Silence. She must be holding something over her mouth so’s not to make any noise. She might as well let go and have a good howl. He’s the only one here. He goes around the bar and knocks on the door.

Molly? No answer. He was comin back to you, Molly, he says. He loved you.

Go away, she says.

I cain’t leave you like this, he says. Let me in.

Fergawdsake, jest do what I say! she cries.

He goes back to his stool. He looks at the full hoochers lined up along the bar and starts on the first one. He knows how Molly grieves. Once he’s gone, she’ll lock the place up. Then she’ll cry some and drink some. And she’ll do that, over and over again, until the skin over this latest wound has grown tough enough for her to carry on.

He’ll wait till the storm passes. Then he’ll go. He pulls the heartstone out again. Rubs it between his fingers. It’s cool, even though it’s been next to his skin. That’s the way of a heartstone. Cool until you get close to your heart’s desire. The closer you get, the hotter it burns. The last time he saw Saba, she put it around his neck. It was hot.

It’ll help you to find me, she’d said.

I don’t need no stone to find you, he’d said. I’d find you anywhere.

Then she’d kissed him. Till he couldn’t think. Till he was dizzy with wanting her.

He slips the stone back into his shirt.

The storm hits. He hears the sudden, dull thunder of sulphate raining down on the Lost Cause. Soon enough, the rain will follow and wash it away.

The door slams open. The wind wails inside, rattling the rafters, stirring the sand on the floor, plucking at his coat. He gets up to close it.

Two men walk in. They’re spattered with sulphate. Leather body armour. Crossbows. Bolt shooters. Long black robes. Long hair. Beards.

Tonton. Old-style. Danger.

Every nerve, every muscle in Jack’s body snaps tight and starts to fizz. But he keeps his voice casual as he says, The place is empty, fellas. Looks like everybody cleared off.

I come to see that Lilith, says one. Where is she?

Gone, says Jack, like I said. Check fer yerself.

The Tonton stares at him a moment. He crosses to a door in the corner. It leads to a hallway with four small rooms off it, where the girls used to do business. He goes through, yelling, Lilith! Hey, Lilith! Git on out here! There’s the sound of doors being slammed open, one after another.

One Tonton out of the way. Jack’s eyes flick to the bar. His weapons belt lies there.

A quick move and the other Tonton’s got his bolt shooter out and aimed at Jack. It was the work of a second. He goes to the bar and drains one of the full hoochers. His gaze never leaves Jack. His shooter stays aimed.

The first Tonton comes back out. Where’d she go? he says.

I dunno, friend, says Jack. Like I said, there ain’t nobody here.

Just then, Molly lets out a cry. A long, keening, animal wail of pain.

As it dies down, the one with the drink says, So who’s that?

He and Jack stare at each other.

Leave her alone, says Jack.

The Tonton points his bolt shooter at Jack’s heart. Lazily. He smiles.

Call her, he says. Go on . . . friend. Call her.

I stand on the ridge. I watch the sun rise. White-faced an pitiless, it starts to grill the earth. Another dawn in the Waste. Another day in this nowhere. High summer. Heat an dust. Thirst an hunger an blame.

Me an Lugh an Tommo an Emmi. At each other. About who did what. Who said what. Whose fault it is that we’re stuck here. That we’re caught in this land of death an bones, when we should be livin it rich out west. Makin a new life fer ourselfs.

Over the mountains. Beside the Big Water. Where the air tastes like honey. Where Jack waits fer me.

Oh, Jack. Please. Wait.

I’m countin on you to wait.

We should of bin there long ago. Weeks ago. Emmi says the land’s keepin us here. That it’s trapped us. I wish she wouldn’t say stuff like that. You know it’s stupid but she says it an somehow it gits into yer head an then you cain’t stop thinkin about it.

The thing is, we made a bad start. We didn’t have no plan. We jest turned our heads west an went. It beggars belief that four people could be so foolish, but there you go. We warn’t thinkin clear, none of us. Too much had happened. We’d jest beat the Tonton in a hard fight. An only then by the skin of our teeth, an all thanks to Maev an the Hawks. If they hadn’t of showed up, we’d of bin finished.

Then Jack. Tellin me, farewell not goodbye, I’ll see you out west an – oh, by the way – yer in my blood, Saba.

So my head was full of him an all of the rest of it an . . . I had Lugh back. Since the day the Tonton snatched him from Silverlake, that’s all I’d bin set on. To find Lugh an git him back. An I was jest so glad. So glad an so thankful that him an me was together agin.

I don’t mean to say that it don’t matter that Ike got killed in the fight. A grievous sadness fills me when I think about him. My heart hurts. Not like Tommo’s does, not like that. He mourns Ike hard an deep. I guess no deaf boy’s ever gonna be a big talker, but he’s bin brought so low we hardly hear his strange, rough voice these days. Em’s took to speakin on his account. He don’t seem to mind.

But when we started off, the main thing was we was alive. Somehow . . . somehow we lived through it all. An I had my Lugh back. My twin, most dearly loved. An it was like we was giddy with relief an joy an . . . so much relief that we fergot about anythin else.

Like how we’d git where we wanted to go.

We ended up askin the first traveller we met. A salt johnny on camelback who’d jest bin harvestin at one of the great salt lakes on the Waste. Our tradebag was on the thin side an the best we could give him was a belt buckle an a pair of cord bootlaces. That bought us a half-campbell of salt an the advice to head straight across the Waste. He said it was the fastest, most direct way west. We figgered he knew what he was talkin about, so that’s what we did. We went straight.

A buckle an bootlaces don’t buy good advice.

He didn’t tell us what kinda place it is. Why it’s called the Waste. He didn’t tell us about the deathwater. The bad huntin. The Wrecker plague pits that stretch out fer leagues. The sinkholes that suddenly appear as you cross ’em. One moment yer goin along, the next moment the ground opens an yer down among the dead.

I was the first one to fall in. I bin up to my neck in dead men’s bones before. You’d think I’d be used to it. That I wouldn’t mind. But I do. I mind.

I’m sick to death of death.

Then it was Buck, Lugh’s horse. Lucky he didn’t break his leg or worse. Lucky Lugh was leadin him at the time, not ridin him. But he twisted his right leg. It happened a week ago an he still ain’t right. So we’re stuck here till he’s better. Stuck in the Waste.

Maybe the land is tryin to keep us here. Maybe Emmi’s right. It warn’t so long ago that I wouldn’t of paid no mind to what a nine year old little sister had to say. But Em’s got a way of seein things, a different way of lookin at the world. I don’t dismiss her so quick these days.

One thing’s true. One thing I know fer sure. This place ain’t right. There’s shadows where there shouldn’t oughta be none. I’ll see somethin, outta the corner of my eye, an I’ll think it’s Nero or maybe another bird but it never is. An I hear these . . . these noises. It’s like . . . I dunno, like somebody’s whisperin or somethin.