“You want me to shepherd the girl, huh?” he said. “Oh, I’ll shepherd her.” He held the parasol as he would if it were a shotgun and aimed the tip at the Raven.
She raised her head as far as her weak little neck would allow and inched away from him hopelessly, crawling on her stomach.
He stepped on her back to stop her from moving. He hesitated. It was a long time coming. The Raven was powerless against him. He could do anything he wanted to her. But he no longer wanted revenge. He only wanted to survive. But he couldn’t just run away now. The Raven had to burn now or he would burn later. He stalled again. Striking her with lightning didn’t feel right.
“Not this way,” said Cross. “You deserve better.” He hooked the parasol on one of Gimlet’s straps and grabbed the Peacemaker, the weapon that killed him.
Gimlet leapt in his path and roared.
He patted Gimlet on her broad shoulders. “Don’t look.” He stepped around the cornurus and crossed himself. He cocked the Colt’s hammer. “Well, this is goodbye, Raven. May the Great Goddess have mercy—”
Four pale horses trotted in their direction, hauling a carriage-sized blob of blackness. Was it yet another trick of the underworld or perhaps even a scheme from the Nothing itself?
As a precaution, he paid attention to the black hunk dragging behind the horses. He recognized it as one of the ferrymen’s flying boats. It glided toward him, skipping wildly over the Nothings like they were waves, but never actually touching the ground. He had never seen one running wild like that. No Ankou was present in the driver seat, which was even more unusual.
When the boat closed in, he grabbed the horses’ reins. Peacemaker in hand, and ready to shoot anything that moved, he checked around and under the boat. It hovered above the ground as though it would rather not be touched by the grimy fingertips of the underworld.
Cross climbed inside the cabin area of the boat and investigated. Inside, he discovered burned Tribulation soldiers. All had deteriorated into Nothing. He crossed himself and sifted through what was left of their belongings.
He searched their pockets and recovered a pocket watch from one, a gold coin from another and a satchel on the third. Inside the satchel lay a map, and a makeup-kit with the name “Tivoli” stitched inside it.
He’d heard that name before when he was alive. A friend of his old boss, Mr. Carson, was named Tivoli. He tucked the map inside his pants.
A black hand grabbed his wrist. The arm was attached to the soul who owned the satchel. The man was on the verge of second death, half dead and half deader. He was missing an ear, the same ear the man in the water didn’t have.
“Found the last Toran,” the man rambled. “I can get you out of here. Just get me devil’s water.”
The combination of the man’s familiar voice, the name Tivoli, and his missing ear were too much of a coincidence. “Who the hell are you?” asked Cross.
“Balfour,” said the man. “Clem Balfour now. True name is Tivoli. Mark Tivoli.”
Cross took a deep, long stare into the man’s eyes and remembered. “You’re the man in the water.”
Tivoli grabbed Cross by the shirt and pulled their faces close. “Charles?” Tivoli’s other hand turned black before Cross’s eyes.
“Let’s get you out of this boat.” Cross dragged Tivoli to the doorway of the cabin. The man began to chip away. Cross halted. Not wanting to move Tivoli’s brittle spirit again, Cross hoped out of the boat. Tivoli hung over the edge of the boat.
“What was that you said about the last Toran?” asked Cross.
“It’s buried. It’s safe.”
“But the Toran’s a myth. Souls search, but they never find anything.”
“I can show you.”
Tivoli’s condition suggested he wouldn’t survive the next few minutes, let alone go on a grand adventure to find the last Toran—if it ever existed in the first place. Tivoli could have been talking hysterically as a result of being so close to second death. But if the Toran were real, Cross could escape the underworld entirely. But he needed Tivoli to spill its location before the Nothing took over his spirit.
“Tell me where it is,” said Cross.
“A bone orchard,” said Tivoli.
“What bone orchard?”
“Valley of the heads. Skull Hill. There’s a head…” Tivoli fainted.
Cross shook him. Tivoli regained consciousness.
“Which head?” asked Cross. “What does it look like? What kind of markings? Have a number? A name?”
“A name,” said Tivoli. “You must ask for—” Tivoli gagged. “Water. Water.”
“You must ask for water?”
“Me.” Tivoli’s neck turned black. “Need—water.”
“You talk first. I’ll give you the water later. Now, I got Skull Hill. The Valley of the Heads. But under which skull? It must have a name or something.”
Tivoli passed out again.
“All right, all right. Don’t burn!” said Cross. “I’ll get you water.” He raced over to Gimlet and grabbed the parasol off the straps. He spotted the Raven’s top hat half buried in the black sand. The Raven was gone. The Nothing’s must’ve taken her.
He placed her top hat to his chest. “May the great Goddess have mercy on your soul.” He crossed himself and headed back to the flying boat. The Raven leaned up against the boat right next to Tivoli.
“Get back!” Cross kicked the Raven away from Tivoli whose entire spirit had already shriveled to Nothing. Sprinkles of the hollow man of ash floated off in the icy wind.
Cross aimed the umbrella at the Raven. “I should’ve burned you.”
“If you do that,” said the Raven, “you’ll never escape the underworld. You’ll always be damned like the miserable soul you are. If I were you, I’d keep me alive.”
“What did he tell you?”
“A name. The name of a skull.”
Cross knelt in front of her. “What name? Tell me.”
The Raven slumped forward unconscious. Cross caressed her cheek. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Raven? Don’t burn!” He opened the parasol and sprinkled water on her lips. “This is fresh water. Not like that burnt devil’s water. Drink it up.”
The water dribbled down her face.
“Please, Raven. You can’t burn before telling me. I’m your friend. I found your hat for you. Want it back?” He dusted it off and lifted her eyelids to peer into her deathly gray eyes. “I’ll get you some help, all right? I’ll help you. And when you’re all better you can tell me the name.”
Cross shined the light of his Latin cross on the boat. The Nothings slithered out of the cabin, including the one-eared Mark Tivoli, a.k.a. Clem Balfour. Cross gently laid the Raven in the empty cabin with her top hat and hastily tied Gimlet’s reins to the dead horses as the lead.
Gimlet snapped at the horses to show them she was in charge. They snorted and stared at the cornurus. Cross gave his magic touch to all three of the ghost horses. In an act of goodwill, they blew on him and nuzzled him.
A painful scream woke Charles. Mr. Beckwourth sat up in his bed clutching the injury he sustained in his fall.
“That horse threw you pretty good,” said Charles. “You really chewed that gravel. I gotta say, for an old man, you can really stand the gaff, but good thing I was there.” Charles hopped out of bed and slipped his legs through his pants.
Thunder rumbled outside and rain tapped against the attic window. Mr. Beckwourth mumbled under his breath and plopped back down on his pillow.
“One day I’m gonna be the most respected Bronc Buster that ever lived,” said Charles buttoning his shirt. “I’m gonna do rodeos and everything.”
“Boy, you ain’t even fifteen years yet.”
“Two more years, I will be. And just think of all the skills I’ll have by then.”
Mr. Beckwourth leaned up in his bed again and yelped like a panicked coyote. “Look, the boss is coming by train today, and I’m in no condition to ride into
town. You’re gonna have to go in my place.”
Charles stuffed a foot into his holey boot. He didn’t want to go to town in the cold, pouring rain. “But I’ve never been to town alone,” he said. “I can’t—I mean what about Mrs. Carson? Who’s gonna tend the ranch all day?”
“I’ll take all that up with Annabelle—I mean Mrs. Carson. You just go prepare the carriage. We shan’t miss the boss’s arrival now.”
Fully dressed, Charles turned to slog out of the attic. He wasn’t looking forward to the long drive though the rain storm.
“Hold on.” Mr. Beckwourth lifted his pocket watch from the table and dangled it in the air. “Take this. The boss will be on the 12:09.”
Charles skipped over to grab the watch. Mr. Beckwourth yanked it back.
“Break this watch,” he said. “I break you, boy.”
Charles smiled, nodded, and took the watch out of Mr. Beckwourth’s grasp.
“And grab the merchant list from the kitchen,” said Mr. Beckwourth. “You may as well get some errands done while you’re in town.”
Charles glared at the shiny pocket watch on his way out of the attic. In the past four years he had served under Mr. Beckwourth, never once had the majordomo allowed Charles to touch his prized pocket watch. But the generous deed wouldn’t make up for sending him out in the down-pour. He traced his thumb along the cross engraved on the lid, and in the corridor outside the attic he collided with Kate. They both apologized at the same time.
“What’re you doing all the way up here?” he asked.
“Good morning,” she said. “You really curried the kinks out of that horse yesterday.”
He perked up. “Thanks. I think it put kinks in Mr. Beckwourth though. He’s pretty banged up. He can’t pick up the boss from the train station, so I have to.” He stepped down the spiral staircase.
She followed him down the stairs. “How about I come with you?”
He halted at the second floor landing. She had never accompanied Mr. Beckwourth on a trip to pick up her father unless Mrs. Carson went along.
She twirled her finger around her hair. “You know, so I can browse the merchant shops. And it’s such a long way. You might need company out there all alone on the prairie.”
It didn’t matter why she wanted to come with him. He smiled inside and may not have tried hard enough to keep the emotion off his face. He floated down the steps with the thought of the two of them riding alone together. Not even the rain could dampen his spirits. But as they reached the second floor, his heart dimmed.
“Mrs. Carson ain’t gonna allow us to go into town by ourselves,” he said. “It’s one thing to send me instead of Mr. Beckwourth. But you—”
“What’s wrong with me?” she asked.
“Nothing. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have a problem with you coming along.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
He scratched the back of his head. “Well, yeah. But it ain’t up to me.”
Kate placed a hand on his shoulder. His body grew warm all over. He wanted her hand to stay there forever.
“Don’t go without me.” She dashed into her mother’s room.
His holey boots slapped the first floor. Lightning flashed through the windows, pushing the darkness away for an instant. He broke through the drencher and made it to the stable where he prepared the horse and buggy.
By the time he came back into the mansion to pick up the merchant list from the kitchen, Kate was dressed for travel. She twirled her pink parasol as if modeling for him. He wiped his smile away at the sound of Mrs. Carson’s shrill voice.
“You are not to be late for the train,” said Mrs. Carson. “Do not pick up any wanderers along the way, and you are not to speak to anyone until you arrive in town. Any sign of trouble, you ride back here. And you Charles,” she quipped. “You are to remain chivalrous at all times. I’m holding you responsible for Katherine’s safety.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
If she was so concerned, she could have come with them or went to pick up her husband herself. Charles could have stayed with Mr. Beckwourth. But Charles knew about the Carsons’ little fuss. He wasn’t privy to the details, but whenever the boss came back from one of his trips, the lady of the house was cold toward him. They didn’t speak to each other much, and when they did, it was rather hostile. None of that really mattered though. Charles was excited about making the trip with Kate.
The two of them skipped outside into the moist air. The sun was rising, the raining had stopped, but the world was still wet and cold. He dried off the buggy seat before Kate sat down.
“How’d you convince your mother to let us go together?” asked Charles.
“There’s some things I know about her that no one else does. Especially my father.”
He never took Kate for a four-flusher, but knowing she was capable of a swindle intrigued him even more. He liked her fearlessness.
He snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled away. The lonely mansion shrank behind them and dipped under the hills, and they were alone together out in the wide country.
He felt closer to her more than ever, and it wasn’t just because she was sitting right next to him. They had never been out on the prairie together, just the two of them. They had been alone together in her room a few times reading books, and also on the ranch while he worked. But in those moments, at least one of her parents was always close by, restricting them being their true selves around each other.
Now they were free.
He shivered from nervousness, and during the ride, Kate talked more than usual. Perhaps it only seemed that way because they were spending more time together than normal. Thinking about it so much made him more nervous. His ability to speak escaped him. He simply nodded and gave one word answers during their one-sided conversation.
Halfway to town he stopped the carriage at a lake swimming with swans and allowed the horse to drink. The summer air was now fine as cream gravy. The sun shined unencumbered by any clouds, and the big ocean-blue sky was absent any blemish. The world around them had dried up as if it had never rained all night.
The rest of the way to town, Kate leaned on him and napped. His shoulder burned from friction, but her touch and the fragrance of her hair was worth the pain. She could lay on him for all eternity, he’d never complain.
Two hours before noon, he and Kate arrived in town. Wagons and carriages rolled over crackling rubble; spurs jingled at the heels of men in velveteen suits; workers hammered on half-constructed buildings; a photographer in the middle of main road snapped pictures; a townsman relaxed in a chair outside the barbershop, leg up on the post, watching the world go by; and a group of older boys, all barefoot, hung around. Boys like them were always on the shoot, looking for trouble.
There was a powerful sense of freedom Charles felt from being in town without Mr. Beckwourth. He could go anywhere and do anything he wanted—within reason.
He parked the carriage in front of the train station and split the merchant list with Kate. The two of them worked together at an energetic pace and finished running the errands within an hour. With a bit of time to dilly around before the train arrived, Kate ordered a milkshake from the Fruits & Cold Drinks merchant and shared it with Charles behind the drugstore so no one would see. Later, she also split a donut and ice cream with him. It was the best day of his life.
“I’m going to take a look inside Dress Making,” said Kate. “Ms. Abigail was making a dress earlier that I adore.” She darted off.
Charles entered Dry Goods and Clothing. He needed new clothes, especially boots. He browsed the shop and found a pair of button shoes. He purchased a whole outfit for fifteen dollars, and he still had fifteen left over. The merchant placed all his items in a box just as the locomotive’s whistle blew in the distance. He carried his box outside to the porch.
Deep in the valley, smoke puffed off the train’s shoulders like a black cape as it slowly chugged down the tracks.
Two o
f the barefooted boys from earlier stood at one end of the sidewalk. They stared at Charles and snickered in a way that unsettled him. Did they see him and Kate drinking from the same cup?
Thunder rumbled in the sky.
He paced across the road to the carriage as if it would inherently provide him safety. The boys followed his steps down the sidewalk. Charles kept an eye on them with side glances. At least Mr. Carson was on his way now. If the boys tried anything funny, the boss would step in.
Relieved when he finally made it to the carriage, he sat his box of clothes in the seat. A boy jumped out from under the carriage and stole the box.
Charles snatched for the box. The thief tossed it over the carriage and into the hands of another barefoot boy. Charles raced around the carriage. A slug bushwhacked him from behind. He twisted and slammed to the ground chest first, splashing in the mud. It was the one spot on the road that hadn’t dried up yet. His entire front was covered in thick brawn muck.
Giggles and taunts surrounded him. The bullies dug into his pockets and bilked his fifteen dollars. Charles gathered himself from the dirt.
People strolled past, minding their own business, and glanced at Charles in a way that indicated they believed that he deserved the treatment. Did they all witness him and Kate behind the drugstore sharing food and drink? Was that so bad?
The ring leader of the group of boys wore Charles’s new hat and held Mr. Beckwourth’s pocket watch. Charles snatched the chain end of the pocket watch. The boy flicked it open and closed it repeatedly, dangling it out of his reach.
A door flapped open and out popped the meat merchant, blood splotched all over his apron. “You’ve had your fun, boys,” said the meat merchant. “But you’re gonna have to take the rest of your bulldozin’ away from my shop. You’re upsetting my customers.”
The barefoot boys shinned out laughing. Kate ran out of the Dress Making shop from across the road and rushed over to Charles. He dried his eyes before she got close.
“Did they hurt you?” she asked.
BURN IN HADES Page 19