CHAPTER TWELVE
Cedar Hunt gauged just how quickly he could draw his
own gun against Cadoc Madder, and judged it to be a losing
proposition.
“Have a seat, Mr.
Hunt,” Cadoc said again.
“I’ll stand, if it’s
just the same,” Cedar said.
Cadoc pointedly
looked down at the table where the arrow Cedar had touched still
glowed faintly, then back up at Cedar. “Stones say you’re hunting,”
he said, slow, as if each word were sorted out from among too many
others.
“Stones are
right.”
Cadoc tilted his
head, looking Cedar up from boots to hat. “You plan on killing what
you’re looking for?”
“I plan on taking
back that which has been stolen. If it means violence, I’ll not shy
from it.”
Cadoc nodded. “Stones
say that’s true.”
Alun tromped out from
the other room. “He’s a guest of mine, brother Cadoc,” he said.
“You can put that blunderbuss away.”
If Alun was surprised
by his brother’s sudden appearance, he didn’t show it. Alun carried
a thin wood and leather box held together with brass tacks. The
wood between the tacks was dark with age, as if the box had been
weathered by salt air or worn down by ten thousand fingers and a
thousand hands.
“One of these should
suit your need, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. He placed the box on the
center of the table, flicked the brass locks, and lifted the hinged
lid.
The box was lined
with black velvet that caught shadow and light like the night sky
drinking down starlight. Three clean slashes of silver filled the
box. Three tuning forks, each smaller than the next, nestled in the
darkness there.
“And which one is for
sale?” he asked.
“All of them. For the
right price,” Alun said. “We’ve other things to keep our hands busy
than tuning forks, don’t you say, Cadoc?”
Cadoc, still standing
behind Cedar, hmmed in
agreement.
Cedar knew the longer
he stayed in the cavern, the more daylight, and Elbert’s chance of
survival, slipped away. He drew just one finger along the tines and
down to the handle of the first fork. It was finely wrought, but
something about it didn’t seem right. He’d learned long ago to
trust his gut when it came to such things. So he touched the second
fork, this one scrolled with a billowing etching along the handle
that reached almost up to the tines.
He lifted his finger
and finally rested fingertips on the smallest of the forks. Darker
than the others, it was carved so that the tips of the tines flared
out, sharp as an arrowhead. It looked more of a weapon than a
tuning fork. He lifted it out of the box and struck it on the edge
of his wrist, then set the handle against the wooden box. A clear
tone rang out, louder than such a small instrument should be
capable of.
Suddenly the walls,
the stone, the pipes—the chamber itself—resonated with the bell
tone and added to it the sound of pipe, drum, and harp, a rising,
rushing tide of music not from this land. It was a call to battle,
a shout, a joyous reel. Not at all the dark, sour song left behind
in the boy’s windowsill, this song stirred his blood and made him
want to shout, to dance, to weep.
Heavy hands pressed
down on his shoulder, guiding him into a chair. As soon as the
tuning fork was taken off the wood and out of his fingers, the
music died, not even an echo of it left in his ears or
thoughts.
He blinked. How long
had he sat there, transfixed? Long enough that his eyes and mouth
were both dry. The brothers were staring at him, curious smiles
hidden in their beards.
“Aren’t you an
interesting man?” Alun murmured.
Cedar glared at the
tuning fork lying silent on the tabletop. “I can’t use something
that strikes me dumb every time it sings a note.”
The brothers
exchanged a look; then Alun puffed his pipe and locked the lid of
the box back down. “These forks are tuned to catch the trail of the
thing you hunt. Most men only hear the old song faintly. You, Mr.
Hunt, are apparently not a common sort of man.” He pulled a thin
length of leather braid from one of his many coat pockets. He
threaded it through the eye hole in the fork’s handle, then knotted
it into a loop. “Maybe you shouldn’t listen quite so
hard.”
He held the leather
braid out on the crook of his thumb. “Give it a try.”
Cedar took the fork
again. No music. He struck it, this time against his sleeve. He
pressed the handle to the wooden box. Just one sweet tone rang
out—a perfectly tuned A. The song, if it had been there, was faint
as reeds in a distant wind.
“Press it against
anything the Strange have touched, and you’ll know which way that
Strange has gone,” Alun Madder said. “The fork will be of little
help with what you do when you find them.”
Cedar pulled the fork
away from the box. “Then we’re settled?”
Alun chuckled. “We
are most unsettled. That fork is a rarity. It cups a proper price,
not just a palm of coin.”
“How proper?” Cedar
asked.
Alun stared at the
ceiling as if chasing math through the shadows. “The coins you
tossed at my feet are a little lean for such a fine instrument.
You’ll find no other to match it.” He looked back down at Cedar.
“No other in this world.”
“Name your price,
Madder,” Cedar said. “Before the day burns down.”
“The coins and a
favor.”
Cedar shook his head.
“I won’t be holding to you for two favors. The coins
alone.”
Alun snatched the
tuning fork out of his hand, fast as a thief. “Then our discussion
is done.”
“And what do you
think will keep me from killing you here and now?” Cedar raised the
gun, aimed it at Alun’s head.
Cadoc rambled over to
stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother. He tipped his head at
Cedar like he was waiting for the joke.
Alun puffed on his
pipe. “What will keep you from killing me is that you have come to
us today, out of all the days and years you’ve been in this town.
You need this fork. And likely you’ll need other devices at our
disposal to deal with the Strange. You are not a stupid man, Mr.
Hunt. There’s that about you that makes me curious. I’d judge you
for university learning. There’s not a man of this town who’d take
the time to nod at your grave, yet you are going to great lengths
to find a wee boy of no relation to you. Don’t reckon such a man
kills another in cold blood, standing on the stones of his
hearth.”
Cedar lowered his
gun. “Might not in broad daylight. Night might be a different
matter.” He rolled his shoulder. His temper was strung too tight
across his nerves. Being in the Madders’ presence, in the presence
of things like the tuning fork, got his hackles up and made it hard
to think straight this close to the moon. “I came for the
fork.”
“Yours. For coin. And
a favor—on the same terms as the last favor: nothing that would
harm the weak, women, or children.”
“To be collected
within the year,” Cedar added.
Alun nodded. “I’ll
agree to that term for this favor only.”
Arguing with the
mountain itself would have taken less time. “Done.” Cedar held out
his hand.
Alun and Cadoc Madder
leaned forward and once again shook his hand simultaneously. When
Cedar pulled his hand away, the tuning fork was in his
grasp.
“It can hang at your
neck,” Cadoc said as Alun turned to one of the line of cupboards
along the wall of the room, pulling out a brown bottle, a wedge of
cheese, and a loaf of bread. “Nearer your heart, the better and the
truer it will lead you to the Strange.”
Cedar removed his hat
and slipped the fork over his neck. He tucked it down beneath his
coat, on the outside of his undershirt. The Madders might think it
would be best against his skin, but he wouldn’t wear a device that
near his bones.
“You do believe in
the Strange, then?” he asked quietly, putting his hat back
on.
Cadoc shrugged one
heavy shoulder. “Wish that I couldn’t.” He paused, looked at Cedar
like he was peering right through him. “You’ll wish you didn’t one
of these days too, Mr. Hunt.”
Alun set the food on
the table, and handed Cadoc and Cedar a cup.
“A toast,” he said.
“To the finding, the killing, and the keeping. Luck to you in your
search for the blacksmith’s boy. May strong gods favor
you.”
“Strong gods,” Cadoc
echoed.
The brothers drank.
Both watched him from over the tops of their cups. Cedar sniffed
his drink. Moonshine. He swigged it back in one shot. It plowed a
hot path down between his ribs to his stomach, and left the taste
of pine sap in his mouth.
“I’ve had enough of
gods, strong and Strange,” Cedar said. “But I thank you anyway.
Afternoon, Madders.” He stood from the table and started across the
chamber. “If you’d open the door, I’ll be on my way.”
Just as the words
left his mouth, the door to the chamber opened. Cedar glanced back
at the brothers to see if they had somehow devised a way to trip
the lock from a distance.
“Ho, there, those
within,” Bryn, the middle brother, called out. “Is there room for
two more?”
Cedar did not want to
involve himself any more than he had to with the Madders’ business.
Seemed that each time he crossed paths with them, it cost him more
than he wanted to give. Meetings with the Madder brothers were best
done two ways: quickly and infrequently.
He did not expect to
see Mrs. Jeb Lindson walking out of the shine of day into the
deeper lamplight of the room.
She wore the same
dress as this morning, but had put on a silk bonnet that made her
brown eyes wide and warm, and cast her lips in a soft shade of
pink. She’d been riding, that was clear, and the wind had tugged
some of her fine blond hair out from under her bonnet, so that it
fell in a gold curl against her cheek. He found himself
entertaining the thought of what her hair would look like unbound,
spilling around her bare shoulders—yellow as sunlight and soft as
silk. Then wondering if her skin, white as moonlight, would be
softer still, beneath his hands.
Mrs. Lindson folded
her fingers over the bag on her wrist and gave him a calm look. He
glanced away while adjusting his hat, buying up time to brush off
the thoughts and heat that she stirred up in him.
She was lovely; that
was plain sure. And every time he set eyes on her, he was reminded
of feelings he never thought he’d own again. Feelings he’d only
ever known with his wife.
“Hello, Mr. Hunt,”
she said. That calm greeting of hers held a dark fury, a
desperation.
“Ma’am.” Cedar
stopped fiddling with his hat and schooled his features. The brim
had brushed against the goggles still fitted on his head and made
his forehead itch.
“Have you
reconsidered my offer?” she asked. Her words caught deep in her
throat, as if wedging between sorrows before finding their way
out.
Cedar said nothing.
He’d given her his answer. It wouldn’t change. He couldn’t
entertain so much as the idea of looking for her man’s killer until
he gave the lost boy a chance to be found alive first. “I’m sorry.
No, ma’am.”
Mae Lindson dropped
her gaze. “I see.” When she looked back up at him, he could tell
the woman had made a decision. There was death in her eyes. “Then I
wish you the best, Mr. Hunt.”
Sounded like she
wished him the best grave, or the best hanging rope.
“Didn’t know this was
going to be a proper social,” Alun said, “or I would have washed up
a few more cups.”
“I’ll be on my way,”
Cedar said.
“Now, now, we
wouldn’t think of it, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “Come sit with us a
spell longer. I’m sure Mrs. Lindson would enjoy the
company.”
Mae didn’t look to
him, but Cedar suddenly realized the situation from her angle. She
was alone, possibly unarmed, and in the home of three men who had
locks that could seal a person away in the mountain until the world
wound down.
And even though the
day burned on, and little Elbert’s time grew shorter and shorter,
he wasn’t possessed of the kind of morals to leave a woman alone
with the miners.
He tugged Wil’s watch
out of his waistcoat and glanced at the time. There was still a
good seven hours of daylight ahead of him. He’d be able to cover a
fair bit of ground before the moon came up. And if the silver fork
led him lucky, he might yet find the boy.
He tucked the watch
back into his vest pocket.
The Madder brothers
had gone awful quiet. Alun and Cadoc stared at him like he’d just
turned into a rattlesnake.
The brothers took a
step toward him and Mae Lindson. Bryn Madder, still standing at the
mouth of the chamber, spun the big brass captain’s wheel and sent
the door rolling on its hidden tracks.
“Tell us, Mrs.
Lindson,” Alun began, mild as church tea. “How is it we can assist
you today?”
“I am looking to buy
a weapon to kill a man.”
“What sort of man?”
Alun asked.
That, Cedar thought,
was an interesting question. Most people would ask what sort of
weapon she wanted.
“A monster. A
murderer. The man who killed my husband.”
“You had your eyes on
his killer?” Bryn asked as he sauntered over from the door. “Know
his height, build, manners?”
“No.”
Bryn sucked on his
teeth, disapproving.
“Is there a weapon
you prefer to kill men with, Mrs. Lindson?” Alun
asked.
“Something,” she
said, “that will make sure even his soul can’t be
found.”
Alun laughed and so
did Bryn. Cadoc Madder stared at Mae like a drift of snow had
fallen out of a summer sky and landed right here in the middle of
their dining room.
“A gun, I’m thinking,
will do enough damage to unbreathe a man,” Alun said. “Strong
enough to break bone, stop a heart, unhinge the soul.” He gave her
a tight smile. “And not so powerful that a lady will feel the
weight of its burden.”
“It will be no burden
in my hands.” Mae stepped forward and touched Alun’s
arm.
His eyebrows shot up,
but he did not pull away. Looked for all the world like he had
suddenly been frozen in ice.
“You will find me the
weapon that will destroy my husband’s killer. The cost will be
bartered between us. There are promises I can make you that are
worth more than any coin.”
Cedar took a step
back. There was something in her words, a push, a power. It
reminded him too much of the Pawnee god, and the curse the god had
invoked. Fear, instinct, a good head for danger, made Cedar lift
his gun, barrel tipping just up from the floor. He took a breath,
ready to level the gun at her if need be.
Mae Lindson let go of
Alun’s arm. He exhaled like he was coming up from underwater. His
face flushed red as a hot coal. “Keep your hands to yourself,
witch. Our kind have no quarrel with you. But I’m not unwilling to
reconsider my stance.” He turned on his heel and barked at his
brother. “Bring the gun she wants, Bryn. I want her out of
here.”
Bryn scurried across
the room and through the same door into the room Alun had entered
to retrieve the tuning forks.
Mae looked after him.
Unconcerned. Calm, except for her fingers that tapped against the
purse she held in one hand. At that motion, the clink of coins
rubbed like spurs inside the purse. Between Cedar’s and Mae’s
offerings, the Madders would be making a grand wage
today.
“Will the coin cover
your price, Mr. Madder, or will other agreements be necessary?” Mae
asked.
“Agreements,” he
muttered. “Curses, more like. And you of the white magic. What
would your sisters say if they saw you bargaining for a
gun?”
“My sisters are not
here, Mr. Madder, and I would thank you to keep them, and any
mention of them, out of our business.”
Alun opened his
mouth, but Mae spoke first.
“Please, Mr. Madder.
Some mercy.”
He paused, then
clamped his mouth shut with an audible click, and stomped to the
table. He filled the cup again and drank the moonshine like it was
water, shifting his glower between Mae and Cedar.
“You, Mrs. Lindson,
are too quick to offer up such things that are in your power. And
you, Mr. Hunt, are too reluctant to do the same. But when you both
come to my mountain asking my favor, on the same bright morning
after the full moon, it is I who sets the price.”
He rolled the cup
between his palms as if kneading his temper down to a soft lump.
When he spoke again, his voice was even, controlled. Weary. “These
times about us,” he said. “They can’t be escaped. There are dark
things walking the soil, burrowing into the heart and marrow of the
earth, and of the living. You have a part in this, Mrs. Lindson. I
didn’t think so, but now, seeing you here . . .” He nodded. “You
have a part to play.”
He set his shoulders
in a hard line, pulling his chin up. He somehow looked more noble,
more regal, than a dirty miner who banged around inside rock
crevasses, scraping for a nugget and spark. He looked like the sort
of man who had not only fought in wars but had also led men into
battle and on to victory.
Cedar always knew
there was something odd about the brothers, and now he had
suspicions that they might be very closely tied to the dark things
that burrowed in bones and walked this land. The
Strange.
“If I’ve a part to
play in anything, it is for my own benefit,” Mae said. “And no
other.”
Alun pressed his lips
together, something like sadness crossing his eyes. “I’d think two
times before taking the weapon you asked for from this hill. If you
want a life with joy left to it, leave the gun here and walk away
from any involvement with myself and my brothers.”
“There is no joy left
for me, Mr. Madder. There is only death.”
Bryn walked into the
room, short-barreled shotgun held low in one hand, a box of bullets
in the other.
“Pity, that. Then
this gun will bring you what you ask for.” Alun poured more
moonshine, slugged it back, washing away the steely resolve of a
commander and becoming once again a miner and mad
deviser.
Bryn held the gun out
for her, butt first. It was the color of wet stones, gray and black
steel, stock and butt, as if it had been hammered out of one piece
of metal. But the glint of brass cogs, worked in a clockwork
fashion all along the forestock, and the copper tubes that created
a cage around the trigger with room for a hand and finger—much like
the hand guard of a swashbuckler’s cutlass—gave the steel some
relief. It was the copper tubes that most caught Cedar’s eye as he
tried to reckon their use. Each tube lifted up from the hand guard,
like the head of a snake, right behind the bolt handle. And atop
each tube was a thumb-sized glass vial.
“There is only one
gun of this devising,” Bryn said. “Chamber the shot, and this lever
will lock these gears into action.” He pointed at the gears. “A
very small vial of oil within the gun will heat with the friction
of the gears, fill the tubes, and send a gas into these vials,
which is released on squeezing the trigger.
“It will take some
time for a full charge, but as soon as you can no longer hear it
whining, and you see the needle of that gauge there on the stock
holding on the red, you can blow a hole straight through the great
divide.
“These,” Bryn added,
“are the shells.” He opened the wooden box and withdrew a cylinder
as long as his hand, balancing it between two fingers. “A blend of
mineral only we brothers know. There are only five bullets. That’s
all we’ve made, and all we’ll ever make.”
“All we’ll ever
make,” the other two brothers echoed quietly as if it was a vow
that needed repeating.
“This shot,” Alun
picked up now that Bryn had gone silent, “this gun, will kill any
man, woman, child. It might even kill things that walk this land
dark and hungry, so long as the gun is fully charged. Might kill
the things that had a hand in the killing of your
husband.”
Mae took the weapon
without hesitating. She looked natural to the heft of the gun,
determination setting her jaw as she pivoted and lifted the butt to
her shoulder, sighting right between the center gap in the copper
tubes. She lowered the barrel to the floor and inspected the box of
shot. She nodded.
“This is worth more
than the purse I brought.”
“That’s true,” Alun
said. “The purse and a favor.”
“I don’t think I’ll
be here long enough to settle a favor,” she said.
“Coin. And the favor,
to be repaid whenever our paths should meet,” Alun
countered.
She considered it.
“Done.”
Cedar thought she
might have agreed to almost any terms to keep hold of that
gun.
She held out the
purse, and Bryn exchanged the box of bullets for it. He loosened
the strings and looked inside. “Done,” he said.
“Done,” Cadoc, to one
side, echoed.
“Done,” Alun
pronounced. “Cadoc, see her out.”
Cadoc gestured toward
the door with the slightest bow. Mae looked askance at Cedar. If
she was offering him to follow, or looking for him to challenge her
on her fool quest for vengeance, he didn’t have the right to act on
either request.
“Good-bye, Mr.
Hunt.”
“Ma’am,” Cedar
said.
Mae walked with Cadoc
toward the door. Cedar started off after them.
“Mr. Hunt,” Alun
said. “One last thing.”
Cedar glanced over.
“I think our business is done, Mr. Madder.”
“All except one
question that lingers with me.” He poured two cups of moonshine,
holding one out in invitation.
“There’s a boy gone
lost, Mr. Madder. Your curiosity will have to carry on without me.”
The door swung open behind him. He could tell the door opened only
because a wash of air filtered into the room. The door itself, a
slab of stone that ten men couldn’t shoulder closed, moved silently
on those well-oiled rails.
Mae stepped through
the doors and Cadoc closed them quickly behind her. The youngest
Madder moved over to stand in front of the door, fists on top of
his hips pulling back his duster just enough to let Cedar see the
guns holstered there.
“Tell me, Mr. Hunt,”
Alun said. “How did you repair the watch?”
The question was
unexpected.
The Madders had said
they’d tried to fix it and couldn’t. And now, just a day in his
keeping, the watch was running again. It appeared the Madder
brothers didn’t take kindly to being out-tinkered.
“Dropped
it.”
“That so?” Alun
said.
Bryn, who stood near
Alun, cleared his throat and held both hands up to show no weapons
were within them. “Might I could see it, Mr. Hunt? Timepiece
deviled me for weeks. Won’t go so far as to open it up, but it’d be
a pleasure to see it working as it should.”
“That door behind me
going to open up if I show you the watch?”
Alun chuckled. “The
watch. Now, Mr. Hunt.”
The brothers were
spread about the chamber. He’d be lucky to get off three clean
shots, luckier if they did enough damage to keep the Madders from
pulling their own weapons. He gritted his teeth, swallowing back a
growl. Easier to give them what they wanted and walk out of here
than to waste daylight digging their graves.
He reached in his
pocket and withdrew the watch, letting it dangle off his
knuckles.
Bryn walked nearer,
his hands still held upward. When he was an arm’s length away, he
tucked two fingers into his vest pocket and withdrew a pair of
brass spectacles. He perched those on his nose, folded his hands
behind his back, and leaned in, squinting at the watch
face.
He breathed a word,
not English, then craned his neck to meet Cedar’s
gaze.
“How?” he asked,
honestly perplexed. “It was broken. More than broken. Irreparable.
If any hands could fix it, it would have been mine.” He stretched
out the fastidiously clean fingers of one hand, waited for Cedar’s
assent.
Cedar nodded. Bryn
gently placed his fingers at the back of the watch and tipped it to
catch the light.
He frowned, then ran
a thumb over the crystal face, running his nail at the
seam.
“Blood,” Bryn said.
“Yours?”
“Don’t see that it
matters. This watch is none of your concern.” He pulled the watch
away. But Bryn was just as fast as his brother. He snatched the
watch out of Cedar’s hand, breaking the chain in two.
“Think it might yet
be ours,” Bryn said. “And our concern to boot.”
“I’ve had enough,”
Cedar said. “There’s deals been made and word been given. I’m as
good as my word to settle my debt. Give the watch
back.”
Bryn took a step
away, shaking his head. “You’ve done something to it we couldn’t.
Way I see it, the neighborly thing is to let us take it apart, see
what moves it.”
“Way I see it,” Cedar
said low, “is you’ll give me back what’s mine, or I’ll break your
jaw.”
That did it. The
brothers, grinning and always hankering for a fight, were on him.
His gun was knocked out of his hand, as fists meant for breaking
stone slammed into his head, his ribs, his stomach. Their laughter
filled the chamber.
Cedar swung,
connected. Swung again. Pulled his hunting knife from his belt,
sliced through air, snagged the edge of cloth, hit flesh. A flash
of light filled the cavern as one of the brothers set off a charge.
Cedar blinked, trying to clear his vision.
A hand caught his
wrist, twisted. Yanked his wrist up behind his back.
Cedar yelled. Another
fist, then too many to count, rained down. A boot slammed into his
chest. He fell back. He could just make out Alun’s face as he
dropped on him, a knee pushing all the air out of his
lungs.
The brothers gave one
hard cheer, Bryn and Cadoc holding down his arms and legs and
utilizing rope they must have stashed in their coats to bind his
boots and wrists.
“Didn’t realize you
wanted to get in a scuffle with us, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “Not over
something as small as a watch. Brother Bryn was just ribbing you.
The watch is yours. We Madders are true to our word too. But now
I’m hard curious as to why you’d be willing to come to blows over
it, and why, exactly, your blood seems to have fixed it up, when
all our skills did it no good.”
Alun Madder grinned
big enough to split his head in half. “I believe we’re inviting you
to extend your stay with us awhile.” He wiped the blood off his
mouth with his sleeve, then gave Cedar a mostly somber look. “With
my apologies.” He pounded a fist across Cedar’s jaw.
The blow hit so hard,
sparks filled Cedar’s vision as the brothers’ laughter filled his
ears.
He tasted blood even
before his head snapped back and hit the stone floor. His ears
rang, and blood ran down the back of his neck mixing with the
dirt.
Cedar struggled to
stay conscious. He didn’t know what would happen if he passed out.
Didn’t know if the beast that lingered just beneath his skin would
break free, moonlight or no moonlight, to tear the brothers apart,
or if he would simply fall unconscious.
The Madders finished
binding his feet, legs, arms, then picked him up as if he were no
more than a suckling pig trussed up on a pole. They dropped him
into a chair.
“Now.” Alun licked
blood from his split lip and rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s see
what, exactly, you’re made of, Mr. Hunt.”