“Stop it!” I yell. “I’ll do it. Just give it here.”

The ghostly man hands me a bottle. The glass is cold and hard in my hand. Fumbling in the dark, I twist the stopper open. A familiar scent wallops me in the face. Bitter and stringent.

“Drink,” Dilley says. “Or your friends die.”

I put the bottle neck to my lips and upend it. Cool liquid pours onto my tongue, and it’s so startlingly foul that I immediately spit it out.

“Kill him,” Dilley says.

“No, no, I’m sorry! I’ll drink it! It just surprised me, is all.”

I wait one heartbeat. They don’t kill Jefferson. I tip the bottle to my lips again, and this time I’m ready for the awful taste, so bitter it almost burns. I hold it in my mouth and think desperately for a way out.

“That cost me a fair bit,” Dilley says. “You do that again, and we’ll knock you out the hard way.” To the ghostly man, he says, “Make sure she swallows.”

The ghostly man approaches. He is so huge, huger even than Mr. Hoffman, and a cowl covers his head, making it impossible for me to see his face.

I swallow. It burns going down, and I choke a little.

“One more sip,” Dilley says.

Warmth fills my belly, spreads throughout my torso, into my limbs. “I think one is plenty. I feel . . . strange.”

“One more sip,” he repeats, and the ghostly man looms over me.

So I tip the bottle to my mouth once again, intending to take a smaller sip this time. The ghostly man’s arms dart out. He grabs the bottle with one, my chin the other, and he forces the laudanum into me until I’m coughing. He pinches my nose and tilts my head back. After a few seconds, I can’t help it. I have to swallow, or I’ll never breathe again.

The ghostly man releases me, and I stagger back, colliding with Peony’s flank. The world is starting to spin. My belly rumbles in protest, but I don’t seem to care. I guess it would be good if I vomited it back up. No, no, it wouldn’t be. They might kill Jeff and Tom. They might . . .

My limbs buzz, and the sky feels wide open, like it’s beckoning for me to spread my arms and fly right up to that glowing moon.

“Can you sleep on horseback?” Dilley asks.

“Huh? Horse. Of course. Of course I can sleep on a horse.” I giggle.

Dilley scowls. “All right, men, get some of this juice into those two. Then we’ll mount up and get out of here. We’re still too close to their mining camp.”

“Where we going, Frank?” I ask, and it’s the last thing I say before falling to my knees while a hole of blackest night sucks away the moon.

 

 

Chapter Eleven

I wake to the swaying jolt of Peony’s steps. I’m bent over her neck, hands tied behind my back. My shoulders ache from the strain, like they’re being pulled from their sockets. Rope digs into my thighs. I’m tied to my saddle.

Confused, I blink against the too-bright daylight. I don’t have a saddle. I lost it in the fire.

Just in front of Peony and me is a large roan rump, muscles working with each step, tail flicking back and forth. The rider—dark and cloaked, maybe the ghostly man from last night—rides bareback. It must be his saddle we’ve borrowed.

My throat aches with the need for cool, clear water. I’ve lost my hat somehow, and even though the air is chilly, the sun beats down on my back and neck. Straining against the ropes, I twist as best I can, trying to spot Jefferson and Tom. There. Sorry plods along two horses back, and Jefferson is slumped over her withers. When he shifts in his seat, it feels like my heart starts beating again.

Apollo walks behind Sorry, with Tom in a similar state—bound, listless, barely awake.

Those slimy snakes drugged all three of us. I don’t know much about laudanum, but I remember giving the Major a fair bit, right before we cut off his leg. He was conscious again after only a few hours, and I didn’t swallow that much more than he did. Of course, I’m a slip of a girl compared to him, so maybe the laudanum would have a greater effect on me.

Even so, we can’t have been traveling more than a day. We’re still near enough to our camp that if we escaped, we might be able to navigate our way home.

I wriggle against my bonds to test them and instantly regret it. My skin is already raw, the rope digging a line of bright pain into my wrists, and my hands ache with cramps. Disappointment is like a rock in my gut. There’ll be no escaping unless I can convince Frank to untie me, and he’s already proved immune to my appeals.

Peony nickers, sensing that I’m awake.

“Everything’s going to be okay, sweet girl,” I whisper. “I promise.”

“Look who just woke up!” Dilley crows from somewhere off to my right.

The ghostly man reigns in his horse and turns it around. Peony stops short to keep from colliding with it, and I’m jolted forward against the rope.

He clicks to his roan and trots toward me until our horses are neck to neck. His face is still shadowed by his cowl, but I can make out pale lips so full they’d be the envy of any lady if not for the wicked scar slashing diagonally across them.

“Time for some more juice,” Dilley says, and the ghostly man reaches beneath his cloak and retrieves the bottle. It’s already half empty, and the liquid is sickly brown in the sunlight. How much did they force into Jefferson and Tom?

“Please!” I say. “No more. I’ll cooperate. I just need some water. . . .”

My pleas fall on deaf ears. The ghostly man unstoppers the bottle, grabs my face with a huge hand, and tips it to my lips.

It goes down a little easier this time, because my traitor tongue and throat don’t realize it’s not fit to drink, so eager are they for water.

The ghostly man grunts in satisfaction, then continues down the line to tend to Jeff and Tom.

The bright sunlight is suddenly pulsing. The air isn’t chilly at all. I was wrong about that. It’s as warm and fine as a summer’s day.

My limbs go slack. I let myself fall back against Peony’s neck. “I love you, Peony.”

I don’t know how long we travel. Days, I suspect, because sometimes it’s dark when I wake, and I’m on the ground, tied to a tree instead of a horse. I’m always glad to wake into the dark, because it’s softer on my aching eyes, which are as dry as a desert.