse,” he said, gesturing to his right.
Joshua stepped forward and held out a hand to the two men. “Pleased to meet you.”
The men looked confused, shook their heads.
The Governor smiled again. “Those are my Chief of Staff and my Campaign Manager, Mister McManaman. Though I’m sure James and Peter are pleased to meet you.”
“Then where is the posse?”
“We are your posse, Mister McManaman,” the negro said, stepping forward. He had close-shorn hair, ears like jug handles, and a moustache even thicker than the Governor’s. “The name is Bass Reeves. Marshall Bass Reeves.”
The woman simply nodded.
Joshua turned to the Governor with a stupid look on his face. He waited for the punchline, for people to start laughing.
“Everyone,” the Governor shouted, “could you please give us five minutes?”
The clerks, planners, and managers all filtered out quickly. James and Peter left too, leaving just the Governor, these… people, and Joshua.
“I sense that you are a little perturbed by those with whom you will be sharing a posse, Mister McManaman. Is there something the matter?”
“I was expecting proper men.”
“Are we not proper men?” Reeves asked.
“Not the sort I take into the Badlands, Mister Reeves,” Joshua said, not seeing too much sense in riling him. “I’m used to fighting beside experienced men – and I do mean men, Miss – who have faced the Triangle more than once. That would be the minimum for someone to have a hope in Hell of beating the Wanted Man.”
The nun crossed herself. “Please, do not mention that place in my presence.” She sounded Spanish with her slight lisp.
Joshua tutted. What had possessed the Governor?
“Before you burn any more bridges, let me present these folks’ credentials. Marshall Reeves here is a fine lawman with over a hundred arrests to his name. He’s a tracker and a dogged defender of the law. All with less than a dozen kills to his name. The first negro Marshall, he is, and he’s got an aim which’d make any man weep. With one of your Solution guns, he’ll be able to take the Wanted Man from half a mile, I should think. Marshall Reeves comes with a reputation as a good aim, and a perfect record.”
“Those are kind words, Governor. And true.”
Joshua grunted. He supposed one of them would gain a useful skill eventually. He didn’t want to go out into the Badlands with him, but the colour of the man’s skin wasn’t a proper excuse. At least, not one he would make to the man’s face.
That didn’t mean he had to take this like a cheap whore. “And what about our damsel here? She can’t even take me fucking cursing, for Christ’s sake.”
The nun crossed herself again, proving his point.
“See?”
“Sister Irujo was sent by the Vatican as part Pope Pius’ works to help these United States in their time of trouble. I cannot speak for her beyond saying that she comes personally recommended by the Papal Office.”
That took Joshua aback. An actual recommendation from the Papal Office? That sure would be something. “Awful lot of forgeries flying about nowadays, Governor. I’m sure you tried to vet her, but may I see this recommendation?”
The Governor grinned, a wide smile on a thin man, and produced a thick wedge of velum from his drawer. Red wax beside intricate and painstakingly-inked writing. He made a show of looking it over before handing it to Joshua.
“I am sure you will find it is real.”
Joshua took the velum. Immediately, he felt the Vatican magic woven into their official notes. You didn’t need any skills to feel the small charge, like holding a beehive. This note, which spoke of Sister Irujo’s purity, faithfulness, and strength, was real.
“She is the real thing,” the Governor said, leaning forward on his desk.
“It would seem so.” Joshua looked across at the nun. “Pardon me, Sister, but I’m not right used to women in habits being any use in a fight.”
The nun gave him a small smile of forgiveness.
“I know the Marshall’s skills, but what is it you can do then, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I fight the demons and devils of Lucifer in the name of the Lord, repelling them and returning them back from whence they came,” Sister Irujo said, her voice softer than her words. “When the time comes, I will fend off the familiars and minions of the Wanted Man so that you and Marshall Reeves may capture him.”
Joshua looked back to the Governor. “Is capture your preferred option?”
“It sure is mine,” Reeves said. “A man must stand trial for his crimes, even if they aren’t quite a man. That’s justice, fair and true.”
The Governor pursed his lips. “It would be… preferable if the Wanted Man’s trial were public. As well as his hanging. People rather like to see such things.”
Preferable didn’t mean required. It might be a good old bonus, but the Governor wouldn’t lose much sleep over receiving a corpse. That was just dandy: far as he was concerned, the Wanted Man wasn’t returning to civilisation alive.
“It is also the Church’s will that the Wanted Man be captured.”
Reeves looked across at the woman, his brown brow creasing, but said nothing.
“Well, Mr McManaman? What do you say?”
“I say… I say that I owe you both an apology: I’m a little judgemental sometimes, though Lord knows we’re all sinners. And it looks like we’ve got ourselves a posse. A weird one, it must be said, but nonetheless. I’ve brought enough weapons for a small army though. You do wield guns, don’t you, Sister?” Joshua waited for the nun to give what he’d begun to think of as her usual nod. “Well, all right. If you’re both ready, we can leave now, try and catch the rest of the day.”
Reeves looked to the Governor. “Do I have your leave to begin, sir?”
The Governor nodded like a damn king. “Of course. All of you. I wish you all good fortune on your journey. No, your hunt.”
Of course he did. This little endeavour was the Governor’s last throw of the dice. It was a little tempting to see what would happen to the thin weasel if the Wanted Man survived, but not enough to slake his thirst for revenge.
“All right then,” he said to the negro and woman he would call partner, “let’s move out.”
