by Mark Eller
She crouched down beside him. "Aaron--I can't." Her voice was strained thin. "There's nobody to sell it to, and giving it away would ruin the community's confidence in the bank. When the Mistresses Doland left they only had twenty silver and twelve gold between them after covering the bank's debts. Look, it won't be so bad. Mistress Banks will run it. I already talked to her, and Mister Cartridge, one of the hands I had to fire, he will be the new clerk. Mistress Banks already checked him out. Promise. You won't have to do anything."
Aaron searched her eyes for the lie. He saw nothing but truth and compassion and apprehension. "Nothing?"
Sarah nodded reassuringly. "Nothing for the bank and nothing for the Manor either. Miss Hawks will handle the ranch details. I talked to everyone on the ranch, and they agreed that she would do a better job than Mister Kingsford ever thought he could do."
"So I won't wind up hurting a lot of people by somehow screwing up their lives? The people you hired for the jobs will be the ones screwing up?" Aaron released a sigh. Tension oozed out of him, easing the ache in his neck and shoulders.
"No, you won't be able to screw things up." Sarah smiled. "Is that all you were worried about, messing up lives?"
"Yeah. All I could see was a thousand people lined up in front of me. Every one had an accusing finger stuck out." Aaron released a short laugh. "You know, I had a pretty uncomplicated life in this town until you noticed I was around."
Gently laughing, Sarah kissed him soundly. "Only one more thing, and it's a little one. You are now on the town council. You own too much to skip out of that obligation even if you have managed to sidestep every meeting you've been invited to so far. Don't worry," she hastened to add when Aaron's expression grew alarmed again, "you don't have to actually attend but a few of the meetings. The ones you do attend only require that you sit there and listen to what is said. Nothing else is asked of you. You don't even have to vote."
Aaron pointed a finger at her. "Miss Townsend, if there is one thing I am totally incapable of handling and am completely uninterested in learning, it is politics. You, dear lady, are putting me on one real strange roller coaster ride."
"Whatever that is, I suppose you are correct. Guess what, you are now full or partial owner of a lot of businesses."
"Too many of them," Aaron agreed. "A few weeks ago I owned a simple general store and was happy. Now I own the store and the bank and the Manor and Bayne's Reading Emporium and then I have partial ownership of the livery and the seamstress shop--assuming you made a deal with the livery. Did I forget anything--oh yeah, I own the inn too."
"Oh, the inn and outerwear too," Sarah said. "Those I did not know about. By the way, you have a twenty percent interest in the livery, but you still get two thirds of the stud fees."
Sarah appeared definitely amused. Settling down beside him, she pulled him into her arms. "Poor baby. Don't worry. Mama will take care of you."
"I am starting to be frightened of Mama taking care of me," Aaron complained. "Mama is the one who got me into most of this mess."
"Is she?" Sarah asked with innocent delight. "Well then, Mama will have to be more careful in the future, won't she?"
She damned well better be more careful. He couldn't take much more of this. His heart just wasn't strong enough to handle the stress. After all, he was only a man, and the Lord and Lady knew, male lives were a chancy thing over here. Being intimate with Sarah made life an even chancier proposition.
Chapter 17
Birsae ak Mondar took the speaking stick in her hand. She studied its familiar swirls, its carvings and thought back on the history of this holy object. Versase el Hectorate Mar Torac, the Wand of War Unending, the holy wand, was in her keeping because she was the only surviving Shaman of the Thirty Clans.
Versase el Hectorate Mar Torac. The words rolled off her mind as easily as they had so frequently tripped off her tongue. She had been the guardian of the wand for the last twenty years. Carrying the wand was a trust; it was an honor, and it was the heaviest burden Birsae had ever shouldered.
She looked up from the wand to see them watching her. Tremon's eyelids were half lowered in thought. Tremon was a steady one. She was a chieftain who thought before she spoke. Tremon set her honor behind her when the time came for hard decisions. Unlike her, Delmac was young, hot-blooded, and empty headed. He cared for nothing but his search for personal glory. There were others too. All the chieftains waited for her, waited for her word, her decision. The future of her entire people rested upon her frail shoulders. They would argue her suggestion but in the end they would do as she wished because she was their Shaman. She spoke with the strength of the One God.
"They come," she said. "Each year there are more of them."
Letting her eyes roam over the gathering, she caught the eyes of the recalcitrant ones, the smart ones, and of those who were angry. She caught them with her gaze, and she fought to capture them with her knowledge.
"These people do wondrous things. If we become their friends they will teach us how to be stronger than we already are. They will teach us how to be clever with our minds and our hands. They will-"
"DIE!" Delmac shouted, rising angrily to his feet. "They will die before we are pushed off our own lands."
"You have not the wand," one of the chieftains calmly said.
Delmac sat down abruptly. "Forgive me, Shaman. My anger and fear have overburdened the sense of my mind."
Sighing, Birsae inclined her head toward him. "You are forgiven." Delmac was the impetuous one. He wanted war and the trophy of new ears. Because of this, the words she was about to say pained Birsae. They were the words he desired to hear.
"They will also destroy our homes and our lands. Their appetites are voracious. I have looked down the future. I have traveled the forks and seen our people dwindle until there are none left except for those who do the will of others. I have seen our deaths."
Tremon held out her hand, silently asking for the wand's blessing. Birsae pointed the wand at her and shook it gently.
"There are many forks," Tremon said. "Many ways. You have taught me this. Do all of these ways see our ending?"
"I see only one path that does not," Birsae answered. "We must take on the trappings of what is called a nation. We must become one people. We must forgive our enemies and draw them to our cause, and we must accept those who accept us."
"Does that mean the newcomers too?"
"Those who have befriended us must become one of us. Those who despise our ways must be thrown from our land."
"This is what he wants," Tremon stated sourly. "Are we to follow this man? Are we to turn ourselves into slaves for his war?"
Birsae shook her head slowly. "If we wish to be a people we must follow his lead. This fork alone gives us hope. I have seen it."
The arguments continued on throughout the remainder of the night. Birsae knew the arguments would continue for the rest of the new moon. Their arguing would continue, but they would be resolved, and the Clans would go to war. Despite centuries of tradition, Versase el Hectorate Mar Torac would soon be held in the fist of a foreign monster because she had declared him their Chief of Chiefs in War. There would be war and much glory would be gained, and much honor would be lost, and the best blood of the Clans would be slaughtered. When the war was over, the People would be fewer, they would be forever changed, but they would be, and eventually the Chosen would arrive to take up his mantle as Savior and advocate of The One God.
It was the only path before them. Before the war's end her hand would touch the familiar curved and carved surface of Versase el Hectorate Mar Torac for the last time when she passed it over to the man who desired to destroy them as a people--to the man who wished to rule an Empire.
Chapter 18
Next morning, the first thing that struck Aaron was the number of Movers in town. More than a few breakfasted at the inn when he entered. Half a dozen children ran between the tables, playing tag while their parents tried to divide their own limited at
tention between controlling their broods and the serious business of eating. Raising an eyebrow at Missy when she served him, he gestured toward the Movers.
"Waiting for the Town Hall to open," Missy said. She looked tired this morning. Black was stamped beneath her eyes, and her face sagged. Several ragged strands of hair had escaped her ponytail. "You missed it. More than twenty wagons of Movers went through the pass a couple days ago, and fifteen wagons stayed here. There was a big argument between all the different Movers because lots of the new ones were Opportunists instead of Zorists. Beech wanted to wait another week, but some of the Movers wanted to go right then. A bunch of the others decided to stay and homestead around here. A couple wagons were burned, a woman died, and Marshal Townsend had to get rough to end it. She hurt two women fairly bad, but at least she did not have to kill anyone."
Frowning, Aaron wondered why Sarah had told him none of this. "Is there enough free land left? I thought it was all pretty well claimed right around here. How do these people expect to live?" After all, it was late June now. The farming season was far too advanced for them to clear new land and get in a crop.
Missy shrugged. "I don't know. Why do you think they are waiting for the hall to open? Here." She reached in her apron and handed him eight coppers. "This is what I owe you for the use of your room. I've been teaching people in shifts."
Aaron tried to wave it away.
"You take it." She stamped her foot angrily. "Us Baynes pay what we owe." She yawned suddenly. "Sorry. I was up late last night. Cathy and I had an argument. I lost."
"I find that hard to believe," Aaron said, accepting the money. "How could she manage to outtalk you?"
Missy tossed her head angrily. "She didn't. She just out- stubborned me. I got too tired to argue with her anymore. But don't worry, I'm not finished. I can get at her tonight. Only this time I'll take a nap before I start, and then she'll be the tired one."
Aaron chuckled. "Missy, I would hate to be on the wrong end of an argument with you."
"Never going to happen. You have too much sense to disagree with me. Both of us carry our heads right where they belong. I have to go. Customers are waiting, and Mistress Halfax is watching. Don't want to give her cause to fire me."
"Never happen," he called after her as she rushed away, and then, worried, he frowned. So what was there that Cathy and Missy had to argue about? It did not seem like either of them. They were both very forgiving, and they were as close as sisters could be. Maybe he should ask Cathy about it. After all, he did not want to take a chance on Missy getting involved in things she couldn't handle.
"Sir?" The voice was polite and unobtrusive. Aaron shook himself erect and started.
"Hello, Miss Hawks. What can I do for you?"
"Would you mind if we spoke about the Manor?"
She looked as if she were about to be struck--or fired--Aaron suddenly realized. He was now her employer now, and their last meeting had not gone well. She probably wondered if he still resented her old boss sticking him with horses he did not want. Well, none of that was her fault. She had only been following orders. As Aaron recalled the incident, it was he who had been rude. He fought down an instinct to rise from his seat. Rising for a lady was a Jefferson thing, not Isabellan at all. Instead, he kicked out a chair with his foot.
"Please sit down, Miss Hawks. If you will permit me, I would like to buy you a meal. I recall being horribly rude to you when we last spoke. In fact, I even used profanity in your presence. Will you please forgive my lapse? My nerves were a bit frayed at the time--but that excuses nothing."
"Perhaps a tea. I already ate at the Manor this morning. Our day starts very early out there." She sat smoothly. "As to the other, I cannot recall the incident you speak of. I'm sure you are incapable of being rude. Sir, I must get to the point. The Manor is in a terrible condition. The herd is almost gone, and the best horses have been shipped east and sold. The hunters I gave you were the last of the blooded stock. The cattle you have left are mostly old culls or very young stock. At best, it will be years before the place can be made profitable with what we have left."
All of which did nothing to improve Aaron's mood. As a matter of fact, the entire thing was depressing because it represented nothing but a lot of work.
Contemplating her worried face, Aaron wished Miss Hawks would just get up and go away. Life was getting too complex, and damn-it, he liked simple. He owned a store. He liked owning a store. Owning a store was fun. People talked to him, and the time passed quickly. The only decisions he had to make were what things to buy and what to charge. Profit did not matter. Why should it matter? He had enough silver stockpiled to live more than comfortably for the rest of several lifetimes. If he ran out of silver he could always take some gold to the other side and sell it for three thousand or more per the quarter ounce. Silver cost less than a hundred a pound over there so one cheap gold coin would set him up all over again.
Now he was being asked to look after these people after Sarah had promised him that the Manor would not be a headache. Using that promise as a baseline, he had pondered about the Manor the night before, and his pondering mind had decided to let the employees play with the cattle while he threw them some wages every now and again. No big deal. They would be happy. He would be happy. Everyone would be happy. But nooooo. Hawks wanted to run the place right. She wanted to make him money. She wanted to feel useful. Damn her.
"What," he asked with a sinking feeling in his gut, "do you need, Miss Hawks? Don't go through an hour of talk. Just tell me what it is you need to make the place profitable."
`"Sir, I think two hundred head on one hundred and fifteen thousand acres is ridiculous. I would like to purchase enough breeding stock to build the herd up over the next couple years. Also, at least two bands of the savages have been seen in the last week. They didn't do any harm yet except for maybe burning down an empty shack and killing one or two cattle, but I don't think it amiss to stock up on a few weapons and hire a couple more people to keep an eye peeled for trouble. It will take money, but I think--"
Holding up a hand, Aaron stopped her. "Will two pounds of silver be enough, Miss Hawks?" To hell with keeping a low profile. He had a fat chance of doing that now.
Her eyes grew large enough to devour him. "Two pounds! The entire ranch could be sold for less than that."
"I'll have it in your hands before too much longer. Will that satisfy you?" After all, the most she could do was steal it. She was honest, or she wasn't. Either way, the matter was taken care of, and the entire question of the Manor was out of his hands.
"Yes sir! I will have my ideas written down, and you can go over them with me at your leisure. Why, you can save on the winter kill alone if we--"
She stopped when Aaron shook his head. "How long have you worked for the Manor?"
"I was raised on the ranch, sir. Been on the payroll since I was twelve. That would be fourteen years now."
"Okay," Aaron abruptly said. "This is how it will be. No arguments. I give you the silver. I give you a quarter interest in the place. In exchange, you give me peace of mind. You hire. You fire. You make all decisions and bother me with none of them. Miss Hawks, I know nothing about the Manor or ranching. I did not want to own the place, and I will not take responsibility for running an operation I am not qualified to run. Okay?"
She was a real study of startled disbelief. Within moments her position had suddenly changed from hired hand fearing for her job to part owner. It was quite a leap.
For his part, Aaron really liked the idea of delegating all the work and responsibility off on her. Maybe he could use that idea more often; then again, upon reflection it occurred to him that he had been using that approach right along.
"Mister Turner--I--I--Sir! I will make you glad of your decision. In four years money will be pouring in. I know how to do it. A little development will make a big difference."
"Of course it will. I heard nothing but good about you so I'm sure you will turn the place aro
und." His pancakes were already cold. Hopefully, Miss Hawks would not insist on her promised tea. "I will visit the bank and have the necessary papers drawn up. You can sign them any time after tomorrow."
Unfortunately, she did not make it that easy for him. It took another ten minutes to get rid of her, and even then he had to promise to visit the Manor before she would even think of leaving him alone. A strange feeling settled over him as he watched her leave. Somehow, he knew that Miss Hawks was going to bring a lot of trouble his way.
He left the inn and crossed over to the store after pushing his cold pancakes around for a while. From all appearances Cathy had opened its doors early and already waited on several customers. She smiled as he went by and continued measuring out ten pounds of flour for Mistress Yardbow. Aaron had to admit that Cathy was born for this. The place ran smoother and looked neater than when he had handled it by himself.
Leaving Cathy to her business, he went into the back room and then into the ice room. He opened the trapdoor and climbed down.
The tarp, he found, had been thrown back, a fairly sure sign that Cathy had been snooping. He checked hurriedly but the wrapped presents were not disturbed. Disbelieving, he took another look at exactly what he had carried over. The size of the pile made his back ache with the thought of moving it all.
No wonder the trip across had been so difficult. From what he could see, there was a hell of a lot more here than Gore and Hill had ever moved into the room before. Another five rifles had been added to the load, with ammunition for each. He also had four more Model 12s. Several one-pound bars of silver had been packed in one crate with a solar powered adding machine and one hundred rolls of paper, presumably so he could keep track of how he spent the silver. The whole pile had been stacked in such a haphazard fashion that several cardboard boxes had fallen over and opened because their tops had not been sealed down.
And then he noticed a most peculiar thing. The open tops showed that most of the fallen boxes had been entirely empty.