Cloud's Rider

Home > Science > Cloud's Rider > Page 32
Cloud's Rider Page 32

by C. J. Cherryh


  “You going to fight him?” Randy asked hopefully, and he restrained himself from shaking the kid till his teeth rattled.

  “No,” he said quietly, and shepherded the kid out the door, down the street, up the steps and into The Evergreen.

  “Hey, Carlo!” came the voice he didn’t want to hear. “Come sit over here! Tell us about your sister!”

  “That’s Rick!” Randy said, with the disposition to go that direction; Carlo in a sudden panic grabbed Randy by the arm and went instead to the bar, where the bartender was maintaining a watch on the outburst. “Need a beer, a tea, and two suppers. Usual tab.”

  “I’ll shut him up,” the bartender said. “I don’t recommend you go over there.”

  “No such intention.”

  “Beer and tea,” the bartender said, and drew one off tap and poured the other from the pot. “If you beat hell out of him, do it in the street.”

  “See?” Randy said. “He thinks you should.”

  “I’ll talk with you about it,” Carlo said, picked a table far from Rick Mackey and set the beer and the tea down. “If you’ll listen. I’m telling you—”

  “I know what you’ll say. Get along with everybody. He’s going to do something.”

  “Fine. He’ll be sorry if he does. Just you stay out of his way. All right?”

  They went and picked up a good-smelling stew, and sat down.

  He truly hoped for Danny to show up. He’d feel better if he could just talk with him, not on business, not about secrets, just to know that he could still count on him.

  The noise in the other end of the room subsided. He guessed the bartender had made the point about starting fights. He thought he should be particularly careful going home tonight. He debated about another beer, and had it anyway, since the only trouble in his world was having another, and another.

  Three was his limit, and he stuck to it, and shared a sip now and again with his brother. The bar didn’t allow gambling in the establishment, but they provided cards for people who wanted to play for drink chips or toothpicks or whatever.

  He sent Randy after cards and since Rick was the guy he was wanting to keep an eye on, he sipped beer and he and Randy played for toothpicks. The place grew empty of families.

  Rick, also on the Mackey’s tab, was still in the tavern when he and Randy left for the evening. Rick, having started earlier, was alone, passed out at the table, harmless or close to it, and as they went out onto the street, the snow was coming down thick and fast beyond the edge of the porch.

  “Wait till he comes out,” Randy suggested. “And bash him.”

  “Fair,” he said. “You ever hear the word?”

  “Fair, with him? He doesn’t fight fair. Why should we?”

  “Little brother, you want snow down your pants?”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Randy swept a handful off the porch rail and started a snowball.

  Carlo dived off the porch and ducked. And scooped up snow and had a big one ready when Randy threw at him.

  Randy ran, stopped, and flung one that caught Carlo. His caught Randy. They stopped all strategy in the matter, stood and made snowballs and pelted each other until they were both powdered from head to foot and out of breath from laughing and swearing.

  “I’ve got a handful of snow,” Carlo said, and Randy, knowing its potential destination, ran for the forge, past the evergreen.

  Carlo stalked him.

  “No fair, no fair,” Randy said, at bay beside the doors. “I haven’t got the key.”

  “Oh, now fair counts!” Carlo bent, made a good snowball and stood up.

  Randy’s caught him fair in the face. His caught Randy on the side of the head.

  Then they’d run out of snowballs and breath, and he gained sense enough to realize how late it was. The village was quiet. It was a deserted, lightless street, no light from the Mackeys’ house, either.

  “Everybody’s gone to bed,” he said. “Way late.”

  “Spooky,” Randy said, and waited, bouncing a little with anxiety as Carlo opened the door with the key.

  Randy went across the darkened forge and threw a log on the banked fire, huddled down by it and started brushing snow off as he undid his coat.

  Carlo had a last bit from his pocket. And delivered it to the back of Randy’s neck.

  Squeal of indignation.

  “No fair!”

  “That’s twice you’ve called fair. You give?”

  “Bully,” Randy said.

  “Yeah.” He figured the kid would learn a little finesse. At least in snow fights. “But that’s enough. If we wake the Mackeys up, we’ll be in the street. No kidding.”

  “Yeah, just you wait,” Randy said.

  He gave Randy a hug. With no snow involved. They hauled the cots they used out of the storage area.

  He could hardly last long enough to hit the mattress.

  Tired, tonight, real tired. His mind was quiet, finally. He thought he could sleep, now, and felt it coming on thicker by the minute.

  Something had made a sound. Darcy levered herself out of bed, thinking she’d might have heard Brionne call out. She searched for her slippers and her robe without clearly thinking, in her concern for Brionne and those stairs.

  “Are you all right?” she called out. “Honey, are you all right?”

  “Mama?” the thin voice came to her, likewise alarmed.

  Something crashed at the front door. Someone yelled.

  Someone was trying to break in, rattling the door handle—she could hear it. She knew as if she could see it.

  She ran to Faye’s room, and the child was out of bed, on her way downstairs, crying out something, she couldn’t tell what.

  “Stay here!” Darcy cried. “Stay here!”

  She ran to the stairs and took them clinging to the bannister, put out her hands in the dark and felt her way along the wall to Mark’s office door—walked blind then to his desk, pulled open the topmost drawer and took out the gun—the gun that she never touched, never wanted to touch again; but it comforted her hands right now.

  She listened. But the rattling and banging had stopped. She sat and listened in that stillness. The dark seemed alive it was so heavy and so dreadful.

  The commotion had been on the public entrance porch. If it was drunken miners, the disturbance wouldn’t necessarily cut her off from the passages—she could take Faye, she could go that way, and reach the marshal, or a neighbor—but it was too risky. It was quiet out there, maybe because they’d given up, maybe because the intruders were thinking of trying another way in. But she had strong doors, and if a whole crowd of miners had gotten to warring with the loggers or some such foolery, there might be riot in the passageway as well. There was a passageway entry off the street, not far from her door—as well as the direct access by the kitchen door. She was scared to try to go for help, and hoped that Constance and Emil, next door, might have heard. Emil was a big man. If Emil flung open the shutters and shouted in his deep voice to get the hell away—if there was anybody conniving in the shadows out there, they’d move.

  “Mama?”

  Faye was on the stairs, coming down in the dark.

  Not knowing her way. Giving out a high, female voice that might only incite drunken fools. She kept her finger off the trigger for fear of tripping in the dark, and recrossed the cold floor to the office doorway.

  “Here I am,” she said in a calm, easy voice. “It’s all right, honey. I’m right down a short hall. Just some drunks. Put your hand on the wall and just walk along it. I’m right here.”

  “I know.” It was a quavery, scared voice. But closer. In the dark she could see the pallor of the nightgown as the girl inched her way toward her. She knew when the girl reached her, and reached out her hand and found chill fingers.

  “Somebody wants in,” Brionne said. “He wants in because I’m here. Do you hear it? It’s scary.”

  “They’re not going to get in,” Darcy said firmly. “I have a gun, sweet. Don’t grab it. Just stay close by me. If anybody breaks in, they’ll be sorry.”

  Desperate hands clutched her. A frightened, shiverin
g body pressed against her.

  Silence followed. Then a dreadful sound above them, a sliding and scrabbling as if something had gone along the roof. The girl cried out, and Dairy’s heart jumped.

  Then she laughed. “It’s snow, honey. It’s just snow sliding off the roof. It’s all right. Sometimes it does that, around the stove-pipe.”

  The girl wasn’t so sure. But Darcy put an arm around her for reassurance.

  “Tell you what. Let’s go to the kitchen where it’s warm. I’ll make some tea and we’ll have some of that cake. How’s that?”

  The girl didn’t say anything, but she let herself be drawn along at Darcy’s left side.

  They reached the kitchen and Darcy carefully laid the gun down on the counter while she lit the oil lamp and got out the tea canister. The house stayed quiet. The child pulling back a chair at the kitchen table made a loud screech on the boards, and she stopped and looked apprehensively at the roof.

  “I heard something,” she said.

  “I think you’re imagining, honey. Go ahead. Sit down. I’ll put on tea. Do you want a big piece or a little piece?”

  “Either’s fine.” The girl’s eyes were still toward the ceiling. “I hear it, don’t you?”

  “No, honey. I don’t.”

  “It wanted in.”

  “Don’t think about it.” She dipped up water from the kitchen barrel and set the kettle on.

  There was no more snow sliding. The house stayed quiet. The wind blew, and snow would be coming down. It was the buildup on the steep roof that had slid.

  She was worried about the kitchen door, the one that led to the passages. She listened for footsteps out there, but everything was quiet. She thought still about going after the marshal and taking Faye with her.

  Brionne—with her.

  But they were all right here. It was quiet.

  And there were five rounds in the gun. She knew. Mark had only needed one.

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  Ť ^ ť

  There’d been something wrong in the night—they’d waked, at least Danny and Ridley had, armed and gone half-dressed out to the den, but they’d found nothing amiss. Ridley said he wasn’t entirely sure it was Spook bothering them: small alarms during the winter weren’t uncommon, and they’d taken their frozen selves back to the barracks and headed back to their beds.

  The horses were still jumpy this morning, arguing that something had bothered them in a way that had put them in a lasting mood. Slip kicked at Rain, and Shimmer snapped. Danny took Cloud out into the yard to curry and comb him—and file a chipped center-hoof that Cloud had gotten from somewhere about the yard, possibly last night.

  There were abundant horse-tracks in the snow of the yard, the overlain traces of the horses’ paths to the walls and back, to the den and to the porch of the house last night, and a lot going back and forth over the passageways that made the only hill of vantage in the camp, a ridge in the snow, not much projecting above the ground, but a hump that made a nighthorse feel he’d reached high ground, silly creature.

  And now he was combing manes and tails, and Callie, with a hammer and chisel, was doing some carpentry involving the den-side passageway door, which was new wood, and which had stuck last night when they’d been investigating the trouble.

  Remarkable system, those passages. Ridley said when they built the village they’d blasted down a lot of gravel and rubble, and the builders had dug in with timber shelters buried in gravel where the wildlife couldn’t get at them, and that was the start of the passages at this and other villages, except one that was totally passageways and no houses at all.

  A lot of effort, Danny thought. They’d laid in dirt atop the rubble, probably hauled up from the lower slopes, and compost of evergreen needles, just anything the village could put down for the brief growing season, so he heard from Ridley, for gardens—for the greens and vegetables they couldn’t afford trucked up. In summer, so Ridley said, all of Evergreen broke out in vegetable gardens and flowers.

  No gardens on this side of the wall, however, where there were hungry horses to raid the plots.

  Above this place on the mountain, with one exception around Mornay, was snow. Above here was uncompromising rock. It took a lot of effort just for humans to survive on what little soil clung here, and when a lad from the bustling crowds of Shamesey thought about it he marveled that humans not only survived, they built fairly fancy houses, and churches, and such, on the hard rock and thin soil of a mountain.

  Pretty damn stubborn people, he said to himself, and took up a length of Cloud’s tail to get a knot out.

  Cloud of course switched the tail, being ticklish.

  “Cut it out!”

  A lot better if he could take Cloud outside the walls regularly and at whim. Village camp walls weren’t as wide as Shamesey town’s, and playing chase around a small yard just wasn’t enough for Cloud. Ridley said they could go hunting whenever they liked, and often, once they could get the horse business settled—

  But that wasn’t amusement. And it wasn’t settled. His personal guess that it wouldn’t leave despite the turn in the weather seemed to have been right, and neither he nor Ridley was looking forward to that matter. He ought, he thought sometimes, to have gone on to Mornay—but what could he have told them? The suspicion of a suspicion of a horse no one could deal with? That two riders who ought to have been able to call it in had failed and now they were down to spooked hunters and short supply of game with a situation down the slope at Tarmin he didn’t think maybe anybody had managed to tell Mornay or any other village up here.

  Worrisome thought: maybe there were reasons Ridley didn’t want Mornay involved, or people talking to Ridley didn’t want Mornay involved. Certainly Ridley had been talking to the marshal from time to time, and they still had the horse on their hands, which, no matter the reasons that they weren’t talking to the other village, he had some chance of dealing with. He could have dealt with it without harming it if it weren’t for the Goss kids; and now he had Brionne Goss on his mind more often than he liked to have any thought of her near the surface.

  He wished he’d been able to get his hands on the horse. That would be the best thing. But he wasn’t sure it was possible—especially with the distraction and attraction the village posed; and with the Rain and Jennie business. Everything in the world had conspired to keep that horse a problem to them; and dammit, it wasn’t fair, shooting at it.

  But, mope about it as he would, he’d made his best and probably only good try at catching it that night he’d gone out on foot—and scared hell out of Cloud, who thought about it at the moment and swatted him with the tail, which still had one good ice-lump in it.

  “Cut it out! Dammit!”

  Cloud backed into him. There was in Cloud’s mind. There was—

  Danny looked up. He hadn’t seen Ridley when he’d come out to see to Cloud. He hadn’t known Ridley had gone to the village, but it was a good guess in a small camp when he’d not immediately seen him at the horse den. He supposed that Ridley had gone over to confer with the hunters.

  hit the ambient. Callie left her door-adjusting and he followed Callie out into the yard.

  “Is Jennie in the yard?” was Ridley’s first question.

  ‘“Was,” Callie said. Jennie had been out currying Rain till the horses got snappish. He’d mentioned it to Callie and Callie had sent young Jennie inside to play. “Horses are nervous this morning. Thought she’d be better off inside.”

  Ridley let go a breath. “Never had horse trouble before,” Ridley said. “I’ve heard—it sets off people who aren’t riders. And something happened last night. A miner’s hanging around the doctor’s place. Or he was.”

  , was Danny’s first, leaden thought and it sailed through and around the ambient.

  “Some disturbance there last night,” Ridley said. “Somebody tried to open Darcy Schaffer’s front door. And this morning when the doctor opened her door—there’s blood all over it.”

  “God,” Callie said.

  “Knifing’s what they think. Wasn’t any sound
of a gunshot. But the way the snow was falling—guess maybe there was a reason besides the stray that the horses were acting up. Maybe it wasn’t even here last night.”

  He caught the scene from Ridley’s mind, hazily, because Cloud didn’t know buildings real well. But there was

  “Not impossible somebody was trying to get to the doctor to treat a stab wound, trying to get away from the guy who attacked him. And got hit again on the porch. They’ve been poking in all the snow drifts thinking somebody could have fallen there, but there’s nothing. If we can get the gates open, I’m going to bring Slip around—”

  “Into the village?” He’d never heard of such a thing.

  “To see if he can find whoever it was.”

  It made good sense. But it wasn’t something you’d ever do in Shamesey streets—bring a horse past the barriers, let alone into a murder scene. “You want some help?”

  “No need of it. What there is to find, Slip will find. And they know Slip over there.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Want some help to clear the gate?”

  “That,” Ridley agreed, “would be a good thing.”

  Earnest Riggs wasn’t to be found. So the marshal said, holding the hat with the bushdevil tail in his hand—a hat Earnest Riggs had kept with great care, and now—now it, like everything about the porch, was spattered with blood; not that that appalled a doctor, but the memory of last night did. Darcy stood outside shivering in a light coat, while the marshal and his deputy stood officially at her front doorway and a snow-veiled crowd of neighbors, on whom the snow was gathering thicker by the moment, were standing and gaping and gossiping below her blood-spattered porch.

  They were bringing one of the riders over—and the horse—to find the missing, or track the guilty, as the marshal or the judge sometimes requested. They’d shoveled the outer gates clear so the horse could get from the rider camp to the street—and she could see that distant figure coming through.

  The crowd gave back in a hurry as the rider came at a brisk pace up the street. She wouldn’t budge from the porch. It was her house, her office, her daughter upstairs in her bedroom. She’d spent a bad and a sleepless night, sitting up with the gun she passionately hated, and she wasn’t giving ground to any threat—least of all one of their own riders, doing his distasteful job this time involving her porch, her property, which had seen all too much of notoriety in the last two years—the other two incidents with the law had had the sanctity at least of tragedy. This—this was an embarrassment in front of the neighbors.

 

‹ Prev