ARCHIE AND HOUNDSTOOTH made their way to the hippo paddock in silence as the stars began to wink out. When they arrived at the paddock, Ruby, Rosa, Abigail, and Betsy were already nosing at each other, competing for attention at the dock.
Archie pulled up short.
“’Oundstooth?” She said. “What—ah, what should we do about Abigail and Betsy?”
“We can’t leave them,” he replied. “Hero will want to see Abigail when they wake up.”
“Do you think they’ll follow us, like Stasia and Zahra?”
“If they do, they’ll make a decent rear guard, if any ferals try to sneak up on us. I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” He shrugged. Archie looked at him strangely. “What?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “I’ve just never seen you shrug before. It does not look right on you, ’oundstooth.”
Fortunately, Abigail and Betsy did indeed trail behind Ruby and Rosa as they made their way to the Gate—following the trail of apples that Houndstooth dropped into the water every few minutes. Archie stifled a laugh when she noticed him doing it.
“Where did you get those?” she asked.
“I like to be prepared, Archie,” he replied, his voice dripping with condescension.
“ . . . Did you steal them from my saddlebag?”
Houndstooth took his time before answering. “Hero ate all my pears,” he said in an even tone. Then he snapped the side of Ruby’s harness, and the two of them sped ahead toward the Gate.
* * *
“So: we open the Gate, we hit the detonator. The ferals flood the Gate while we watch from a safe distance. We close the Gate. Très facile.” Archie had repeated the plan six or seven times on the way over. Every time, she proclaimed how easy it would be to execute.
“Très,” Houndstooth replied, having heard hardly a word of what she’d said. He watched the water as they travelled, but it was still and silent save for the occasional grumbles of the four hippos and their two riders.
And it was très facile. No ferals bothered them as they made their way from the Sturgess Queen to the Gate, though their bellows floated through the still night air like thunder from where they were gathered in the muddy center of the lake.
Archie and Houndstooth reached the Gate without incident. The ranger’s familiar, broad-brimmed hat was silhouetted in the grey light of the early morning. Houndstooth called up to the tower.
“Hello up there! Can you open the Gate?” Houndstooth called. “Official government business.”
The ranger didn’t respond. Houndstooth repeated his request. When he received no response, he looked at Archie. She shrugged.
“Perhaps ’e is asleep? Surely we could go up and wake ’im.”
Ruby, however, refused to approach the ranger’s tower. She balked and danced, avoiding the place where the tower ladder met the water.
“What’s gotten into you, Ruby-roo?” Houndstooth asked, tugging on the reins of her harness. She ducked her head below the water and blew a rude series of bubbles, turning her back to the Gate once again.
“Ruby, what are you—Ruby!” Houndstooth cried out indignantly as Ruby dipped into the water once more, soaking him to the waist. “Ruby, you damned impertinent cow, stop this behavior immediately!”
Houndstooth yanked on Ruby’s harness, and she reluctantly nudged closer to the ladder. Houndstooth jumped off of her, catching himself on the ladder, then looked back at where the sleek black hippo was fidgeting in the water.
“We’ll have words later, you and I,” he muttered to her. She flapped her ears at him, and he was struck with a sudden sense of unease. “Archie, do you mind staying down here to keep an eye on her? Lord only knows what’s gotten into her this time.”
Archie saluted from her perch atop Rosa’s back. Houndstooth returned the salute, and began to climb.
He reached the top of the ladder and shouted another greeting to the ranger, not wanting to startle the man with the rifle.
“Hello up here? I’m coming up, but I’m unarmed!”
He crested the top of the ladder and found himself inside the little box of a sentry tower. His eyes adjusted to the dimly lit outpost, and he realized that there were two men in the tower with him. The ranger, in his wide hat, was silent. It was the other man who spoke.
“Oh, good,” came the second man’s smooth, soft reply. “I was worried you’d bring weapons with you, and then I’d have to kill you myself.”
With that, Travers shoved the ranger over the edge of the tower. The utter lack of resistance the man showed to being pushed told Houndstooth that he had already been dead when they’d arrived. Travers turned to face Houndstooth, a thin smile on his face and a revolver in his hand.
“Well,” Houndstooth said, raising his hands slowly into the air. “I know when I’m outmatched. Are you going to kill me, Travers?”
“No, no, certainly not,” Travers drawled, advancing a few steps. “The ferals will take care of that for me. They take care of most of my problems for me, you know. Cheaters, thieves, nosy inspectors. Mercenary hoppers who don’t know when to go home with their tails between their legs.” He took another step toward Houndstooth. “I’ll have that detonator in your pocket, if you don’t mind.”
Houndstooth kept his hands in the air. His voice was cold as he watched Travers advance. “I don’t know what you mean, Travers. Hero had the detonator.”
Travers laughed—a sound like molasses dripping into the bottom of a barrel. “Oh, don’t play games with me, Mr. Houndstooth. The house always wins.” He pointed his gun to Houndstooth’s bulging breast pocket. “Right there. Quickly now—before my men have to motivate you.” He gestured down to the water, and Houndstooth leaned as far toward the ledge as he dared. Travers’ goons held Archie at gunpoint. She looked up at Houndstooth, disgruntled.
“Four on one, eh, Travers? None too sporting of you.”
“Oh, Miss Archambault could easily take on two of them—perhaps even three, I wouldn’t put it past her. I play to win, Mr. Houndstooth. Now, let’s not waste any more time. Give me the detonator, and I’ll let you go down to her. You two can try to escape! Or at the very least, you can die together.” He cocked back the hammer on the revolver. “Come now. I don’t have all day.”
Houndstooth held up the detonator, and before he could say a word, Travers had taken it from him.
“Thank you, Houndstooth. You know, I’d been expecting someone sly? Not you, though,” Travers said, flipping the detonator in his hand. “This really does make my life so much easier.”
“Fat lot of good it’ll do you,” Houndstooth laughed despite himself. “That’s one detonator. You do realize who hired us, don’t you? The federal government won’t be deterred by one little weasel of a man with a revolver. They will get these hippos out of the Harriet, Travers. Your tiny kingdom will crumble.”
Travers grinned, a dark joy spreading across his face. “Oh, Mr. Houndstooth. I want the hippos out of the Harriet, too! Just, not quite the same way.” He began to pace. “My little kingdom will become an empire. Just me, my riverboats, and the ferals, from Minnesota to the Harriet.”
Houndstooth watched Travers like a mouse watching a snake. “And how exactly are you going to get your riverboats over the dam, Travers?”
Travers held up the detonator. “Your little crew of hoppers helped with that, Mr. Houndstooth.” Houndstooth frowned, not following Travers’ logic. “Oh, yes! Yes, you see, Adelia told me all about the bombs you planted in the river. How handy! A whole passel of bombs, already rigged for my convenience.” He paused in his pacing, his face shining with excitement. “Last night, while you were crying over your poor departed little lover, I was out on the water, moving the buoys they set up. All sixteen! Oh, it wasn’t easy,” he hastened to add, mistaking Houndstooth’s dawning horror for unbelief. “But I’ve always been a determined man, Mr. Houndstooth. Determination is everything.”
“You’re . . . you’re going to blow the dam,” Houndstooth breathed, his head swimming with implications.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Houndstooth,” Travers replied fervently. “I’m going to blow the dam. I’m going to send a flood of ferals up the Mississippi, along with all their little hops. I’m going to seed the water with teeth and reap my reward.” His voice descended to a harsh growl. “I’m going to own this river.”
He raised the detonator high, and Houndstooth knew that he was going to press the button, destroying the dam. Destroying Hero’s legacy. Destroying his chance at vengeance.
Houndstooth launched himself at Travers, knocking the man off his feet. They landed at the very edge of the ranger’s platform. The revolver spun off, splashing into the water thirty feet below. The detonator clattered to the floor just out of reach. Houndstooth pressed his arm against Travers’ throat.
“Do you remember when I said I was unarmed, Travers?” Houndstooth pulled the ivory-handled knife from his belt; Adelia had sharpened it so finely that the edge was very nearly invisible. “I lied.”
Travers grinned savagely. “Do you remember when I said I wouldn’t kill you, Houndstooth?” Houndstooth felt a pain in his side. “I lied, too.”
Houndstooth’s vision went briefly red. He slashed wildly, and when his vision had cleared, Travers’ face had been slit from brow to lip. Blood flowed into his eye and mouth and ran hideously down the side of his face.
“That,” he spat with grim satisfaction, “was for killing Cal before I had the chance.” He slashed again, leaving another gash across Travers’ face, marking him with a bold bleeding X. “And that was for my ranch—the ranch you couldn’t burn down yourself, you fucking coward.”
He went to step forward, to deliver a killing blow, but he found that something was tugging at his side. He reached a hand down to free himself. All the wind seemed to leave Houndstooth’s lungs as his fingers found the hilt of the tiny knife that protruded from his side. Just like Hero, he thought.
Travers took Houndstooth’s moment of distraction as an opportunity. He hit the hilt of the knife with the heel of his hand, shoving it farther into Houndstooth’s side. As Houndstooth roared in pain, Travers scrambled for the detonator. Houndstooth tried to reach for him—tried to stop him—slipped in Travers’ blood, and fell hard.
Travers had the detonator.
He raised it over his head, and pressed the button.
Houndstooth half expected to die right then and there. He half expected the entire Harriet to blow up. What he didn’t expect, not even for a moment, was for the detonator to fail, because Hero had made the detonator, and Hero was the smartest person Houndstooth had ever met.
And he had been right. The bombs didn’t fail.
A rumble like thunder sounded in the distance. Houndstooth looked out of the ranger’s outpost, and saw a cloud rising through the pink morning light in the distance. He yanked the blade out of his side—it was a short one, too short to have done serious damage, but it hurt like hell. He threw the knife over the side of the tower as Travers laughed. When he looked, Travers was clutching his face, holding the flap of his lip in place with one bloody hand.
“You’ve done it,” Houndstooth whispered. “You crazy bastard, you’ve done it.”
“I’ve done it, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop those hippos from filling the Mississippi.”
Houndstooth looked over the edge of the ranger’s tower and into the rippling water. His heart stopped for a moment.
“Travers, open the Gate.”
Travers remained on the floor, laughing hysterically.
“Open the Gate, damn you, open it!” Houndstooth made for the large lever that would start the Gate opening, but Travers grabbed his leg.
“Don’t bother,” Travers gasped through his laughter. “I’ve disabled it. Cut the cable. It won’t open. The hippos can only go North, now.”
“Look outside, Travers,” Houndstooth urged the bleeding, cackling man. “Look at the water.”
Travers rolled to one side. He was close enough to the edge of the platform to look over. His laughter stopped abruptly.
“Do you see that?” Houndstooth asked, pointing down at the debris that was rapidly collecting against the Gate, battering Archie and the hippos. “That’s the front of the wave. You blew the dam, Travers. All the water that was behind that dam is headed our way, and it’s going to carry everything with it.”
Travers grinned, pulling himself to his feet. He needed both hands to do it; when he dropped his hand from his face, his skin fell open in a ghastly gash. “Well,” he said, “good thing I’m up here, isn’t it? The waters won’t be rising above thirty feet. Looks like all those ferals will be trapped against the Gate, hmm? And I’m sure they’ll be hungry.” He placed a hand firmly on Houndstooth’s back. “Enjoy the flood, Houndstooth.”
He pushed hard, and Houndstooth flipped over the railing, falling into the rising waters of the Harriet.