ACrucible of Time

by neetha Napew

  The three men stood with a strange synchronicity, tucking their chairs neatly in place. The skinniest of them smiled at Ryan and the others. "Brother Joshua Wolfe will welcome you, perhaps after the dawning?"

  "Perhaps. It's near?"

  "Oh, yes. It's only a few minutes walk farther along the winding old blacktop. You can't possibly miss—" His next words were drowned out by a ferocious outburst of coughing and sneezing from Doc.

  "My sincere apologies," the old man spluttered. "It's not the cough that carries you off. It is the coffin that they carry you off in."

  "Didn't catch the last thing you said." Ryan waited.

  "There will be sentries on watch on the road. There always are. The Children of the Rock have many good, good friends and a scattering of hostile enemies."

  "Like the Apaches?"

  "Yes, brother. Like the spawn of Shaitan. Farewell, then. Until tomorrow."

  All three of the young men paused by the door and made a strange circular motion with thumb and forefinger of the right hand. "Be seeing you."

  Then they were gone.

  The scent of food was growing ever stronger, making Ryan lick his lips.

  "Seem friendly," Doc said, wiping away beads of sweat from his forehead. "Very amicable fellows."

  Mildred sniffed dismissively. "Yeah, about as friendly as sunwarmed rattlers."

  Ryan poured himself a tumbler of water. "Can't say I took to them, myself. But I reckon it could be interesting to go take a look at their ville tomorrow."

  "You all right, Doc?" J.B. asked, sitting next to the old man.

  "I confess to feeling a little below par, dear friend. A touch of influenza would be my self-diagnosis. But I shall doubtless be myself on the morrow."

  Jak ran his long fingers through his matted mane of white hair. "Could do with bath."

  "Reckon that could be arranged," Ryan said. "Let's get the meal done with first."

  At that moment the bat-wing doors clattered open, and Mom, red faced and perspiring, pushed her way through carrying a big tray loaded with plates of food.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "That was so good."

  Krysty leaned back in her chair and barely stifled a belch, wiping at her chin with a stained linen napkin. She looked at her empty plate, then at the large array of serving bowls that stood in the middle of the table.

  One held a few wisps of creamed potatoes, dried and crusted at the edges. Another had a handful of slender green beans, sodden with salted butter. A large gravy boat had the skinned remnants of a delicious creamy sauce. A quarter of a loaf rested on a wooden platter. Its four predecessors had left only a scattering of crumbs.

  A flat dish of flower-patterned china had once held a mountain of Mom Fairchild's famous jerky. Now there was only a smear of dark grease against the emptiness.

  "Anyone fancy some puddings?" Mom called from behind the bar.

  "What you got?" Ryan replied.

  "Pecan pie. Pecan pie with cream. Pecan pie and lime jelly. Hot pecan pie."

  J.B. gave a thin smile, whispering under his breath. "Pecan pie well-done. Pecan pie medium rare. Pecan pie and grits. Oh, and we got some pecan pie."

  Mom hadn't finished. "And there's some peach-and-cherry cobbler, hot or cold, with or without."

  Ryan blew out his cheeks. "Spirit's willing, Mom, but I'm not sure the body can take another mouthful."

  "Try pecan pie, peach-cherry cobbler with cream and lime jelly," Jak called.

  "Me, too," Dean added.

  Krysty laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You two are living proof that you can get a quart into a pint pot. I seriously don't know how come you don't burst. You must've had at least three helpings of the jerky."

  "Four," they replied in unison.

  "Anyone else for dessert?"

  "I'll have a sliver of the pie with cream," Ryan said. "How about you, lover?"

  "No, thanks. I know when I've had enough. And right now I've had enough."

  "Just a glass of water for me, if you please," Doc said. "And maybe some coffee sub."

  "Sure thing." Mrs. Fairchild stood in the doorway, sleeves wound up almost to the shoulder, revealing her muscular arms. "Anyone else? No?" She turned on her heel and disappeared once more into the steamy kitchen.

  "That was the finest damned jerky I ever tasted," said the Armorer, leaning back in the seat and easing the buckle on his belt by a notch.

  The restaurant was empty, several of the lamps guttering. Nobody else had come by Mom's Place since Ryan and company arrived.

  Ryan felt comfortably relaxed and full. His right hand brushed against the butt of the SIG-Sauer; the Steyr SSG-70 hunting rifle stood upright against his chair.

  The great dishes of sun-dried strips of meat, some of them honey roasted and some smoked, had been mouthwateringly good, tender and chewy, with an exquisite flavor that lingered long on the palate.

  He'd asked Mrs. Fairchild what kind of meat she used for the jerky.

  "Varies. Sometimes I use some prime beef. Hard to get hold of up here in the hills. Goat's real good. Old guy lives down the trail a piece has some he feeds on milk. Tender as hand-reared veal but with a mite more flavor. Then there's often some tasty pork in there."

  "Lamb or mutton?" Mildred asked. "Some of it had a real unique texture."

  "Not often. Could be venison jerky that you had. Those hunters bring me some now and then. Even tried beaver, but it was kind of tough. Back flavor of fish to it. I often just mix it up and serve it in any order. Kind of potluck, as it comes."

  Ryan had tried to pump the woman about the Children of the Rock, but she clammed up and changed the subject, claiming she could smell something burning back in the kitchen and disappearing from the questions.

  A little later, when she was actually serving out the meals, she was just a tad more forthcoming.

  "Children of the Rock been around here for almost as long as I can recall. Started real small. Brother Joshua Wolfe came with a couple of shootists. Half a dozen women. Some hunting hounds. Now there must be close on a hundred of them. But that's only a guess. I haven't been there myself. Not for years. Fortified ville. Big buildings. They say they got electrics there. Power mill and shock fencing."

  She elaborated a little, saying there was a reasonable mix, with a few more men than women, but hardly any children. There were plenty of weapons and they were always on the lookout for recruits. They were at war with the local ranging band of Apaches, and they were seriously religious.

  "They leave me alone and I leave them alone. I just take care not to—" She stopped abruptly, as if she'd gone a few paces farther along the line than she'd intended. "Take care not to upset any of them who pass by."

  Now the meal was nearly done.

  In the end they all joined Doc in steaming mugs of coffee subs, served with plenty of cream and a large bowl of unrefined sugar.

  "Guess I'll be closing up soon," the woman said, leaning on the bar counter. "Light's most gone. Won't be any travelers passing through now."

  "You get troubled by mutie rats?" Ryan asked.

  She whistled between her gapped teeth. "Do I, outlander! I surely do. Biggest sons of bitches I ever saw. They reckon that it's one of the results of the old rad hot spots nearby, among the big trees."

  Ryan and J.B. both glanced automatically at the small lapel rad counters they wore, noticing that both were showing somewhere between the orange and yellow. They were some little distance away from the safety of green, but an equal distance from the imminent danger of red.

  Mrs. Fairchild carried on, seeming oblivious to their rad counters. "They come for miles after the offcuts from the butchering we do here."

  "Can't you poison them? Or just chill them with blasters?" the Armorer asked. "I never saw such mean, sickly bastards in all my life."

  "Just keep coming. Think they got some kind of underground nest out in the forest. Wouldn't want to be the one that stumbled on a place like that." She shuddered theatrically a
t the thought. "Anyway, you folk like some more coffee sub?"

  Doc, Dean and Jak both raised a hand at the invitation. The others refused the offer.

  "You three goin' to share a room together, tonight?" the woman asked as she poured out the hot, black, bitter liquid from a blue enameled pot.

  Dean and Jak nodded. Doc smiled up at the woman. Ryan watched and realized that the old man was entertaining lecherous thoughts. Mrs. Fairchild looked like she could have eaten up Doc for supper and spit out the bones. But there was no accounting for taste.

  "I've put you three into the end cabin. Kind of a few steps away from the main building, toward the stream. But there's plenty of bedding. You'll be snug as bugs in rugs. Now drink up, there's good boys."

  Doc sneezed and coughed at the same time, spluttering coffee onto the table. "I am so sorry, my dear Madam Fairchild," he said, wheezing.

  "Think nothing of it. Listen up, strangers. Make sure you keep the doors bolted tonight. Windows got armored shutters and locks. Keep them secure. This is a dangerous part of the country, what with the Apaches and all. Also been some trouble with stickies, within the last six months. Plucked folks out of their sleeping beds with their evil suckered fingers and slobbery mouths. Never a trace of them seen again."

  "We've gotten used to looking after ourselves." Ryan stood and stretched. "But we surely thank you for the warning. Old friend of mine used to say that an ounce of warning was worth a ton of regret."

  "Ready for bed," Doc said, wiping his nose with the blue kerchief.

  "Take one of the lamps from the table there. You'll find candles set ready by the beds. Plenty of blankets. Extra ones in the closet. Got your own John and washing facilities just off the bedroom. Won't be too much hot water. Plenty of cold. Comes straight from the stream out back."

  "I'd be interested to see the place you store your jerky," Mildred said.

  "Why?" The word was snapped like a steel bear trap.

  The woman looked up at Mrs. Fairchild, surprised at the vehemence of the reply. "No reason. It was so damned good I just would have liked to have seen the carcasses and the way you dried it. To keep the flavor."

  "Secret."

  Mildred shrugged, palms out. "That's fine. Didn't want to cause any trouble."

  "Sure, sure." A doubtful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Sorry I snapped. Just that there's always folks sneaking around, trying to find out my secret recipe for the jerky. Get tired of it."

  "I understand."

  "Good, real good. Just so long as you… That's fine, lady. Fine."

  A small part of Ryan's mind was puzzled by the woman's strange reaction to what had seemed an innocuous question. But his stomach was well filled with the fine food, and he was warm and dry, with the prospect of a decent bed for the night to come. Life was rich and interesting, and he set the minor doubt away.

  JAK LED DOC and Dean into the gloom, along the eastern flank of the main building, to where a narrow path wound out alongside the foaming stream, among the trees. He held one of the stained brass lamps above his head, the yellow flame turning his hair into a tumbled veil of gold.

  Mrs. Fairchild indicated to Ryan and the others where they were to sleep, pointing to a white-painted door that opened into a narrow hallway. "One room with a double bed on that side. Another one, mite bigger, on the other side. And remember what I said about bolts and locks."

  "Sure. Thanks. We'll take breakfast before we leave in the morning."

  She nodded. "Sure, sure. Got plenty of eggs and sausages. Running a mite low on jerky. Though I feel sure there's some fresh supplies on the way." She paused, smiling to herself, by the heavy steel-lined door to the restaurant's kitchens. "Y'all sleep well, now."

  RYAN AND KRYSTY TOOK the smaller room. The shutters were heavy, with iron bolts, and he shook them, making sure they were solidly locked.

  "She kept on about the danger, didn't she?" Krysty said doubtfully.

  "Yeah. So?"

  "Like…like she was almost preparing us for something dark happening."

  "You got a bad feeling about this, lover?" He had sat on the bed, starting to unlace his combat boots, stopping as her doubts communicated themselves to him.

  She stood by the door, reaching up to slide across the top bolt, looking back over her shoulder, her fiery red hair gleaming in the candle's glow.

  "There's something that doesn't set right. The way she's out here on her own. With those mutie rats. And the Apaches in the neighborhood. I know she seems kind of tough, but…"

  Ryan ran his index finger alongside his nose, easing it up under the patch over the puckered socket of the left eye and rubbing at it. "If she had something planned, then why make such a fuss about warning us?"

  "True." She moved over to the other side of the bed, dusting her hand gently over the stained patchwork quilt. "Guess I'm getting paranoid."

  Ryan sat, unmoving, thinking. "You got me thinking," he said quietly. "Still, we got our blasters, and the room seems double secure. I can't see where any serious danger's going to come from. Over, under, through or around, like Trader used to say. All seems safe."

  She peeled off her white shirt, revealing her magnificent breasts. The nipples were erect, shadowed.

  "Got the itch, lover?"

  He nodded, grinning. "Seems like I do."

  "Then let's get to scratching it."

  Chapter Fifteen

  The luminous numerals on Ryan's wrist chron showed it was seventeen minutes past one in the morning. Outside he could hear rain beating steadily on the roof of the bedroom.

  Ryan stretched, wincing a little at the cool stickiness that he could still feel around his groin. At his side Krysty was sleeping on her back, mouth partly open, snoring slightly. He was aware of pressure on his bladder, and he considered paying a visit to the bathroom that he knew was just along the passage, past the door of the room where J.B. and Mildred would be sleeping.

  Perhaps if he lay very still and closed his eye, the feeling would go away.

  Ryan tried it for several minutes.

  "Fireblast!"

  It was no good. He was going to have to get up, unlock the door and walk along the passage to take a leak. It was cold and damp and the middle of the night.

  "Fireblast!" he whispered again, swinging his legs from underneath the blankets. After they finished making love, he had gotten partly dressed. Now he had on his underclothes and the blue denim shirt, socks but no boots, and no weapons.

  He thought about going just as he was. It would take him only a couple of minutes. Then again, there was Krysty's unease. If you traveled with someone who had a mutie skill at "seeing" and chose to ignore them, then the blood was likely to be in your own face. Trader used to say that a man who took any chances when he didn't have to was a likely candidate for a six-foot plot of good earth and no marker.

  Slowly he pulled on the dark blue pants and laced up the steel-toed boots. He buckled on his belt and slid the SIG-Sauer from under the pillow into the holster, making sure that the eighteen-inch steel blade of the panga was secure in its sheath on the opposite hip.

  "Time to get up, lover?"

  The voice was heavy and muffled with sleep.

  "No. Goin' for a piss."

  "That's good. Is it raining?"

  "Yeah. It is."

  "Hear it on roof. Pittering and pattering and…" Krysty's voice faded into silence as she slithered back once more into a deep sleep.

  Ryan eased back the bolt and cautiously peered out into the corridor, which was almost completely dark. A flash of bright pink chem lightning made him jump, the clap of thunder following hard on its heels.

  It showed him the empty passage, making him blink at the transition from blackness to brightness to dark again. He could have turned and taken the oil lamp off the rickety table by the head of the bed, using one of the box of self-lights provided by Mrs. Fairchild. But he figured there was no need and stepped out of the bedroom into the stygian gloom.

 
The air was cool and moist. As he went past the door of the other bedroom, fingers brushing the wooden walls to keep himself orientated, Ryan heard the sound of someone coughing, deep enough to be J.B., he guessed.

  It crossed his mind to wonder whether the cold that Doc was suffering from was going to turn out to be contagious. In Deathlands, if you were healthy then you were also lucky. Many illnesses could rage through a ville with virulent effect, ailments that he knew from reading about predark days hadn't used to be mass killers. Things like measles and mumps and pink pox.

  The next door was the bathroom.

  Ryan pushed it open, expecting to find it creaking, but to his surprise it gave with the stillness of recently oiled hinges. There was a narrow window of frosted glass. Another flash of lightning revealed a nest of thick metal bars across it.

  "Go to a lot of trouble to keep out hostiles," he muttered to himself, preparing to piss. The thought crossed his mind that the bars might equally easily be designed to keep people in.

  The storm was very close, the lightning coming every few seconds, the rolling thunder making the building quiver. After he'd finished, Ryan hauled himself effortlessly up onto the bars, peering out into the California night.

  Rain was sheeting from left to right, driven on a strong northerly wind. He could see that even some of the larger branches on the tall pines were moving violently in the storm. He winced at a great jagged fork of lightning that sliced to earth less than a quarter mile from where he watched. Static electricity made his curling hair stand on end, filling the air with the crackling stench of ozone. "Fireblast!" It was a storm and a half. Just as he began to lower himself back to the floor, Ryan's eye was caught by a dark blur of movement at the fringe of the trees, beyond a narrow path that ran along toward the cabin where Dean, Doc and Jak were sleeping. It was impossibly difficult to make out what it was.

  Until the next flash of lightning from the chem storm threw the scene into brilliant, stark pink relief, halting the movement so that Ryan could make out what it was. "Bastard rat!"

  It was one of the massive mutie creatures, identical to the ones that they'd run into earlier in the previous day. If anything, it looked even bigger.