“Damn right it is!” With his next shout to the men below, Hudson nearly blew Gravelling off the rampart. “Move that wagon! Now!” He didn’t wait for the command to be obeyed; he went down the first four stone steps and vaulted the rest of the stairs to the ground. Hudson put his shoulder against the wagon and along with three other men shoved the thing out of the way.

The big horses came through, pulling the ship-shaped coach, and in the village’s square Matthew reined the team in. “Whoa, whoa!” he called out, and had to fight the reins as the headstrong horses still didn’t care much for their new driver even after all those miles.

The wheels stopped turning. With a final creak, the coach was still.

Matthew looked about himself, at the houses of Y Beautiful Bedd and the faces of the people gathering around. Who would ever have believed he would be overjoyed—a weak word to describe his feeling—to have returned to this place?

“You took your damned time, didn’t you?” Hudson called up, standing with his hands on his hips. “Nearly two weeks?”

“Better late,” Matthew said, “than never.” He heard his voice crack. He was exhausted from this final leg of the trip, but it seemed now that the last thing in the world he wanted to do was sleep. The possible cure for Berry’s condition was too close at hand. Also he was overjoyed to see that Hudson had recovered from being the cowering, terrified and drugged shell of a man he’d been when Matthew and Julian had left.

As Matthew climbed down from the driver’s bench, Julian and the doctor got out of the coach. Firebaugh gazed around at this new domain, while Julian clasped a hand to the binding around his ribcage. For a man who didn’t believe in God, he was ready to fall to his knees in praise of Heaven for getting him out of that pitching rattletrap, because no matter how sturdy was the coach, the roads were shit.

“You,” said Julian to Hudson. He smiled thinly, his mouth tight below his dark-circled eyes. “All well, I trust?”

Matthew tensed, knowing how close Julian was to having his block knocked off and then mayhem to follow.

“All well,” replied Hudson dryly, who at the moment was too glad to see Matthew to lose his temper at this puffed-up buffoon. Anyway, he was certain Devane had been invaluable to Matthew in their quest, so how could he really be angry? He started to clap Matthew on the shoulder, but the young problem-solver held up a hand and said, “My bones are not properly rearranged yet for that, if you please.”

“What happened to your face?”

“What didn’t happen to my face?”

“I mean the plaster.”

“Just a little gunshot wound,” said Matthew.