Chapter 4

“You didn’t tell her?” I asked.

“Hell no!” he said, “I wanted to live long enough to get you back.”

“Maybe I don’t wanna go back.” I said.

“Grace ... don’t do this to me.”

“You did it to me!”

“I had no idea you’d be left behind. I shut the lid to my box ... and you weren’t there. I’ll tell you one thing. Wendy Stage manager took one week to kill the rabbit. I never worked so hard at sex in my life,” I said. “I didn’t even dally with Val ... and she was pissed about it.

“As it was ... I only waited a week to get back through the portal. I thought I was supposed to wait three weeks. I couldn’t wait.”

“Wait. Thought? You thought you had to wait three weeks?”

“Yup ... I thought I had to wait. And I didn’t,” I said. “Then I found out there wasn’t a set time for returns. If the portal lets you through you’re all set.”

“Well ... now what?”

“There’s the mission...”

“WHAT?”

“Can’t leave Chaos without a rescue ... it’s in the rules for Heroes.” David said.

“I’m not a Hero!”

That didn’t set too well with my escort.

“Are too,” said the sergeant.

“You’re OUR Hero,” said one of the foot soldiers. “Is this the guy who left you here?”

The question alone was a trifle insulting ... she didn’t need to give him a poke with her quarter staff.

“Some hero, that.” Another of the guard said with complete disdain.

That got a nod and fierce looks from all of my loyal escort. The past three years of intensive training had created a cadre of companions the likes of which had never been seen in the women of Chaos.

The rabbit has teeth ... found out how to use them ... and had defeated some of the worst of Chaos’s bad actors. Not without cost. But ... more women showed up at the island. They had been downtrodden. Now ... with training ... they were past equal to the ragtag men and not about to go back to being punching bags for drunken louts.

We weren’t saying that the rest of Chaos was the better for us. Fair Island was uniquely situated for defense by an unorganized mob. It was small enough to defend and large enough to be reasonably self-sufficient.

The forays into Fisher’s Harbor had kept the excitable element moving on. The bank went through two managers before they began being polite to the women. An armed party of fighters ... however female those fighters were ... produced deadly results at the Inn and respect.

Our money was safe at the bank ... even drawing interest howbeit small. Still our needs were small and the locals appreciated the custom when we Did come to town.

I was appointed headman ... woman ... Mayor? Yeah ... Mayor. Mayor of Fair Island. No politics allowed.

They were learning to read ... and cypher ... and think. There was a cadre of trainers ... I didn’t have to do it myself. Not that I wasn’t in there working during the drills. Nope ... I prided myself on the fact I could do anything they could do. Not only that ... I Would do it with them. I was even learning to COOK! Imagine that!

What Eventually Happened

David insisted one more time than I refused.

Arrangements were made that didn’t suit everybody ... but ... at least ... the militia took over at the island ... David and I were off on another adventure...”it’s only 15 minutes,” David said.

He’s right ... and he’s wrong ... fifteen minutes could save your life. Thank you, Mr. Gecko.

The next morning saw the two of us ... and six crew ... sailing the knarr north seventy five miles to a sea-born rescue.

And David wouldn’t have to flee by sea. John’s Son’s Cove had its own bank.

Whether or not I would go back with him? We’re not there yet.

Progressively colder isn’t my idea. Contrary winds and both moons in conjunction for the next few weeks made for miles and miles of tack and gybe for just a few miles made good over ground. Steam would be a worthwhile invention. Chaos has both wood and water. David and I were stretching our legs at the watering hole when word came that the knarr was watered and the crew had captured sheep and pigs. Time to go. Yes. It is.

Gloria Sculptor was being forced to keep Mr. Faxon and his warehouse stocked with crude examples of a sculptor’s art. Crude being the word here.

Carving inferior rock into even worse statues is distressing to an artist’s ego ... so ... in the long run and factoring in the shatter of her mind, Gloria was in distress. Damsels in Distress need rescuing. Sure it wasn’t physical. Mind work in as taxing as muscle work. Ask Gloria,

When I see her, I will.