Arc drove the pickup truck into the small town of Rye as the sky turned a deep purple, revealing the watchful stars that twinkled overhead. Jack was looking out the window and Julie was asleep with her mouth hanging open. Her head rested uncomfortable on the dashboard, using the map as a pillow.

  “Wakey wakey,” said Arc, giving her a gentle prod in the shoulder. “We’ll see if we can rest in town tonight and get back on the road to New Carlington first thing in the morning.”

  “Alright,” groaned Julie, sitting up and then rubbing her dry eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Late,” said Jack, looking to the built-in clock on the car’s dashboard. “Although this tells me it’s very early. Twelve past five? I don’t think so.”

  “It’s said that since we left Cliff Town,” said Arc as he slowly applied the brake. “It hasn’t budged a minute.”

  He parked up beside a small building with a sign outside that read ‘Red Whiskey Inn’ and then hopped out of the driver’s seat. He reached into the back of the truck and hauled out his bag.

  “Don’t leave anything in the car that you can’t afford to lose,” he warned the two. “If it isn’t nailed down, you likely won’t see it again.”

  “Yes, boss,” said Jack, grabbing the remaining two bags and carrying them both as Julie stood sleepily by. “Are you sure we’re not better camping out under the stars?”

  “Normally, I’d say yes,” said Arc, looking around the quiet frontier town, “but we’re in the middle of Auriga—slime territory—and the last thing we want is to take up with the vehicle half-eaten by one of those disgusting oozes.”

  “Or our legs.”

  “I think we’d notice if it started eating our legs, Jack. Be realistic.”

  “But—”

  “Come on,” said Arc, beckoning over his shoulder, “let’s go get ourselves a couple of rooms.”

  The bounty hunter led the way inside the small inn and Jack followed last, closing the door. The three stood inside a small bar with a large display of alcohol spread out behind the counter. To the right was a rickety wooden staircase leading up to a balcony where a handful of doors lay and a further darker corridor leading on into the building.

  There were precious few people here with two old men playing a round of cards and drinking from bottles in the corner while a bartender was drumming his fingers on the counter out of boredom. He gave a small nod to Arc, Jack, and Julie, hoping they would save him from nodding off.

  “Evenin’, all,” said the bartender. “Just so we know, we don’t officially serve alcohol to children, but a beer won’t kill either of you if you can keep it quiet.”

  “We’re not here for booze,” said Arc. “You got any rooms to spare for the night?”

  “Rooms?” said the man with a dry laugh. “You’d be hard pressed to find a day where we have more than one room occupied. Yeah, we got rooms. How many you want?”

  “Two will do just fine,” taking out a handful of coins. “One for me and one for this pair here. How much will it be?”

  The bartender leaned forward and skimmed a few silvers from the top of Arc’s palm and set them behind the counter. “That much,” he said as he retrieved two keys and set them on the countertop. “Rooms three and four. Food doesn’t come as standard with a stay, but our chef will make you a mean breakfast when he’s on duty in the morning. Nice and cheap too, might I add.”

  “Sounds good,” said Arc, throwing Jack one of the keys. “Sleep with one eye open and keep your guns no more than a foot from you, alright?”

  “Understood,” said Jack. “Are you going to bed or staying down here for a while?”

  “It’s been a while since I had a whiskey.”

  “Alright, don’t overdo it.”

  With that, Jack marched upstairs and Julie slumped along behind him, leaving Arc down by the bar. He pointed out the whiskey that had caught his eye to the bartender, a rare bottle that he had once tried several years ago called Red Rust and the lingering sting of it hitting the back of his throat had stuck with him to this day. It was exactly what he needed to take the edge off for the evening.

  “I don’t care about the price,” said Arc. “I’ll take a single glass. With ice.”

  “No sweat,” said the bartender, fetching a glass. He opened a trunk freezer underneath the bar and used a small hammer to break off a chunk of the merged ice before scooping it into the glass. He retrieved the bottle, poured the whiskey, and then carefully slid the glass over to Arc.

  “Here’s to an old friend,” said Arc, holding up his glass.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The bartender gave a nod and Arc took a drink of the whiskey. He winced as the alcohol stung his throat and ran down into his stomach. In its wake, it left a raw warmness that was both a mixture of painful and pleasant.

  “Son of a bitch,” said the bounty hunter through gritted teeth. “A full bottle will put you to sleep for a week.”

  “First time in a while anybody’s asked for that brand,” said the bartender. “Last person who did bought a round for his friends and then swiftly moved along. I remember the day; pale fellow with sharp eyes and one of his friends was a beautiful girl with curly red hair. She’d knock your socks off, let me tell you.”

  Arc froze for a second and then his hand started to shake. The pale man, the girl with red hair…surely not? It couldn’t possibly be the same people he knew all the way out here. No, they normally hung their hats pasts the western reaches of Nuvaria, not out here in Auriga. There had to be a mistake and he did not want to think about them anymore.

  “Is that so?” he asked upon regaining his composure. “I don’t have a thing for red heads anymore.”

  “Some bitch give you a hard time?”

  “She had quite the mark on her. A real sharp one.”

  Arc took finished the rest of his whiskey in a single swig and bid the bartender goodnight before heading over the stairs. As he placed his foot on the bottom step, the door swung open and a man in a wide-brimmed hat and a black trench coat walked through the door.

  The barman smirked. “A lot of strangers in Rye tonight,” he said. “What can I do you for?”

  The man in the trench coat walked over to the bar and sat down. He removed his hat and set it on the counter. He had long auburn hair that swept back over his ears and a thick handlebar moustache that made him look notably older than he was. As serious as his face was, he did not look hostile; at least, not to the barman.

  “I’m just passing through,” said the stranger. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind giving me some information. Naturally, I don’t expect this to be a freebie.”

  The man reached into his pocket and pulled out seven silver ounces that he stacked neatly before the barman. The barman reached for the silver and the stranger didn’t stop him. Arc wanted to go upstairs and sleep, but his curiosity was piqued. The gun the man had hidden inside his coat was peeking out and it was no shabby piece. The glistening silver of the barrel and the black leather of the handle told the spellslinger that this man was no slouch.

  “I’m an open book,” said the barman, placing the silvers in his pocket. “If I can help you, stranger, I will.”

  “I’ve heard this little section of Auriga is home to many a slime,” stranger coolly. “I would like you to tell me where the nearest den is.”

  “The nearest den, huh? As far as I know, that would be the black bubbler pit about three miles to the south and just off the main road. They’re foul bastards, so you may want to try further afield where the slimes are less vicious.”

  “Nah,” said the stranger holding up a hand. “A black bubbler is exactly what I seek and I’m glad it’s close because I’m on a strict deadline.”

  “Need a lift?” asked Arc, taking out his keys and jangling them.

  “That’s your fancy ride out front?” asked the stranger. “I don’t suppose a kind fella like you has a name he’d share?”

  “Name’s Arc the Hawk. And you?”

  “Phantom Joyce,” said the man, pivoting in his chair. “You’d offer me a lift. What do you want in return, Arc the Hawk?”

  “Going after black bubblers in darkness is a fool’s errand. I’d prefer not to see a fellow bounty hunter die, especially if he’s going to be doing some cleanup duty against the wasteland nasties.”

  “You didn’t really answer my question, Arc.”

  “Didn’t I? What I want in return is assurance that those monsters are dead.”

  “If that’s your game, that’s your game,” said Phantom Joyce, picking up his hat and sitting it on his head. He held an arm out and gestured towards the door. “After you.”

  Arc signalled to the barman and then pointed up the stairs. “If those two ask, I’m stepping out for a bit. I’ll fill them in on the details later.”

  “Got it, boss,” said the barman.

  Arc thanked him and then led the way outside with Phantom Joyce following him. There was a black horse with a white mane tied up outside the Red Whiskey Inn not half a dozen yards from the pickup truck. He unlocked his vehicle and hopped into the driver’s seat while the man in the wide-brimmed hat climbed into the passenger’s seat.

  “That your ride?” asked Arc, indicating the horse.

  “Her name’s East Wind,” said Joyce. “Reliable gal, she is. Carried me for more miles than I can count on an abacus.”

  Arc presumed that was far, having never used an abacus. A calculator was more his favoured machine when the mathematics went beyond the capabilities of his head. He fired up the engine, reversed the car and then started driving along the road heading south while humming a pleasant tune.

  “Bounty hunter?” he asked Joyce.

  Arc’s passenger smiled. “No siree, I’m a seeker. If there’s something you want, I’m the man who can get it.”

  “Or you’ll die trying?”

  “Or I’ll die trying. Hasn’t happened to me yet, much to my delight. How about you?”

  “I’m a bounty hunter.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t see that spellcaster on your belt. Trust me, I could sniff out the magic coming from it even if I hadn’t caught a glimpse.”

  Arc laughed. “Yeah, I’m a spellslinger. Using the human-forged tool of the arcane realm to smite evil, whether that be human or beastie.”

  Joyce nodded. “You’re a do-gooder as long as the price is right.”

  “I’m a do-gooder regardless, the money just helps keep me fed. Even if my regular rates were tenfold, I wouldn’t murder an innocent man. It’s not my game.”

  “I’m afraid to say, Arc, that men like you tend not to last too long out here. It’s the sin of the world, my friend. The ones with the best intentions are the ones who suffer the most.”

  Arc gave response. Part of him knew this was true and he had no desire to say it aloud, but he continually clung to the hope that there was good in the world worth fighting for and his deeds would inspire more of it. If his time to die came early, he would succumb to his fated eternity knowing that he spent his final years fighting for good.

  “Black bubblers, eh?” asked Arc, breaking the silence and changing the topic.

  “Black bubblers,” said Phantom Joyce with a cock of the head.

  “You’re a seeker, right? What is it that you’re seeking from our slimy friends.”

  Joyce reached into his coat and pulled out a couple of glass bottles that clinked together. “Ooze,” he said. “My client is an alchemist and he wants samples of ooze and he’s paying a tidy sum for it, Arc. Dead or alive, the state of the ooze makes no difference to me, but seeing as you were kind enough to give me a ride, I’ll ensure their deaths before we depart. A fair exchange, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  “Fully,” said Arc with a grin.

  He pressed more firmly on the pedal and sped down the road, guided by the headlights that lit the dusty asphalt before him. He had kept an eye on the dashboard and watched as the mile counter ticked over. When it reached the third mile, he slowed the car down and steered it offroad before coming to a stop.