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Away.
    â€œI don’t know. Something metal, maybe? Or glass…?”
    Looks Away cupped his hands around his eyes and stared hard. “By Jove,” he exclaimed, “it’s a town.”
    â€œA town? There’s no town way out here.”
    â€œThere is now, my dear chap. I can see buildings and one structure that looks for all the world like a theater. Or, perhaps a music hall.”
    â€œA music hall? Out here in the middle of no-damn-where?”
    â€œSo it seems.”
    Grey shielded his eyes and stared, too, but all he could see were indistinct lumps. And whatever it was that sparkled.
    â€œYou can actually see a town?” he asked.
    â€œI can.”
    â€œYou have damn good eyes, then.”
    â€œWell, my people didn’t name me ‘Looks Away’ because I was nearsighted.”
    Grey thought about that, grunted, shrugged, and sat down in the saddle. “I know we’re on a kind of mission here,” he began slowly, “but—.”
    â€œOh, absolutely,” said Looks Away and kicked his horse in the direction of the town.
    Grey smiled at his retreating back. “Well, okay then.”
    He nudged Mrs. Pickles and followed.

 
    Chapter Fourteen
    The wooden sign across the town’s main—and only—arch had two words painted in bloodred letters.
    FORTUNE CITY
    They paused and looked up at the sign. All around those words someone had nailed hundreds of small hand mirrors to the wood, but the glass in every single mirror was cracked.
    â€œWell,” said Looks Away, “I’m not a deeply superstitious chap, but that can’t be good.”
    â€œSomeone’s idea of a joke,” said Grey, but his tone didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.
    Beyond the sign, a single street of hard-packed dirt ran between two rows of buildings. There was a livery, a barbershop that also advertised tooth-pulling, a funeral home, a gun shop, a lawyer’s office, six separate taverns, and a brothel that rose like a shimmering tower above the others. The brothel was the only building that was more than a single story, and the top floors had long balconies that wrapped around both sides. There were girls in bright colors leaning on the rails. Down on the street level, hard-faced men and women walked or sat or stood in small groups. Maybe a hundred people. And every one of them was looking at the two strangers on horses.
    â€œFriendly looking,” said Looks Away.
    â€œYeah,” said Grey, “like a nest of scorpions.”
    â€œNowhere near as charming as that.”

    Grey couldn’t argue. No one was smiling. No one spoke or gestured. They all stood and looked their way.
    â€œWell,” said Grey dubiously, “we’re here … might as well go on in.”
    â€œSaid the foolish pilgrim at the outer ring of hell.”
    â€œIs that a quote?”
    â€œNo, merely an observation.”
    They nudged their horses and entered the town of Fortune. The people on the streets, or up on porches, or standing in windows watched them with hostile and suspicious eyes. Except for the brothel, every store or business in town looked like it teetered on the edge of financial ruin. Windows were cracked, paint peeled from weathered boards, and in the streets there were unshoveled piles of horse dung that were thick with blowflies.
    â€œCharming,” murmured Looks Away.
    â€œSeen worse,” observed Grey.
    â€œWhere?”
    Grey couldn’t come up with an easy reply and gave it up as a lie.
    The people looked no more vital or healthy than the town. They were dirty, their clothes madly patched and mismatched. Warts and dark moles were common among them, and many had scabs or open sores. Several had limbs missing. Hands, arms, legs. Though Grey thought the missing limbs looked more like defective births than injuries. The stumps were smooth. The people were dressed in clothes of black and gray, of desert brown and