Conspiracy of Ravens Page 7

  “Get out of my kitchen or I stick you,” she muttered.

  And Rhett believed her, so he did.

  Sam had saved him a place at the table—his old place. It raised his spirits, seeing that Sam hadn’t taken up with any other Rangers in his absence. Of course, most of the newer fellers had met their fate on the way to the Cannibal Owl’s lair, and the grizzled old fellers all had long friendships of their own to tend. Still, it felt good to slide onto the bench and wait in turn for the warm mess of beans and goat and tamales on a scarred tin plate. He was scooping food into his mouth before Conchita had moved on, and it was the complete opposite of the slop Delgado had served, which gave Conchita the glow of a goddamn angel, as far as Rhett was concerned. Regina distributed the tamales, and Rhett could feel the rage radiating off the woman.

  Not that he could blame her. Demanding to live among citified people and being installed in the kitchen to tend to a ragtag bunch of Rangers was no one’s idea of freedom.

  Beside Rhett, Earl ate far more slowly. Whether it was because he was unnerved by the prospect of speaking to the Captain or because his soft Irish belly wasn’t accustomed to Aztecan spices, Rhett could not have ventured a guess. He handed the sullen feller a tamale and elbowed him.

  “Eat up, man. Fortify yourself.”

  Earl didn’t say anything, but he did nibble the tamale, so that was something.

  As the fellers’ spoons scraped against tin, the Captain pushed back from his chair at the head of the table and rubbed his spare belly.

  “Well, then. Welcome back, Rhett. Why don’t you introduce your friend, and we’ll see if his request falls within our jurisdiction.”

  Rhett burped and sat up straighter. “Thanks kindly, Captain. As I mentioned, this here’s Earl O’Bannon, and he came from a railroad camp with a problem of sorts.” Earl said nothing, so Rhett shoved his shoulder. “Go on, fool.”

  Earl stood suddenly, knocking his plate sideways. His face was as red as his hair, his eyes wide with terror and what Rhett suspected was a bit of defiance.

  “Me name’s Earl O’Bannon, formerly of Galway. If there were Irish among you, I’d regale you with me family history, but I can tell by the number of hands on pistols that you lads aren’t much for gab.”

  “That we ain’t,” Jiddy growled.

  “The short of it is that I’ve been for many months an employee of the Trevisan Railroad Camp, but as pleasant as it sounds, it surely isn’t. I joined up with me brother Shaunie and some other Irish, as the bill didn’t exclude our kind, but those lads didn’t make the cut. Mr. Trevisan keeps a camp of what you lads call monsters. Most of the gangers and scouts are white, and the workers are a mixed bag, mostly immigrants. Many are Chine or Injun, but there’s some from Afrika and the Caucasus lands among ’em. A few hundred men, working to lay the tracks for Mr. Trevisan’s railroad. When I left, they were headed past Lamartine and toward San Anton.”

  The Captain leaned forward, one elbow on the table. “Forgive me, son, but I never heard of that railroad company, and that route ain’t the most useful, if I know my map. Transcontinental’s a good bit north of Durango.”

  “It’s not a proper company, sir—not a public one. Mr. Trevisan owns it, runs it, and he decides where to lay the track according to some dark plan of his own. Far as I know, they’re set to cut west from San Anton and aim for Calafia through Azteca, Queen-of-Angels being his ultimate goal.”

  “And what does this Trevisan plan to ship on his private railroad?”

  “If he knows, he wasn’t sharing it with the likes of me, sir.”

  The Captain pulled a splinter from the table and set to picking his teeth. “Aside from having a fair number of unnatural men, why exactly should this railroad require the attention of the Durango Rangers?”

  Earl sat down, whipped off his boot, and held a freshly washed foot up on the table to show his missing toes. “It ain’t the sort of job a man can leave alive. Mr. Trevisan needs bones for whatever magic he does. Monster bones. He takes bits and pieces from the men, mostly things you wouldn’t miss. But every so often, he needs more, and that unfortunate soul never returns to his bunk.”

  The men leaned close to stare at the wiggling toes, and the Captain shook his head. “Not that I’m doubting the veracity of your claim, boy, but I know for a fact that a monster’s bones don’t heal. Just ask that coyote-girl. So how come yours did?”

  “There’s an old man in camp, Grandpa Z. Chine. He has magic or medicine or both. I can’t tell you how he did it, but when I went into his tent, I was indisposed, and when I woke up again, I was all healed. Without him, I reckon there’s no way the track would get laid. Mr. Trevisan requires a lot of bones, you see.”

  “Then get your foot off the dinner table and tell me what it is you’re asking.”

  Earl stuck his foot back in his boot. “The Rangers need to stop Mr. Trevisan, sir. Not only because hundreds of men are being maimed and killed and never being paid. But also because whatever it is he wants in Queen-of-Angels is sure to be something no good man wants him to have. Whether it’s the same gold everyone else is after or something more sinister, he’s not the sort to ship tins of peaches, if you’ll be catchin’ my meaning.”

  The Captain leaned back and rubbed his eyes as if trying to excavate fifty years’ worth of annoyance and grit. Rhett had to admit he looked decades older than he had the first time Rhett had laid eyes on the head of the Las Moras Company. He looked downright tired, the Captain did. And Earl was just making it worse.

  “Son, I got a duty, and that duty is to protect the citizens of Durango from threats of the inhuman sort. Now, I just spent several weeks hunting a damn owl, and now I’ve got a letter from the head office regarding an overpopulation of sand wyrms down south, terrorizing Durango towns full of Durango citizens. Why the Sam Hill do you believe my Rangers should investigate a private investor’s poor work conditions outside of our jurisdiction for a bunch of immigrants who aren’t my problem?”

  “I suppose that depends on if you got a heart,” Earl snapped.

  “Oh, I got a heart. But they didn’t make me Captain because I chase it around the territory. Now you said the railroad was, last you saw it, around Lamartine?”

  Earl nodded grimly.

  “Well, then. That’s not our district, anyway. You go on out to Lamartine and talk to Captain Eugene Haskell of the Lamartine Outpost. He’s closer to the issue, and he’s got a bigger company. Problem solved.” The Captain sat back and raised his eyebrows.

  “But I heard—”

  “What you might’ve heard is far less important to me than my chain of command, son.”

  Earl’s fists slammed down on the table. “Excusing my impertinence, Captain, but the problem is far from solved.”

  The Rangers shifted, hands on guns and knives, to hear the Captain spoken to as such. Even Rhett’s hand was on the butt of his pistol.

  “Maybe your problem ain’t over, but mine is. Now, we’ll give you a horse and supplies and a map back to Lamartine, but this company is committed to head south to Lareda in two days.” He looked up at Rhett. “Now, Rhett Hennessy, you look ready to spit nails. You going to leave us again right after your celebrated and long-awaited return?”

  The Captain sounded gruff, but underneath it, Rhett sensed he was worried or ready to have his feelings hurt. Maybe both.

  Whatever Rhett could do, he couldn’t lie to a man like the Captain.

  “I can’t rightly explain it, Captain. My bones tell me to help this man. Maybe it’s my destiny, as it is, or maybe I’m hoping this Grandpa Z can help Winifred get her foot working again. But I…” Rhett rubbed his eye kerchief, feeling a damn fool. “I feel a mighty ache to ride for Lamartine, is all I’m saying, and know that I don’t like saying it, not a bit.”

  “You might have a destiny, son. But me? I got a commission. The Durango Rangers ride south for Lareda in two days. I hope to hell you’ll ride with us.”

  Rhett swallowed, his supper tur
ning into a cold ball of dread in his belly. “And if I don’t?”

  The Captain’s eyes were all sorrowful, but his mouth was grimly set. “Then I reckon I’ll write a letter of introduction to Captain Haskell and wish you Godspeed on your next fool quest.”

  That night, Rhett couldn’t sleep. Comforting though it was to be surrounded by the thick air of men snoring and farting, their cornshuck mattresses crinkling as they rolled around, he couldn’t find anything close to peace. Destiny was a cruel-hearted bitch, giving him everything he wanted before ripping it out of his hands like a bullying child, again and again.

  The porch creaked in the wind, and he was forced to recall the dreams that had lured him outside of this very bunkhouse and out to the butte, to the Injun woman and her wet black mare standing sentinel in the night. Destiny, again, pushing him around. He hadn’t wanted to hunt the damn Cannibal Owl, and he sure as hell didn’t want to go to Lamartine and fight a rich railroad boss who loved nothing more than cutting off a man’s parts, bit by bit. Sand wyrms sounded right homey, by contrast.

  Not only was Earl’s villain vastly worse than a bunch of big snakes, but following his heart, or the pain in his ruined eye, or whatever it was, meant that it would just be him and the ornery donkey again. No Rangers. No Sam. No Winifred. No Coyote Dan, wherever the hell he was. No nightly belly full of Conchita’s delicious tamales. Just a feller named Earl that he respected but didn’t like too much, headed toward what was sure to be a mess of trouble that wasn’t his business.

  Damn Coyote Dan and his wandering off. He was the one who had told Rhett, long ago, or maybe just a few weeks ago, that he wouldn’t have much choice in regard to his destiny. That he would feel called to do whatever it was the Shadow needed to do. Damn Dan, damn his eyes, and damn the Shadow. Damn the pain Rhett felt behind his eye kerchief when he considered the simple, uncomplicated pleasures of riding out with the Rangers toward Lareda, sleeping by fires and joshing with the fellers and killing monsters that were nothing but monsters.

  Who actually wanted to go to Lamartine anyway? Big dumb town full of big dumb folks.

  Better the open air down south, where a man had plenty of room to stretch out.

  “Not sleeping, Rhett?”

  He turned toward Sam’s whisper in the next-over bunk, glad to see those worried blue eyes in the low light of the room.

  “Figure I got too accustomed to having the sky overhead,” Rhett muttered.

  “Is it nice? Flying?”

  Rhett considered and settled more firmly down on his bunk. “I reckon so. If I think too much while I’m doing it, I can’t do it anymore. So I don’t think too much.”

  “I can’t tell you how scared I was, Rhett, watching you jump off that mountain. You got a hell of a pair of balls on you, man.”

  Rhett rolled onto his back and grinned up at the bunk overhead. “Yeah, well, I figured it would work out all right.” Then, more softly, “Say, Sam. What do I look like when I’m…that?”

  Sam hummed to himself. “Like nothing I ever seen. Like a vulture, but bigger. More colorful. Sort of a peach color in parts, with red-rimmed eyes. You swooped over me, and your shadow was huge.”

  “I bet Jiddy had some kind thoughts on the matter.”

  “Yeah, well, Jiddy doesn’t like anybody who gets more attention than him. Don’t worry about Jiddy. Everything’ll be fine once we’re on the trail to Lareda. Won’t it?”

  Rhett sighed and rolled over to his side, facing away from his best friend. “I hope it will, Sam. I sure as hell hope it will.”

  The next morning, like magic, Coyote Dan was sitting at the breakfast table in stolen clothes, grinning.

  “You sure got a way of popping up like a damn prairie dog,” Rhett muttered.

  “Good to see you, too.”

  “You find anything while you were off gallivanting?”

  “Nothing. Nobody that can help my sister, and you were nowhere to be found. I’ll be glad to eat some food that’s not raw or strung up on a stick, I can tell you that.”

  Soon they were all seated and gulping down their eggs and coffee. Earl was more at ease, at least, less like he was waiting for the judge and more like he was waiting in line for the noose and had gotten used to the idea. Conchita slid extra corn cakes onto Rhett’s plate, muttering, “Too thin, too thin.” Winifred hobbled up and hugged her brother with one arm. Sam just aimed his grin at everybody like a sunbeam that had never seen a lick of rain. The homey scene only served to make Rhett’s heart ache all the harder.

  The Captain ate quickly, nodded at Rhett, and left, presumably to prepare for tomorrow’s leave-taking. Rhett was overcome with the feeling that he was somehow letting the old man down. The Captain was one of the few living folks who knew what Rhett was and didn’t hold it against him, and that made the man near godlike in Rhett’s eyes. Rhett did not want to disappoint him, but it also went against his grain to agree to a scheme just to please someone else. Whenever Rhett thought of the railroad and Lamartine, his heart felt light. Whenever he thought of sand wyrms and Lareda, it was like walking chest-first into a brick wall of nope.

  Which is pretty much the opposite of what his brain told him.

  The last thing he wanted to do was go to Lamartine…

  Except that’s where he knew he had to go.

  Damn, but a destiny was a troublesome thing to have.

  “What’s riled the Captain?” Dan asked, staring at the door.

  Sam sipped his coffee and shrugged. “We got a commission to hunt some sand wyrms down south, but Rhett’s friend here brought news of a monster causing trouble toward Lamartine.”

  Dan frowned. “That’s Haskell’s territory.”

  Sam nodded. “So the Captain said.”

  “And Rhett is torn.”

  It wasn’t a question. But Dan always knew everything anyway, didn’t he? Or at least he thought he did.

  “Yep,” was all Rhett said between eggs.

  “There’s a doctor there,” Earl piped up. “In the camp. Fixed me chopped-off toes, and might fix the lass’s foot. Lives are being lost every day. Even waiting for the decision is taking too long, if you were asking me.”

  “And who are you?”

  Rhett watched Earl’s chest puff out as he prepared to introduce himself and he lost all patience with the world. Picking up his last corn cake, he pushed away from the table and headed outside with Sam on his heels.

  “Where you going, Rhett?”

  “Where things make sense, Sam.”

  And that meant the horse corral. Rhett checked on Ragdoll and Puddin’ and Blue, scouting out the new horses in the herd and testing their tempers. The Captain was always losing horses in fights and plucking new ones from the wreckage of whatever town he saved or from the werewolves he killed, and Rhett figured breaking a new horse might help him feel less at odds with the world. He selected a short chestnut with a wide blaze who seemed to have a keen eye, lassoed him without too much trouble, and led him to the round pen. Sam went quiet, arms on the fence, and Rhett did what he did best, or maybe second best. Each crow-hop and buck from the gelding felt like a dare that Rhett could answer, and he soon had the horse relatively calm and trotting around. A sweet, familiar ache set up in his rump, which had been too long without a good horse underneath it.

  “I admire this about you, Rhett. When you can’t make sense of things, you make yourself useful.”

  But it wasn’t Sam who said it.

  Rhett swung the chestnut around and glared at Dan. “Admiration is your business, and breaking horses is mine. But if you’d care to try your hand at proving useful, tell me what you think of that boy’s story. Is this railroad feller in Lamartine worth my time?”

  Dan’s grin was smug enough that Rhett wanted to poke holes in it with a fist. “Is it worth the Shadow’s time, you mean?”

  “Same goddamn thing, ain’t it?” He nudged the chestnut into a grudging canter.

  “I think you know the answer. You just don’t like i
t,” Dan hollered.

  “And I think I told you to act useful,” Rhett hollered back.

  “Lord, but you two grin a lot when you’re nasty to one another,” Sam said, slapping his hat against his leg.

  “A grin’s just another way to show your teeth,” Dan said.

  Rhett groaned, slowed to a walk, and nudged the chestnut toward the fence.

  “Are you coming with me or not?” he growled, staring down into Dan’s eyes.

  Dan wasn’t grinning anymore. “I’ll follow the Shadow.”

  “Then I figure we ride at dawn.”

  “So you’re going, then?” Sam asked, looking all hangdog and breaking Rhett’s heart again. “To Lamartine with that Earl feller?”

  Rhett slid off the horse, handed the rope to Dan, and put his hands on the fence in front of Sam. “I got to. A man can’t shake destiny, Sam. I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as it’s settled, if I’m not sand. You can count on that.”

  Sam’s blue-glass eyes were wet, his mouth grimly set. What he said next felt like the opposite of being kicked in the heart. “I won’t count on that, you fool. Only way to keep you alive’s to go with you, ain’t it?”

  It was a good thing Rhett was already off the horse, because he was so surprised he might’ve otherwise fallen right off the gelding’s rump.

  “You’re…going with me? To Lamartine?”

  Sam and Dan nodded.

  “Winifred, too,” Dan added. “On horseback, she’s unimpeded. Won’t slow us down.”

  Rhett patted the chestnut’s neck and shook his head in disbelief. “I’m going to Lamartine with Samuel Hennessy, two coyotes, and a goddamn donkey,” he said. “The world is a damn strange place.”

  “Wait. A donkey?” Sam asked.

  Rhett snorted. “Earl. And just wait until you get to know him. He never shuts up.”

  “I always wanted to see Lamartine again.” Sam grinned and stared toward the east.

  “I could do without it, myself.” Something caught Rhett’s eye, and he found the Captain watching him, thoughtful-like, before jerking his head toward the storage shed and walking in that direction. “The Captain’s calling me. If I don’t come back, give Lamartine hell for me.”