Jessie thought of Ruby and her means of distraction, and he wondered if he should abandon his search and go back for her. He shook his head and continued. This delve into the depths of depravity would be all for naught if he couldn’t find some proof that Boothe was profiting from Barren Banks’ suffering.
He continued on room to room, on the hunt for something incriminating. When he reached the kitchen, Jessie peeped in and saw three men in aprons working at benches. Off to the side, guarding a closed door were two slouching guardsmen.
Jessie frowned at the amount of food piled up around the chefs. Meats, pastry, bread, vegetables, fruits. It was stacked high and the chefs worked furiously, cleavers flashing in the electric overhead lights. Jessie watched as chunks of meat went into the same pots as diced vegetables, chopped fruit, wedges of cheese, hunks of bread, and slabs of butter. He was no connoisseur, but he couldn’t think of any dish that called for such strange and careless tossing of ingredients. When the pots looked far too full to lift, the chefs heaved a pot each and staggered to the door at the rear of the kitchen. The armed guardsmen opened the door and the chefs entered the room. They came back out some time later without the pots.
And then the process began again.
Jessie leaned against the wall and wondered what it all meant. He shook his head; there was no point speculating, he needed to see what was going on. That meant he needed to get past the chefs and guardsmen and into the back room. He clucked his tongue and wondered how he could distract them. A hot flush crept up his face as he thought of Ruby’s distraction techniques. Tokota would likely perform an intricate ritual dance or cover them in sleeping dust to get past. As for Grace, well, she’d simply unleash Justice and Mercy and stroll on in after the dust settled.
None of that did Jessie any good. All he had were his smarts. He thought back to meeting George and Minnie Richmond and how he’d sold them his phony story about Grace being his journalist sister. He’d sold it on a bluff. He pressed his lips together and knew what he had to do. He slunk back through Boothe’s manor until he found a hearth that hadn’t been cleaned. He grabbed a hunk of coal from the hearth, wiped it over his clothes and hands, then tossed it back into the cold grate. As he crept back to the kitchen, he wiped his hands over his face and mussed up his hair.
All bets were down. Time to begin the bluff.
Jessie drew a deep breath, then blasted into the kitchen screaming at the top of his lungs. “Fire! Fire!”
The chefs stopped and gawked at him. The guardsmen tensed.
Jessie played his hand. “Upstairs! The boys are trapped! Come on, damnit!” He waved and gesticulated frantically.
They bought his bluff. The armed guardsmen abandoned their post immediately and made a run for the hall. The three chefs frowned but slung their cleavers down and silently followed. No doubt none of them had much concern for the burning children or the Missus, but fire spread fast in manor houses and was difficult to contain. Jessie followed behind a short distance then feinted away and circled back to the kitchen. He figured he’d have five good minutes at best before the confusion wore off and the chefs and guardsmen came back.
Jessie wasted no time and headed straight for the rear door. He turned the knob and crept in. He was instantly hit with a blast of bone-cold air. A vast hollow emptiness filled his ears and darkness greeted him. His mouth opened in wonder as he gazed around the cavern. It seemed Booth Manor was not only built on the mountainside but was part of the mountain itself. The walls were hewn rock, carved straight into the mountain. The entire cavern stood as long and tall as Boothe’s parlor doubled, and it narrowed to a black tunnel that disappeared into the heart of the mountain. Jessie had never seen anything like it in his life.
Wooden shelves lined the cavern in rows, leaving a narrow path in the middle that led to the mouth of the shaft. Each shelf bowed beneath the weight of innumerable wooden boxes and crates and great metal pots. Jessie shivered and hugged his vest tight as he crept down the middle aisle. He kept glancing at the deep shaft expecting to see iridescent eyes blinking back at him. With any luck, the kobolds wouldn’t come this close to Boothe Manor.
He recognized the pots on the shelves; they were all filled with the chefs’ handiwork, and judging from the stench, some of the food had started to go bad. Jessie moved farther along and examined the wooden boxes on the shelves. They were made of solid yellow pine with a stenciled logo stamped across their sides. Nobels Extradynamit. Jessie chewed his cheek and backed away.
He turned to the wooden crates on the other side of the cavern. Jessie hooked his fingers over the lip of a crate and tried to pull it toward him. The crate wouldn’t budge. It was too heavy. He frowned and poked his head awkwardly beneath the shelf above to try to see inside the crate.
“By thunder and Tom Walker! Gold!”
Jessie reached in and felt around until he found a nugget small enough to heft out. He turned over the dull nugget in his hands, transfixed by the bulbous nodule. He raised his gaze and looked down the row of shelves. There were dozens of crates. Thousands of nuggets.
“I swow!” Jessie said beneath his breath. He dropped the lump in his pants pocket and frowned as the weight made him feel lopsided. Jessie scurried across to the pots of food and scooped off a couple of carrots, a bulb of garlic, and a slippery lump of lard. He stuffed these into his vest and started toward the door.
Now all he needed to do was find a way out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Paul threaded his way through the tents and shacks of Barren Banks as Jessie complained, “Gummy! I’m gonna stink like vittles for the rest of my days!”
He’d unloaded the vegetables and gold into Paul’s saddlebags but still the strong smell clung to him.
Beside him, astride Lumière, Ruby quietly said, “Better to smell like vittles than have the stink of that man all over you. I’ll have to bathe for a week to get rid of his smell.”
Jessie looked across at her, chastened, and bit his lip.
True, she’d copped the worse end of things.
When he scurried from the mountainous storeroom, Jessie had been lucky enough to find a side-exit that led to the stables. He thought he might find a guardsman or two he’d have to contend with, but it turned out the entire household—Ruby and Boothe included—had been evacuated to the front lawns while claims of fire where investigated.
Jessie—clutching Lumière’s and Paul’s bridles in hand—had peeped around the manor house and nearly wet himself laughing at Boothe’s furious gesticulating on the steps of the front porch. Even from a distance Jessie could hear the man’s enraged screams. Without trying to look too conspicuous, Jessie bobbed his head back and forth to gain Ruby’s attention.
When Ruby had finally caught sight of Jessie and slunk away from the congregation to meet him by the stables, Jessie quickly discovered why Boothe had been so upset at being pulled away. Ruby’s hair was disheveled, her lipstick smeared, and her corset askew. Jessie’s amusement at his ruse was smothered by disquiet when he held out Lumière’s reins for Ruby to take.
“How far did it go?” Jessie asked.
Ruby looked straight ahead, her jaw tight. “Not as far as he would have liked,” she muttered. A snort and a slight smile touched her lips as she cast Jessie a sideways glance.
“Put it out of your mind, beb. I’ve had worse than the likes of Aaron Boothe.”
Something about her expression sent a shiver wracking through Jessie. Like a slap across the face he was forcibly reminded that this wasn’t a helpless victim riding beside him; it was the Horseman of Conquest. Something he’d do well to never forget.
The two led their horses to the rocky back end of the manor and picked their way down the side of the mountain to avoid the main road.
Neither had the penchant to run into Aaron Boothe again.
As they neared Joseph’s shack, Jessie spied Tokota perched outside on a small wooden bench. He was bathed in a pale light from the waxing moon. He looked up as
they reined in.
“You return. Good. Grace is impatient for news.”
Inside was warm and cozy if not a little tight with so many bodies pressed in the small space. Jessie cast a cursory glance over Kaga, who lay unconscious on the cot, and shot Grace a tight smile. He wasted no time on niceties as he approached Joseph’s table.
“The kobolds in the mountain are definitely being fed by Aaron Boothe.” He upended the saddlebag on Joseph’s table. The vegetables rolled about on the table, the lard squished against the wood, and the gold made an awesome thump as it landed. Grace and Joseph sucked in as they looked at Jessie’s score. Abigail drew a cross over her breast. Joseph reached out and tentatively touched the gold as Grace’s lip curled and she cussed.
“You found this in Aaron Boothe’s manor?” Joseph asked.
“Kind of. He’s got a hole cut into the mountain inside his house. Whole place is lined with shelves filled with gold and grub. I mean truly stuffed with it.”
Joseph withdrew his hand and bowed his head. “Then it’s as I expected. Aaron Boothe has tapped a vein and is bleeding her dry.”
“And your people are seeing nothing in return,” Ruby said quietly.
As Ruby spoke, Jessie noticed Grace take in the Cajun woman’s appearance, the disheveled hair, the unlaced corset, the red splotches on her bronzed arms. Grace’s eyes narrowed and she lightly nodded. Jessie had the feeling her respect for the madame was growing.
Joseph leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face. He let out a low moan.
Grace leaned forward and placed a hand on his arm. “Joseph, you gotta tell your people. They gotta know. We gotta stop this evil bastard and clean out the vermin or you’ll all end up as kobold chow.”
Joseph breathed out long and deep as he grappled with the unfolding horror. Though he must have known the truth all along, the undeniable proof was like poking a stick into an infected wound. Abigail came forward and put her hand on her father’s shoulder. He reached up and patted her hand. They shared wan smiles.
“I can get the folk here on the morrow.” He waved at the laden table and said, “We show them this here, and then, fix what to do. Miss Grace, Mister Jessie, Miss Ruby, you all done more than I can ever repay you for, but will you stay on a bit longer? The folk of the Banks is farm folk. We don’t know about guns and fighting, and Mister Boothe ain’t likely going to give up his hold without a fight. I feel right illy having to ask this after you just been and—”
“Joseph, we ain’t leaving you to do this alone. We were guided here for a reason. And this here’s it,” Grace said.
Jessie’s scalp tingled and his brow dipped into a sharp frown. He glanced at Grace and opened his mouth, but she continued before he could speak. “You get the folk on the right side of things tomorrow and we’ll lay low. Got wounded to tend to and it’ll be close to a full moon tomorrow night. Gotta make sure Kaga’s fit before the moon rises.”
Joseph looked at the unconscious wolf and frowned. “You worried he’ll try to howl at the full moon before he’s well?”
Grace smiled. “Something like that. On the morrow, Tokota and I will come with you to talk to your folk. I’m thinking you’ll need all the help you can get to sway them stubborn asses.”
Ruby cleared her throat. “I may be able to help also.”
Grace paused a moment, then nodded. She flicked her gaze to Jessie and said, “Jessie, can you stay with Kaga? Look over him?”
Jessie sighed. Sure, he’d love to stay and look over her lover.
“Course,” he replied quietly.
Jessie stirred the stew and had to admit it smelled pretty darned good. Tokota had spent the night hunting and returned with all manner of game. Joseph skinned a brace of rabbits and Abigail put them whole into the pot along with one of Jessie’s thieved carrots, a couple of cloves of garlic and a bit of lard. With a little of Tokota’s supply of herbs added to the pot, the slow-simmering stew had taken on a thick consistency and smelled delicious. Jessie wished for some soft bread to accompany it, but in the end, beggars couldn’t choose. The stew alone would more than suffice for supper.
Abigail stood at the stew pot dutifully stirring. Jessie studied her silently, then sighed.
Abigail glanced up and smiled. “Ain’t you got something to do? Gotta be something you can set your sights on. Pa says idle hands is a tool of the devil.”
Jessie shrugged. In truth, he did have something he needed to do. Something important. He hadn’t written in his journal since before Temerity. If he was to try to make sense of all this malarkey he needed to first get it out of his head and onto paper. The problem was when he’d last dug out his beaten-up journal, he realized he’d lost his pencil. He’d upended saddlebag after saddlebag but couldn’t find it.
“Don’t suppose you got a pencil stashed away somewhere?”
Abigail’s brows rose. “A pencil? You mean to write with?”
Jessie shrugged.
Abigail shook her head and looked down at the stew pot. Her cheeks reddened. “Cain’t read or write.”
Jessie frowned. “But your pa, he’s a gospel man, ain’t he? Reads from the Bible?”
Abigail shook her head. “He knows it all, sure. But it was told to him by his own pa. He knows letters but cain’t fix them into words.”
Jessie shrugged again. “It’s no big figure. Lots of folk cain’t read or write. You shouldn’t be cropped ’cause you cain’t read.”
“You can,” Abigail said quietly.
Jessie looked down at his hands. “That were my pa’s doing. While yours taught you about the Bible from what he knowed, my pa taught me from what he’d read. Amounts to the same thing. We both got a head full of fire and brimstone and righteous wrath.”
Abigail chuckled and glanced up at the plaque. Jessie followed her gaze and sighed. Guess it was sinful to throw off on God and His word. He clambered to his feet and wandered across to the little wooden plaque.
Let He Who Is Without Sin...
Jessie chewed the inside of his cheek. Who is without sin these days? He glanced over at Kaga, who lay sleeping on the cot. Nope. The saying didn’t apply to Kaga. He sinned by his very nature of being yee naaldlooshii. He’d certainly taken his share of lives in his time. That had to constitute as sin. Jessie sat down and thought about Ruby. Fornication, seduction, and a knowing accomplice to murder. She was a sinner. Tokota. The man had given cry to war, a war that had claimed hundreds of innocent lives back at Whitestand Hollow. His hands were red with blood and sin.
Grace...
Jessie snorted. She was the Horseman of Death. She exemplified sin.
Jessie sighed and frowned as he looked at the plaque. He didn’t know any man who could throw the first stone.
Joseph.
Jessie thought about the malnourished dark-skinned farmer. He’d invited them into his house when he had no room to spare. Fed them on his last mouthful of food. When confronted by Aaron Boothe’s treachery he’d been sorrowful and disappointed, not vengeful or enraged. Surely here, in this sad, starving town, Jessie had finally found a man without sin.
“A saint among sinners,” Jessie mused aloud.
“And knowing that, son, do you really think he’s the reason you all were sent here?”
Jessie glanced up at Clinton Cottonmouth Cross sitting opposite him.
Jessie was beyond reeling in surprise at the man’s sudden, unnerving appearance. He turned to Abigail, who continued stirring the stew as though there was nothing amiss. He pondered Cottonmouth’s words.
“We were sent here to find the Fourth,” he said quietly.
Cottonmouth nodded and grinned. “Right, the Fourth rider.”
“The Fourth Horseman...of the Apocalypse. Famine.” Jessie said aloud for the first time. He looked into Cottonmouth’s eyes as he said it, waiting for—hoping for—the man to cackle with laughter and call him a loon. Instead, Cottonmouth’s grin widened and he tapped the side of his nose. He leaned across the table an
d his gray beard brushed the wood. Abigail turned to the hearth, oblivious to their conversation. Jessie heard her humming beneath her breath. Amazing Grace.
“Let me ask you this, son, knowing who they are, do you really think the Fourth is gonna be a man without sin?”
A shiver sluiced down Jessie’s spine and radiated out to his limbs. His skin tingled as he looked into Cottonmouth’s eyes. He gripped the coarse edge of Joseph’s table and winced as a sharp wooden splinter bit into his flesh. He shook his head. Cottonmouth nodded and waited for Jessie to come to his own conclusion.
A cold sweat broke across Jessie’s brow as he looked at Cottonmouth. “It ain’t Joseph we’re here for, it’s Boothe. Aaron Boothe is the Fourth Horseman.”
Cottonmouth tapped his nose again and grinned. The prospector rose to his feet and gestured at Jessie’s hand where the splinter had drawn blood.
“Don’t forget the blood, son. Don’t forget the rulebook.”
Jessie gazed over at his saddlebags where his journal was tucked away. He turned back to Cottonmouth, but he was gone...if he’d ever been there in the first place. Jessie blinked and wondered if he’d simply dozed off at the table. He looked up as Abigail turned and smiled at him and continued stirring the stew.
Jessie was chilled despite the warmth in the shack. He turned his palm over and saw the line of blood on his white skin.
“Let he who is without sin...” he said quietly.
The morning had drifted to afternoon and evening was fast approaching as Jessie waited impatiently for Grace and the others to return. Abigail had gone to find them mid-afternoon. She too had yet to return.
Jessie turned away from the window and kicked a chair. What was taking so long? All they’d had to do was show the townsfolk the food he’d flogged from Boothe’s manor, along with the gold, and they’d realize they’d been duped. Jessie sighed and sat on the chair he’d kicked. He put his face in his hands and looked out the window glumly. Knowing Grace, she’d probably insist on forming some kind of plan to confront Boothe. Either that, or she was already doing it. That thought made him squirm. Surely she’d come back for him first?
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