by Jeff Chapman
I didn’t know how many magical bullets Marzby had tucked up his sleeve, but I recalled from our first encounter that there seemed to be a limit. I reckoned it was about time for him to reload.
Isobel had twisted away from Marzby. If not for his shackle-like grip on her wrist, she would have been running out the barn door. Marzby’s back was to me and he was leaning toward the pit, dragging Isobel back. In a moment, their little tug-of-war would be over. Now was my chance if I’d ever had one.
I snatched up the plank I’d dropped across the pit. Angling for the back of Marzby’s legs, I swept the board into him, catching him at the knees. The board passed under his rising boots and slammed into the doorframe as the shudder galloped through my arms and shoulders.
Marzby pitched backward over the pit. One part of my plan was moving like butter over a hot griddle. Difficulty was Marzby didn’t let loose of Isobel’s wrist. The old leach hung on tighter than a deer tick. And the plank had swung both ways, tripping one of Isobel’s ankles when it ricocheted off the doorframe.
Isobel shrieked as she and the blade followed Marzby into the pit.
Chapter Twenty-One
Plans are like an unsupervised goat, my grandma was fond of saying. They tend to wander off, but if you practice patience, they’ll just as likely wander back. My plans had gone horribly awry with Wilbur dead and Isobel trapped in the pit with Marzby and his Pig-man. I hoped grandma knew what she was saying.
Orville and Nellie lay slumped against the wall, groaning. I’d get no help from them. I slid into the pit at the far end, searching the gloom before I leaped to assure myself I didn’t land on the Pig-man. Old bones crunched beneath my boots. There wasn’t much light slanting in, but my eyes adjusted quickly. The hole stank of rotten meat. The long, narrow shape reminded me of a grave, and with such a comparison ringing in my head, I realized I wouldn’t be leaving without help. The rim of the hole was a good four feet above me.
Marzby and Isobel were on the floor struggling over the knife. The Pig-man was at the opposite end of the pit, snapping and crunching Wilbur’s bones, too busy to notice the pit’s new occupants. The sounds and the stench combined to sicken me, but with an effort, I held back my rising bile.
“Let go. Let go,” Marzby repeated through clenched teeth.
Isobel sat on Marzby’s chest with her knee pinning one of his arms to the floor. Marzby gripped her wrist and swung her arm wildly, trying to cut Isobel’s face with the blade. She was bobbing her head out of the way, but with each swing, Marzby sliced closer.
I dropped to my knees. With one hand I gripped Marzby’s arm and wrapped the other around Isobel’s hand.
“Give it to me,” I shouted.
Her fingers opened in my hand, and I took the blade. Marzby’s eyes stretched wide with surprise and fury and those red rings glowed like circles of fire. Isobel must have slackened her hold on Marzby’s arm when she gave up the knife because his opposite arm swung across his body toward me. Lightning flashed from his fingers and what I can only describe as a powerful wind hit me square in the chest, lifting me toward the wall behind. My back struck first, knocking the breath out of me and cracking my head against the stones. I saw a night sky bright with brilliant stars. My hands fell slack to the floor, and the blade lay across my loose fingers. For a moment I didn’t care where I was or what was happening.
Isobel’s screams swept away the fog. My eyes focused again to see her grappling with Marzby as he tried to throw her off. He drew her arm close to his mouth and bit Isobel’s hand, clamping down like a fierce dog. She let go with a wounded yelp. Marzby aimed his fingers at her, and Isobel flew back against the wall but not with the same force as me. Marzby kicked her aside toward the Pig-man, who was too busy devouring Wilbur to notice.
Marzby faced me as he rose to his knees, towering over me like some impossibly tall tree. Blood smeared his lips and trickled down his chin. He pointed at me. I fell to my right as a burst of wind caught my shoulder, but the force of it wasn’t no more than a slap. Marzby was losing his magical strength, had been since this battle began. I should’ve counted myself lucky to not have a busted back and a cracked open skull, but I didn’t because Marzby was coming for me with murder burning his red eyes.
He swooped down upon my neck, from a high angle it seemed, like a hawk intent on a prairie dog. His thumbs were cocked, ready to crush my windpipe. The back of my head throbbed, and my vision was bleary, but as his fingers settled around my throat, I remembered the blade, the reason for this whole cotton-picking game. I closed my fingers around the handle and swung up, not with any great force, mind you, but with a knife so sharp the strength behind it didn’t matter.
Marzby pressed harder on my Adam’s apple as I felt the blade plunge into Marzby’s gut. Hot blood drenched my hand, rivulets running over my fingers and wrist, soaking my sleeve. Marzby didn’t let up, pressing harder as my strength to drive the knife deeper faded. There was no breath left in my burning lungs. He’s gonna put an end to me, I thought, get the knife and do some unspeakable horror to Isobel, but then his grip slackened. A little fresh air seeped down my throat. His eyes stretched open, so far I could see the curve of his orbs. He’d forgotten about the blade. In all his anger against me, he’d forgotten.
Marzby’s mouth fell open, and like bats swarming from a cave at dusk, a wind curled around the edges of the pit and whistled in my ears. A white mist drifted out of Marzby’s mouth and joined the wind swirling upward like smoke from a fire. More vapor poured from Marzby’s mouth. The wind roared. The vapor became a thick white smoke. Its heat burned my eyes. I squeezed them shut and twisted my face away from the storm above me. Marzby’s weight lifted as the wind abated, carrying him away.
When I peeked through squinted lids, I saw the plank above, spanning the pit. Marzby was gone. An ashen dust coated me, filling the wrinkles in my clothes.
“Jimmy, are you alright?” Isobel crawled beside me. An angry, purpling bruise swelled the side of her face where Marzby had kicked her aside.
“I’d ask the same of you?” I rose onto my elbows. My neck pained me, another among many aches.
“I’ll mend. Takes more than a kick to knock the snot out of a Stanton. I’ve suffered worse from my brothers.”
Somehow I doubted her ma or pa would allow as much. A weeping drifted down into the pit. Nellie stood at the edge, holding Wilbur’s shotgun. I followed the line of the barrel to a bloody smear on the wall and half a pig’s head atop the Pig-man.
“He’s gone,” said Isobel.
“Help me up,” I said. “We best get outa here.”
Isobel climbed onto my shoulders and from there climbed out of the pit. I hardly noticed the pinch of her boots on my shoulders. She pushed one of the planks into the pit, which I used as a ramp to crawl out. Orville lay against the wall at the back of the cell, groaning, an egg-sized lump on the back of his head. We coaxed a whimpering Nellie across the planks after I pried the shotgun out of her fingers.
Getting Orville across wasn’t gonna be so easy, until I remembered all those hay bales. Isobel and I pushed bales into the pit until we’d filled it. With Isobel holding up his head, I dragged Orville by his feet out into the barn.
We found Marzby’s wagon below the ridge we’d crept up hours before. Was the whole ordeal a trap or did Marzby know we’d come and doubled back out of sight? I figured we’d never learn the truth, but we’d at least make good use of the wagon. After letting Marzby’s pigs and chickens loose—I couldn’t abide their starving—we were on our way with Orville and Nellie in the back and our horses in tow. Orville had finally come to, but he wasn’t talking much other than cursing my driving and every rut in the road. Both of which he claimed added greatly to the agony of his head. I didn’t expect much more thanks, a certain sign Orville was on the mend.
We spent the night at Nellie’s farm. Isobel slept in the house while Orville and I bedded down in the barn. Nellie didn’t speak, shook her head yes or no, nothing more. Her gl
assy eyes seemed to look through us most of the time. Isobel scrounged some salt pork and stale bread for our dinner. For the first time in days, I slept without fearing for my life.
I woke as dawn colored the horizon. Orville was snoring to beat a locomotive. I rolled over and winced as a hard, sharp edge poked my hip. It was the blade of course. I studied it, mostly by touch. It’s difficult to see a black object in a dark barn. It seemed to release the spirit of whatever it stabbed. A strange power, indeed. I shuddered to think what Marzby had planned to do with it. I shook my head, considering our new problem. How were we gonna return this here blade to Skull Hill without bringing the wrath of the Coyote-shifter and the Opossum-shifter down on our heads?
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Pack up the wagon, boy,” said Orville. “We best leave this fair town before the good people come askin’ questions about their missin’ doctor.”
Many times my grandma said, The best way to avoid trouble is to not be home when it comes knocking. For once I think my grandma and Orville would have been in complete agreement.
While Orville rested his head in the shade of a tree, Isobel and I packed the tent and hitched up Maggie. We’d left Nellie’s farm early in the morning with me walking and the other two riding Maggie. Nellie didn’t say nothing when we left. We tried to talk her into coming to town, but she shook her head. I spied her at a window, watching us, as we turned the last bend out of sight. I said a prayer for her soul because that was where I believed she was hurt. Nothing more for me to do.
We rolled out of Misery Creek under the noonday sun. The three of us sat across the bench with Isobel squashed in the middle.
“Bet you never thought you’d see the light of day again, did you, Mister Orville?” said Isobel.
“There were a few low moments.” Orville scratched his stubbled chin. “Some very low moments, indeed. I’ll wager you can regale me from sun up to sun down with the tale of your adventure, whenever my head quits hurtin’.”
I had tried to tell Orville what had happened while we lay in the barn, but he’d fallen into slumber before I made it to the part where Wilbur and I arrived at the farm. Maybe I should’ve begun with Wilbur shootin’ at me.
“Yes siree,” said Isobel. “And it’s a grand tale, chock full of fightin’ and narrow escapes.”
Orville explored the back of his head with his fingers and winced. “Where you drivin’ us to, boy?”
“Busted Axle. Gotta take Isobel home and return that blade somehow.”
Orville groaned at the first mention of Busted Axle. “My poor head’ll fall apart if you drag us down that washboard of a road.”
“I been thinkin’,” said Isobel. “After what I’ve seen, it’s high time I saw a bit more of the world. I’ve been cooped up like a chicken fer too long. What do you say, Mister Orville? Can I travel with you two?”
“Huh?” said Orville.
“You belong with your ma and pa,” I said. “Life on the huckster trail ain’t no place for a young girl.”
“You sound just like my brothers. I expected better of you, Jimmy.”
I glared over Isobel’s head at Orville, hoping for support, but Orville was rubbing his chin, staring off in the distance like he does when he’s scheming.
“I been gone so much longer than my mama said I could be. Why, there ain’t enough trees in the woods to cut all the rods for all the switchens I’ve got comin’.”
“Can you cook?” asked Orville.
“My mama taught me to cook everything from squirrel legs to calves liver.”
“Jimmy’s specialty is beans, and he ain’t none too good at it. About time we enjoyed tasty vittles for a change.”
“Orville, she’s gotta go home. I gave my word to her ma.”
“She don’t gotta do nothing. Look around you, boy.” Orville waved his arm at the rugged, untamed land we were weaving through. “This is the land of freedom and opportunity where nothing holds you back but the limits of your ambitions.”
“You gonna hire me as a cook? Even my brothers don’t have proper jobs.”
“Think bigger, girl. How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
“Good enough. How would you like to be my apprentice? Learn the trade from one of the masters.”
“When do I start?”
“Your ma and pa gotta give their blessin’ first,” I said.
“And we’ll take care of that soon enough. I’ll send your folks a letter from Silver City.”
“Silver City! I ain’t never been there.” Isobel glowed like a spring sunrise.
Orville slapped his thigh. “That settles it. Jimmy, there ain’t no reason to knock all our teeth loose on that rock-studded road to Busted Axle.”
Maggie gave a loud snort.
“See,” said Orville. “Even that dumb beast of a horse knows wisdom when she hears it.”
“Mister Orville’s right, Jimmy.”
“We still gotta take that blade back to Skull Hill.”
Orville frowned. “Lemme see that there blade.”
I eased it out of my pocket, careful of the sharp edges, and placed it in Orville’s thick hand.
“Hmm,” said Orville, turning the knife every which way. “I know a man who might be able tell us a thing or two about this. Might be worth a pretty penny.”
“That there blade is dangerous,” I shouted. “You ain’t seen what it can do.”
“Now, now, boy. Don’t get so excited.”
“’Fraid Jimmy’s right, Mister Orville. That knife’s got magical powers.”
“You don’t say. Hmm. Well let this be a lesson to the both of you. I look at this blade and I don’t see danger—oh, maybe a little—but mostly I see opportunity. When a gift falls in your lap, you’ve got to capitalize on it.”
“It ain’t just what the blade can do,” I said. “We’re gonna have a shape-shiftin’ coyote and opossum on our tails if we don’t give it back.”
“It’s true, Mister Orville,” said Isobel. “I saw ’em. And they’re the fiercest critters I’ve ever met.”
Orville laughed. “We’ll take care of the varmints as they come.” He dropped the blade in the inside pocket of his tweed jacket, which sagged under the weight.
We were coming round the curve of a hill as the spur off to Busted Axle came into view.
“Onward, boy,” bellowed Orville. “Silver City is where our business lies.”
I’ve heard from sailors that mutiny is the most unforgivable of sea-faring sins, but what sensible man would run a ship onto rocks when the open sea was at hand. I made up my mind to take the Busted Axle road no matter what Orville said.
There was a copse of chokecherries opposite the spur, and as we approached, a palomino and rider stepped from the cover of the trees into our path. The rider wore a sombrero and a bandana hid his face below his dark eyes. He leveled a Colt .45 at us.
I pulled on the reins, bringing Maggie to a halt. Could it be, I wondered, as my gaze ranged over the highwayman and his mount. Was this the same bandit? Beside me, Isobel stiffened and clasped my arm.
“What in blazes?” whispered Orville.
“Dis road belong to Pancho Cucaracha. You give me gold and silver and I no keell you.”
No doubt now, and the rips in his shirt from the crows confirmed it. Appeared he didn’t remember me or Maggie. His name still sounded like Mexican speak for cockroach but I was certain his bandanna garbled something essential.
“Now see here,” said Orville. “There’s no reason to get all violent. Holster that iron and we can agree on a reasonable toll.”
“No stinkin’ toll. Gold or silver.” Pancho cocked the hammer.
“How much were you thinkin’ about?” said Orville.
Was it guts or madness that gave Orville the cool head to bargain with a Colt .45 pointed between his eyes. Pancho’s patience wasn’t going to last forever, but with his attention locked on Orville, I saw my opportunity.
“Pronto,” I yelled. “P
ronto!”
The horse reared. Pancho’s revolver went off twice, and bullets whistled over our heads as we all three ducked.
I slapped the reins to send Maggie charging ahead. Pancho didn’t fall off his horse this time, but the pair went galloping up the trail to Busted Axle with Pancho cursing the horse in his foreign tongue.
I slowed Maggie as we came even with the trail.
“What in tarnation are you doin’ boy? Get a move on before that crazy Mexican turns his horse around.”
Couldn’t argue with Orville’s logic. I sent Maggie clopping down the road to Silver City. I wondered if that bandit had done us more harm than he’d ever know.
“Mighty clever, boy. How’d you know to say pronto?”
“Tell us, Jimmy,” chimed Isobel.
“It’s a long story,” I said.
Thank you for reading The Black Blade: A Huckster Novel. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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About the Author
Jeff Chapman writes software by day and speculative fiction when he should be sleeping. His tales range from fantasy to horror and they don’t all end badly. He lives with his wife, children, and cats in a house with more books than bookshelf space.
You can find me on twitter @JeffChpmnWriter, on my Amazon Author Page, on my Goodreads Author Page, on Facebook, or check out my musings on words and fiction at jeffchapmanbooks.com.