Burn Me Deadly

SEVEN

It was dark by the time I got back to Neceda riding my loaner horse and leading the other two I’d acquired. It had not been hard to catch them: once they weren’t being herded, they stopped and began grazing on whatever pitiful scrub they could find at the top of the cut. The two bad guys’ horses were placid and much easier to handle than my gray curse.

After collecting them, I returned to the shack, but a search of the hanging man’s corpse revealed nothing of interest. The same was true of the man I’d dropped off the cliff, who his late friend referred to as “Frankie.” His pockets were empty, his clothes contained nothing of use and his sword had all identifying marks, even the smith’s name, filed off. The leather armor was genuine Muscodian government issue, although that didn’t really mean anything: old soldiers were always selling off their mementos for spare change or more ale. Still, he’d learned archery marksmanship somewhere, so maybe this was a clue. If so, it was the only one either corpse provided.

Their saddlebags, though, were a treasure trove. Jimmy, the man at the shack, carried a big map of the whole Black River Hills area marked with random “x” symbols. There was no legend to explain their meaning, but there were dozens of them. He also had a knife identical to the one Bella Lou had given me. It looked brand-new; was it a replacement for the one Bella Lou had snatched? Were the dragons the symbols of some bandit gang? I knew most of the outfits that worked the river and surrounding countryside, but it didn’t mean a new one might not be trying to move in.

Frankie’s bags revealed even more. He had a tool kit that at first glance seemed to be for leather-working, but the dried blood on the instruments told a different story. Now I knew exactly how he’d removed those strips of skin from Laura Lesperitt, and felt even less remorse for letting him take the fast trail to the canyon floor. He also carried a healthy bag of gold, all in small-denomination coins. Most odd was a long strip of bright red cloth, like a head scarf. In fact, it was exactly like the scarves I’d glimpsed on those people moving into the former Lizard’s Kiss whorehouse.

But the day’s big clue was the name Marantz.

In Muscodia, all trails of vice and illegality eventually led to Gordon Marantz, who’d moved here after escaping Trasketania one step ahead of the gallows. He gained the favor of King Archibald’s court, and so officialdom looked the other way when he began eliminating his competition along the Gusay from Tacketville to Pema. In no time he controlled all the ale, girls, gambling and protection rackets. Many places worked directly for him while others, like Angelina’s, paid him protection. He was smart enough to be hard to find, but easy to run afoul of if you tried to cut into his action. In my years in Muscodia I’d only seen him once, leaving a gambling house late one night surrounded by his goons. In his forties, with black hair worn slicked back from his broad, mean face, he looked like a guy who could still get his hands dirty if the occasion demanded it. I wasn’t sorry our professional paths had never crossed.

I looked over the shack a second time, but found nothing I’d missed. I left Jimmy hanging, along with the strange padded box. Then, with the two new horses in tow, I descended the cut and retraced my steps up the canyon as the sun began to set.

We scared a fat buzzard away from Frankie’s corpse, then reached the spot where I’d left Buddy on grave digger duty. The little bozo was nowhere to be found. As I expected, he’d dug about half a hole and then vanished, probably sure I’d been ambushed. I wondered if he’d actually been on Frankie’s payroll, or if he just knew I was walking into a trap and hadn’t bothered to mention it.

All the horses balked at the scent of decay. I hated to leave Lola exposed and undignified, but ultimately had no choice. Maybe Buddy’s conscience would get the best of him and he’d return to do the job right. It beat facing his wife; I doubted he wanted both me and Bella Lou on his case. Besides, this was nothing but a pile of rotted horse meat; if there were a Summerlands, then Lola’s spirit now galloped across its smooth plains toward unending grazing.

I arrived at the livery stable after dark. Liz’s office was still closed, but I didn’t know if that meant she was at home awaiting me, or had not returned from her day’s deliveries. I was too tired and sore to worry about it, and she could certainly take care of herself. I knew the noise I made opening the doors and leading the horses inside would alert Hank, who lived with his family in an add-on at the back of the barn.

Sure enough, his napkin from dinner still tucked into the neck of his tunic, Hank came into the barn accompanied by one of his young sons, Howie. Both stopped dead when they saw me. Hank turned up the lamp he carried until I squinted from the glare.

I was a mess. I was covered in scratches, cuts, dirt and blood, and on top of that was so tired I could barely stand, so I understood why Howie slid slowly behind his father’s legs at the sight of me. I dropped from the saddle, leaned on the horse and held the reins out toward Hank.

“Cut yourself shaving?” Hank said drily.

I nodded. “With a hawthorn forest.”

“You too good to take a man’s horse?” Hank said gruffly, and Howie reluctantly took the reins from me. Hank looked over the two additional horses, his expert eyes missing nothing. Their saddles and other gear were expensive, if trail worn, and the animals were clearly well cared for. “Didn’t know you were a horse trader, Mr. LaCrosse,” he said, his flat voice masking most of his suspicion.

“They just fell into my lap,” I said as I waited for the knots to loosen in my lower back. “Ever seen ’em before?”

“Nope.”

“Ever seen any like ’em?”

Hank took the bridle of Frankie’s horse and looked her over. He lifted one foot and inspected the shoe. “Howie, get over here.”

The boy dropped the gray horse’s reins and moved up beside his father. “Hot or cold shoe?” Hank asked.

The boy’s face scrunched up as he studied the foot. “Hot,” he said finally.

“How can you tell?” Hank pressed.

“The line from the old shoe,” he said, and pointed to something I couldn’t see.

“Attaboy,” Hank said proudly, and released the horse’s foot. “Hell, if I don’t teach him, how’s he gonna know?”

“True fact,” I agreed. “Well, if anybody comes to claim them, don’t give them a hard time about it. Just try to get a name for me.”

Suspicion swallowed his fatherly pride. “Is somebody likely to be upset about them being here?”

“Not with you,” I assured him.

“Uh-huh,” he said dubiously. “I don’t handle stolen horses, Mr. LaCrosse. People tend to feel pretty strongly about things like that.”

“These aren’t stolen, Hank. I promise. And I guarantee the previous rightful owners won’t show up to get them back.”

He thoughtfully chewed his lip for a moment. Gravy stained his chin. Then he said to Howie, “Put the two new ones in the stall up front, and then take the mare out to the corral.” To me he said, “If they’re here for more than two days, somebody’ll have to pay for their keep.”

“If they’re here more than two days, you can have them.” I turned, then stopped and faced him again. “And if you ever try to pawn that gray manure pile off on me again, you’ll get back a load of horse meat and glue.”

The gray mare looked back at us with all the equine innocence in the world. “I swear, nobody else has complained about her,” Hank said. “I think you’re just bad with horses.”

I snorted, then waved toward Liz’s office. “Has she come back yet?”

“No, but somebody else came looking for you.”

“The guy with the gloves?”

“No, a woman. Said she was a Mother up at the moon priestess hospital. Her name was… Banner?”

“Bennings,” I corrected. “What did she say?”

“To tell you to come see her as soon as you could.”

“What about?

He shook his head. “She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Don’t care for them priestesses.”

I understood; one of his children had died under a drunken priestess’ care before they came to Neceda. “That’s exactly how I feel about horses.”

I tried the door to Liz’s office on my way out, but it was still locked. I had a key, but this late she’d probably just drop off her horses and wagon and return home. I could wait for her in far more comfort there.

The traffic was sparse as I walked up the street. The taverns, whorehouses and gambling establishments glowed with light and life, and their noise filled the air. As I passed Ditch Street, I paused and looked over the Lizard’s Kiss building. It was dark and apparently lifeless. Tomorrow I’d have to find out who bought it, what was up with the red scarf brigade and how it tied to Marantz.

Now, though, I wanted a quick drink before going home. As I approached the tavern, a man staggered out, one hand to his head. He leaned against the wall and hunched over, and something dark dripped from between the fingers pressed to his skull.

“Hey,” I said, “you all right?”

He looked up. He was in his late teens, and dressed like a Muscodian farmer. He bled from a fresh cut over his right eye, and still had that slightly dazed post-punch demeanor. He stared at me, and it took me a moment to remember how bad I looked. “Wow,” he said raggedly, “did he kick your ass, too?”

I helped him sit on the ground and lean back against the wall. “Did who kick my ass?”

“Some soldier from Sevlow. He was talking to my girl, and I asked him to stop. Next thing I knew I was staring up at the rafters.”

I pulled his fingers away from the cut. The damage wasn’t bad, certainly not permanent. “Let me guess. Big guy, little eyes, not a smiler?”

The farm boy nodded. “That’s him. When my head stops dancing-”

“You’ll go have a drink across town at Long Billy’s,” I said. “I’ve seen this guy, and believe me, he was being generous leaving your head attached to your shoulders.” I wasn’t that impressed by Argoset’s backup, but if this poor kid had been laid out with one punch, he was really out of his league. Better to overscare than underscare.

I helped him to his feet, pressed a coin into his hand and gave him a shove in the right direction. “Thanks, mister,” he said, holding his head with one hand, the money with the other. I sighed at my own idiocy; if I didn’t stop with the charity, I’d soon be so broke I’d have to go squat with Buddy and Bella Lou. There was no question of dipping into the money I’d scavenged from Frankie, either; that had way too much blood on it.

I entered Angelina’s and found the place packed, with a minstrel duo pounding out tunes onstage. The floor vibrated to the peculiar stomp-dancing popular in Muscodia. I went behind the bar, grabbed the stool I kept stashed there for occasions like this and found enough space at the bar for one elbow.

Angelina did a double take when she saw me. “You need a drink,” she said without asking, and put a tankard originally meant for someone else in front of me. When the original customer protested from down the bar she fired back, “Keep your jerkin on!” I nodded gratefully and took a long swallow. There was too much noise for us to talk, but if she’d needed to tell me something, she would’ve found a way. To my relief, she simply went back to work. No news was definitely good news at the moment.

I turned to survey the usual rabble, including many faces I knew but couldn’t put names to, all well into their mugs. Argoset’s big right-hand man sat in a booth, a girl on either side of him; he didn’t appear to have noticed me, and his boss was not around. I didn’t see Gary Bunson anywhere, either, but he had “arrangements” at several other establishments in town, and could be at any of them.

“Mr. LaCrosse!” a female voice cried above the din. I turned to see Callie, Angelina’s wayward waitress, staring at me. She carried a tray laden with ale mugs, and balancing it kept her body at an angle that emphasized her assets. She was arguably the prettiest girl in Neceda, all the more attractive because she didn’t realize it. She was also, alas, dumb as a bag of socks.

“Hey, Callie,” I said wearily. “When did you get back?”

“Today. Convinced Angelina to hire my boyfriend.” She nodded toward the stage. “That’s him, on the right.”

I glanced at him. Young, handsome, with a quick smile and a sparkling eye for anything in a skirt. Typical minstrel. “I thought you left with a conjurer.”

“I did, but his tricks weren’t the kind that lasted,” she said wistfully. “Tony, now he’s a keeper.”

“The folks do seem to like him.”

“What happened to you?”

I shrugged. I was too tired to explain it so that Callie would understand. “Fell off my horse.”

She nodded sagely, as if this truly explained everything. “Yeah. Well, take care of yourself, Mr. LaCrosse.”

“You, too, Callie.”

I finished my drink, dropped a coin in the tip vase and waved to Angelina. She gave me a nod in response. There was no need to go up to my office, and the only steps I wanted to climb led to my bedroom.

The tavern door opened as I reached it, and two men entered. Both were smallish, strong-looking guys with faces tanned and lined from working outdoors. Their clothes were cheap and home-mended. And both wore the red scarves.

I stepped aside and watched them. They looked around like anyone would for a seat, and when they spotted an empty table threaded through the dancers to claim it. Nothing unusual about that at all.

I hesitated, wondering if I should stay and try to befriend them. Ale, especially the good stuff Angelina served when I paid her extra for it, tended to loosen even the tightest tongues. But I was just too tired.

I meant to lie down just for a moment. Really. About three hours later Liz’s scream awakened me.

Okay, it wasn’t really a scream, just a surprised yell when she lit the table lamp and saw me sprawled shirtless and barefoot across the bed. I’d left my other clothes, shredded and bloodied from racing through the hawthorns, in a heap by the door. What I hadn’t done was clean the blood off me, which I’d intended to do after closing my eyes for just a second.

Her cry woke me with a start and I sat up suddenly, which did make her shriek. Then she glared at me with all her considerable righteous fury.

“Shit, Eddie, don’t do that!” she snapped. “You want to make me pee all over myself? God damn…”

I blinked, yawned and said, “Wow. You’re late.”

“Not for a run to Pema and back,” she said. She sat heavily in a chair and ran trembling fingers through her hair. The lamp cast flickering light on her face. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“If I’d done that, there’d be nothing left of you.”

“Don’t try your charm on me when I’m pissed at you. So what happened? Did you get mauled by porcupines?”

I gave her the short and simple version, which still made her eyes widen. When I was done she said, “So you went for a quiet ride in the country and killed two people?”

“Only one,” I said wearily. “And he had it coming.”

“If you’d brought him back alive, you might’ve learned more,” she said as she pulled off her boots. They hit the floor with a loud thop.

“I learned enough. Fair trade for the satisfaction I got seeing him go splat. I know where to go poke into next.”

“Marantz?”

I nodded, which turned into a yawn.

She shook her head. “Eddie, sometimes I wonder that your feeble little brain can move your body around.”

She stood, untied her trousers and slid them down her legs. This got my attention, as it always did. Then she unlaced her tunic and pulled it over her head. This left her pretty thoroughly unclothed, a sight that, like a sunset, would never grow less beautiful to me. I was about to comment on it when she fetched a bottle and cloth from the tiny cupboard and sat beside me on the bed. I eyed her warily, my eyes flitting from her brief undergarments to the items in her hand. The bottle came from the moon priestess hospital, to clean the spot on the back of my head if it needed it. It didn’t. “What are you planning?”

“We paid for this stuff, we might as well use it.” She dampened the cloth with the bottle’s contents.

“You have to be naked for that?”

“I’m not naked. And you’ve already bled all over the sheets; I don’t want you ruining my clothes, too.”

“I’m a big boy; why don’t I just go wash myself up?” I said quickly, and started to rise. I noticed the lamp was now making odd flickering patterns on the wall.

She put a hand firmly on my shoulder. “Just sit still and don’t be a baby. The more you fight, the longer this’ll take.”

She touched a medicine-soaked corner of the rag to a vicious scratch on my arm. It felt like I’d been branded, and I winced in response. Someone screamed outside in the street, a fairly common thing in Neceda. “See?” I said through clenched teeth. “It hurts so bad it makes total strangers holler.”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, undeterred. She touched me with the rag again.

“ Ow! ” I griped. “Be careful, will you?”

She laughed, then leaned close and took my nearest earlobe in her teeth. Her other hand traced the long scar on my chest. “For a man who once took a sword hit to the heart, you’re pretty whiny.”

“Yeah, well, this hurts worse.”

Someone else screamed outside. It didn’t sound like excitement or surprise, the only good kinds of screams. Flames still flickered and danced on the wall, but they didn’t come from the evenly burning lamp. A bright glow from outside now lit the whole room.

“Something’s wrong,” I said.