A God of Many Tears (Hawker's Drift Book 4)

by Andy Monk

  “About what?”

  “A little business we have to finish.”

  Something flickered across the young deputy’s face. Not a smile, not really an expression. Just something other than the usual slack-faced nothing. Like there was something under his skin. Something that was struggling to get to the surface.

  …something that is slithering, snickering, jabbering, howling…

  “Perhaps you should come back later.” she heard herself say, her feet edging her a fraction further out of the room.

  “There appears to have been a crime,” his right thumb was hooked into his gun belt, but his fingers twitched towards the blood on the floor. There wasn’t a lot, she supposed, not enough for someone to have been shot or stabbed, but enough to be clearly visible. It was still wet too. Whoever had bled in the room had done so recently. There was a shattered flower pot too, a geranium and dark earth soiling the rug.

  Her eyes flicked back to Blane’s fingers, but there was no blood on them.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you are here, Mrs McCrea?”

  “None of your business,” she snapped back.

  “I’m investigating a possible crime. Everything is my business.”

  “Whatever happened here, it’s nothing to do with me!”

  “I shall be the judge of that. Come and sit down. I have questions. You’re keeping me from my business…”

  “I don’t think so,” she edged back into the hall. She needed to get out of the house. Blane had always unnerved her, even before Amos had told her what he’d sensed about the strange young man, but he seemed different today.

  Something had happened and whatever it was it’d been enough to strip away some of the pretence he was in anyway normal. She didn’t know whether he had anything to do with the blood on the floor, but every fibre of her being was screaming she should get away from him. She knew a madman when she saw one well enough. She’d been around enough dangerous, violent men in her life, but Blane was something else. Something worse.

  “Tell me where Kate is?” Blane snarled, “I got work to do on her!”

  “I don’t know!”

  He seemed a different man entirely, his face suddenly flushing red as tiny bubbles of drool burst from the corners of his mouth.

  She heard Ruthie and Amelia on the stairs and glanced down the hall. In that moment, Blane crossed the room and grabbed her wrist.

  “You’ll do as you’re fucking told, bitch,” he hissed, his eyes wide and burning mad.

  She tried to pull away from him, but he twisted her wrist so hard she gasped as he pulled her close enough for his breath to play across her face. It stank like he was rotting inside.

  “You gotta learn to do as you’re told, like a good bitch should,” his face contorted into something ugly, primal and, to her eyes, not quite human. His voice quivering and breaking, no longer a flat monotone, but a high-pitched shriek.

  “Molly!” Amelia screamed as she and Ruthie appeared in the hallway. Both girls’ eyes widening at the sight of her struggling in the deputy’s grasp.

  “Go!” she shouted, still trying to squirm out of Blane’s grip, “Go get the Sheriff!”

  “Stay where you fucking are!” Blane screeched at them, his free hand drawing his weapon.

  While Amelia and Ruthie stood open-mouthed and rooted to the spot Molly grabbed the rising gun and slammed it against the wall. The retort was deafening in the confines of the hallway and plaster exploded into the air as the bullet drilled into the wall.

  Ruthie was dragging open the door with one hand and pulling Amelia after her with the other as Blane threw Molly aside, hard enough for her head to crack against the wall and half stun her.

  She struggled to keep on her feet as Blane twisted back towards the girls, but they were already disappearing out of the door. The deputy stepped past her after them, swivelling his gun back around. She blindly kicked out, connecting hard enough to the back of his knee to send him stumbling to the floor.

  Amelia and Ruthie were gone, the door left open onto the sunlit street behind them. With Blane sprawled on the floor she could make it out the back or even run past him and through the front door. But he still had a gun in his hand.

  Only a madman would run into the street and start shooting at children. But that was exactly what this asshole was.

  She flung herself onto Blane’s back, sending him crashing back down before he could regain his feet, the gun spinning from his hand. She gripped his head and tried to smash his face into the floor, but he pistoned himself upwards before she could get a proper hold and twisted her off him like a wild horse at a rodeo.

  She tried to squirm away, but he was already on top of her, hands around her throat, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to choke her. She tried battering him with both her fists, but her blows bounced off with no apparent effect. He was smiling now, at least it was something like a smile, his mouth gaping wide as saliva dribbled down his chin.

  “Gonna do for you bitch, gonna do for you like I’m gonna do for Katie. Gonna have to do my business on you too now, never have too much business…” his words dissolved into an incoherent stream of giggles, grunts and sniggers as his hand squeezed her windpipe. She couldn’t catch a breath and her whole world was filled by his leering, gibbering face.

  “Gonna do for you like I did for your dumb fucker of a husband…”

  The Colonel

  Things were going to plan.

  He liked it when things went to plan. He looked around the table. The faces staring back at him all knew he liked it when things went to plan. And the cost of them not going to plan too.

  In the end leadership was just a game of consequence and reward. He told his officers what to do, if they did it well he rewarded them with gold, liquor and Brides (and any other preferences they might enjoy) if they didn’t, well, frankly that was one long slippery road to damnation.

  “We’ve made good time gentleman,” his eyes rested momentarily on each of the men around the table.

  It was something of a chore lugging this heavy old piece of oak around the country, but civilised men needed furniture to mark themselves out from the savages so it was a price worth paying. Admittedly, the price was paid by his slaves who had to set up and lay out his tent every time they made camp, and their backs if they messed things up.

  “I’m pleased, but the real work is yet to come… as will be the rewards when we take Hawker’s Drift. Any questions?”

  He didn’t expect questions though he didn’t entirely discourage them. Occasionally an underling would have something useful to say. A great leader must always be prepared for the unexpected.

  “We’re all eager to get on with the cleansing sir,” Klint’s was the only voice to pipe up.

  “As are we all, Captain,” he nodded and favoured the sycophantic little shit with a smile, “If there’s nothing else I will say goodnight gentleman. We will press on tomorrow at first light.”

  His Captains all bid him good night and disappeared from his tent, except Kowalski, who remained in his seat. The Scourge didn’t have a second-in-command, raising one dog above the others might give the wrong man ideas about his ass being the perfect fit for the big chair; far better to keep them in a pack and let them fight for the juiciest morsels from his table while nipping at each other. Kowalski, however, was the senior of his Captains. Despite being shackled with the diminutive frame of a weakling, he was an experienced soldier of numerous wars across the Broken Union, with dark eyes and a darker heart. He was, even Saalt had to admit, ruthlessly efficient and had taken to the creed of the Scourge with commendable fervour.

  “Captain?”

  “I have a question, sir.”

  Kowalski also had an irritatingly inquisitive streak.

  “One you didn’t want to ask in front of the others?”

  “I understand the need to keep some things under your hat.”

  “And you’d like me to keep things under your hat too?”

>   “I keep my mouth shut, some of the others…”

  “Ask your question Captain.”

  “Why this town sir? What’s so special about Hawker’s Drift?”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Implicitly sir, but there have been mumblings.”

  “Mumblings?”

  “We’ve covered a lot of miles…”

  “I’m well aware of that,” he snapped, “the Scourge goes where I tell it to go. This isn’t a committee or a democracy. I hope you’re not suggesting it should be?”

  “Of course not,” a look of disdain flicked across Kowalski’s gaunt face, “it’s just that some of the men… the constant travelling, the lack of roots…”

  “We’ll put down roots when we’re ready to put down fucking roots!”

  “Of course sir.”

  “Go prepare your men Captain, I will brief you fully when you need to know. Rest assured, our efforts in coming out here will be well rewarded.”

  He afforded Kowalski a stare that told him not only was the matter closed, but that it shouldn’t have been opened in the first place. He’d seen men wilt and quiver under his gaze before now. To give Kowalski his due he didn’t show any emotion one way or the other, he simply nodded, gathered up his papers and left.

  He let out a long sigh. He didn’t like being questioned and Kowalski damn well knew it. He did hope the mirthless scrawny runt wasn’t getting ideas above his station.

  “You haven’t told em much, have you?” A voice growled from the corner.

  He pushed himself to his feet.

  “Of course not.”

  The figure leant forward, bringing his ill-treated features into the lamplight. None of his Captains had queried the presence of the big bearded man who’d sat silently in the shadows during the briefing.

  “Why’s that?” Stodder Hope asked.

  “Because they wouldn’t fucking believe me!” he poured himself a shot of whiskey, then one for his old friend, “Frankly, I’m not entirely sure I believe it.”

  Hope raised an eyebrow as he accepted the drink, “Yet here we all are. Just like old times.”

  “If any other man had come to me with this I’d have hung him for being a fool. As you know, I don’t have time for fools.”

  “Careful Ez, there’s almost a compliment in there somewhere. You getting soft?”

  He regarded his old friend and wondered again if he’d made a mistake.

  If Hawker’s Drift turned out to be some worthless spit of a town he was going to look stupid. Most men only followed a leader because he provided what they wanted; if he continued to bestow gold and women they would follow him anywhere and do whatever he asked of them. If he didn’t, it would all unravel. Some of the men followed him because they believed in him, believed in his ideal, believed in the Doctrine, believed in the glories of the New Nation. But not all of them. Not even most of them. If he’d brought them a thousand miles just to loot a few dirt farmers and fuck a couple of skinny, buck-toothed peasants he’d have more than Kowalski asking questions.

  “You aren’t shitting me with this, are you?” It wasn’t the first time he’d asked that question.

  “If you thought I was, you shouldn’t have come this far.”

  “All those miles give a man time to think.”

  “You know me. You’ve known me a long time. I’ve fought by your side more than once. Watched your back. Saved your life. You tell me?”

  “I can’t see why you’d shit me. So I believe you believe you’re telling the truth, but…”

  “Demons?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re real Ez… I’ve seen things…” he shrugged “…don’t matter what they are. It’s what they got that counts.”

  He drained the glass and glanced over his shoulder, there were a couple of troopers outside the tent, but they were speaking too quietly for the guards to overhear. He dragged over a chair and sat opposite Hope, leaning in close enough to catch the sourness on the man’s breath beneath the whiskey fumes.

  “This machine they have…”

  “If I could have took it myself, I would have, but I can’t. It’ll take an army to do that. And you’re the only bastard I know with their own army.”

  “Did you manage to see it?”

  Hope shook his head, “No, it’s kept out of sight, if I’d broken in to see it they would have known. They have a way of knowing things.”

  “I’m taking a big risk for something you haven’t even seen.”

  “One of em told me about it.”

  He’d never been much of a man for questioning his decisions, but the more miles they’d covered the more it had gnawed him. He’d sent Boy Crow ahead to meet Hope partly so he could run his eye over him again. The savage had a knack for sniffing out lies. He didn’t know how he did it, but he’d never known him to be wrong. When Crow had assured him for the second time Hope wasn’t lying he’d felt relieved. But not totally. He never ever trusted anyone completely after all.

  “And you’re sure they weren’t bullshitting?”

  “Trust me, she ain’t got much of a sense of humour.”

  “I-”

  Hope reached over and put a grubby, gnarled hand on his arm, “Trust me…” he repeated, “…the town is rich and there’s no reason I can see why it isn’t as dirt poor as everywhere else. I’ve seen it. Your pet savage’s seen it too. Shops full, people well fed, everyone walking around with a shit eating grin on their face. Ain’t many places like that left in the world. Even if the machine doesn't exist, there’s plenty of pickings anyway. Plenty to justify coming this way. Lots of women, lots of kids, lots of cattle. Your boys will have a fine ol time cleansing the place. I brought you details of their guns, their numbers, how they roll. Most of the demons have moved off with the carney. You can wipe the town out. They got no idea about you.”

  “I lost two men meeting up with you.”

  Hope sat back and shrugged, “No great loss. They ran into a gunslinger and decided to play some games with him. Fucking idiots.”

  “This gunslinger…”

  “He knows shit. I checked.”

  “If this does turn out to be bullshit…”

  “Yeah, I know. You’ll skin me.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. You’re a friend…” he shook his head, “…it’d just be a bullet between your eyes.”

  Hope snorted a laugh through his snarled beard, “Obliged.”

  “You know there’s a place for you here. The Scourge needs good, strong men like you. I need Captains I can trust. We have great work to do.”

  “I ain’t never been one for causes and high ideals, Ez, you know that. I just want my share for bringing this to you. Enough for me to find a place and settle down. Got a fancy to be a rich man of leisure. And what’s in Hawker’s Drift is plenty to make both our dreams come true.”

  “Not sure I can see you living that life.”

  “Maybe. But my gun workin’ days are coming to an end. One way or another.”

  He refilled both their glasses and clicked them together in a toast.

  “To dreams, big and small.”

  “Dreams!”

  They both downed their drinks and he pushed his doubts aside. Maybe it was bullshit, if it was, he’d deal with it, and with Stodder Hope, but if it wasn’t, then what lay in Hawker’s Drift could give Hope his easy retirement and the Scourge its empire. Some things were worth taking a chance on, even if it was just an outside chance.

  A machine that made gold was one of them.

  The Lawyer

  There was a pile of papers waiting for him on his usually clear desk. He’d always hated work piling up, and most days he’d been able to leave his office with everything that needed to be done, dealt with and filed away.

  He eased himself into his chair and stared at the papers as if they were old, old friends he hadn’t seen in far too long. Friends who were sober and solid and dependable. The kind of friends who left you knowing exactly where
you stood with them. Friends who would fill your day and leave you satisfied and fulfilled when it was time to bid them adieu.

  Friends who never ever whispered in your ear about murder.

  Lorna had kept him awake most of the night. Explaining over and over again why he should kill Amy. Despite his protestations that she was entirely innocent, Lorna would not be dissuaded. She had never been very tolerant of dissent when she’d been alive. Being dead hadn’t improved her much in that regard.

  He had tried pulling the pillows over his head and clamping his hands over his ears. He’d still heard her shuffling around the room goading him and insulting him and beseeching him to kill Amy.

  He’d escaped the house with the rising sun and walked the deserted streets of Hawker’s Drift. At least Lorna hadn’t followed him. He hoped her shade was confined to the house they’d shared.

  Not that he believed it was her ghost.

  It was his guilty mind. He just didn’t understand why he felt any guilt. The Mayor had performed a mercy. Lorna was a tortured soul and her death was a release for both of them. At least it should have been.

  He’d walked past the Mayor’s residence several times and Molly’s house too. Both were silent and nothing stirred behind the windows of either.

  He wondered if Lorna would want him to kill Molly next. Unlike sweet Amy she really was trying to get hold of his late wife’s money.

  He’d gone to his office for seven and been surprised to find Miss Dewsnap already behind her desk. Holding the fort in his absence. What a trooper.

  Miss Dewsnap managed to look both relieved and concerned when he eventually returned to work.

  “Are you sure you’re well enough?” She’d fussed over him, “Why do you look so pale?”

  “I’m much recovered,” he’d assured her, before retreating into his office and pointedly shutting the door after him.

  He’d expected her to follow him like a small needy dog to yap around his heels, but she stayed where she was. Perhaps she was still angry with him about Molly. She wouldn’t have approved. He doubted her opinion of Amy would be any better if she found out about that racy morsel.

  He fanned files and letters across his desk and tried to push everything from his tired mind bar the words and figures before him. He’d always taken great comfort from them in the past, they’d provided a dependable refuge from Lorna’s bile and madness for years.