Blood of Mystery (55 page)

Durge set up several of the less hole-ridden cans in a row, then returned to the others. Tanner handed Travis the six-shooter.

“Go ahead and give it a try,” Tanner said. “It’s loaded.” Travis tried to recall what he knew of guns. There wasn’t much. He took it in his hands, trying not to fumble. “Is the safety off?”

Tanner frowned. “Safety? What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Travis muttered. He raised the gun, aware of Tanner’s eyes on him. Clenching his jaw, he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

“You really are rusty,” Tanner said, letting out a low whistle.

“You forgot to cock it. Go ahead—it’s easier if you do it all in one quick motion with your thumb. That’s right. Now keep your arm straight. Don’t tense up your shoulder. And squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

Travis tried to keep all of this clear in his mind. He aimed, fired. Thunder rent the air of the gulch. Lirith and Durge winced. The cans, however, appeared unaffected. Travis fired again and again, until the gun clicked when he pulled the trigger.

“Don’t forget to count your shots,” Tanner said as Travis lowered the gun. “You’ve only got six before you have to reload.” He gave Travis a handful of bullets.

Travis stared at them; they felt hot in his hand. Tanner gave him a sharp look, then took both bullets and gun and showed Travis how to slip them into the chambers. He handed the gun back to Travis. “Ready to try again, Mr. Caine?”

Travis made a decision. “I’m not Tyler Caine.”

“I know,” Tanner said.

“My shooting gave me away?”

“It’s not that.” Tanner seemed to reconsider his words.

“Well, it
is
that. You’re a terrible shot. But I knew it even before you picked up the gun. You look like him all right. But you don’t walk like a gunslinger.”

“How does a gunslinger walk?”

“Like he’s got death riding at his hip.” Tanner glanced at Durge. “Like our Mr. Dirk here walks.”

Durge gave him a surprised look.

Tanner grinned. “You don’t know any more about guns than Mr. Wilder does, Mr. Dirk, but I’d bet my life you’re no stranger to carrying a weapon. Only I can’t think what on Earth it would be.”

“A sword,” Durge said in his deep voice.

Tanner raised his eyebrows.

“Can you teach me?” Travis said. “To shoot?”

Tanner nodded. “You’ve got a steady hand. And there’s something about you, Mr. Wilder, something I can’t put my finger on. You don’t walk like a gunslinger, but you know something about power, and something about keeping it in check. That should serve you well. A man’s got to wield his gun, and not the other way around.”

“So you can teach me.”

“I can. But not in two days. It would take two months for you to get any good. And two years before you could face someone who’s as quick on the draw as Aaron Locke.”

Travis’s hope crumbled. “So I have a steady hand but no skill.”

“And I’ve got the skill and a hand that shakes like a scared jackrabbit,” Tanner said. “Between us we make one gunslinger, Mr. Wilder. Too bad there’s no way to put us together.”

“Isn’t there?” Durge said.

They all looked at the knight. He shifted his feet and glanced at Lirith. “Can you not do something, my lady? Something like what you did to...what you did in the Barrens?” There was a queer expression in the knight’s eyes. At first Travis thought it was fear. Then he realized it was awe.

Lirith met Durge’s gaze. “It might work.”

“What are you talking about?” Travis said, confused.

Lirith moved to him. “There’s a way for me to grant some of Sir Tanner’s knowledge to you. If he’s willing.” She glanced at the sheriff.

He shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know what you’re talking about, Miss Lily, but if there’s a way to help Travis learn more quickly, I’ll be happy to see what it is.”

“Very well,” Lirith said, and she took Tanner’s wrist in one hand and Travis’s in the other.

Travis started to ask Lirith what she was planning, but before he could she shut her eyes and murmured something he couldn’t quite catch. Travis heard—no,
felt
—a rushing noise, and images flashed before his eyes. Only they weren’t just images, because he could hear and feel and smell.

He stood in a valley between two forested ridges, his too-big boots squelching in thick mud. The hot air thudded with the noise of cannons, and ragged clouds of smoke drifted by like mist. Then a bugle called out, and he was running alongside men dressed in blue uniforms.

He threw himself down on his stomach behind a fallen log, then raised himself up on his elbows, rifle cradled in his arms. A line of men in gray trampled a bean field, running toward him and the others. Shots rang out. The men in gray uniforms fell like wheat before a scythe. Travis fired, reloaded, and fired again until the rifle grew hot in his hands.

More shots rang out, behind him now, along with the screams of men. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up into a pair of frightened eyes. The soldier didn’t look more than seventeen, his dirty gray uniform sagging from bony shoulders. Travis started to reload, but the soldier thrust down with his bayonet. Pain sank deep into Travis’s shoulder, but his scream was drowned out by the bellow of a gun. The young soldier’s head dissolved in a spray of red and gray, and his body toppled on top of Travis.

The image blurred, refocused. Now Travis was on a sidewalk in a busy city. Brick buildings rose several stories above him. Horses clattered down steep cobbled streets. He caught the glint of a bay in the distance.

A shout. There was a man running toward him. Travis saw his hand rise in front of him. Only it wasn’t his hand. It was smaller, knobbier, stronger. In it was a silver six-shooter with an ivory grip. The man running toward him pulled out a gun, aimed. Travis knew what to do. His gun fired, the man fell dead.

More images flashed before Travis. He shot two men riding away from him on horses. A sack tumbled to the sage-covered ground; green bricks of paper money spilled out. Another man, a kerchief hiding his face, ran out of a bank, gun blazing. Travis felled him with a single shot between the eyes. He turned, and for a second, in a store’s plate-glass window, he caught the reflection of a man: He was slight of build, handsome in a sober way, with a sandy brown mustache and watery blue eyes.

Sun glinted off the window, so bright Travis was forced to look away. When his vision cleared, he found himself staring at the same face, only older, wearier. Tanner stood before him. Lirith released his wrist. The sheriff took a staggering step back. He stared at her, then at Travis.

“Who are you?” he said.

Travis glanced down at the gun in his hand and ran a thumb over it. A minute ago it had felt heavy and alien. Now it seemed to fit snugly in his grip, and he could feel the expert way its weight had been balanced. In an easy motion, he raised the gun, cocked it, and fired. A tin can flew toward the sky, then clattered back to earth. He fired again, and again. Four, five, six. Each time, one of the tin cans skittered away. He lowered the gun and met Tanner’s stunned eyes.

“We’re not who you think we are,” he said.

They told him everything: how Durge and Lirith were from another world, and Travis from the future of this one, and how the sorcerer had followed them through. When they finished, Tanner was silent. He stared at the twisted metal cans. Finally, he nodded.

“Maybe Maudie’s right. Maybe you really are Tyler Caine.”

Travis tightened his grip on the gun.

Lirith cast a worried look at Tanner. The sheriff’s face was gray. “We should be getting back.”

“I’ll get the horses,” Durge said.

They rode back to the town in silence and reached the Bluebell around noon. Tanner and Lirith dismounted, and Durge took the reins of the horses to lead them back to the livery. However, before he could go, the front door burst open, and Maudie rushed onto the porch, leaning on her cane. “Thank the Lord above you’re back!”

Tanner seemed to forget his own weariness. He bounded up the steps and took her arm. “Maude, what is it?”

“It’s—” A fit of coughing took her. He gripped her shoulders until it passed. “It’s Mr. Barrett.”

The rest of them were on the porch now.

“What is it?” Lirith said. “Has Lord Barrett finally awakened?”

“No,” Maudie said, gasping. “He’s dead.”

61.

They buried Niles Barrett the next day.

It was late morning when Durge fetched a wagon from the livery and drove them up the hill outside town to Castle Heights Cemetery. As Durge brought the wagon to a halt, a tall man in a black suit approached. For a moment Travis wondered if it might be Brother Cy.

It wasn’t. The undertaker was about Travis’s age, his face as dusty as his suit. Tanner spoke to him, and he pointed across the cemetery. Durge helped Maudie down from the wagon and guided her across the rough ground. Tanner offered his arm to Lirith in a polite gesture. However, Travis could see the way the sheriff leaned on her as they walked. Travis came last, along with Jack, holding on to the small bunch of wildflowers Lirith had picked that morning. Travis, Durge, and Tanner had donned their best shirts, and Lirith her gray dress, which matched Jack’s suit. Maudie was dressed all in black.

“He doesn’t have a wife to mourn him,” she had said back at the Bluebell. “So I guess it’s up to me.”

They found his grave on the far side of the cemetery, a hastily dug pit. Lying within was a pine coffin. The only marker was a plain wooden cross.

“Oh, Niles,” Maudie said, wiping the tears from her cheek. “I’ll sure miss your voice.”

Tanner laid a hand on her shoulder, and she leaned back against his chest.

“What happened?” Travis had asked Lirith the previous afternoon, after she examined Barrett’s body.

Lirith’s face was tightly drawn. “His injuries were too great. I wish Grace was here—I can’t be as certain as she could be— but I believe there was bleeding in his head.”

An aneurism. Brought about by the blows to his skull, Travis supposed. “But I thought you said he was waking up.”

“No, I said he was trying, and that he was strong. But sometimes...” Lirith’s voice caught in her throat. “Sometimes, no matter how strong you are, it isn’t enough.”

Those words echoed in Travis’s mind now. What about him? Would he be strong enough to do what he had to that day? Last night, at the Mine Shaft, he had overheard a number of whispers that let him know their plan had worked. Word was all over town that Tyler Caine had challenged the leader of the Crusade for Purity to a gunfight, and that the showdown would happen tonight at the Bar L Ranch.

There was no way Locke couldn’t have heard the rumors. But did he know their source? More than once Travis had looked up as the saloon’s doors swung open, expecting to see Lionel Gentry and Eugene Ellis, or even Aaron Locke himself, step through. But he never did. They were waiting, just like he was. Waiting for sundown tonight.

“Where’s the preacher?” Maudie said, looking around the cemetery.

Good question,
Travis thought. Where was Brother Cy? He wasn’t sure. Only that he had a feeling he wouldn’t see Cy again, at least not in this century. “I don’t think there is a preacher,” Travis said.

“Then we’ll have to speak prayers for him ourselves,” Lirith said.

Each of them talked in turn about how they had met Niles Barrett, and some memory of him: his sardonic laughter, his intelligent gaze, how he had wanted to start a newspaper to rival the
Clarion
.

“I wish I had gotten the chance to meet this fellow,” Jack said wistfully. “It sounds as if he was the only civilized man in Castle City.”

When they were done, Travis set the flowers on top of the coffin. Maudie smiled, tears shining on her cheeks. “He’s gone to meet his lieutenant. I don’t think I told you, Miss Lily. Niles found out last fall, more than a year after his ship went down off the coast of Australia. But they’re sailing away together now, aren’t they?” Her smile faded, and she looked at Tanner. “Aren’t they, Bart?”

Tanner took her hand in his. “Forever, Maude.” He put his arm around her shoulder, and slowly the two made their way back to the wagon as the rest of them followed.

The afternoon was long and hot. None of them felt like eating when they got back to the Bluebell, but Liza made lemonade with the last bit of ice in the cellar, and that provided a bit of relief. Tanner went upstairs to rest, but Maudie seemed unable to sit still. She bustled from room to room dusting and straightening, until finally a fit of coughing seized her.

“Please, madam,” Jack said when her spasm subsided, “will you keep me company in the parlor?”

Maudie daubed at her lips with her handkerchief. “I can’t imagine I’ll be very good company, Mr. Graystone. But I’ll sit with you, if you like.”

Travis shot Jack a grateful look. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the front porch with Lirith and Durge. They didn’t speak much, but Travis knew they were all thinking the same thing. Would they get Sareth back alive? Then, just as the shadows stretched down the length of Grant Street, the front door squeaked open. Tanner stepped onto the porch.

“It’s time,” he said.

Travis went upstairs, looped the gun belt around his hips, and put on the black hat. Last of all, he slipped the wire-rimmed spectacles onto his face. As usual, everything looked strange. Not blurry or distorted, but instead too clear. Travis met his eyes in the mirror, then he went downstairs to say good-bye.

“We’re coming with you,” Durge said.

The knight had strapped his sword to his back, although it was still wrapped in a blanket. In Tanner’s hands was a sawed-off shotgun, and while Lirith carried nothing, by the set of her jaw Travis knew she meant to come as well.

“I’m supposed to do this alone,” Travis said.

Tanner shook his head. “In every duel, a man has to have his seconds.”

Travis’s heart ached, and he didn’t know if it was from joy or dread. “But Durge, your gun is never loaded. And Sheriff, your hand—”

“—doesn’t need to be steady to shoot this,” Tanner said, hefting the shotgun. “I just need to be close.”

Travis shook his head. “And Lirith—”

“Is coming.” She laid a hand on his arm, and her expression softened. “I love him, Travis. I cannot stay here.”

Despite the fear pooling in his stomach, Travis felt a sense of relief. No matter what happened, at least he wouldn’t be alone.

Maudie was still in the parlor, and she refused to come out and see them.

“I won’t say good-bye,” she called through the door. “I won’t say it because you’re coming right back, do you understand me? You’re coming right back!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tanner, Durge, and Travis all said.

Thankfully, Jack hadn’t gotten the notion that he was going to the Bar L with the rest of them. “I intend to stay here, put my feet up, and drink tea,” he said. “I find, after what happened in London, I’ve quite lost my appetite for adventure.”

Travis swallowed hard. “What do you think the sorcerer will do, Jack?”

“I don’t know, Travis.” For the first time, worry crept into Jack’s blue eyes. “But be ready for trickery. His kind are skilled at deception. Nothing will be as you think. And remember the runes. They’re all inside of you—all you have to do is listen.”

“I have to go now,” Travis said.

“You
will
be careful, won’t you? I find I rather like you, and I’m looking forward to our future friendship. I’d hate very much if that didn’t come to pass as you said it will.”

Despite the heat, a shiver coursed through Travis. There was something about Jack’s words that struck him, something important. But what was it?

“Travis,” Durge said. “Sundown comes.”

Whatever it was, Travis couldn’t quite grasp it. He headed out the door. They still had the wagon, and Durge drove the four of them in silence. They met no one on the road south of town.

The sun was still a handspan above the shoulder of Castle Peak when the gables of the opulent Victorian ranch house came into view, so Durge halted the wagon and they walked the rest of the way on foot. Travis was just as glad. It was hard to sit still. Energy buzzed through his nerves, making him twitch like a dead frog hooked to a battery.

They reached the gate to the ranch. It was open.

Tanner gazed around. “Be on the lookout.”

“For what?” Durge rumbled.

“Everything.”

Durge reached up and removed the bundle from his back. He unwrapped the blanket, and the ruddy light flickered up and down the length of his greatsword like blood.

Tanner’s eyes went wide. “Sweet Jesus, Mr. Dirk. You weren’t joking, were you?”

“Durge doesn’t make jokes,” Lirith said, and she gave the knight a fond smile.

Handling it as if it weighed nothing, Durge slipped the massive sword into the scabbard strapped to his back.

“Let’s go,” Travis said, and together they stepped through the gate.

Keep your guard up. This isn’t going to be a fair fight. Locke
will do anything to get the jump on you.

Where had that thought come from? Then Travis understood; the thought wasn’t his, it was Tanner’s. It was part of the sheriff’s knowledge Lirith had granted him with her spell.

Don’t forget your blind spot. And keep your hand close to
your gun.

It already was.

The four followed the dusty road as the western sky caught fire. The only sound was the hiss of the wind through sunburnt grass. Halfway to the ranch house, the road widened. On the right was a corral bounded by a split-rail fence, empty save for a scattering of troughs and barrels. On the left was a long row of stalls; the gates on all of the stalls were closed.

“It looks like they’re going to make us run a gauntlet.”

For a second, Travis thought he was hearing Tanner’s thoughts again in his head; then he realized the sheriff had spoken the words aloud. Slowly, they passed several of the stalls, then came to a halt. A tumbleweed lurched by, but nothing else moved.

Lirith shut her eyes, and her fingers circled in a weaving motion. “We’re being watched.”

Travis moved closer to the witch. “How many, Lirith?”

“I don’t know. I...” She opened her eyes. “Something’s wrong. The threads of the Weirding keep pulling away every time I try to weave them. It’s as if there’s something they’re recoiling from.”

“The sorcerer?”

“I don’t think so. For all his power, the Scirathi is a living man like any other. He would show up clearly to me. But this is different. It’s as if it’s both alive and—”

Twenty yards away, the gate of the last stall swung open, and Calvin Murray stepped out. Or what remained of Calvin Murray, for even from a distance Travis could see the dark blotches of decay. Black spittle drooled from the lupine jaws that had been grafted onto Murray’s face; the cougar’s paw dangled loosely at the end of his arm. With lurching motions, Murray used his human arm to reach into the stall behind him and pull something out.

Lirith held out a trembling hand. “Sareth!”

The Mournish man was gagged, his hands bound behind his back; a crusted scab marred his forehead. They had taken his peg leg away from him, so he was forced to hop on one foot. His eyes went wide as they locked on Lirith.

The witch started to rush forward, but Durge grabbed her arm. “You’ll be killed if you try to go near him.”

“You’re right on that account, Mr. Dirk,” drawled a voice behind them. “And I’d hate to see a pretty woman get killed, no matter the color of her skin.”

They must have come from one of the first stalls, Travis thought as he and the others turned around. Lionel Gentry ambled toward them. Flanking him were Eugene Ellis and Deputy Wilson. Guns glinted at their hips. A scent rose on the air: sweet, cloying.

Travis tried to pretend he felt more anger than fear. “I didn’t come here to fight you.”

Ellis took a drag on a thin cigar; the smoke poured back out of his mouth. “You don’t have to fight anybody, Mr. Caine. You look quite well for a man who’s supposed to be dead. I’m sure you don’t want to do anything to alter that. All you have to do is give us what we want.”

Travis had to force his left hand to stay away from his pocket; he could feel the steady warmth of the scarab against his leg.

Durge cast a stern look at Wilson. “Deputy, why have you cast your lot with these evil men?”

The young man only stared, his pudgy face pallid. Gentry laughed and tousled his hair. “Go ahead and tell them, Mr. Wilson. You wanted to lead a life of adventure, didn’t you? Just like you read about in those dime novels. Well, here you are. Ain’t it grand?”

“Where is Locke?” Travis said loudly. “Is he too much of a coward to defend his honor? Or doesn’t he have any?”

“Honor is overrated, Mr. Caine,” answered a voice from behind. “As I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Travis turned. Aaron Locke stood a few paces in front of Sareth and Calvin Murray. He was clad in a stylish brown suit topped off by a smart hat. His boyish face was freshly shaved. He looked ready for a night at the opera house. The only thing dispelling the image was the six-shooter belted at his side.

“However,” Locke said, “I will not be called a coward. You may be a cold-blooded man-killer, but I’ve seen things that would make even your blood curdle.”

I bet you have,
Travis thought, gazing past Locke toward Murray, who still held on to Sareth. The Mournish man’s eyes were hazed with pain. Instinct that was not Travis’s own stirred inside him. He knew, just like Tanner would have, that he had to buy more time so he could take proper measure of the situation.

“Where’s your servant, Mortimer Hale?” Travis called out, taking several steps toward Locke.

Locke matched them, striding closer. “Hale? He truly was a coward, Mr. Caine. He liked to write about violence, but he didn’t have the guts to perform it himself. He grew uncomfortable with some of the things my new...associate was doing. As did some of my other men.”

“So you killed them,” Travis said, moving closer.

Locke matched him stride for stride. “No, I didn’t. Mr. Gentry, Mr. Ellis, and Mr. Wilson did the deed. That’s how I knew they weren’t cowards themselves. And for that they’ve been rewarded.” He smiled, a charming expression. “Oh yes, and good Mr. Murray helped as well.”

The creature behind him grunted, as if it recognized what had once been its name. It was a horrible, pitiful sound. The thing pressed its rotting muzzle against Sareth’s cheek, licking him. A moan escaped the Mournish man.