Prolog:
Nero
Feb-09 43
Power is a matrix. A game set up by people with strength to make sure that no one else ever has it. To be born into wealth is to be born with power; to be born without is to live without. The most challenging thing that the wealthy must do is to convince the poor that another poor man wishes them harm.
This forces a threshold—the wealthy are no longer playing the same game as the commonwealth—now the only fear that the rich have left is someone refusing to play their game.
Like any game, this one has rules that must be followed. The entry fee to this exchange is land. Any beast owning property has the right to play on a higher level. To that end, rich and poor alike are willing to die for a few meaningless feet of clay and rock.
In the age of exploration, rabbits have sailed across the sea in search of a few more feet of land to die for. Lo-and-behold, we have found it. The only problem—we weren’t the only beasts there. Another group has already mounted their flag in the ground; an army of skunks calling themselves the Dakota. Strange beasts with strange gods, they worship wind and water. I have been told they are savage, soulless heathens. And if it wasn’t enough that we had barbarians, hardly out of the Hyborain Age, on one side of us; pirating rats and pillaging cats are swarming us from three sides. Then, with civil war brewing in our own ranks, the battle for the new land is quickly becoming more than one can take.
I have found my way to a Mobile Artillery and Surgical Hub two days southwest of Snelling. The fort had been robbed of—
• two hundred and ninety-nine powder guns.
• A 9lb gun
• Two hundred pounds of black powder
• seven dozen officers’ uniforms
• a dozen sabers
• three hundred pounds of dried fruit.
Six hours ago I had been a part of the team chasing the thieves. I was jumped. I shot my attacker in the stomach and he stabbed me in the hand. I lie bleeding now, waiting for the field doctor to pull the knife out of my hand.
***
Nero drops his book off to one side. The rabbit turns his head looking at the cots on both sides of him. He is surrounded by men waiting for the Black Rabbit to descend on them. The sound of gunfire fills the air. The surgical center is being fired on by an unknown force.
Nero looks at the blade in his hand and the sword at his side. He is approaching delirium from pain and blood loss. For almost fifty years Nero has been a fighter. He has sailed around the world and fought on every known island. The sword at his side was a gift from the rabbits living on the eastern islands: a samurai sword given to him by Awai; the Battle Queen of the Rabbits.
Nero takes the bandage from the table. After pulling out the knife himself he ties the wound in his hand shut.
A man on the edge of madness, Nero walks out the door of the tent, his shirt open, blood streaming down his body. A wall of sandbags sits ahead of him with twelve men kneeling behind it loading their guns. Twenty skunks stand on the hill only a few dozen yards ahead.
The skunks are staggeringly efficient with muskets. They have the pilgrims nailed down. As things stand, a dozen skunks are going to overrun them any time now. Nero decides to upset the balance of power. He draws his samurai sword and runs into the no-mans-land between the two groups of fighters. He lets out a battle cry and dances up and down the field, swinging his sword madly.
The skunks return fire. Nero holds out his arms and waits to be shot. Bullets fly past him on both sides. “Efrafra—come for me!” Nero falls to his knees. Soldiers run past him. The pilgrims have decided to follow Nero’s lead and charge in with sabers drawn.
Nero shuts his eyes. He falls over.
Efrafra does not come for Nero today. The scent of the Black Rabbit is in the air, but she offers Nero only a passing glance as she slides under his snout. Nero lies on the ground twitching. If not for the healing hands of Dr. Amanda Clement, fever and blood loss would have done in Nero before the next sunrise.
***
Nero
October 26-43
I am now a broken man; my time as a gun fighter has come to an end. I have taken $36 and used it to buy a new wagon and traded away my rifle and $15 for a new gun. It is a six chambered gun made of silver with a bone handle. It is one of the newest and most sought after guns on the market today. I am told that God made all beasts free, but it is the revolver that makes them equal. Not rabbit, cat, dog, or even bear can outrun a bullet fired from one of these new pistols. Few beasts shot by one live more than a few hours afterwards without medical care.
My right hand is all but useless after suffering my accident a few months ago. I have needed to learn to hold a pen in my left hand. I am traveling to the city of Santa Anna now. My wife and six daughters are with me.
I must say, after a relationship spanning more than twenty years with Commissioner Verne; I am going to miss him. We parted ways on good terms- he gifted me $203 in silver notes before I left Snelling.
At the request of my youngest daughter Scarlet, I have taken up a new hobby; one that does not require the use of my bad hand. She has taught me how to play “Black Jack.”
I am going to be arriving at my new home in several weeks. My father-in-law, Luis Sam-Clemens, will be joining us as we pass through Chimney Valley. The prairie is every bit as beautiful as I hoped it would be.
***
Nero
Nov-28-43
My father-in-law is a young man, more than a few years younger than me. In spite of his youth, he is a man with an aged face. He is plump from living a life of relaxation back east. Born into a family of cow breeders, he dedicated his early years to studying art. He was schooled in the church, but pays little mind to their doctrine; instead having used the clout to gain the inside path to the theater. He is the one who got my wife her first job as a stage hand.
My father-in-law and I have worked out a pact. Now that I am no longer actively enlisted in the Navy, he is more than happy to help me live a more civil life. I see to it he has children and grandchildren to look after, and he helps me find honest work.
When we arrived in Santa Anna, our first project was to build a homestead. My daughters are more than capable handymen, and with seven able bodies we have a ranch house in good time.
I was approached by a skunk dressed up in the colors of a French gentlemen. He told me a story about a heavy rain storm and the death of his partner. The skunk’s birth name translates into “Dirty Feet,” but he and his partner had been baptized at the chapel years ago and given proper names. Today he goes by Dritz.
Dritz and his kids are something like wine bottlers. He mixes drinks, his kids bottle them—but it was Dritz mate that was the one that sold the drinks here in Santa Anna.
With the blessing of my lady and my father-in-law, I penned up an agreement with Dritz. We help him build up a watering hole around the distillery, I sell the wine, my kids and his all get a cut at the end of the day.
There are no small number of people around that are happy to pay good silver for a good drink.
As things are, come spring my son will be born, and The Waterhole will be the best drink lounge in Santa Anna. We have plans to build a stage. Several men from the town, my wife, father-in-law and eldest daughter all have experience in the theatrical arts. God willing, I will spend the rest of my days playing cards and watching my children play.
Chapter 1
Scarlet Sam-Clemens Ip-Mun
March 01-44
Today we were paid a visit by a lawyer from Columbia University. He says he works for the Governor. In the eyes of the Governor, here in the frontier my father is a man of value. My father knows all the families, and was asked to check the population documents he had to make sure no one was overlooked.
Santa Anna sits on the cuffs of two lands, but is not a part of either one. To the west we have Dakota country, owned by the skunks. To the east we have the Colonial States, owned by the Duchess of Rabbits.
I sat by and listened as my father read off the names of every man he knew and gave names to all their children. My father was also able to fill in a few missing names; children that were not born in the community but are still counted amongst its ranks. He also may have accidently outed a woman or two that were having affairs outside the orthodoxy of society.
As the man from Columbia spoke, I took note of how he was dressed; and compared that to my father and to Dritz.
Dritz was born on the river and dresses the way the river people do. Their clothing is made of skin dyed with flowers and accented with beads and feathers and whatever other natural colors they could find.
The scholar was dressed in a fine silk coat, waistcoat, a top hat, and a mess of jewels dangled from his belt and many bracelets adorn his arms. He had a chain attached to his belt and a long knife was tucked under his tail.
My father has items indicative of both styles. A snake skin hat, a necklace with snake teeth on it—both taken from the same snake, I understand. He too has a waistcoat and vest, but jewelry is something my father has little taste for. My father keeps a revolver on his hip day and night, and has a bronze ring on his belt to house his samurai sword. I have asked him about this oddity and he tells me tales of fancy from across the sea—stories of magical monsters, romance, and duels of honor. Maybe one day I too will sail the seas and have secret affairs with strange and magical people.
Forgive me, I think I lost my train of thought.
It is the observation of the lawyer that there are sixteen proper families in Santa Anna. We are a small community. I know everyone that was named: Forman, Reed, Parish, Nightly, Snow, Goodspeed, Boon, Whitman, Block, Neil, Smitty, Lineman, Walkin, Styles, Bowe, and Sam-Clemens. I also know fifteen more families that were not talked about. When I asked about this, it was brought up that these families were not proper families. They are not led by baptized male rabbits and that the Colonies will not be counting them amongst the populace of the state—after all; “an engine” is like a woman—only half of a man.
The conversation did not continue long after that point. I was somewhat upset, and my father took notice. He bid our new friend, Carle Statman, a fair night, and sent him off to the stables. We had no open rooms on the property that he would be using.
It is the first week of the month. The wagon train should be arriving shortly. With them I expect to see the Piers family. They walk a monthly circuit between us and the next nearest townships—trading this for that. Brass is in short supply. My mother should like to request they bring us some from up river. Piers eldest boy, Danan, had a rifle on his last visit that he had purchased from the Westin Company. I will be asking him if he should like to trade it to me. I will be offering him nine bits of silver and a bottle of whisky.
***
Under Nero’s management, The Waterhole has become a small piece of the old country here in the frontier. A piano sits in one corner, an iron candelabra hangs near the center of the room. A tiny theater stage is set up against the west wall; the east wall has a bar. The south side of the main room has a “U” shaped card table, and that is where Nero sits most of the time.
The back room has seven-day soup boiling day and night waiting to be served. Clementine is Nero’s wife. She had been an actress for much of her youth—she is practiced in dance and is a vindictive hostess. Here in the west, even middle-age house wives often have a side iron. Clementine has one and she has had to use it more than once to remind a man that she is a lady.
At any given time there will be three of Nero’s girls walking the floor seeing to it that soup bowls are hot and wine runs in abundance. Then three girls will be working the stage under their grandfather’s guidance. The performances are not deep, not challenging. They are short comedy sketches. These are performances meant to be consumed by common men. This is a town made up of miners, metal workers and ranchers. These people don’t want political drama or tragedy. They want jokes about peoples’ pants falling off or men running around trying to hide young girls from the line of sight of their wicked parents.
It is midday. The bulk of people haven’t yet come in after work; but nevertheless, people come and go all day and night.
Flora, the second born girl, has just finished a stage show and climbed down into the audience to fetch some drinks. She is dressed in a show girl outfit—a corset and fluffy gown. The front is cut shorter than the back to show off her legs just a little--not enough to make her womanhood visible under any normal conditions, but enough to plant the idea in the unruly. But she is a forbidden fruit. Flora is at least a year away from being considered a woman by rabbit standards. The first signs of maturity are there and the costume draws attention to it, but any rabbit could see she is a child.
Miller, one of the miners, is taking time away from work due to having ripped his shoulder blade as he was cutting rocks. As Flora walks past, he mumbles a compliment which Flora fails to hear as he reaches over and grabs her tail as she walks past.
Flora freezes up and turns to face the old man. “I should like to politely ask you to keep your hands away from my tail, thank you.”
He leans in close, the smell of brandy thick on his breath. He whispers in Flora’s ear something about her smelling like flowers; Flora has little want to hear what Miller has to say. She places her hands on his chest and shoves him back into his chair. “I fear I am not selling what you are buying today.”
Miller slaps the table and jumps to his feet. The drunk rabbit holds a hand up to the child, threatening her.
The hammer of a pistol cocks. Nero stands up from behind the card table. “You ‘outa be keeping your hands off my merchandise.” He waves for Flora to sidestep as Miller looks at him. Nero steps out from behind the table. “What would Parish think If I were to tell him you are getting handy with little girls?”
Miller comments, “You ain’t thinkin’ about startin’ no fight here, are ya?”
“This is Santa Anna, you animal. We live in a society here…”
Miller pushes open his coat and shows off the pistol he has strapped to his belt. Miller places a hand on it, ready to draw. Nero points down range. “Now Miller, I have made peace with the Black Rabbit; how about you?”
There is a moment of quiet contemplation. Nero walks out from behind the table and up to Miller, Nero whispers with the drunk rabbit, “What do you say we step outside, get us some air?”
Once the two have cleared the bar, they are out on the streets. The town is young. A courthouse is under construction. There is a blacksmith, a coin exchange and a church across the road from the bar. Along the stretch from the town gate to the school there are a few dozen roadside stalls where people trade odds and ends. A barber and another bar are kitty-corner from there. The town is ever growing, ever changing. A horse breeder and a leather worker just showed up in town a week ago. At some point in time, Santa Anna is going to be a beautiful metropolis, but that is generations away.
Miller looks up at the sky. The stars are bright, the moon hangs low in the sky. The sound of dingoes howl somewhere off in the hills. Miller trips over his words as he tries to explain himself. “I don’t know Nero. It has been a long time since I have been with another rabbit. The smell, the touch of warm hair—I miss it.”
Nero hides his pistol. “Things ain’t like ye-old days anymore. Men can’t go around takin’ what they want.”
Miller turns around and takes a hug from Nero. “I am sorry. Please don’t go telling Parish about all of this.”
Nero pats his friend on the back. “It ain’t my place to judge a man. I know where I have been and what I have done. Only Efrafra can judge us.”
The mix of fear, excitement and whisky has reduced Miller to a blubbering baby. “I was a cavalier once, Nero; I was a man of honor. I came home from the battle of Mississippi a hero. Girls threw clothes at me and danced as they saw me walking up the street to Washington. Now my right eye don’t work no more; I can’t ball my toes, and it burns to pee. What happened to the beautiful young man girls used to worship? Where is the man I used to be?”
Nero joins his friend in stargazing. “He got old. I was right there with you. I was a sailor. I made love to women in Ireland, France, Portugal, China. I fought Vikings and Samurai and Mayan goddesses. But things aren’t like that anymore. I can’t do those things anymore. I can’t chase young girls around, frolic in the fields, or sword fight. It is time to be done with childish things like that. Learn to be a man. Enjoy the love of a good woman; get right with Efrafra. I suspect you and I will both be meeting her again sometime soon.”
Nero slaps his friend on the tail. “Now go on; get walkin’ home.”
Chapter 2
As the sun is rising, Scarlet pulls the bolt back on her rifle. Then it is time to push the tab from the lever to the barrel opening the chamber to be loaded. She drops three shells into the chamber—pulls the tab down to lock the chamber and slide the bolt into place, locking the round and priming the gun. She brings the rifle up to her breasts and looks down the sights to a set of straw bales.
Nero steps out into the backyard dressed in a set of long johns. “What in the Sam Hell do you think you are doing woman?” He rushes over to her.
Scarlet drops the rifle down into at ease, placing its butt to the ground and hugging the barrel. “I went to the market. I wanted a new rifle…”
Nero explains, “I am AOK with that, but that is not the way to grip a long gun. You are going to break your shoulder and lose an eye if you don’t grip that stock right.” Nero steps behind Scarlet. He presses his stomach to her back and grabs both of her hands. Her tail sticks up as her father guides her hands.
“Wrap your arm over the stock, push the butt up into the pit of your shoulders. It is your back hand that should be on the trigger. This thing is a lot heavier than a magnum and will put you on your pretty little tail if you don’t treat it right.” He slides a foot between her legs and guides her feet apart. He pulls one of her legs back, making her step bladed.
“Now, your other hand should be on the wooden part of the barrel—here. Otherwise, you are going to burn the hair off your knuckles when this thing spits fire.” He moves his hand along her arms, checking her stance. “Back straight, tail up. If you are shooting from the hip, you can slouch; but if you want to hit anything more than three bodies away, make sure you keep your feet on the ground and your shoulders square. Keep both eyes open.” He walks around her checking to make sure she can follow instructions.
Nero nods, “Now shoot.”
Scarlet takes the shot. She has no idea where the bullet went, as the kick of the rifle pulled up and back, making her trip over her feet.
Nero laughs, then helps Scarlet back to her feet. He gestures at the gun. “May I take a look at that?”
The gun is placed into the hands of Nero. Scarlet stands behind her father, wrapping her arms around him so she can help him understand the bits and pieces of the gun. “This one is a little different than the one you used to have. You have a bolt loader up here…” she shows him how to arm the weapon, “and a little pin over here you need to hold down. That stops the hammer from being triggered unless you have both hands on the gun.”
Nero gives an uneasy laugh. “I can think of a time ten or so years ago that something like that would have been helpful.”
Scarlet steps back. “The gun has three rounds primed. If it is fully loaded, you can hold the trigger and it will fire three times, then the bolt will lock in place. If you let go of the safety trigger you can manually prime the gun—if for whatever reason you should want to.”
Nero is a soldier, a sailor. He has fired many rifles. He holds the gun up and strikes a fighting stance. His first shot is dead on, but then, after the second, he drops the weapon as his hand seizes shut. He grips his wrist, trying to force his hand back open as he buckles in on himself.
Scarlet steps behind her father and hugs him, trying to help him back upright. She half carries him down the street to find the town doctor.
***
As of yet, no properly trained chemists or physicians have shops set up in town. The closest thing that they have is a skunk spiritualist named ‘Naomi’—at least that is the closest word to it easily pronounced by rabbits. The word is from the “Wind Talker” religion. It is a combination of two words, ‘Ne-ho’ and ‘Yumi.’ It means “Dances on Water.”
Naomi is an older woman. She has been mixing potions and delivering babies in this town since the first cabin was built. Her black fur has taken on a blue hue as it has been baked by the sun.
Scarlet sits alongside her father as he is set on an operating table to be looked over. The skunk grabs Nero’s hand and pulls on his fingers, making them open. The sailor yelps and whimpers. Naomi comments, “That is a woman’s sound. Where did you learn to make it?”
Nero doesn’t reply. He is too focused on breathing deep and stopping himself from breaking into a cold sweat. The doctor places Nero’s hand in a bowl of jelly and holds it there. The ooze is hot to the touch. Naomi questions, “What did you do to yourself?”
Nero comments, “That depends. Where would you like me to start?” He coughs a few times from the choking smell of the flowers in the office. He then sniffles and wiggles his snout to regain his focus. “I got my hand shot through a year or two back. Got stabbed not long before that. A few other accidents between here and there.”
The doctor grinds a few flowers in a bowl and adds some tree bark and spices. She gives him a glass of whisky to sip. “I would say you are going to need to start taking it easy. You’re no young hooligan. Injuries like these tend to not heal so well once you have stopped growing.”
He laughs, “I am a man, I have a man’s work to do.”
The skunk grips him by the side of the face and forces him to look at her. “You are also a father, with a dozen kids. Learn to delegate.”
Scarlet asks, “What can be done about his hand?”
Naomi hands Scarlet the bowl filled with crushed flowers. “Not very much. All those scars are going to be hurting him the rest of his life. The best thing I can do today is give him some whisky now, and you can make him eat these flowers before he goes to bed tonight. Tomorrow he will forget he is in pain.”
Nero asks, “What is in the bowl?”
“Knowing that wouldn’t do you any good.” She looks at the older man. “Now do as you are told.” She looks at Scarlet again. “What was he doing when his hand cramped?”
“We were out shooting.” Scarlet explains.
Naomi looks down, “Maybe limit how much of that you do also.”
***
Scarlet Sam-Clemens Ip-Mun
March 12-44
The theater is under construction on one side of the street, a courthouse on the other. The Waterhole my father runs sits perfectly between them. On the wagon train last night a judge, sent by the Duchess of Rabbits, arrived in town. He had been most eager to visit The Waterhole and get a bowl of mixed greens and a pint of whisky upon his arrival.
The Duchess and the Governor of New York have taken interest in our small town. It is 3,500 miles from coast to coast via the waterway—it takes the fastest ship eight days to travel the waterways. The same trip takes eight months on foot. There is a rumor that a railroad mogul has made a pitch to pave a road that would cut the frontier in half and allow a rabbit to venture from the east into the west in only seven days.
There have been whispers that silver has been found in the Colorado River and thousands of families are considering traveling out this way to get a taste of fortune. The price of leather has also started to rise for those of us that like to keep up with east coast trends. Birthing, breeding, and raising chattel for the need of farming leather is costly and demand is higher than supply will allow. But there are herds of wild cow running the grasslands. A greedy rabbit may one day wish to farm these herds. It is true that the skunks do so, but they do not hunt beasts to sell; they hunt to eat. I would question the ethics of taking that away.
When my father told me ‘I want to see the frontier before it is gone,’ I didn’t understand what he was trying to say at first. But now, I think I am starting to get it. There is no place in the world that looks like the western grasslands. The air is clean, the sky is always blue. There is an endless amount of lemongrass. Mighty monsters roam the wilds, unafraid of us. Gigantic, majestic—there are no other words I know that describe the wilderness in my backyard.
But once this industrial silver rush is in full swing, how much smaller will the prairie look? With only three or four dozen families living on this land, there is more food than we will ever be able to eat. But what happens when there are 100,000 of us, or 10,000,000?
I remember hearing a campfire story not so long ago. A single woman went to an island only a few hours off the coast of Yorktown. She had 48 kids the day after she arrived. Each of them had 36 daughters the following summer; 55 more two years after that. The weight of the rabbits made the island capsize. Can that happen? Could there be so many rabbits on an island that the island sinks? Will there one day be so many rabbits that all of the new land gets turned over like Lilypad’s in heavy rain?
Chapter 3
As the theater is approaching completion, the first group of actors are brought in and the first show practice is underway.
Luis Sam-Clemens sits on the part bench watching the actors read their lines. Nero sits with him, watching.
The narrator sets the scene; Clemens is the one to read the segment. “Sigmund, the knight commander of Her Majesty lies on his side dressed in his family colors. His squire, Igrem, lays back-to-back with him.”
“Sigmund is startled awake by the sound of bells ringing. The Black Rabbit, Efrafra, stands over him.”
Sigmund jumps to his feet, then turns to face the Black Rabbit. “You, … are you here to take me away?”
The Black Rabbit holds out her arms. “I am here to bring you home. Are you prepared?”
Sigmund holds out a hand to keep Efrafra at a distance. “My body is ready, my soul is not.”
Efrafra comments, “I have walked alongside you for a great time.”
Sigmund stutters as he walks backwards away from the shadow. “This much I know, but… but… do you play Chess?”
Efrafra freezes in place. “I have played a game or two. How did you know?”
The knight gathers pieces from a nearby bag and sets up a chess board for the two of them. “I saw a painting of you on a church wall holding a chessboard under your arm…”
The rabbit walks around the knight. “What are your conditions? What is the catch to this game?”
After ushering Death to be seated, Sigmund hides the two kings behind his back. “If I should win, I want a new life—to be born again, and to be told the secrets of the afterlife, the name of God and…”
Efrafra asks, “What makes you believe I know these things?”
“Do you not?” the knight replies.
Efrafra does not reply. “I have been playing a very long time. I am quite good at this game. When you lose, I will take you, your queen and king all in the same night.”
Luis Sam-Clemens calls out the next set of instructions. He begins the narration by explaining, “I want Igrem to sit up now. Igrem, turn to face Sigmund. Then the narrator will say—'A chessboard is laid out before Sigmund. He is talking to himself as he glares at the board. It is clear to Igrem that there are two people playing this game, but he can only see one.’ Now, start again from the top of page six please, Sigmund.”
Sigmund declares, speaking as Efrafra, “Take as much time as you wish. This game will go on for seven nights, at which time the last piece will fall off the chessboard--”
Luis points to Efrafra, “Then you reiterate, ‘the last piece will fall from the chessboard.”
Nero leans into Luis. “What is this play about?”
Luis looks to his son-in-law, whispering to him, “I am surprised at you; a man of such prestigious breeding. They are doing ‘A Deal with Efrafra.’ It was the most important play in York the year you met my daughter.”
Nero hums, “Yes; I am afraid to say I watched only one play that summer. ‘Into the West;’ if I recall.”
Luis explains, “Act one—Mundanity. A knight of the holy war has made his way back home to find it is not the home he remembers. It is the 14th age. Red Fever is sweeping the countryside.” Luis loses his train of thought. “It is important that we talk about what the world looked like at whatever time. Did you know I walked the Zeek trail, from the City of Omindall to Marth? Why is that important? Was I the first? Was I the only? What is the Zeek trail anyway?”
The elderly rabbit leans in and whispers, “It is the longest continuous road paved by rabbits. It is two thousand one hundred miles. One hundred rabbits every year try to run the circuit —only one in four make it to the end. It goes through tundra, up mountains, deserts, and jungles. The road connects the north to the south. Most rabbits who make this run take ninety-one days to cross from coast to coast. But through preparation, good planning and the help of experienced trail blazers and guides—I finished the circuit in only seventy-three days… I was a young man at the time, just served my first year in the Navy.”
Nero stops Luis, “The play; I want to know more about the play.”
Luis tugs at his coat to straighten it, then leans in close to Nero. “How should a man approach death? That is the question ‘A Deal With Efrafra’ poses. Sigmund fights death, tries to cheat her and lie to her. But in the end, he can only lie to himself. But what are your other options? Embrace death, ignore death, run from death? I think the line of ‘I have walked by your side for a very long time’ is a very meaningful one…”
Nero questions, “And what are your thoughts on Efrafra?”
“I don’t see any need to be frightened by her. I was dead for a very long time before I was alive. I will be dead for a very long time after I die. In many ways, death will be a return to normality. I just hope that when I do die, it is quick. I surely do not want to be left bleeding somewhere for seven days waiting for death.”
Nero stares at his father-in-law for a long few moments, thinking. “I, in part, agree with you. I have seen Efrafra. I have watched as she scooped up men on my ship and carried them into the night. I have heard men shout her name in fear. I felt her hand on my shoulders the day I got stabbed through the hand.”
Luis leans in close to his son-in-law. He places a hand on Nero’s leg to whisper with him, “Boy, Efrafra is not a person; she is a concept. She has no hand to rest on your shoulder, she cannot walk side by side with you. Efrafra is time, nature, birth and death, inevitability. The point of this story is and always has been to help us understand—what is one to do, once they have come to understand we are all mortal.”
“I met a mouse once that told me mortality is only one option.” Nero comments.
“I bet that mouse was selling something.” Luis chuckles.
“The promise of a second life. The idea that we all get to live twice.” Nero explains.
***
Writings by Nero:
The idea of the limitations of life, the finite nature of the world we live in—we all need to think about it at some point in our lives. Luis and I are not young men. We have seen more of the world than most. And still; I sense in my father-in-law a level of fear. The man can’t help regret the places he hasn’t gone and the things he will never do. I feel very much the opposite. I have adventured enough. I feel no wanderlust—no need to uproot my life and seek out wealth and glory.
I do find myself asking, what if there are other variations of myself somewhere. In some metaphysical way, who could one become if they had the full understanding of their past lives. Would I still dream about the girls I have loved, and the card games that I lost? I would hope not. I understand how I arrived at where I am, and I would hope that means that I made all the choices I was meant to make. Every place you go, every thing you do; it is all a part of who you are. Who I am is the only person the choices I have made could have led to.
Luis had told me how he disregards the idea of Efrafra being a person, how she is nothing more than elemental. The man has not been where I have been; nor has he seen the things that I have seen. There are things in this world that rabbits simply do not have words to describe. I have witnessed with my own eyes the power of the bird god Kari—I have met the mouse goddess Jessica the Weaver, I have walked through the house of Rainbow Eyes, the immortal snake. There is magic in the world—even if it is not held by all men.
I cannot say beyond any reasonable doubt that Efrafra is in fact a rabbit, and not just the rambling of a fevered brain. But even in the far east, thousands of leagues from the centers of civilization, legends of the Black Rabbit can be heard whispered in the night. Just as here in the new land, the spirit of birth and death is strong. How can she not be real?
Yet I feel I have spoken enough of this dibble dabble. After spending the afternoon with my father-in-law, the wagon train comes into town. I have been awaiting a commodity to arrive from Jersey Town. I am told that it will be arriving with today’s mail.
Chapter 4
A box 8’x4’x6’ Is pushed into Nero’s bar. Scarlet is there to sign for the drop off. After she is handed the order delivery form, a carpenter’s hammer is placed into her hand. Nero and Luis are walking in, only a few steps behind. Luis laughs at the oddly shaped box and holds out his arms in bewilderment. He questions, “What is this madness?”
Nero flexes his hand as he leans on the wall. “If I am not mistaking, that is the new card table I asked for.”
Scarlet pulls the nails out of the box one by one and the crate slowly comes apart. The table is shaped like a kidney bean, a groove cut out on one side for the dealer to sit. The table is lined with green suede, boxes are painted onto the surface to show where each of the players are meant to sit and where they are to lay their cards between games. A slot is drilled into one corner where the dealer can mount a tool to help him gather the cards from all sides of the table. A cove is set under the dealer’s chair where a gun can be hidden. A cup for dice can be found on the left side of the table and a cupboard for sorting poker chips and cards is on the underside.
Luis walks around the table admiring the craftsmanship--the red stained wood and the high polish. “Son, how much did you pay for this table?”
Nero retorts, “How much did you pay for that candelabra down yonder?”
Luis shakes his head. “You would be happier not knowing.”
Nero nods, “As would you.”
Luis goes to pull a chair up to the table. Nero stops him and sits down first. He then waves off the others to join him if they like. Nero flexes his hands, then sets a pack of cards on the table. He produces a knife from inside his coat and cuts the box open. Nero shuffles the cards and deals out a hand for his daughter and father-in-law. “Dealer sits on sixteen. Face cards are ten, ace is one, one-eyed-jack is wild. The name of the game is twenty-one…”
Scarlet looks to her father. “If I may ask; who put this little thing together?”
Nero leans off to one side to look at a bronze stamp on the side of the desk, then replies, “W.J. Handcock, Port Pennsylvania.”
***
As day turns to night, the house lights turn on and the singing of the rabbit sisters fills the hall. People from all around town gather about to partake of the nightly festivities. Kegs of whisky are dragged up from the cellar; pints are poured.
As the first song is underway, Nero sets up his table. After the first song, the piano takes over. Five rabbits stand around Nero waiting to be invited to take their seats.
Nero shuffles his cards and waves out a hand inviting the first group to be seated. “It is two silver coins to rent a chair. If you are drinking the house ale today, that price is waved. I am Nero and I am the dealer. This is my chair, and my table. These are my cards, and if any of y’all be forgettin’ that, I am happy to remind you.”
“Buy-in per hand is one chip. If you ain’t got no chips, you can buy them from that table over there.” He points “It is one silver for ten chips today. Here, I deal in silver; so don’t be thinking I am going to buy your fur or pigs or anything like that.”
A few chips are set on the table. “Now, I think I have seen you all at this table once before, but just in case some of you can’t remember the rules, I will go ahead and tell you. First off, I see every one of you has a pistol and a knife. I am fine with that. The pistol is what makes all rabbits equal. But if any of you discharge weapons in here, we are going to have a bad day. If I see any cards on the table that ain’t the ones I put there, we are going to have a bad day. And if tempers start getting high, I am going to send your cute little tails home. So long as I am in this chair, I make the rules in here. So-- when I call a play, it is done. No one talks back to me.”
He deals out the first hand of cards. “Today we are playing ‘Studs’. It is the oldest and most well-known card game we offer. Let me tell you the house rules. Kings are high. On a tie, black beats red. If you tie the dealer, dealer wins. Triples beats doubles, four of a kind beats three of a kind, two pairs beats triples; but four of a kind beats two pairs. Five of a suit is higher than four of a kind. If you don’t like your hand, one chip can buy you up to four new cards.”
“Now gentlemen, are we ready to play a game?”
The first chips are dropped on the table. The first hand of cards is played. The men at the table are all wild men with a mask of sophistication to cover their shady nature. The people in the bar fall into two tiers. On one side of the room one may find trail blazers, wilderness guides, sailors, and prospectors—adventurers. On the other side of the room you may see farmers, miners, artisans, and metalworkers—socialites. Early in the night are the former are at the table. Bill—a trail guide from Santa Cruz; Parish—a schoolmaster turned cartographer from Taluka; and Hershel. He was a career gunslinger in his youth; now he is a professional drinker. He has never talked about his family. No one can tell you anything about him before his time as a gun fighter. But in the prairie that is not an uncommon story. People come out here when they want to forget.
Bill moves the cards in his hand around, whispering to himself the value of his cards as he is trying to decide how many cards he wants to draw. He takes a moment to strike up conversation as he is thinking. “Parish; my son tells me you weren’t lookin’ the best at church on Friday. He tells me you were lookin’ like y’all had green on your lips and white on your boots.”
Parish places two cards on the table. Nero hands him two new cards. “I don’t recall having seen you at prayers.”
Nero comments, “That don’t mean he is wrong. You smell like sick my friend. I don’t know what you have been doing with those skunks out there, but I think maybe you should take a bath when you’re done with it.”
Hershel places his cards on the table face up. “Numbers.” He declares.
Nero counts his cards. “No it ain’t. There are four combinations of cards that count as numbers, and all of them have a five in them. You got no fives. You got two two’s a three, a four and a six. You are holdin’ a pair.”
Bill looks over. “I haven’t had my draw yet.” He puts down four cards. “Give me four.”
Nero nods and deals out four more cards for Bill. “Anything for you Parish?”
Parish nods. “I want one.”
Nero deals the cards. “Dealer holds. Show me your cards boys.”
Bill shakes his head and splays his cards. “Jack is high,” he calls out.
Parish sets down his cards. “Two nines.”
Nero shows his hand. “Three eights and a pair of ones. Ante-up.”
The next hand is dealt, coins are dropped on the table as the men discard and buy their next cards. Hershel is excited to play. He takes a drink from his flagon. The man giggles loudly and snorts.
Bill looks over. “What are you drinking tonight, Hershel?”
Hershel shrugs. “Whatever be on the table.”
Nero sets his cards on the table face down and leans on one arm. “Can I ask how many drinks you have been downing?”
Hershel looks up thinking. “Two?”
Nero points across the bar. “Do you see who that is washing mugs over there?”
Hershel squints. “That be your old lady Clementine.”
Nero nods as he moves in closer to Hershel. “That is right. That is my old lady Clementine. Now, if I call her over here and ask her how many drinks she poured for you, is she going to say two also?”
Hershel shakes his head. “She might say three?”
Nero squints. “Three? Now. Did you have any drinks before you showed up today?”
“One?”
“One?” Nero repeats.
“I was out with Levi…” Nero stops Hershel.
“Levi? What were you doing hanging out with Levi? You were meant to be at work with Maribel. Do you remember--the piggies?”
Hershel offers a smile. The man is showing signs of growing nauseous. “I remember the pigs… at the park down in Hudson. I saw a show there where they were racing piggies…” He can’t seem to remember what they were talking about beforehand.
“That is right. You have told me about the park in Hudson, and Maribel went out and found some pigs so you can build a park here just like it. You told her you were going to take care of the piggies,” Nero explains.
Hershel is becoming frustrated. “I remember that much pa…”
Nero reaches across the table and grabs one of Hershel’s ears. He pulls his head off to the side, making him lie on the table. “You say pa to me one more time and I am going to kiss you with my fist. You are going to look real silly crawling into bed with an odd number of teeth.”
Hershel is starting to cry. He has had so much to drink today that he is off balance. “I am sorry Nero.”
Nero lets him up. He walks around the table and makes Hershel stand. Hershel steps into a hug. Nero whispers. “Now, I love you; I want you to remember that. And I don’t want to see you getting sick. So you and Levi gotta knock off whatever it is you two are up to.”
Hershel is blabbering. He is trying to talk, but can’t seem to find the words he is looking for. After a few moments he manages to get out the words, “I am thirsty.”
“You are thirsty?” Nero repeats. “OK, now let me tell you something then. Clementine cooked potato soup today. You like potato soup, don’t you?”
Hershel nods. “I like Clementine’s potato soup. She knows how to pepper good.”
Nero shows Hershel a coin. “I want you to take this coin, hand it to Clementine. Then, ask her if she can go get some of that potato soup for you. Okay?”
Hershel nods. “I like potato soup.” He walks away from the table.
Nero retakes his seat. He picks up his cards. “Dealer takes one.” He draws himself a card. Parish and Bill both take two. Once everyone has nodded signifying it is time to show their cards, Bill laughs and sets down three of his cards.
“Three Queens boys. Hard to beat that.” Bill declares.
Parish lays down his cards. “Colors, five red, ten is high.”
Nero grunts, “That beats me. Two pairs and a nine.”
A dozen more games go by. Several players cycle in and out of Hershel’s spot. Bill and Parish hold their seats. The stage lights turn on and one of Nero’s kids step up to do their nightly show.
Nero shuffles the cards as he watches. Something looks out of place in the bar, but it takes him a few seconds to sniff it out. Maybe the lights have been moved around, or the piano is out of tune…
The singer is Georgia, the oldest of Clementine’s kids, born a year before she and Nero had been officially wed. She has been doing the same song since the club opened. It is an old song, a childish song-- “What to do with a Sailor.” The act is comical, involves a good deal of waving fans, spinning skirts and throwing things from the stage. It is not uncommon for the crowd to sing along as many people have known this song since before they can remember.
But the bar is reacting slightly off. Then it strikes Nero what changed. Georgia is in the wrong costume. Her hair should be up in pigtails—and she should be dressed in a green full-length skirt with a blue blouse and yellow apron. It is a clown outfit, and that is the point. But that is not how she is dressed. Instead, she has on a red vest and a two-level skirt. In the back it goes to her knees; in the front it goes to mid-thigh—her hair is down and she has on face paint. The lights have also been moved, set lower on the stage to give her a backlight; and in the strong stage-light Georgia’s clothing is partly transparent.
Nero stews in anger as he watches the show. This is not the way the show is meant to look. Nero has grown to fancy predictability and so finds this deeply upsetting.
Chapter 5
After the show Georgia takes a bow, She walks backstage and starts to strip out of her costume. Once out of her stage outfit, she digs up her barmaid uniform.
In the moments after her undressing and redressing Nero steps into the room. He catches a glimpse of her bent over and exposed—tail up and on display. Nero gasps and shuts his eyes. He turns to face away from her, shutting and locking the door for her.
Georgia puts on her dress and apron, then leans on the makeup stand and addresses her father. “Dad.”
Nero keeps his back turned, unsure if his daughter is decent. “Why did you change the show?”
Georgia giggles. “You mean, why did I change my outfit?”
“I don’t like that red dress. It is old; it is from the old country. Part of a world we are not in anymore.” Nero is stumbling to collect his thoughts and feelings.
Georgia comments, “I think it is cute; so does Grandpa. You know it is Mom’s. She used to wear it when she danced.”
Nero shudders as he is struggling to keep himself in check. The smell of perfume assaults Nero’s nose, awakening animalistic feelings from his youth. “I know that. I have seen Mother with it on more than once.”
Georgia grabs her father from behind, giving him a hug. Nero’s teeth chatter. The smell in the air gives him uncomfortable and complicated sensations. For only a moment Nero’s mind is in a fog, and he can’t tell the difference between Georgia and Clementine. He turns to face the girl and grabs her by the arm. He walks her backwards, setting her on the make-up stand in the room. He leans forward about to kiss her forcibly; but he catches himself. Those thoughts, those feelings—the time in which sex and anger where one in the same—that time is long in the past and the man who felt those things is long dead.
Nero does kiss his child, but it is a calmed and comforting kiss. His snout on her neck, he takes a slow, calming breath, then whispers with her, “Did you say grandpa was the one that put you up to this?”
Georgia offers a nod in confirmation. She jumps up to sit on her make-up stand. “Did the outfit look good on me?”
He lowers his eyes, he steels a glance at the young rabbit. “You are supposed to wear shorts under a dress like that. Anyone in the front row could see up your skirt.”
Georgia blushes. She fidgets in place. The girl is young, but she has some understanding already of what she is and what power a girl can have over a man; and the idea that a man could control her in much the same way. Her fangs click; she folds her ears back and tries to look small and cute for her father.
Nero explains, “I want you to stick with the other outfit; at least for one more year.” And with that he steps out of the room.
Bill calls for Nero. The two men meet outside. A third man stands on the street dressed in a dark coat, a tall hat, and a pipe in one hand as he is packing tobacco. Bill explains, “I think you remember Columbo.”
Nero nods. “The lawyer works for the governor’s office. Thought I saw you hop on the pony express a month ago, heading to Fort Mustard.”
The dark rabbit pulls a flint & steel from his coat pocket and lights his pipe. He takes a drag and explains, “Price of tobacco leaf just went up by six percent. Now is a good time to buy, if you are into stock and trade.”
Bill comments, “You finished that investigation or what-ever. Why did you come back this way?”
Columbo expresses, “Someone told me they found silver in the waters near here.”
Nero asks, “Are you thinking about panning up some silver yourself?”
Columbo shakes his head. “A smart man doesn’t dig for silver when the markets sway; they buy shovels and sleeping bags.”
Nero shake his head. “I don’t think anyone around here is going to be investing in shovels. We all have better things to do than dig for treasure.”
Columbo comments, “That may be true for you and the trail blazer over there—” he points at Bill “…but what about your Dakota friends? It looks like the lot of you are already feeling some stress. Maybe we should ask them to head down south.”
Nero places a hand on his hip, he unclips the safety strap on his revolver. “I don’t think I like the way you are talkin’.”
Bill looks between the men. He can sense Nero is stressed. Bill stands bladed. He watches Columbo, ready to pull his pistol if things go south. “What are you saying, city slicker?”
“This frontier town is not going to be a frontier town forever.” Columbo explains.
Nero clarifies, “This boot-lick coot is talkin’ about war. I be havin’ a feeling the governor’s army is already enroute.”
Bill asks, “War? With who?”
Nero nudges his head. “Dakota. Chucklehead over there wants to know whose side we will be fightin’ on.”
Bill shakes his head. “We already gave Dakota a licking—what would be the point in fighting them some more?”
Nero comments, “Land; what else is there? The governor ain’t happy only owning half the country. He wants the rest, also, even if it already belongs to someone else.”
Bill draws his gun. Nero side-steps between the two men. “Shooting this scallywag won’t change anything.” Nero turns his attention to the lawyer. “Am I right?”
Columbo takes another drag off his pipe. “Pick your friends carefully Ip-Mun. You were once a good soldier. The governor could use you.”
Bill shouts, “I think it is time for you to get above the snakes before you get your tail run on out of town.”
Columbo nods in understanding. “Any chance I can get a drink before I get back on the road? I am running a little lower on Adam’s Ale.”
Nero nods, “Bill; grab this dog-lover a pint on the house.”
***
Luis has brought his team of actors into the newly constructed theater. The main stage is set up, props are being hammered together, and backdrops are being painted. In only a few more months everything should be in place, and Santa Anna will have its first proper play performed.
Luis calls down to his actors from the seats. “Start from the top of sixteen. Sigmund has just stepped into the church.”
Sigmund has on his new chain armor. He calls out to Luis, “Can you read the narration? Just the three lines before I walk in.”
Luis holds the script in front of himself and puts on his glasses as he reads over the set up. “As Sigmund steps into the confession booth, he could not have known the truth of what is about to be. Yesterday, the keeper of the nunnery was visited by Efrafra; now she lies in enchanted sleep.”
Sigmund draws a magic charm on his chest as he bows his head. He dips his fingers in the Holy water set inside the booth and draws the emblem of the church on his face before speaking to the nun awaiting him. “Forgive me Sister, for I have sinned.”
Efrafra sits in the booth beside him dressed in the clothing of the monasteries’ keeper. “Speak my son.”
Sigmund keeps his eyes turned to the floor, speaking into the ground. His voice is filled with shame. “I have done so many things that would upset our mother. I am a crusader, charged by the church to bring our mother’s name into distant lands. I have done so many things, wrought so much evil in the name of good. Death follows me wherever I go.”
Efrafra replies, “The bishop has already given sweeping forgiveness for this. He has deemed that any evil done in the name of our mother will be absolved.”
“Sister, I must confess that I feel fear and shame at this moment.” Sigmund explains.
Efrafra asks, “What need do you have for shame?”
Sigmund continues, “I have invoked our mother’s name. I have spoken to the specter of birth and death. And I have challenged her authority. In a moment of selfishness, I thought my will stronger than hers, and challenged her to a game. I am at this moment playing chess for my very soul.”
Efrafra comments, “You are not the first person to feel fear at our mother’s gaze. I suspect that you will not be the last.”
“Sister; how is a man to react in the in the presence of God? Should I be filled with fear? Anger? Dread?”
“Sigmund; Efrafra is loving and merciful--and above all, I am fair. This game started long before today. In the day before your birth we played this game also. But--we did not have time to finish before your earthly mother conjured you into this world. I had kissed you on the lips—told you we will play again. And so it was done.”
Nero walks up behind Luis. He grabs his father-in-law around the shoulders, stands him up and makes him turn around. “We need to have words old man.”
Luis turns to his actors. “Take a break; get a drink; be back here lickety-split.”
The two men step around backstage. Nero whispers with his father-in-law, “I want you to explain something to me.”
Luis questions, “What is on your mind?”
Nero nods. “Okay. Why did you dress up Georgia like a harlot?”
Luis offers a chuckle, clearly failing to notice the irritation in Nero’s voice. “It is a fine dress; it was made with Italian silk. Very flattering—it will fit her better after she has had a few puppies…”
Nero swings a hand upwards and slaps the hat off Luis’ head. “Yeah coot, Georgia is still a pup herself. By the rules of any community I have lived in, she is still a child until New Years—and here you are putting forbidden fruit on display…”
Luis cuts in, “The boys in the bar thought it was spicy; they threw good coin on the table. How much money did we make yesterday?”
Nero pokes Luis in the chest. “Remember, old man. At the bar I make the rules. Here at the theater, you can dress up your girls in whatever you like. But—if you are in my club, you play my game, and you play by my rules.”
