Page 132 of New Storm Rising
“I swear,” I breathed, supporting myself against the coach wall to keep my head from spinning. “Once I feel better, I’m going to tan your hide for this!”
“Indeed? I shall make a note in my calendar for a few months hence then.”
Was there a state in the US in which whacking a husband over the head did not count as domestic violence?
Actually, you’re in a territory right now, not a state. Territories don’t have many laws. At least not many people bother to follow.
Hm…this was definitely worth considering.
Not that I currently had much concentration or willpower to spare. Days passed slowly and pukingly as the caravan of coaches rattled through the desert. Slowly, the landscape changed around us. The dry air became moist. The desert turned into a swamp. Mud splattered the sides of the coaches at regular intervals—which made itsomuch more fun to lean out of the window to empty my stomach.
“How much farther?” I groaned.
“Approximately five minutes less since you last retched.”
“Thank you so much for your concern, hubby, dear.”
“You are welcome.”
I leaned out of the window again, once more ready to appreciate the beautiful swamp scenery. While I was busy “appreciating”, I noticed one little fact: nothing of the road seemed remotely familiar. That wouldn’t be odd, normally. After all, what sane person would spend their travel time memorizing the countryside. Then again, no other traveller had probably spent quite as much time leaning out of the window as I had.
“Say…this isn’t the same route we took on our way west, is it?”
“No.”
I waited for more for a moment.
After three moments, I realized nothing would be forthcoming.
“Mr Ambrose?”
“Yes?”
“Whyare we not using the same road?”
“Last time, we took the direct route. This time, we are travelling with several dozen criminals in tow. Do you wish to drag them several hundred miles to New York?”
“I suppose not.” Just then, the coach hit a pothole, and my face turned green. “But do we have to take such an out-of-the-way road?”
“We are looking for the nearest representative of law and order in a place referred to as theWildWest,” Mr Ambrose pointed out. “What do you think?”
“Spiffing!” I moaned. “Just spiffing!”
And, once again, I leaned out of the window, determined to prove that Tantalus didn’t have it that bad in comparison to me.[28]
Yet, fortunately, nothing except bad weather in England lasts forever. Finally, at the sunset of the seventh day, the silhouette of a city appeared in the distance, outlined against the sea of flames painted by the setting sun.
“Bleeargh!”
And now there was a little vomit added to the beautiful picture.
“We’re here?” I groaned. “This is it?”
Mr Ambrose nodded. “The city with the nearest judge.”
“I don’t give a damn about the judge! I just need a soft bed and a big bucket, pronto!”
“Very well. Karim?”
