Lex Nelson's Arc

Chapter 12 of 13

Lex knelt by the dead man and picked up the stamped page. The seal was real. She had seen the mark before on permits posted outside a marble columned courthouse far east of the dunes — the kind of building that turned people into property with ink. Whoever signed this paper was still alive, still waiting somewhere for delivery. The third man was running straight to him. She folded the document into her coat and stepped outside. The buyer's carriage stood under the awning, leather seats cracked by sun, brass fixtures dulled by grit. He had brought it to carry her sister away in comfort. Lex cut the traces, unhitched the horse, and lifted her sister onto its back. The dog circled once, nose low, then locked on the boot trail leading off into the scrub. They followed the runner for an hour. The Malinois never lost the scent. They found him slumped behind a thornbush with a leg gone bad from a bullet Lex hadn't known she landed. He raised empty hands. In his shirt pocket was a carved bone permit, edges sand-worn, the same insignia as the stamp on the courthouse page. Lex crouched and held the bone permit up to his face. "Who issued this." He gave her a name. He gave her a place. He talked because his leg was talking louder. When he was done she took his canteen and left him the shade. The desert would decide the rest. She lifted her sister back onto the horse and turned the dog east. The arc goal had a address now, and a face behind it. The paper in her coat was no longer a threat. It was a map.