“So soon?” I glanced at the big clock above the town hall. It was a quarter past six already. “Can’t we wait until this afternoon at least? All of my things are back at Charlie’s cabin.”
“Mr. Barker has very kindly seen to that already. He brought my satchel and your valise to the inn this morning.”
“Wait, this morning? Isn’t this this morning? When did you get up?”
“I never sleep more than a few hours at a time. Not since I inherited my particular gifts. One of the troubles that comes of seeing beyond the pale is that one also sees beyond the eyelids.”
“You can see—I mean see see—even when you’re sleeping?”
“I can never not see.”
“Do you ever dream?”
“Vividly,” said Jackaby. “Which makes discerning the reality I am perceiving from the fiction of my imagination all the more troubling. It took me many years as a young man to become accustomed to the unnerving sensation. The nightmares were . . .” He stopped, his eyes as gray as the storm clouds above us. He seemed caught in a memory.
“Yes?”
“Nightmarish. We should be going. I’ll fetch the bags and we can leave.”
In a few minutes we were making our way down Gadston’s quiet main street. The little hospital where we had deposited Hank Hudson was en route to the station house, and Jackaby and I stopped in to pay our respects. The big trapper looked pale and tired, but he lifted his head as we entered.
“Howdy, little lady,” he managed in a hoarse whisper. “Hiya, Jackaby. Yer little police friend filled me in on what happened after I blacked out.”
“You’ve spoken to Charlie already?” I said. “It’s scarcely past dawn! Does anyone in America actually sleep?”
“Hah!” The trapper chuckled and then coughed, breathing heavily and letting his eyes close for a moment. “I owe you folks more’n I can ever—”
Jackaby cut in. “Yes, you do. That was stupid.”
Hank nodded soberly.
“And reckless.”
He nodded again.
“And also extraordinary. Did you notice the imbrication of the scales?”
“Layered like a boa’s but tougher’n nails.” Hank’s eyes twinkled. “Real purdy, too.”
Jackaby smiled and reached into his coat, and then he paused. “It will never happen again, yes?”
“You don’t have ta tell me twice. I’d tie a lil’ ribbon ’round my finger to remind myself, but”—the trapper held up his wrist, shrouded in fresh white bandages—“I think I learned me a lesson I ain’t prone ta forget any time soon.”
Jackaby nodded. He pulled out a blue-green scale and passed it to Hudson. “It was a catastrophic mistake, old friend, but as you say, it was a very pretty one.”
Hudson took the scale in his good hand and flipped it over between his fingers, smiling weakly. He palmed it and turned to me. “How ’bout you, little lady?” he said. “I won’t blame you if you hate me. I can’t undo the damage I done.”
Nellie Fuller’s face hung in my mind, and I swallowed hard. Hudson looked no less tortured. It had been in his effort to keep her safe that he had nearly succumbed to the same fate. “I’m furious,” I said, gently, “but I might have a soft spot for spectacular failures right now. Just try to get some rest.”
“Thanks, kiddo.”
“I’ll ask Charlie to look in on you while you rest up,” Jackaby said. “He’s a good man.”
Hudson nodded. “Wasn’t sure about him at first, but he’s more’n earned my respect. Wish I could say I’d done the same. Gonna take a while ’fore he has good reason to trust me.” Apparently my expression revealed more than I had realized, because he looked at my face and chuckled. “You don’t have to worry about me, though. I ain’t gonna do no harm to a guy just ’cause he’s a shape-shifter. Hell—I’ve known a few dogs I liked better’n folk.”