Sunstone

by RW Krpoun

  “And now somebody is reopening the business.”

  “Somebody who knows more about it than feathers and chicken bones. But even he needs old stuff to bring it off.”

  “You think he’s going to come for Wurfel?”

  “Nope, I think that string was about to play out. I expect the doc was about to join the work force when that crew got done digging. I figure they got the scent of what they need, and they’re just bringing the stuff together.”

  “To do what?”

  “Well, we know they have knives and a bowl for storing Human hearts, so I’m guessing its not going to be to throw a tea party. I think the key is the orphans-Green Coat was interested in that place when he passed by.”

  “You think the kids are why they are here?”

  “I think the knives and the bowl are the reason they are here; the kids are the most common part of the recipe that I can see. There’s a lot of orphans and orphanages in Mexico-this one just happens to be conveniently located.”

  “So maybe its time to relocate the kids.”

  “Yeah.”

  We made a dark camp about fifteen miles out from the dig and I set up a guard roster in case Green Coat or his comrades came looking for their friends and stumbled upon us. We gave Nhi first watch and matched coins for the rest, and I ended up with last watch.

  Leaning back against my saddle with my Krag across my lap, relying more on my ears that my sight, I reflected on the many hours I had spent on sentry duty, from marching a guard-post line in the States with an unloaded rifle and dress blues, to hours spent with a full box and one up the spout watching for signs of infiltrators or an all-out attack.

  I wondered what my brother was doing. Probably asleep in his rented room, dreaming of sums and addition, maybe about the pretty girl he was currently sparking on. I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to him at home-I had been a teen when he was old enough to start following me around. He had been in school learning his letters when I had been soldiering in China and making the Philippines safe for decent people. Although upon reflection I don’t recall ever seeing any decent people in the Islands, although that could have been because we hadn’t finished the job at that point.

  Still, he was the only family I had to wonder about. Mac and Captain were a sort of family, but they were both snoring just feet away, so I had no reason to wonder on their account. There had been a girl when I was a young buck with no scars worth mentioning, a pretty farm girl who wore an ironed dress every day and who always smelled of soap and lemon drops. I had invested a deal of time kissing her and on occasion she had been a little slow in slapping away my hands. Back in my rented room I had a stack of letters she had written me while I was in the Army and the last one had explained that she had met a nice boy who was the cousin of a friend, and that she would always remember me.

  There hadn’t been any nice girls since then; soldiers are not held in high esteem by most honest women, and Pinkertons do not fare much better. The widow who rented me my room was young and did not seem to tend towards deep sorrow over her loss, nor did she seem too inclined to abandon the institution of marriage after one failed go at it, but I had trouble taking initiative these days, and I wasn’t home much, anyhow. In the back of my mind I had the idea that a woman who had practical experience with husbands who died might be just the sort I should be looking for in terms of a potential wife.

  Looking up at the stars it occurred to me that Green Coat might solve my domestic issues and cure my curse in one swift go before all this was over. I decided to write my bother a letter and send it at my first opportunity so at least he would know where I cashed in, if indeed I did end up taking a dirt nap down here.

  My Krag warming under my hands, I sat in the darkness and waited for the sun to rise.

  Chapter Eight

  The locals had buried the bodies at the cavalry outpost and looted it of household goods and food, but otherwise left it alone. Captain roped a mount for Wurfel and the stables yielded up a saddle, which was a great relief for both the scholar and Perch. We didn’t dally long-the locals were hiding or run off, and that is never a situation that should give a stranger any comfort or peace of mind.

  Nhi rode alongside me much of the day which put Pork Chop in a foul mood. She didn’t say much other than to show me her newly-acquired binoculars, but she stayed alert. I don’t care for a woman who chatters so I had to admit she was good company.

  We were getting close when she casually leaned over and tapped my arm. “Men watching us,” she said quietly, twitching her head to the north.

  “Huh.” A hundred yards further on I gave it a look without seeing anything. “Mac, Captain?”

  “Indios,” the big man drawled casually. “Two-three bucks with rifles. There’s another group to the south.”

  “Watching us?”

  “Watching the presidio.”

  “A sentry line.”

  “Yep.”

  “Could they be the monk’s people?”

  “Maybe. I didn’t see any but Mexicans amongst the adults, though. These are real backwoods types, no Spanish blood at all.”

  “Doc?”

  “I do not know anything about them.”

  “Great.”

  The presidio was buttoned up tight, but they let us in without any fuss. Brother Andrew was waiting for us when we came through; he threw a look at Tobias that promised further discussion of his attire but moved to meet me. “Welcome, friends. We are glad to see you.”

  “We’re glad to be here,” I swing down from Pork Chop. “Looks like you have more people here.”

  “Some local families. To be honest we could use the extra hands.”

  “Speaking of extras, we brought some hardware the Mexican Army won’t need anymore, and we spotted a sentry line on our way in.”

  “Yes, we are under the early stages of a siege. Brother Paul tells me they are Chuj, a warlike tribe native to the deep reaches of the southern Yucatan; he spent a great deal of time in that region.”

  “How did a monk spot them?”

  “A very powerful spyglass. Brother Paul is a student of astronomy and archeology.”

  “Quite a gathering you have here, Brother. To keep things to a minimum Green Coat’s band wiped out a cavalry outpost and then moved to a ruined village where they dug up…doc, what was that thing’s name?”

  “A cuauhxicalli.”

  “Yeah.” From his expression I didn’t have to ask if the monk knew what that was. “Green Coat took it and left for parts unknown. There were two normal men who had little black statues which let them control the crazies. We put the whole bunch down, and rescued the doc there. He was abducted and forced to locate stuff for them, this cuauhxicalli being one of them. Plus they took three glass knives from a collection in Sinaloa. They also are looking for a lot of other stuff, likely celts, weird flints, stone bowls, and maybe a codex. That last we are basing on a journal a Mexican investigator was keeping. The investigator’s dead, by the way.”

  “A codex? Are you certain?”

  “No. But the Mexican investigator seemed to be. He could be the reason they hit the cavalry outpost.”

  “A codex bodes ill. Virtually all were destroyed centuries ago-if one survived, it would be because it was particularly dangerous.”

  “You know, this might be a good time to take the kids and head someplace safer.”

  “I have given that a great deal of thought,” Brother Andrew sighed. “My dilemma is that I am not certain there is anywhere that is more secure than this location. Few Church holdings are walled, none are garrisoned, and neither the rebels nor the Mexican Army have a strong presence in this region. The commanding general in particular is not a man to take such reports as I might make seriously, and the rebels are not strong supporters of the Church. Even if we were not being watched the difficulty of moving our children long distances is formidable, if not overwhelming.” He surveyed the walls. “Sitting here waiting is not easy either, yet that seems to
be the best course.”

  “Do you have anyone who can slip through the net and deliver a letter to Xalapla?”

  “Yes, several in fact.”

  “Good. There’s a man up there who might help. Green Coat was supposed to secure this place, but your preparations changed the plan. I expect more crazies will be on their way here with a new plan. Once I get the letters written my people are going to check something in Sinaloa, see if there is information there that could help. From there, I don’t know exactly, but keep your eyes peeled for us because we might need to return in a hurry. I really don’t want to end up inside a siege, but nobody ever cares what I want.”

  The monk smiled. “The Lord cares, my friend. But He must set the tools He has to hand to difficult tasks.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s true. Do you have another store room with a lock? We need to keep the doc handy in case he sold us a load of wooden nickels.”

  “I have no intention of remaining here,” that worthy announced.

  “You can stay here or you can get shot trying to leave,” I advised him without heat. “When I know more about whose side you’re on we can discuss your future in greater detail.”

  “Mister Peak,” he was completely sincere. “Anyone who remains in this place will die shortly, and die very badly. I urge you to allow me to leave, and to depart yourself.”

  I sighed, and looked around the presidio. I didn’t doubt he was telling the truth: this place had been built at least a hundred years ago, maybe a lot more, and maintenance had been spotty until lately. It gave a brave show with its new gate and whitewash, but I knew the walls were not all that strong. “You’re right. We’re all going to die here.” I turned to Brother Andrew. “Where is that storeroom?”

  “This ain’t our brightest idea, hoss,” Captain observed as we rode back out of the presidio after a hasty meal, Tobias still in tow but without the mules.

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a really good idea in my life,” I nodded. “Mostly I’ve taken big risks for low pay. But there’s no point in changing now.”

  “Yup.”

  “Who did you write?” Nhi asked after a while.

  “I sent a note to a contact in Xalapla asking him to send help, and for him to get two real letters north of the border. One letter is to our boss letting him know what is going on down here, Sibley, the accounts, all of it; the other was to my younger brother so he’ll know where I died.”

  “You believe you will die here?”

  “Let’s say I’m losing confidence in my ability to survive.” That was true, although frankly I was feeling better than I had in quite some time-the faint feeling of unspoken dread that lurked in the back of my mind for so long was gone, and I had a strong suspicion that the fits had been lifted from me. That alone was no small reason to see this thing through.

  She smiled. “This is not a bad place. There are worse things than to die fighting in the defense of the Church.”

  “Yeah. Plus it has to count for something in the final accounting.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Sinaloa didn’t look much different than it had the last time we had seen it, except that there were no crazies in view. “Less’n three days since we sat here the first time,” Captain observed solemnly. “Feels like three weeks.”

  “Yeah,” I spun the saddle Colt’s cylinder, checking the loads. “And not a dull three weeks at that.”

  “This won’t be easy.” Mac said quietly. “In amongst the houses they can slip up on you.”

  “I’ll go in by myself on foot and look for the papers and the rest of you can come in fast if you hear shooting,” I suggested.

  Three heads shook in unison, while Tobias kept his own counsel. “Two in, two back in reserve, Tobias as a horse-holder if needed,” Captain countered.

  “OK. Nhi, you up to going with me?” She nodded calmly. “Good, you’re the best with a quiet weapon. Anybody think they might have left a garrison?”

  “Who knows?” Captain shrugged. “They’re trying to create walking dead men, and you just can’t second-guess a jasper in that league. How close do you want to get as a group?”

  “Edge of town with a straight shot to the house,” I passed him the sketch Wurfel had made and dug out my lock picks. “No point in being too subtle.

  “Sounds about as good as it will get.”

  I didn’t take my Krag in order to have a hand free; Nhi had a hatchet in each hand but didn’t appear to be too concerned about the conditions. She took a long look at the sketch and slipped down the street like a shadow; I followed a dozen paces behind, M1911 in hand.

  The house was not far into town, and not all that far from Sibley’s place, on the good side of the town so far as I could tell. As Nhi turned the corner I heard a noise like someone slapped a plank against the leather cover of a buggy and another like someone dropped a sack of potatoes; hurrying forward around the corner I saw a peon face-down across the street with one of her hatchets buried in his skull. Nhi smiled faintly and wriggled her fingers in a walking motion, indicating he had come out of the open doors of a nearby stable.

  “Straggler or part of a larger force?” I whispered.

  She shrugged before darting across the street to recover her hatchet, and we eased on down the street, freezing when the house in question came into view and we saw that the kitchen door was standing open.

  Slipping my match case from my pocket, I put one between my teeth and returned the case to my watch-pocket. Gesturing for her to follow I trotted across the street to press my back against the wall, and then eased to the door, listening carefully. Hearing nothing, I glanced back tapping my chest and pointed right; Nhi had stowed her hatchets and was twirling her sword, limbering up, I suppose. She nodded once, a decisive short chin-drop, and I stepped through the door, side-stepping to the right to avoid being silhouetted while she moved smoothly around to the left.

  The shutters were closed-the only light in the kitchen was coming through the door, splitting the room into a shaft of hard sunlight and deep shadows; I swept the muzzle of the M1911 from left to right, both hands snug but not too tight on the weapon’s butt. When I was sure we were alone I lifted the glass chimney on a kerosene lamp on the nearby table and lit it as Nhi swung the door shut and latched it.

  Pistol in my right, lamp in my left, I led the way; Wurfel had given us a fairly detailed description of the house, and it was short work to find the den, which smelled of old paper and expensive tobacco. All the windows were shuttered, which made the house a bit warm but hid us and our light from prying eyes.

  “I wonder if any answers are in these?” I muttered, eyeing the richly-bound books and filled the shelves and were piled on the table and chairs.

  Nhi shrugged, holding up a knife of volcanic glass she had taken from a glass-fronted case. “Three gone.”

  “Good point.”

  Wurfel had said the man had concealed one packet of papers in a cunning hidey-hole in a carved mahogany bookstand, and had slipped the other behind a book case. Leaving the stand to Nhi I set my shoulder to the bookcase and managed to shift the heavy bastard a couple inches with no small amount of undignified straining. It wasn’t much space, but by taking off my fingerless glove and using the hoof-pick on my pocket knife I was able to fish out a packet of papers written in something that wasn’t English. Latin, maybe.

  The bookstand wasn’t going all that well either: Nhi had tipped it onto its side and was sitting astraddle it, prying and probing at the decorative carvings under the book platform with an ice pick. She spat an unladylike word in Spanish as the pick bent, but something gave amongst the carving, and a moment later a chunk of the stand that looked as solid as the day the trunk was harvested fell into her hand, exposing a packet of papers lying in a shallow hollow.

  “Keep it in case one of us doesn’t make it,” I waved it away when she offered the packet to me. “Half is better than none.”

  She nodded and tucked it into her turban.


  “See anything else we should take? Then let’s get out of here.”

  The den had two doors, both opening into hallways that ultimately led to the kitchen. I took the one we hadn’t used before, which also led to the front door.

  In the Philippines it had often been dirty, close-quarter work, with the locals using the dense underbrush to pop out on Uncle Sam’s valiant boys in blue and khaki because their armory of cold steel and smoothbore muskets forced them to close as quickly as possible before the Krags got going in sufficient style. We patrolled in small groups, usually not more than a couple squads, which was fine and good if you had enough room or warning to bring the rifles into play. The kids they sent us spent the patrols lathered and tense, fearing the foliage as much as the bolos, but lucky for them the Regiment had a solid leavening of old hands, NCOs and long service privates who had faced the Dons, and even a few China hands like myself. We held them together until they had survived a few ruckuses and learned the ropes.

  Walking those paths, the greenery pushing close on both sides, I had found myself trusting my instincts, learning to listen to the little noises along my spine that date back to when men were not the top of the food chain, learning to hunt in the truest sense. It is a skill or habit that has never left me, and which comes back hard when things are tense.

  Instead of heading for the kitchen when I entered the hall I froze for a second, then slowly turned left, lifting my M1911 even as the knob of the front door rattled and turned. I heard Nhi hiss when she saw the crates and bags stacked to the side of the door, but I paid her no mind. I can’t say what caught my attention, but one thing I have learned is that you never question that sort of warning.

  The door was opened by an Indio, a squat brown man with a broad, seamed face and lank black hair held back by a folded gray bandanna wearing a new white dress shirt that was a size too big, whipcord riding breeches, and battered sandals on filthy feet. An expensive embroidered red silk scarf wound around his waist served him as a belt, supporting a nickel-plated Smith & Wesson Russian revolver and a sheathed machete. Behind him I could see a wagon in the middle of the street and another man walking past.