Authors: Jordan Reece
It was a sapphire blue Fleetman, lovingly tended, and with green and lavender ribbons twined around the handlebars. “I added those,” Sonora said. “Those weren’t there when Mrs. Dolgange gave it to us.”
“We’ll have to take it,” Scoth said.
Her eyes filled with tears, but she kicked the stand and pushed it to him. Jesco promised to have the money sent to her so that she could buy another, and that made her brighten a little. Scoth got her address before they left.
The bicycle was too large to fit in the compartment beneath the carriage, so they parked it between the seats. It made a tight fit with the wheelchair. “Didn’t you want me to touch it there?” Jesco asked, overcome with uncertainty. “It might not be his-”
“It is,” Scoth said with intensity. “This is Jibb’s bicycle, I have no doubt. The thrall might land you on the floor, so let’s get you back to the house where you can land on the sofa instead.” He gave the autohorse the destination and they drove away.
They did not speak for most of the drive. There was nothing to say with the bicycle between them. At the house, Tammie gasped to see it come out of the carriage. She cleared space in the living room for it to be parked, and sat in a chair to watch.
Scoth covered the sofa in one of Jesco’s spare blankets, and stood to the side. Removing his glove, Jesco approached the bicycle. Here were the answers that they had been searching for, locked in the cool metal skin and padded seat. They would know, and this could come to an end.
“Go on, Jesco,” Scoth said. “Let’s bring Hasten Jibb some peace.”
It would bring all of them peace. Jesco touched his fingers to the handle.
-he was-
-he wasHe was Ansel and he loved this bicycle but it cost so much so much
so much
that he was going to have to get an Arkkadian instead but Fleetman was the best and everyone would go wild at school to see it and he just wanted to touch it one more time before he chose a lesser bicycle . . .
-he was-
-he was-
-she was—
She loved her son, her pride, her joy, but if Nini didn’t pick a damn bicycle in this store soon then she was going to have to ask for a chair to sit down while he dilly-dallied, her feet ached and this blue bicycle was so pretty . . .
-she was-
-he was-
-she was-
-he was-
-he wasHe loved this bicycle and he had it, he had the money at last, he had the money! It was perfection, lightweight and fast as a bolt of lightning. Crack! Gone! There was no better bicycle anywhere, nothing and here it was and here he was and here was the money and
sold
!
He was Hasten Jibb, and he owned a Fleetman. Pride filled him to walk the bicycle out the door and a man asked even before he mounted, “Is that a Fleetman?” And Hasten said
yes
. Quality, he loved quality, he was no pirate and he had no treasure chest but this was what he had instead and it was no less to him than rubies and emeralds and diamonds. Why did people want those things so much? They didn’t do anything but sparkle. At least clothes covered a body and he had fine duds, the finest duds, and now the bicycle, too. He rode it home, his pirate booty, but he had earned this and not looted it. People craned their necks to see the brilliant blue and he was so proud that he could burst.
His favorite tale had been Snake of the Seas, one installment published every month that he grabbed up with the ink barely dry. Mama called them junk but no! No! Hasten forgot to breathe when he was reading them! How they’d battled over control of the Ribbons, Captain Vannen Chank of the dreaded pirate ship Mormodune and Lord General Viscey du Spelwether of the Ainscote Sea Guard! They fought and fought, winning and losing and betrayals and lost cargo, and then they came to the last battle and found out they were twin brothers separated at birth . . .
amazing
. . . That story had ended but he was rereading them, one installment a week so he could lose his breath all over again.
His Fleetman was flying, flying over the watery gray ribbons of the roads with stolen cargo in his satchel and the Sea Guard coming up fast behind him to reclaim it and cast him in irons . . . He was the Sea Guard storming the deep blue ocean after pirates . . .
Jesco was both Hasten Jibb, and himself watching this joyous man-child pedal about on his new bicycle. He knew the cities, he knew the streets, only the slimmest part of him had to mind where he was going in his deliveries and the rest of him was lost in thrilling fantasies and pleasant memories. The love of his bicycle was the love of a captain for his ship; he loved to stop at Worthing’s to see their new jackets and trousers all smart upon the racks because he and Dochi had always done that together, they’d pretend to be pirates and loot the store of what they wanted in whispers after Mama went to bed . . .
He’d had the fever and something was missing in him but Dochi said
don’t you mind it, Hassie
, and Hasten rode past a group of young women and knew that he should feel something but
don’t you mind it
. . . he didn’t mind it . . . he was on top of the world when he flew down the roads, he was free and he loved to be free with the sea winds in his hair . . . even the sun was laughing with him and he was happy . . .
He had money for stylish clothes, money for stories and his bicycle, a roof over his head and food on the table and he was aware that other people strove for more, but
more
was a nebulous quality and quantity in his head. Mama wanted
more
but Hasten was never quite sure what that was.
More
was what the other couriers talked about and he retreated because
more
was what they pressed on him, what kind of
more
did he want, a woman, a fellow, children of his own, a mansion, an autohorse and carriage with leather seats . . . he did not understand . . . was
more
working Golden Circle? He liked the
more
he got in tips. There was something here he did not grasp, something always far away and hard to see . . . something they were all hungry for, and when they got it they only grew hungry for something else, but he already had everything he wanted . . .
. . . don’t you mind it, Hassie, I like you just fine this way, you’re still my brother and I’ll always talk pirates with you . . .
Jesco nudged. A monotonous stream of deliveries peeled past him, but at its center was always Hasten who found them not monotonous at all. It was summer and winter and spring now, Hasten glad when the snow melted so he could climb back onto his bicycle. Some deliveries needed a horse and carriage or a wagon but on rural stretches he’d let the horse fly and that was almost as good as his Fleetman . . .
Nudge . . . nudge . . .
The appalling hoards within Lord Ennings’ mansion scandalized and delighted the boy within him, but the part of him that was a man pretended to see nothing amiss, moved things here and there as the lord wished, smiled and used his manners and accepted his tip and left. On the way home, he thought about a ship sinking from too much weight, and towering piles of extra furniture getting thrown over the side to be swallowed up in the blue.
He took the jewels to the bank . . . these he would not throw over the side, these he would clutch to his chest as the ship sank . . . he had them admitted and took the receipt to the office where he picked up a Silver job. It was an excuse to ride his bicycle, which had gotten sick of sitting in the corner waiting for winter to end, sick as Hasten had gotten sick of it. He flew to Melekei with the whirly-gigs filling his satchel and did not say no to lemonade since he was also sick of rum and hard tack from traveling the high seas.
She knew he didn’t understand
more
quite in the right way so she talked to him about bicycles and whirly-gigs and the stories that Hasten and her grandchildren were reading . . . he liked delivering here because she never made him feel badly about what he didn’t grasp . . .
Jesco gave the scene another push, and Hasten was riding away. He swooped from street to street and came up on his favorite house with all the statues. Fairies! Dragons! Even a mouse in a pirate hat! They would chase him back home in his head, shouting and throwing ropes to catch him with Captain Mouse sailing the roads in a ship.
A woman in the next yard waved and shouted, “Ragano? Are you with Ragano & Wemill?”
The statues fell back to wait. Hasten squeezed his brakes and coasted over to the sidewalk. He bumped up the curb and the woman came to the fence. She was somewhat pretty but that was where it ended . . .
don’t mind it, Hassie
. . . and he said, “Yes, I’m with Ragano & Wemill.” He had been to this house once before. It was the first autohorse he had ever delivered, which was why he remembered it so well. “I brought you your autohorse some time back.”
She smiled. Hasten had not been interested in the particulars of the woman, but Jesco paid them close heed. She was in her twenties, tall and narrow, with small breasts and her shape as straight down as an arrow beneath her housedress. Her wedding ring was large and garish. Four connected bands of strawberry gold went around her finger, all of them bearing streams of tiny diamonds, and the centerpiece was a massive diamond surrounded by a circle of smaller ones. Her earrings were just as eye-catching. From each ring hung thin bars of gold that extended halfway down her neck and clacked when she turned her head.
Her hair was dark blonde and pulled back with a clip. A pretty face but her smile was a grimace of bared teeth, and the deep blue of her eyes was also pretty yet the insincerity of her smile was matched with a flat gaze. She was examining Hasten Jibb with piercing intensity that he did not find intrusive, or even notice.
Look at that horse!
That was what Hasten was noticing. Parked in the driveway was a pale green carriage with a brilliant purple lily painted on the back. The autohorse was also purple, though paler than the lily, and not the one that Hasten had delivered. Hasten had never seen a purple autohorse before, and neither had Jesco. Nor had Hasten ever seen this carriage, and he came down this road all the time. She had a visitor.
“I remember you!” the woman was saying. “Look, I’m having a terrible problem. My autohorse is at the mechanic, I’m having a party tonight, and I ran out of time to mail some packages to Chussup and Cantercaster. They must get there today, or tomorrow at the very latest. Do I absolutely have to go through your office, or can I offer you money to deliver them? There are twelve packages and I’ll pay you five dollars each.”
Five dollars each! When he paused from surprise, she said, “Ten dollars. I must get these delivered!”
“I’ll deliver them,” Hasten said. He had taken side jobs plenty of times and pocketed extra cash that way. He didn’t know why couriers got in trouble for that if Ragano & Wemill found out, but he never said anything and they had never caught him.
Straddling his bicycle, he waited on the sidewalk while she ran into the house for the packages. It took some time for her to return since they had to be addressed, but he didn’t mind. He wheeled back a little to see if there were any new statues in the neighboring yard. There was! Under the broad leaves of a fern was a gingerbread cookie man with a bite out of his head. That was funny.
The woman returned several minutes later with all of the packages in a basket. She looked anxious as he slipped them into his satchel. “I’ll get them where they need to go,” Hasten said reassuringly. “I can do the ones in Chussup tonight since I live there, and I’ll take the Cantercaster ones early in the morning.”
“Thank you! It’s a load off my mind to get them out of here.”
“Did you want to put on a return address in case they don’t get accepted?”
“Oh, no. I’ve wasted enough of your time, and I know all of these people will accept them. I’ve mailed them little gifts many times.” She counted out his money, her earrings clacking as she nodded to herself, and the boy within him was dazzled. Golden Circle! He’d been lucky to get a penny tip in Iron, or a few pennies in Brass. Silver was where he started pulling in dollars, and Golden Circle was golden. That was a joke to him.
“Hope your horse feels better!” he said as another joke when he put the money in his wallet.
“I do, too,” the woman said, and waved as he prepared to ride away. He’d made more from this side job today than he had from his hourly pay! More than he would make all this week! After he delivered in Cantercaster in the morning, and he would have to leave at the crack of dawn to get it done, he would go to his favorite restaurant and splurge on the Royal Platter. Sausages and pancakes and eggs and cut fruit with whipped cream . . .
The statues gathered in the next yard, mumbling mutinously and staring at him, and then they besieged the streets to chase after his bicycle. He knew that there was nothing actually there, but the furious stampede of one-legged flamingos, squat gnomes, sparkling fairies, and hopping toads made him soar. Added in the mix was a purple autohorse that breathed fire, Captain Mouse in his ship and the gingerbread cookie man brandishing a sword in fury since Hasten had taken a bite out of him.
Chomp
.
They were gaining on him! He went too fast around a curve to get away. The front tire hit a rock and the handlebars jerked. Truly was he flying then . . .
When the memories resumed, Hasten’s happy chase fantasy was gone. Rucaline! There was rucaline in the packages! Or at least there was in the one that had come apart in his fall. But the packages were all the same shape and the same weight. The only difference in them was the addresses. So he thought that they all contained little white cakes of rucaline.
Patrolmen had arrested three people who lived across the street back in his Iron days. He remembered them standing in the front yard, their hands cuffed behind their backs, their heads hanging, and Mama said, “Look at them! Look at them in their shame!” They had gotten in trouble for buying rucaline, and one was in even more trouble because he had given some of it to his friend, and she’d lost her mind on it. Once Mama went into the house, Hasten crossed the street. He had gone to school with one of the patrolmen. That was Levi Linski, a friend of Dochi’s when Dochi was alive, and he explained all about rucaline to Hasten.
If Hasten delivered these packages, he could be arrested. Then he was giving it to people who could lose their minds on it like that woman had. The police would take away his bicycle and his job in Golden Circle and he would go to prison and not feel the sea winds in his hair ever again.
Go to the police
, Jesco thought to the man in turmoil wheeling home. But still alive within this man was a child, a very frightened child who did not know what to do. He was going to get in trouble, and he gripped the handlebars more tightly so no one could take his bicycle away. It never occurred to him to tell his mother, or to go to the office and hand over the packages to his boss. It never occurred to him that he was carrying a treasure trove in drugs that he could sell on his own. Rucaline was a drug and drugs were bad, so he had to get away from drugs.