Leon's eyes were red with the peyote, and Jack knew they matched his own. The men had eaten dinner, sat leaning on their respective vehicles, and had a good couple hours' talk, passing the pipe.
"The princess, huh?" Jack repeated for the fifth time. "The actual princess of California?"
At first, Leon had tried to impress him by stating the girl's full name – "Imogen Alameda" – as if expecting the admittedly pretty words to induce some kind of reaction. Jack had stared at him, blinking. He traveled the continent, in a different kingdom every day, and could do no more than name five or six of the most famous political leaders. He couldn't even identify most kingdoms by flag, as the designs changed so often. Borders were meaningless to him; princesses certainly weren't worth keeping track of.
But he appreciated the gravity of Leon's situation, and had a new respect for the man.
Not once did he doubt Leon's story. If he had, the Odysseus helmet (which Leon was currently letting Jack hold again) would have been proof enough. Just a few minutes ago, he had stumbled dizzily on his way to a bush. Leon had suggested testing the helmet, to see if it could work through a buzz, and it had. With the cool, light metal resting over Jack's ears, the peyote haze had cleared, and he'd walked a straight line to the bush and back six times; though his sense of direction had been fixed by the helmet, his drug-induced sense of humor was still in place, and he'd giggled like a little girl at the fantastic invention.
"Still," Jack said after a while, stroking his goatee and staring into the fire, "You can't go back for her, man."
"I'm hoping she'll come to me, but if they won't let her out of the castle, I'll have to risk it."
"No, kid. You don't understand. I'll rephrase." Jack lifted his hat and did his best to make eye contact with the grinning cityboy. "Don't go back for her."
"It's not as dangerous as-"
"I'm not talking danger, you dumbass. I'm talking common sense. She's not worth it. You've got this crown, you've got your skills. A chick's not worth crossing the wastes for twice."
The bastard did what he always did in response to everything – a punch in the face, a joke, a gift, an insult: he grinned. "Mine is."
"No." The drug haze made this important to Jack; he leaned forward, bending his long body almost in half, endangering his hat by bringing it too close to the fire. "I've traveled all over the continent. Made love to women in every kingdom, every damn city. Tried to make it work with ten, twelve of 'em, and if I know anything about the world, it's this: Never trust a woman. Never. They're crazy, kid. Crazy. Eyelashes, nail polish, makeup – it's to hide the crazy. Lipstick, so you don't notice they can't say two sentences that aren't the exact damn opposite of each other. Pretty dresses, so you can't see the zipper up their backs that's keeping the demons trapped inside."
He'd been gripping the Odysseus helmet dangerously hard, though a human probably wasn't strong enough to break it; Leon noticed, and took it back from him, whistling.
"Sounds like you got a broken heart, bro."
"Just trust me, man. Princess or not – in fact, her being a princess makes it worse – you stay gone a month, you go back, guarantee you'll trip over another fella on your way to her bed."
Well, how about that. He'd done it at last – gotten Leon's smile to disappear.
"Imogen would never cheat," he said.
"Oh, it's not cheating, kid – never is. She'll have been confused. Lonely. She thought you were dead, she thought you never loved her, she drank too much tea, she had gas. It'll be your fault, somehow, and you'll be the bad guy for judging."
"No."
"No?"
"Not her. Not Imogen. She swore to wait forever, and she'd do it, for me."
Jack pulled his hat over his face to hide a laugh. Incredible. How had this innocent, trusting bastard made it through the wastes? Made it through boot camp, through battles, survived a day on his own?
The kid blinked at the fire, stubborn, lip stuck out. Young and angry. And strong, couldn't forget that, because the urge was still in Jack – to knock the kid out and steal that damn Odysseus helmet, and he'd act on it, friend or not, if he hadn't been sure Leon had the ability to tear him apart and feed him to his own land zark. Brute strength to balance out his wild naivete.
"Tell you what, kid," said Jack. "You're a betting man. I'll make a bet with you."
Leon blinked. His zark tattoo, which normally sat in profile, swiveled toward Jack and fixed both eyes on him, making him more nervous than he ought to be.
"What kind of bet?"
"You need a message delivered to your girlfriend, right? I'll deliver it. Record a video, I'll take it to her. Love San Diego, haven't been in a while, and I've got ways to get into castles."
"But what's the bet?"
"I'll bet you that Odysseus helmet I can have your girlfriend in bed within twenty-four hours of meeting her."
Well, he'd gotten Leon laughing again, but it wasn't his usual, easy laugh. It was a little forced. "Even if Imogen was the type, which she's not, and even if she weren't monitored and under house arrest…"
"That's nothing to me, kid. Like I said, I have my ways."
"Even if she'd cheat, twenty-four hours? You're not that good-looking."
Now Jack was the one who dropped his smile. "Yes I am."
No doubt sensing his distress, Henrietta the peacock shuffled up behind him. Jack watched himself through her right eye, and found himself handsome as ever: whip-thin, sleek, a damn fine figure in black, with chiseled features and devilish facial hair. Even the bird couldn't resist him. She jumped, heavy, onto his shoulder, and laid her long blue neck across his collarbone. Her tail wrapped protectively around his back, and he had the sensation he'd just put on a not-terribly-comfortable coat.
"Bet me that helmet," Jack said. "I want it. You've got nothing to lose."
"But what do I get when I win?" asked Leon.
"Told you I travel all over the continent, kid. You can't do that without knowing a thing or two, and one of the things I know is how to get documents. Specifically, passports. Light-rail tickets. Amnesty cards. In short, free passes to New York, Canada, wherever. Hell, I can get you and your lady to the moon if you want to go."
Leon sat up. "You could get us to Canada? You'd do that?"
"Shake my hand on the bet, and I will."
The young man leaned forward, hand out, and Jack couldn't believe it would be this easy, but Leon seemed to come to himself at the last second, and his hand jerked away. So there was some self-preservation instinct hidden behind all the stupid.
"A couple conditions," Leon said.
They talked.
The terms were settled.
First, "have your girlfriend in bed" meant consensual sex, which Jack agreed to without a second thought.
How would he prove it had happened?
Don't worry about it, that's on me. I'll convince you. Ladies always have something special, something unique, to remember them by. I'll know it when I see it.
Could Jack prove his ability to produce Canadian passports? Yes he could. A trip to a hidden compartment in the wagon settled that. Jack was able to produce a messy pile of every form of identification known to man and mutant, at least five for every state, many with alternate names, 'shopped pictures, forged signatures and seals and everything else a man might need. He even had a few with pictures of people other than himself: Women, children, men of different ages and races. He'd done some smuggling work, and kept the extra IDs around, because you never knew when you'd need to move a friend who didn't look like you. Or travel in disguise.
Leon was not allowed to drop any hint of the bet to Imogen in his message to her.
If Jack could, through charm or bribery (which Leon allowed as a tactic, convinced Imogen couldn't be bought for any price, not even escape from the castle) bed Imogen within a day of knowing her, and convince Leon he'd done it, he'd have the Odysseus helmet, no strings attached.
If he couldn't, he'd get Leon and Imogen the documents they needed to get to Canada, and freedom.
"Best bet I ever made," said Leon. "I can't lose. She won't sleep with you – and, by the way, if you touch her without her permission, I'll find out about it and make you eat your own body, starting with your dick and ending with your heart – but in an alternate universe, if she did, I still wouldn't have lost anything."
It took Jack a bit to recover from Leon's threat, and there was a several-second pause in what had been an animated conversation. For a moment, the sparkle Leon's his eyes had vanished; the cheerful, handsome features had hardened, and the innocent surfer kid had turned into a stone corpse, a soulless, empty-eyed devil, casually letting out not a threat, but an absolute goddamn promise.
If it had ever crossed Jack's mind that he might be able to pressure this Imogen girl into bed – not that he'd need to, and not that he'd go so far as all-out rape, but still, the possibility of using a little force had been twitching along somewhere in his brain – the idea died. Jack wouldn't break that part of his oath, because Leon wouldn't break his. The sweet, curly-haired, grinning boy would kill Jack horribly if the princess were hurt by this bet.
"What do you mean," he said, when he was convinced Leon's soul had returned to his body, "You wouldn't have lost anything? You'd lose your girlfriend."
"Wife," said Leon. "But if she'd sleep with some cowboy from the wastes within a month of getting married, she wouldn't really be my wife, would she? The king would have his annulment, because I wouldn't touch that again. I married a faithful woman, not some stranger, some spoiled, lying whore; if she's a whore, she's not the woman I married. If she slept with you, I'd lose a worthless slut, and gain a friend; hell, I'd give you the Odysseus helmet anyway, for opening my eyes and getting me away from her before we had kids. You'd have saved me."
Wise man, thought Jack. He knew better than most that being attached to a faithless woman – also known, these days, as a woman – was about as bad as it got. A man was better off on his own, able to choose his friends, or his pets, and leave them to get lost in a Loop if they let him down.
He'd leave, Leon's message in hand, in the morning. And really, he'd be doing the kid a favor.
He didn't emphasize to poor Leon that the handsome, mysterious cowboy had never, not once in his near-thirty years, failed in a mission to sleep with a woman.
Imogen, princess or not, was female. She'd want him. She was weak. She'd give in.
Twenty-four hours? He wouldn't need two.
