CHAPTER 3

The trio bad cut through the city's populace. Reaching Hendrix Station, across town. The Underground Railway, was built around a hundred years ago. 30th President Deacon Hendrix, oversaw it's construction. Overwhelmed by constant paranoia of bandits attempting to steal cargo. So built transportation completely under the earth.

"So where will this railway take me?" Deadhorse asked trying to avoid bumping into anyone. Talia glanced back taking a breath.

"BitterRock, a minor town close to Janus borders" she answered trying to pull his ticket out from her pocket.

"So who's my contact?"

"They'll make contact with you, they're making sure to stay quiet" Talia explained in a icy tone. She was well spoken, with sharp etiquette to help.

"Til you reach Janus, keep a low profile, I'mma go make sure we have steady patrols" Markus spoke, picking his belt up, and fixing his duster. "Can't be too careful, badge" Deadhorse begrudgingly handed over the miniature steel star. A source of pride that he held.

"Kay, I'll see ya in a full moons time" giving his Sheriff a strong handshake. Feeling a bit heavier.

The station, wasn't particularly clean. A crowd of Pukwudgies moved talking hastily. The railway always made Deadhorse anxious. Under the mother earth, just takes one collapse. Carts of luggage flew in and out like bullets. Crates were being loaded by Minatour. Though their station uniforms barely fitting, as well as the Tree People.

Talia, gave the thick ticket to Deadhorse. Shoving it into his chest pocket.

"Hand that to the conductor, and it should be no problem"

"What no hug goodbye?" A quip causing a bit of an eye roll from the Djinn.

"Just don't cause an incident, you'll be fine" a bell blew, to make anyone go deaf. Deadhorse leaping onto the train. Just as the thick metal doors slammed shut. All passengers fixing their luggage into minor compartments. Taking a window seat nothing to see, but endless rock. It was better than nothing. The trains engine hissed loudly. Slow chugging of the iron giant, quaked. Taking off into a slow trot. Minutes later it jetted off like a arrow. The rocky walls speeding by. Nothing more than a brown blur.

The sound of children racing down the isle. Mutterings of other passengers, was just boring. Absolutely absent of anything interesting. Deadhorse's back had began to cramp. The seats made out of worn hide. Color already fading after years use.

"Is this seat taken?" snapping his head round. A lanky man with neatly combed hair. A pair of circular glasses hanging off his nose. A satchel swinging lose from his arm. Deadhorse shaking head toward him. "Thank you sir" falling quietly into the spot.

Deadhorse didn't seem to care about who sat about him. Only caring if they kept to themselves.

"Where might you headed?" Flashing a smile. Catching a peek into his bag. Books and papers cluttered the insides. A few instruments poking out too. "Me I'm head to Good Will, in Janus borders"

That bit of information perked the Lawman. Sitting straighter than normal. The man adjusting his coat more comfortably.

"Oh sorry Sam McCready, Alchemist" holding out a friendly hand. Deadhorse only nodded in return. Returning his hand to the folds of his pocket. The smile fading into a shy grin. "Anyway I'm trying to buy, a few books off the Black Market trying to learn golem making"

Golems had become obsolete, due to expenses. Since it's cheaper just to hire Minatour for heftier jobs. Though a few still roam the countryside.

"A bit risky to be playing with dirt?" Deadhorse joked stonely.

"No, cause I'm in the process of developing metallic golems" McCready had gained pep after getting a response. Golems were usually made of clay, rock or even a wood. Never metal too hard to put in the right measurements of ingredients. "It could be a breakthrough in Alchemic studies!" almost shouting, biting it back.

McCready then went on to explain the properties of liquid transmutation. Recalling a tale of how one Alchemist transformed his urine to water. A disgusting one at that. The conductor slugged down the isle. A ticket punch in hand, rust in the spring.

"Ticket please" a elder voice straining. Handing their tickets over. Despite age, his hands moved faster than any gunslinger. A tiny holes were punched away. "Thank you, tickets" continuing down the isle. Hands waving out their passes.

"A quiet man" McCready whispered.

Hours went on by, not sure if daylight was still high. Problem with being underground can't tell nothin anymore. The car had began to get stuffy. Heat unnaturally built up gradually.

Hissing had screamed high in pitch. Their travel coming to a slow halt. Screaming of the engine's wheels stopping. "We have arrived at BitterRock"

A quiet ding signaling their stop. Everyone rose out their seats. Pulling and yanking out their briefcases and trunks. Deadhorse didn't bring a thing with him. Besides his guns and what he had on his back. Exiting as a smaller stone station greeted them. Showing the great Black Mountains. A glint in the distant, shining bright just as sunset came.

Moans of massive beasts quaked the ground. just pass the station entrance, Krakadann. Giant beasts, with thick hides matted with dirt. A horn protruding inches from their snouts. Capable of moving mountains if given enough effort. Beside the odor they gave off. They were really gentle creatures. Passing by them avoiding being stomp flat.

"Almost crushed us" McCready stuttered in excitement. Clutching his satchel tightly. "Well I better be off then, gotta get coach pass" waving farewell hasting away. BitterRock, a small stop on the way to Blackwood. One of the Janus cities. It's famous, run by the Abbott Family with iron fists.

Making way to the stagecoach office. A man with a thick mustache, and boney fingers stood. Peering up to see the Lawman approach.

"Whens the next ride Blackwood?" resting a hand on the counter.

"Not till mornin I'm afraid"

"What no night rides?"

"Unfortunately, coachmen too yellow to go pass republic borders at night" resting a forearm down. Taking a strained glance at the schedule. "Too many bandits, but earliest ride seven maybe eight depending on your commute"

"Fine, any place to rest awhile?"

"Miss Sally's is always open as well as it's bar" He nodded down the street. A place with big florescent lights, reading 'Sallys' on it. A traffic of folks coming in and out.

"Better than nothin" pushing the door open. A mess of colors blinded him. The bar stacked with bottles of all sizes. Laughter and games being played, a glass or two dropped. Taking a seat not too close to the bar. A old waitress with a loose bun and a few hair strands free.

"Can I get you anything?" she said in a force cheer.

"You special and a glass of water"

"oh a dry man? that's a rare sight" jotting the order down. Then strutting off leaving him to his own. Deadhorse kept an eye on the crowd. Paranoia made sure his senses keen. A itch on his trigger finger became eager. A plate landed in sight. Holding a side of mash potatoes, a thick sausage, soon spreading gravy atop. A few cubes of ice floated in his drink. Taking a sip refreshing his long ride on the railway. Slicing the sausage, putting a wad of potatoes, made sweet music in his mouth.

"Damn that ain't bad, not bad at all" licking his lips clean. The rest of his though was dwelled on his job. Janus cops knew of Lawmen, despising them. Would he get caught? He wasn't famous, but not a nobody either. Cleaning his plate spotless not a thing left. The waitress came by to take the dishes back. "How much a room?"

"Ten dollars a night" resting a hand on her hip.

"Here ya go" Slamming a ten dollar bill atop the table. Shoving it into a apron pocket. Pulling out a key, each waitress had a few keys so that they can give them once asked. Handing over a brass key, number seven etched on the face.

A quiet anxiety wash over him. An assignment with no help, or escape plan as far as he knew. Entering the room, a dusty bed and desk sat. Taking all his equipment off.

A duster with strange symbols etched inside. Duel pistols, that had mystic writing on the barrel. A vest with steel plates attached in the leather. Boots that were dirty and faded color. Body aching from the ride as he fell. The bed catching his sleeping form. Creaking against the springs.

Tomorrow would be a challenge, he just needed rest nothing more.