I went down the stairs slowly, casting looks around like someone was going to jump out and yell, Boo!
No one did, but I spied Paulina and Eli sitting on a bench across from the desk. Shit. Margaret was yakking away at them. She was in the middle of a long story, judging by the glazed look on Paulina’s face.
“And don’t no one know who he is,” she said. “Looks like he’s been dead two, three days or longer. Dumped by the road.”
“What killed him?” Eli asked, showing a polite interest.
“Skull bashed in, I heard,” Margaret said with relish.
Paulina glanced at me, and her eyes widened. That was enough to tell me I should have covered my neck somehow. Sporting an unusual injury after a dead man shows up . . . not a good idea. I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out a bandanna I used when the dust was blowing. I tied it around my neck and picked up my bags again.
“We wondered where you were,” Eli said cheerfully. Our hostess looked at me with a little surprise. She’d been so excited by her story she hadn’t heard me, and so she hadn’t seen my neck . . . which was good.
“You done missed breakfast, young lady,” she said.
I was going to have to talk. It would seem too weird if I didn’t. I said, as quietly as I could without sounding peculiar, “Overslept.”
“I can get you some leftover oatmeal.”
I nodded, smiling. Doling words out as sparingly as I could.
“You have something you can put it in?” Eli said.
“I got a box,” she said, nodding. She vanished for a couple of minutes, returning with a cardboard cigar box lined with wax paper, and cup of hot coffee.
I accepted the box. “Thanks,” I said.
Margaret said, “You don’t sound like yourself. You better take it easy.”
Gunnies didn’t take it easy, ever. Not when they were on the job.
“Drink your coffee while I go fill the car,” Eli suggested, and Paulina and I settled into a calm silence. She could have talked at me, but she didn’t, and I was grateful. The hot coffee felt both good and bad going down, but I did perk up as I drank it. By the time Eli returned with the car, the cup was empty.
“Bye, Miss Margaret,” I said, and Paulina gave the older woman a bob of the head as we emerged into the sunshine. I stood on the porch in the strong morning light, and I shut my eyes. I had not thought I’d see this morning, or any other morning, ever again. I opened my eyes to find that the grigoris were waiting for me and looking grim.
We got into the car, me in the back seat. I put Jackhammer across my knees. I would really enjoy shooting someone today, if the occasion arose. At the very least, I wouldn’t mind.
Paulina drove out of town. I spared a thought for Chauncey and his two indifferent charges. I hoped he was more comfortable and relaxed than I was.
I took one look at the congealed oatmeal and pitched it out the window. I kept the box. Boxes were always handy. The bright landscape looked empty and serene today. We climbed up hills and wound around them to come down the other side. We saw deer out in the broad, flat area, but they were lost to sight in a moment.
I hadn’t been sure if Paloma lay in Mexico or Texoma, but early that morning we saw a border marker. It was leaning to one side and the paint was peeling. Casual.
I liked it.
I also liked the silence. None of us was in a chatty mood. At least I had a good reason, given the state of my throat. I didn’t even want to imagine what it would feel like today if Eli hadn’t done his healing. I did wonder who the Peter look-alike had been, and why his body had been transformed to look like Eli’s brother. But I was giving my throat the morning off, and my wondering was silent.
Not a word was spoken until we stopped for lunch in a thriving Mexican hill town called Ciudad Azul. I don’t know if the city had been named for the paint job, or if the name had inspired the decoration. At least half of the buildings were painted some shade of blue. It was strange and cheerful.
There was a festival going on in Ciudad Azul, going by the blue and green banners and streamers hung everywhere at the top of the hill. Much of the town lay around the bottom, but the big public buildings were on a mesa on top. Even on the elevation the banners and streamers weren’t doing much fluttering today, but there was plenty of other movement. A large crowd was strolling around, taking in the decorations and air of celebration. All these folks were dressed in their brightest and best. I felt dusty and sweaty as I climbed out of the car.
At least it would be easy to get a meal. There were food stalls and makeshift bars set up around the square.
In Texoma and Mexico, if a town is any size at all, it has a square. The church, or the courthouse, is in the middle of the square. Whichever institution doesn’t get the middle spot, that one’s always nearby. In Ciudad Azul the courthouse had claimed the middle, so the church had grabbed the whole west side of the square. It was huge.
I looked around at all the bright colors and the hum of activity, all the bustle of buying and selling. Normally, this degree of celebration meant that it was some saint’s day. My mother had cooked at saint’s-day festivals while she was single, to bring in some more cash. I could almost taste her churros, and recalled the pleasure of watching a parade.
I felt a little hum inside, like my motor was starting up again.
Then I saw the gallows on the courthouse lawn.
Public hangings were bad news. Two separate people, Jackson and my friend Dan Brick, had told me about being in towns on their judgment day. It was a miserable spectacle in and of itself. Even worse, the excitement of it often churned the crowd into a frenzy.
No stranger could gain any benefit from being present on judgment day. I could pass for a native, but Eli and Paulina could not. The Mexican attitude toward wizardry was very unpredictable. On a feast day I wouldn’t have worried. On a hanging day . . .
“You need to get out of here,” I whispered to Paulina. I jerked her arm to pull her back to the car. I didn’t know where Eli had gotten off to; from the way he’d hustled off, I guessed he was visiting the town latrine.
“We have to eat,” Paulina said in a loud voice. “I smell good food!” This drew the attention of the closest food vendors, as she’d intended. They all began talking to her in Spanish, which she did not understand. I spoke some Spanish, like nearly everyone in Texoma, but I couldn’t keep up with the Ciudad Azul rapid delivery. Paulina, having committed to a role, let herself be drawn over to the food stalls. She studied the offerings with deep interest, as if she were some kind of expert. (It looked like goat and grilled snake to me, and the usual beans and rice. Tortillas, salsa, sopapillas, churros.) She hadn’t noticed the gallows, or else she just thought I was being silly.
Eli appeared at my side. He said, “What is she doing?”
“She decided to be the big spender and make the crowd like her,” I said. “Don’t know why. But today’s a hanging day, and we need to get the hell out of here.” I nodded toward the gallows, and his eyes widened.
A tiny woman wrapped in a bright shawl began to talk to us, and I tried to follow along. Finally she said, “¿Es este tu amante?” looking from me to Eli in a meaningful way.
“¡Sí!” I said brightly, wrapping an arm around Eli’s waist.
“¡Dale un beso!” the ancient woman said to Eli with the air of a captain giving an order. She waved a wrinkled claw. She was clearly drunk.
“What did she say?”
“She thinks you’re my fiancé,” I said. “She expects you to kiss me.”
He gathered me up and laid one on me. I was real surprised, but I couldn’t very well push away. After all, there are worse things than being kissed. I did my best to look enthusiastic. If stretching up hadn’t made my neck ache so much, it would have been real nice. Way too nice.
“Hey, you two, not in front of everyone!” Paulina called gaily. She would have enjoyed cutting my heart out at that moment, her eyes told me. Eli and I went over to her, me cli
nging to his arm (but very lightly), and he said, “You found something good for our lunch?”
“This beef looks good,” she said.
“Goat,” I murmured.
“Goat,” she said, giving me a look that would have shrunk my balls if I’d had any.
For the first time I wished I could speak Russian. I needed to explain a few things to my companions, and the chances were good that most of the people around us had some English. I had a little French. “Madame,” I said, smiling, “voyez-vous l’echafaud?” Do you see the scaffold?
Her jaw dropped down for a gratifying moment, and she glanced toward the courthouse lawn. This time she registered what she was seeing. “C’est une structure pour pendre les gens?” The structure is for hanging people?
“Oui.” I nodded. I was sorry the second after, when my throat throbbed. I gasped and put my hand to the bandanna. “We need to skedaddle,” I croaked.
“What does this have to do with us?” Eli said.
“They all get drunk and excited and things get crazy,” I said.
The grigoris looked at me without understanding.
“Surely we can get some food and be on our way.” Paulina eyed me narrowly.
“This is the most fun these people have all year,” I said. “They’re going to get pretty riled up. You’re infidels here. We got to get out.”
“So far everyone has been friendly.” Paulina literally looked down her nose when she said this.
“Take my word for it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m just gonna drift away from you two in the crowd, and leave you to get out of this yourself. Or not. I can’t kill this many people.”
The massive front doors of the church opened, each needing a man to push it. The inside of the church was a dark cavern, but the procession moved into the light, beginning its progress to the gallows. It was led by a man carrying a cross on a rod, and after the crucifer came an armed guard. Behind the guard shuffled the condemned prisoner, his face covered with a white hood. His hands were bound in front of him. He was escorted on either side by two priests, both wearing long black cassocks. An armed guard walked behind them, too.
A woman screamed and lunged forward. Maybe she wanted to see the prisoner one last time because she loved him, or maybe she wanted to gouge his eyes out because he’d killed her husband. Either way, she went for his face. The prisoner, who could not see the woman hurtling toward him, turned his head in the direction of the scream. The priest on the prisoner’s right backhanded the lunging woman. She went staggering, and the people in the crowd grabbed her arms, to keep her from trying again. But she kept shrieking, and the crowd began moving restlessly.
“Okay,” Paulina said abruptly. We began to drift between the little clumps of people. It was good they were milling around, so our retreat was not obvious. As we went, I dropped some money on the table of a baker and smiled at him as I picked up some rolls (at least that was what I guessed they were). And I grabbed up some meat, skewered and roasted. The meat seller was so involved in the spectacle that he only glanced down at the money and nodded.
I had my canteen over my shoulder, as well as Jackhammer, and I made sure we passed by a pump. Eli filled up my canteen, and his, while I kept watch. Paulina, of course, hadn’t brought hers. Because she was always safe, since she was the mighty wizard Paulina.
We progressed cautiously, steadily, keeping smiles on our faces, while the condemned man continued his slow progress to the gallows. The crowd’s excitement keyed higher with every step he took. More people began calling things to the condemned man, though I couldn’t understand the words. It sounded like wolves howling. Even Paulina looked alarmed at the way the crowd ebbed and flowed . . . almost in unison.
Finally we were back at the car. I gave a happy wave to the drunken scum of the earth leaning against it. They smiled back, showing their broken teeth. At least one of them had a pistol, held loosely in his hand.
If I killed them, the crowd would come down on us.
“Give them money, Eli,” I said. “Now.”
He pulled out a wad of money and handed it all around. The men were delighted and tipped their sombreros or cowboy hats. Three of them made their way to a nearby liquor seller.
The armed one stood his ground. We couldn’t waste the time. I worked my way around the car. It was easy because he only had eyes for Eli. When I was behind him, I held a knife to his back, the tender part below the ribs.
“Alejate! O sufriras.” I hoped my Spanish was clear enough. I was telling him to get away or he would suffer. My throat hurt every time I opened my mouth, and I wanted my words to count.
He nodded, just a jerk of the head. To sweeten him, I handed around the cash I had in my pocket, and he took it so fast I wondered if it had ever been in my hand.
“Alejate,” I said in a deadlier voice, and I’m sure my expression matched, because it really hurt to produce that angry tone. Off he went. God bless him. He saved his own life and maybe ours.
I got in the driver’s seat. “You two crouch down,” I said. No sense reminding the locals that there were tattooed wizards present at this glorious and holy moment in the history of Ciudad Azul.
I drove very slowly out of the square, trying to be invisible. The throng parted before me—once they noticed the car—and leaving wasn’t as hard as I’d feared, since we were heading away from the central attraction. The screaming increased in frequency and intensity. Then there fell a few seconds of breathless silence. I did not have to look back to know that the man danced on the end of the rope. The crowd roared. The gallows of the Blue City drank another life.
Very soon I was driving through an empty town. And then I was out of Ciudad Azul, into the countryside. I drove as fast as I could. I wanted to put miles between us and the town. When I figured we were a safe distance south, I spotted a clump of trees that would provide a bit of shade. I pulled underneath. There was a long silence.
“You speak French,” Paulina said, sounding just as surprised as I’d expected. Again, the dog that could stand up and talk had confounded her. To her, this was the most notable thing about our visit to Ciudad Azul.
I started laughing, and it hurt like hell. “Un peu. Right?”
“I think so,” Eli said. “I’m not fluent.”
“Me either,” I said. I took a big drink of water, and that helped a lot. “We had a French priest at the Catholic church in Segundo Mexia. He taught any kid who wanted to learn, for free.” I didn’t add that my mother had made me go. Free learning was precious to her, not always to me.
“Is there any other hidden talent you have?” Paulina said, sounding the opposite of admiring.
I shook my head, sparing my throat.
“Anything else we should know about you?”
That was harder to answer. “I’ve saved your ass so far,” I said. She had no reply for that. But my conscience was nipping at me. “Thanks for hitting that thing on the head last night,” I said. “I thought I was going to die.”
“I think that was the idea,” she said.
I had nothing to say to that. Whether it had been me or Eli or Paulina who was the primary target, that false Peter had been designed to lure us in and do some damage.
I got out of the car and stretched, trying to relieve the tension. I was weak in the legs. “We need to eat and get on our way,” I said.
We sat in a little circle, me with my back against a tree. I divided the food. Eating wasn’t going to be comfortable, but I needed food. I chewed real thoroughly, and I swallowed with care. I ate until the pain got too nagging. Finally I stopped, worn out from the effort. I took a long drink of water.
“Let me look,” Eli said.
I pulled off the bandanna and stuck it back in my pocket. Paulina looked uncomfortable when she looked at my neck, and Eli tried hard not to wince. And this was after he’d worked some healing. Eli got some goop out of Paulina’s bag and smeared it on my bruises. It stunk, of course. B
ut after a few minutes, I was able to think about talking, which we needed to do. Dammit.
“Who is Peter?” I whispered. It came out hoarse.
“My younger brother.”
“Whoever left that false thing in your room, it was someone who knows what he looks like.” I was glad we were out in the middle of nowhere, so they could hear me without me raising my voice.
“I was going to find a telephone in Ciudad Azul so I could try to call Peter,” Eli said. “I’m really worried. He should be back at school in San Diego, after his stay with my parents.”
“You didn’t know the dead man? When he went back to his real . . .” I hadn’t seen the man’s true face myself.
“I’d never seen him. Paulina?”
“Nor I.”
“Now you’re just lying,” I said, meeting her cold eyes.
Paulina waited too long to deny it.
Eli said, “Who was it?” There was an edge to his voice I hadn’t heard before, at least when he spoke to his buddy Paulina.
“It might have been Timofei Bazarov,” Paulina said. “The body went bad so fast I can’t be sure.”
That explained the odor hovering around the car. The stink must have been terrible if Paulina’s odor-away spell hadn’t conquered it.
“Could Timofei have been following us all this time?” Eli seemed both puzzled and outraged. “Who could have put such a powerful spell on him, and to what purpose?”
Sometimes I just couldn’t understand these people. “Who would run to a body that looked like his brother?” That was a lot of words, and it hurt.
Eli muttered, “Me.”
“Who would have been choked?”
“Me.” He shot to his feet to pace restlessly up and down in the scant shade, not looking at either of us. “And I would not have fought back as hard, because I believed it was my brother. So I must thank you, Gunnie.”
I didn’t want to look at anyone, either. I closed my eyes. My neck hurt. I felt tired. I felt used up. I thought of my cabin with a longing I could almost taste. If I’d been a wizard like these two, I’d have sent myself home.
An Easy Death Page 16