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"Not bad weapons yourself," J.B. commented. "Looks like you've had them pair
of matched Navy Colts rechambered for a .38."
"Right. Sharp eyes, Mr. Dix. Would weaponry be your specialty, by any chance?"
"It would."
"And you're in the trading and the traveling line, you say?" The question was
asked by Forde with a wry grin that showed his disbelief without actually
calling Ryan's short explanation into doubt.
"That's what we say." Ryan stared at him, waiting until the elegant stranger
dropped his gaze. "Anything beyond that falls into the box marked Our
Business."
Forde shrugged, holding out his hands like a traveling huckster. "Fine, fine.
Forgive me for asking. Never been down this part of the world before. Sorry if
I gave offense."
Jak answered his apology. "Bayou folks keep open eyes and closed mouths."
Forde nodded. "I understand, Mr. Lauren."
"Call me Jak."
"Of course. And I am Johannes" He paused a long moment. "To my friends."
"Good to meet you" Ryan allowed his pause to stretch to more than match
Forde's. "Johannes."
The filmmaker laughed. "I'm sure that the stew's ready for eatin' right now.
Let's get to it."
JOHANNES FORD WAS a first-rate cook. The alligator tasted like the finest
corn-fed chicken, tender and flavorsome. The mix of vegetables, including
potatoes, collard greens and delicious mashed
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Deathlands 29 - Bloodlines rutabagas, was scented with a variety of herbs and
spices, including some nutmeg that Forde measured out of a tiny glass vial as
carefully as if it had been gold dust.
"Can't get it these days," he said. "Always on the lookout for a predark
grocer's, but I haven't found one untouched for six years. And I've been
looking real hard."
"Unusual to find a man who likes cooking," Krysty commented, "and who's good
at it."
"Lady, I never had the time," Ryan replied, offering his earthenware dish for
a second helping. "Though I
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gotta admit it's good."
Forde was leaning his back against one of the big wag wheels, lighting up a
small black cigar. He blew a smoke ring, sighing. "Life is good at times like
this. To meet fellow outlanders and travelers. Men and women who know the main
roads and the thin blue highways of Deathlands."
"How long've you been riding along the black-tops?" J.B. asked.
"I first saw the light of day in New Haven. Poppa was a fisherman. Caught the
last boat west when a giant devil crab bit him in half. I was let me see I was
about twelve when that happened. Momma liked company, after he was gone. Mebbe
before, as well. Mate company. Her only son found himself in the way, so he
lit out running and never stopped. That'll be twenty-five years ago come the
equinox."
"And you've been doing this filming all this time?" Mildred asked.
"Lord save you, no. It was only a few years ago that I stumbled upon the film
making material that has been my salvation. Before that I was lost and
godless, a man who lived by the turn of a card or the roll of a dice." He
paused, blowing another perfect smoke ring. "Or the quickness of my finger on
the trigger.
Surviving was mistakes not made."
Ryan nodded understandingly. "And you got hopes of doing some filming in the
villes around here?"
"That's the idea, friend Cawdor. Any of you know this part of the world? Be
there monsters here?"
"There be monsters everywhere," Doc replied. "And most of them walk tall on
two feet."
"Very true. By God, but that's true."
Jak cleared his throat. "I was borned ways from here. Don't know any big
villes. No powerful barons. Not since Tourment bought farm."
Forde extinguished his cigar in the dirt, making sure it was properly, safely
out. "Never heard of the man.
All I heard of is of a big old house close by. Family lives there and they
have some power over their neighbors." He tugged at his neat beard. "But it
was odd strange."
"What?" Dean asked.
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Deathlands 29 - Bloodlines
"Strange, the behavior of most of the folks that told me on the road. Warned
me away, you might say.
Wouldn't meet my eyes. Stared at their boots like they might find the mystery
of the ages writ there. I'd have said they were scared."
"They say what they were scared of?" Jak looked around at the circle of
darkness that surrounded their fire. Twice they'd seen the golden eyes of some
nocturnal predator glinting back at them, but the menace had passed on.
"No. One old woman crossed herself like this." Forde demonstrated, using small
pecking gestures. "Said to sleep with my windows closed and to face the
north."
"You know what she meant?" Ryan was considering whether a third helping of the
stew would be excessive, consoling himself with the thought that it would
probably go to waste if it wasn't all eaten. He ladled out another generous
helping.
Forde shook his head, the flowing hair, the color of Kansas summer wheat,
catching the red glints of the flames and reflecting them, as though his skull
were covered in a dancing array of tiny fireflies.
"No idea. I've come across isolated communities where they were frightened of
shadows. Frightened by seeing three magpies together in a field. Seeing a
ginger cat turn twice around, widdershins. Broken a mirror or spilled
fresh-boiled milk. Deathlands is filled with taboos and totems, isn't it?"
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Ryan nodded. "Most of them are aimed at outlanders. Watch out for blacks or
redheads or white hairs or tall or short or fat or thin. Anyone who looks kind
of different from other people. That's the fear."
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