No one thinks himself a villain, and few make decisions they think are wrong.

Christopher Paolini [2004]

I don’t like boom towns. And, no, I haven’t been to very many. Just the one, here in the Lincoln World, where the year is 1864 and where a 20th-century amusement park appeared out of nowhere near the Annaheim Settlement (our world’s Anaheim, yes) a year ago. Which turned into a land rush…and there we are, right back to boom towns.

And look—I’m walking up Main Street, Town of Merryland, California (motto: In the Shadow of Carnaval Midway, which sounded a tad ominous to me). And who better to make my point for me than one Christopher Wren. A thirtiesh guy who was, I dunno, I guess you’d call him a gunman, only a year ago. Tough, big mustache, a sawed-off shotgun strapped across his back, and two rather large pistols. A bit much, even for the day.

Wren heard about Carnaval Midway’s appearance. Everybody did. He scrambled all over San Francisco, looking for money, and finally found the Brothers Apollo real estate firm. One good pitch and a year later, Mr. Wren is a big deal in Merryland:

The Three Partners, Ltd – 

Builders of Fine California Homes

For Fine Americans Like You!

See, on the building right next to Mr. Wren: a poster of the Apollo Brothers, unsmiling Black Redeemed Men in their fifties, with their junior partner, Mr. Wren, smiling in the middle. And not to digress yet again, but Fine Americans Like You, here in the Pacific Region, means Black people, white people, and a few others—but not, you know, Germans, Irish, or Mexicans. Me and the twins are German (and me looking more Mexican), so we’re not in the market for a Three Partners home.

“’Evening, pretty lady,” Mr. Wren said with a fake smile, pausing from raking pebbles in the empty lot next to the Three Partners building. He added: “Look and see, here, I almost got undone what your young man, the Sheriff, had me do.”

I ignored that. Only been in the Lincoln World about six days and didn’t care about the brouhaha with the rocks. Instead, I gave Mr. Wren his insincere smile back.

“Ah, Mr. Wren,” I said. “In case maybe you have a fine American daughter of your own, one day, when you say prettyto a gal who obviously isn’t, well, it’s kind of an insult.”

“Ah,” Mr. Wren repeated. He let his rake drop and took off his fine hat. “My apologies, I’m sure.” His easy smile didn’t falter and I felt like an idiot.

I have no problem being just south of five feet. I don’t need a hat here in this Old West-type place, I have frizzy hair down to my butt that does the job (plus the generic brown skin tone). Now, did it draw a few looks, the little troll (a nickname I like) being seen with Ellis Foster? He, who towers over me and is undeniably good looking if you like the pretty type. Well, I ignored the Sherman Oaks High School hallway remarks (most of the time). Was I testy about being called pretty on this whole different planet, where I’m just trying to retrieve a boy they’re calling “the Sheriff” – a boy who’s now somehow a year older and come home? Yes. Perhaps I am a bit testy, but, also, I just don’t like Mr. Christopher Wren.

“You know,” I said. “Ellis brought those mine rocks over to save save people money.”

Mr. Wren dipped his head to acknowledge that.

“Yes, and with Colonel Blevins’s encouragement, me and others built foundations with them. Too bad young Ellen Foster wasn’t around. She mighta known they would explode.”

Yes, Ellen would have seen it right away. But whatever the point mighta been, I figured our polite conversation came to an end. More nods, and I moved on. Mr. Wren returned to raking and planning fine homes for fine Americans.

And what a strange America it was. The same, the same as anywhere, right, because everyone had someone not to like. Or even hate. The original Erika Veronika Ziegler is still running around back home, worried sick about Ellis. Afraid, you bet, that there’s this completely independent copy running around in this completely independent copy of Earth! No, it’s not some grand adventure. My point was that the Ronnie back home had no interest in history or social things until she – I, not doing the third person thing – met Ellis. He was no rocket scientist, but I was strictly C-minus. But of course I got a little interested…and now I’m living it.

And living it with a somewhat improved brain. Thanks to the irresponsible meddling of the family’s super-science. Which they get to use as they please because no one can tell them no. And, it is cool to think better and actually read a page in less than five minutes, “no” would’ve been the answer.

So no one asked.

I shook my brand-new head, banishing the Lincoln World’s strange brand of prejudice and its endless conflicts. 

Enjoy the walk. I was walking. Enjoy the walk.

Stupidly, I stopped. Turned around. Walked right back up to Mr. Wren.

“Say,” I said. “You mind telling me, just for fun, why you hate Ellis?”

Mr. Wren cocked his head just a bit. Not being funny, just wanted to make sure I wasn’t. Then he nodded.

“All right, Miss Ziegler,” he said. “I will. And I’ll make it brief. I do not hate the Sheriff. I don’t even mind that Colonel Blevins set him up that way. It was a good idea. Ellis is well suited for getting cats out of trees and taking children on hayrides.”

That…was unexpected.

Mr. Wren took a step closer.

“It’s a big world,” he said. “Seen a lot of different folk, and there’s room for everybody. Now, some people, like Ellis, believe the Lord meant us to be peaceful and kind. I say…” Mr. Wren paused. “I say, when someone has been gifted with that kind of power, the Lord has sent a clear message. A man like Ellis must fight, and a fight is coming.”

I had to start blinking, trying to get those damn labile emotion tears not to start up. But I can’t help it, and Mr. Wren noticed.

“I heard you and Ellen want him to return home,” he said in a more gentle voice. “He should go. This isn’t the place for him.”

I turned, afraid to say anything in a voice that I knew would crack. I could feel his eyes on my back. Maybe thought he went too far. Probably didn’t care. I heard the raking again as I wiped my eyes.

“You okay, Miss?” I heard someone call out.

I nodded and walked on.

I wasn’t okay. Mr. Wren had it all wrong. True, Ellis wasn’t violent. But if, when, the fight came, he would stand in the way. Wouldn’t budge.

And some people here counted on that.

***

Stupid Ellis.

Stupid Mr. Wren. 

I kept walking.

Ellis was just one guy. I loved him so much. His sister loved him. Even the screwy, uber genius family loved him. Whatever else they were up to when they created the Lincoln World they wanted him back. 

But we couldn’t get Ellis to come. We told him why. We told him everything, and he still wouldn’t come.

I strummed the fence posts with my fingers. Tata-tata-tat. 

The lamplighters were out. Gas lamps, didn’t have them in our world’s 1864.

Didn’t care.

Tata-tata-tat.

Wherever the lamplighters went, dark shops lit up. The ones on the right. I turned left, where it was dark. 

I turned to look at the boys with the little ladders and long matches. They were heading down to K street. 

What about this side of J?

Grrinddddd… 

Noisy! Those stupid gravel crushers started up after six. 

It was still dark. All the stores were closed. I kept walking. Was I making a mistake?

Oof. Someone hit me. Then again.

Yes. Yes, this was a mistake. 

There were now two someones, and they grabbed me. 

“Hey!” I yelled. What kind of idiot would do this?

They couldn’t hurt me in any way. But, unlike Ellis, I had to obey the laws of motion. There were more than two, and they just knocked me down and pinned me. Nothing I could do about that. 

Jesus, who was attacking me. Me! 

Stupid, I should have really hollered. Sound carries in the desert. Even if Ellis was too busy rescuing a kitten to hear me, someone would .

All the shops on J Street were closed.

The guys pulled me up. 

Oh, no.

A burlap sack. No way! No way were they doing that! 

I managed a kick. It was hard, and I got a nice reaction, but…me and Ellen were a little strong, but nothing special. 

I bit the closest hand just as one of the others clamped my mouth shut.

“Mierde!” 

French. So, Four Flag Army! I mean, who else? 

There was the bag. 

“Don’t!” It came out “Dmmph.” 

That rock crusher went off again. This had been well planned.

“Let her go!” 

Oh, thank God. That was…

Not Ellis. 

It was Mr. Wren. He had the sawed-off out and pumped.

I felt a booming sound. 

The hand over my mouth vanished. 

I think the whole guy vanished. Mr. Wren was close. And he knew he couldn’t hurt me.

The little dribble across my face was either pellets or blood. I wanted it to be pellets.

Cra-pmp

PUM!

A second blast. I twisted my head. Mr. Wren already dropped the shotgun and had one of his pistols drawn.

Almost drawn. 

The pistols were big. I remember Ellis telling me they might be a hair too long for a quick draw. The most weapons-knowledgeable pacifist in history.

Two of the guys were split in half, leaking blook everywhere. 

As he was drawing the pistol, Wren jumped out of the way. 

Almost.

Blam-blam-blam-blam…blam! 

Wren jerked and fell. Didn’t get either the pistol clear. Or another shot off.

Mr. Wren just collapsed in a pile. Not moving. Not a twitch. Maybe they got his head.

Now the surviving men were in a hurry. They got a gag on me and stuffed me in the sack. 

Wait.

Why was I feeling muzzy? That shouldn’t be…can’t suffocate…

Laudanum. 

That worked. That Lincoln guy proved it on Ellis. That secret was out.

My brother Ben would have had a smart remark.

I didn’t. 

Wren never had a chance against four men. He had to know that. 

But they were attacking a girl.

And he was armed. He never thought twice.

Ellis…wouldn’t even think once.

Then I fell asleep.