The Burden of Souls (Hawker's Drift Book 1)

by Andy Monk

  “It’s Amos.”

  “Amos?” Mr Wizzle frowned, “Amelia said something about an Amos.”

  “Amelia?”

  “Amelia Prouloux, the nice, slightly mad, old woman I met out on the grass.”

  “Still don’t recall ever meeting anyone by that name, so I doubt she was talking about me.”

  “I guess… she said Amos was a very brave man.”

  Amos grinned, “Nope, definitely not me then.”

  Mr Wizzle smiled too and shrugged, “I did ask her why he was so brave.”

  “What was it? I’m sure I’d remember every brave thing I’ve done, given they’ve been so few.”

  “You’re a modest man Amos. I like that…” Mr Wizzle screwed up his podgy face, “…now what was it she said about her Amos. Oh yes, that was it. She said... I knew he was a brave man, because only a brave man picks a fight with the Devil…”

  *

  “You think it’s Tom’s?”

  Amos rubbed his chin and stared at the ruined rifle he’d laid out on Molly’s kitchen table.

  “Yeah… I think so. I’ll take it to John X tomorrow and see if it matches what he sold.”

  “He’ll be able to tell?”

  Amos shrugged, “I can ask, he seems a smart fellow so I’d imagine so.”

  Molly sat looking at the gun, her shoulders were slumped and her brow furrowed. It wasn’t the kind of news he’d hoped to be able to bring her.

  “I don’t suppose it’s exactly in a returnable condition, is it?”

  “The rotting horse and mules certainly aren’t.”

  Molly sighed deeply, sat back and looked up at him with wide green eyes. He didn’t need any gifts to tell her mood.

  “So, that’s it then…”

  “Don’t give up, we’ll think of something.”

  Molly returned her eyes to the gun, “They killed Tom and destroyed the provisions he’d bought.”

  “Seems that way… at least the gear that might be recognisably his.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve no idea… I’ll keep going out and asking questions.”

  “Thank you,” Molly said quietly, running a finger along the blackened barrel before adding, “…please be careful, there’s no need to take these risks for me. I wouldn’t want to see you… end up like Tom.”

  “I don’t fall off my horse very easily.”

  She gave him a wan smile and ran fingers through her tousled hair. “I guess I’d better start getting ready for the whorehouse then.”

  Amos was going to reach over and take her hand, but managed to stop himself in time; instead he leant forward and crossed his arms on the table.

  “That’s not going to happen Molly.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “We’ll think of something… is there no way you can get enough money in three months to pay off the Mayor?

  She shook her head emphatically, “No, I haven’t got any particular talents that could earn that much. I could get a job, but it’d only be something menial, nothing that would pay enough.”

  She leant back and blew out her cheeks, “Rather ironically the only thing I’m actually any good at is fucking.”

  Molly stared at him for a bit before letting out a half suppressed laugh and looking away.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You look surprisingly sweet when you blush…”

  Amos dropped his eyes to the table. Megan had always called him sweet, he was pretty sure no one else had since she’d died.

  He let the thought slide away; it wouldn’t do either of them any good.

  “If nothing else works I’ll get you out of town,” he fixed her a hard stare, which he hoped looked as unsweet as possible before adding; “You’re not a whore Molly. And you never will be.”

  “You know, that’s possibly the sweetest thing a man’s ever said to me…”

  Amos forced a weak smile. He clearly needed to work on his not being sweet a bit more.

  “How would we get out of town?” She asked after a long pause.

  “I’d just need to get another horse.”

  “We couldn’t just use yours? I don’t weigh much.”

  Amos shook his head, “Only as a last resort. I reckon if we skip town the Mayor’s men will come after us, I doubt my horse could outrun them carrying two… if we were in the mountains I’d be able to lose them, but here everything is so flat, we’d be seen for miles, and there’s nowhere to hide.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought… and I bet if you go and buy a horse in the livery the Mayor and his dickhounds would get to hear about it pretty quick.”

  “I’d imagine. At least the deputies don’t seem to be following you around anymore.”

  “Not seen them today, though I haven’t been out of the house,” she shrugged, “I decided there was less chance of me making an exhibition of myself if I stayed at home.”

  “Best you keep indoors as much as possible from now on.”

  “There’s no need to agree with me!”

  Amos smiled, “Let them get used to you being out of sight, it’ll buy us more time when we make a run for it.”

  “When, not if?”

  “Last resort.”

  “Only resort?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What’ll happen if they catch us?”

  “They’ll be a few more vacancies for town deputies opening up.”

  “I don’t want anyone to die for me Amos; not even that creep Blane.”

  “I’d better get you a fast horse then. You can ride?”

  Molly nodded.

  “Good,” Amos pulled himself slowly to his feet, “I should be going, I want to make an early start tomorrow.”

  “Is there any point?”

  “There were some buildings a couple of miles from where I found the gun and carcasses; I want to see if anyone there saw anything.”

  “Would that help?”

  Amos shrugged, “I dunno, but I also need to see what farms have horses I could borrow easily as well.”

  “They hang horse thieves here you know?”

  “I suspect they hang people who help folk flee their debts too.”

  Molly made no move to rise; she sat looking up at him before saying, “You don’t have to go, you know?”

  “Your floor’s not that comfy and I need a few hours sleep.”

  “I wasn’t talking about my floor.”

  Amos shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

  Oh, that again…

  “Well, at least you’re not climbing up the wall this time…”

  “Molly I can’t…”

  She pursed her lips and let her eyes slide back towards the rifle, “Most men I understand pretty easily, but you… you I don’t get at all.”

  “It’s really not that complicated.”

  “Amos… why are you helping me? You don’t want money, not that I have any, you don’t want to sleep with me and I’m pretty sure my meatloaf ain’t that good!”

  He rested his hands on the back of the wooden chair and thought about it. Did he owe her an explanation? Why couldn’t she just accept that he wanted to help her? Accept that the tide of the world had washed him up here and be grateful he was offering her a way out.

  He could feel her confusion coming off her in waves. No, that wasn’t going to work. He sat back down again.

  “My wife, Megan…” he began, in a hesitant voice, each word reluctantly hauled from somewhere deep and broken inside him “…I loved her very much. It was a long time ago.”

  He stared at his fingers; he was rubbing his thumbs over them without knowing why. Molly was silent.

  “We had a farm, the land wasn’t good like here, but we managed. We were happy. One day some men came, they… they raped and killed her in front of me. Left me for dead. I couldn’t save her Molly; I haven’t even been able to avenge her. I’ve spent thirteen years looking for the men who did it, but I’ve never found them. I couldn’t save her Molly, but I
can save you…”

  He looked up, Molly’s eyes were wide and pained sympathy was etched upon her pretty face, she reached over and placed her hands upon his writhing fingers, stilling them. He didn’t really want her to touch him in case he saw more than he wanted to, but nothing came bar the softness of her skin. He was grateful for that. He considered saying more, telling her the rest, but what was the point?

  She didn’t need to know just how broken he really was.

  The Widow

  Molly rolled over and stared at the ceiling. She didn’t much like sleeping alone, she decided.

  The world outside her window was silent. Even Bruno wasn’t howling at the moon tonight. She’d cautiously peered up and down the street after blowing the candles out, but it had been deserted, just as it had when Amos left. No dickhounds.

  She thought about Amos.

  Thirteen years searching for the men who’d killed his wife. Thirteen years, driven by the need for vengeance, but that wasn’t all. He still loved her; he couldn’t even stand to be touched by another woman. The way he squirmed when she’d suggested they spend the night together had made that obvious enough.

  Thirteen years.

  How long had Tom been dead? Less than two weeks and she wanted to have sex with another man. Would she have felt like that if she’d actually loved Tom? She couldn’t imagine.

  She screwed her eyes shut and tried to push the thoughts away.

  It didn’t work.

  Whatever the reason he was helping her she didn’t entirely buy the line about him wanting to save her because he couldn’t save his wife. It was noble, she supposed, perhaps that was why she didn’t believe it. Not entirely anyway. Somehow she just couldn’t accept that Amos had spent thirteen years saving women from the clutches of adversity. There was something else. Something he wasn’t telling her. She could see it in his eyes. She might not have his talent for reading another’s soul, whatever that bullshit was about, but he had a way of looking at her sometimes, like he was seeing something he couldn’t quite believe.

  She would have called it attraction or lust if it wasn’t for the fact he’d twice spurned her advances. The first time he might not have wanted to take advantage of her because she was drunk (that did seem a bit far-fetched admittedly, but she supposed some men might be like that), but tonight her desire had been quite whiskey free.

  Whatever his motivation was she could deal with it later, for now her only concern had to be getting away from this crazy little town and it whorehouse. Not to mention the slimy one-eyed fucker who ran it.

  It wasn’t like she had any other choices after all…

  *

  Guy Furnedge smelt of peaches today; rotting, rancid peaches that had been left out in the sun for a dog to piss over, but peaches all the same.

  They were sitting at the table; she’d manoeuvred him in to the kitchen under the pretence of making coffee for them, at least here she could open the backdoor later to clear the air, rather than having to put up with his peculiar smell lingering in the drawing room for hours afterwards like she’d had to after his last visit.

  “The Mayor is somewhat aggrieved,” Furnedge announced, after asking her how she was in half a dozen different ways.

  “I’ve really pissed him off, huh?” Molly sighed.

  Furnedge flinched slightly, just the tiniest little spasm pulling at his face, the same thing he did every time she swore. He probably considered it unbecoming for a lady, which only encouraged her to cuss all the more. The asshole.

  “That is certainly one way of putting it, your little… outburst the other day hasn’t helped matters I must confess; not that I consider that a justification for the Mayor’s actions of course.”

  Molly thought about pointing out that her swearing fit had come after she’d found out the Mayor was going to send her to the whorehouse to work off her debts, but decided to keep her mouth shut for once. She got the impression Furnedge wasn’t fond of being corrected.

  “He wasn’t prepared to change his mind then?”

  “No, in fact, he was all for calling in the debt immediately.”

  “Oh fuck,” Molly groaned, her big mouth had made things worse. What a novelty.

  Furnedge flinched again, but held up his hand and gave a smile that was probably meant to look reassuring, “I did manage to dissuade him in that regard however. The Mayor has always been a man of his word and I pointed out, in quite the strongest terms actually, that it would not be becoming of him to change the conditions of your agreement retrospectively.”

  I didn’t agree to any damn thing!

  Molly managed to stop her mouth again and instead gave Furnedge a smile that she hoped looked a bit more sincere than his had done, “Thank you… Guy, I do appreciate that. Really.”

  “I am happy to do anything I can to help you… Molly.”

  This was all getting a bit too intimate for Molly and she took a long slow sip of her coffee, which at least made her feel slightly less queasy.

  “So… what happens next?”

  “Perhaps the Mayor will relent when he has had time to reflect a little more. You have had no success in finding your late husband’s provisions?”

  Molly shook her head, she had no intention of telling him about the carcasses and rifle Amos had found. Her mouth wasn’t that big.

  “They appear to have disappeared off the face of the Earth – I have no idea what Tom did with them…”

  “It is a mystery.”

  Molly noted the way his eyes narrowed more than usual and he dropped them quickly to stare into his coffee.

  “Who knows, perhaps I can still find them.”

  “Let us hope.” Furnedge took a dainty sip of coffee and returned the mug to the table before adding after a pause, “This man… Amos?”

  “What about him?” Molly returned, probably too quickly.

  “He is helping you?”

  “He is looking for the provisions out on the grass as, you know, I am not allowed beyond the town limits.”

  “Without success?”

  “There is a lot of land to cover out there,” Molly replied, carefully.

  “Indeed. A lot of time and effort in searching it I would imagine. You are paying him?”

  “No.”

  Furnedge’s eyebrow raised a fraction, “You have some other arrangement perhaps?”

  Molly didn’t like his tone, which she added to the long list of other things she didn’t like about the man.

  “No… he is just a friend.”

  “There has been talk Molly…”

  I bet there fucking has.

  She took a breath and counted to three to stop her mouth running off again.

  “I couldn’t give a shit to be honest.”

  Perhaps she’d try and count to ten next time.

  “People are questioning your reputation my dear.”

  “The same people who couldn’t be bothered to come to my husband’s funeral. I can live with it.”

  “Well, that was unfortunate, but the weather was very inclement.”

  Molly felt her fingers tighten around her mug and she fought down the urge to hurl it at the lawyer. Money was tight and she couldn’t afford to waste a perfectly good mug, not matter how much she might enjoy it.

  “Yes, it was very inconsiderate of Tom to die when he did. He was always doing things like that…” Molly eventually managed to say through a tight-lipped little smile.

  “Sarcasm is really not required. I only have your best interests at heart.”

  “I know you do Guy, and I do appreciate it.” She hoped he didn’t notice the gritted teeth.

  “All I am saying is that you should be careful, this man is a stranger… who knows what his motives might be?”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  “I am in a difficult position; I’ll take whatever help I can find. Anything is preferable to the whorehouse.”

  “There are always alternatives,” Furnedge smiled. Molly wasn’t enti
rely sure if the smile was sly or oily. Either way she didn’t like it.

  “Alternatives?”

  Furnedge finished his coffee without replying, before rising to his feet.

  “You must excuse me, but my dear wife is quite poorly and I really should be popping home to see her.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know she was ill?” Molly muttered, still thinking about “alternatives” as she rose to show Furnedge out.

  “She is getting frailer by the day, I fear the worst.”

  Molly hadn’t seen Furnedge’s wife in a while, she’d heard talk that the woman just sat indoors all day drinking herself into oblivion; which was precisely what she’d do if she had the misfortune to be married to Guy Furnedge. Actually it wasn’t far off what she was doing anyway.

  They paused by the door and Furnedge placed a clammy hand gently upon her forearm, “Do not fret my dear; I will continue to argue your case. I am sure there is a way out of this predicament.”

  “I hope so…”

  “I am very fond of you Molly,” Furnedge said suddenly, “I will do anything I can to keep you from that despicable place.”

  Molly tried not to stare too pointedly at his hand upon his skin, which seemed to be trembling slightly.

  “I… am very appreciative Guy… you have been a good friend.”

  He squeezed her arm slightly, “Friends… yes we are. Good friends…”

  Before she could do anything he raised her hand to his mouth and not so much kissed it as slobbered over it.

  “Until next time…”

  Once she had seen him out with a smile and a little wave she headed back to the kitchen to throw open the back door and get some soap to scrub her hand with.

  The Preacher

  The porcelain vase had been smashed. Not just broken, but shattered into so many tiny slivers and shards it looked like a sledgehammer had been taken to it.

  The morning was warm, the air sticky and close already, but Preacher Stone shivered all the same. He was naked; it slowly dawned upon him.

  He couldn’t remember breaking the vase, but nobody else had been in the house. At least he didn’t think so. Who’d creep into his bedroom just to destroy a vase anyway?

  He looked about the room; nothing else was damaged as far as he could tell.