Clinton eyed the tiny bottle with suspicion. “What is it?”
“Just a little potable. A tonic, if you will. Made with the finest selection of herbs and salts. Hopefully, it will ease your pain.”
Maxwell rested the vial on his open palm. Clinton doubted for a second then took the mysterious gift.
Maxwell grinned. “Go ahead. Don’t be shy.”
The crowd stared at Clinton expectantly. He uncorked the vial, took a sip, then grimaced. Maxwell laughed.
“Sorry about the flavor, my friend. But it won’t work unless you drink it all. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Clinton pinched his nose and drank.
Maxwell circled him. “Do you feel any different, my boy?”
“No, sir.”
A disappointed grumble rippled through the townsfolk.
Maxwell nodded. “Right you are, Mister Eadds.” He raised his voice. “Let me share a secret with you all. There are no such things as miracle cures. Every single man that tries to convince you otherwise is lying. Medicine, my friends, needs time to take its course. I meant what I said before, I’m not here today to make any sells. I’m not here to rouse you into emptying your pockets for elixirs that don’t work.”
The salesman tapped the wall of his wooden wagon with his cane. The ladies in the front gasped, then giggled. “One day! One day is what I ask of you to gain your trust!” Maxwell pointed at Clinton with his gloved hand. “My tonic is running through Mister Eadds’ veins right this second. I invite you all to check on him later. If my medicine has helped him before the dawn breaks, if you believe I’ve told the truth, then and only then will I be willing to share my tonics with you. But not before.”
Everyone stared at Maxwell blankly and in complete silence. His strange speech stunned even Tiberius. Every snake oil salesman the sheriff had ever met had tried to make as many sales as he could in the least amount of time, then rode into the sunset with his pockets full. But Maxwell Donahue had just changed the rules, and Tiberius hated unpredictability.
Maxwell clapped Clinton’s hand. “Off you go. Be well, my boy. God bless the young.”
Clinton made a shy bow that made his neighbors laugh tenderly, then walked back to his place in the crowd.
Maxwell opened his cart’s door. “I would be tremendously saddened if you thought you’d wasted your time listening to my yapping, so let me offer you a little treat for your entertainment. This is my way to thank you all for your time. Ladies and gentleman, prepared to be astounded by my prodigious traveling companion: Miss Mountain Iris.”
The woman who’d occupied the driver’s seat minutes ago took the stage. Her long, dark hair floated behind her as she scouted the faces in the crowd, greeting them with polite, elegant nods of her sharp chin. Her skin was between golden and olive, a color Tiberius had seen on the fallen birch leaves, but never on a human being. She was young, but her big, emerald eyes showed the aplomb of a seasoned adventurer..
Mountain Iris detached a leather pouch from the golden linen belt around her waist, holding her long, purple skirt in place. She emptied the pouch onto her right palm, then held a crimson gemstone up high for all the crowd to admire.
She moved the gemstone between her long fingers with mesmeric dexterity and drew big circles in the air. The red gem shone like a crystal ember, its glow leaving a shining trace, noticeable even in the bright light of day. People rolled their heads as they followed her circular movements.
Mountain Iris squeezed the gemstone tight, took a soft breath in then blew inside her closed fist.
When Mountain Iris opened her hand, a bright, blue flame danced on her palm. The crowd gasped. Even Tiberius held his breath.
“Things” she purred, “are never what they seem.”
Mountain Iris threw the flaming gemstone up into the air. The fire blew off with no smoke, and what she plucked from the air was a delicate, beautifully crafted, crystal rose. She showed it to the astonished crowd and gave it to a giddy little girl in the first row.
Mountain Iris bowed. The crowd clapped and cheered as Maxwell joined her with a wide, triumphant smile on his face.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll see you tomorrow then, my friends,” he said as he joined Mountain Iris in a second bow.
“We’ll see about that, pardner!” Tiberius shouted as he approached the wagon. He tapped the brim of his hat to Mountain Iris. “Nice trick.”
Mountain Iris winked at him with unapologetic boldness.
“She’s my little box of surprises.” Maxwell noticed the silver star on Tiberius’ worn, leather vest. “I hope you enjoyed the show, Sheriff.
Miss Chipman and a small group of people lingered around Tiberius, pretending without much of an effort that they were uninterested in the conversation.
Tiberius cleared his throat. “Show’s over. Come on, move along. I bet you all have busy days.”
The remaining people reluctantly wished Tiberius good day, like children who’d been told to stop playing in the open fields and go inside . Miss Chipman glanced over her shoulder once every few steps as she joined the bustle of Souls Well’s Main Street.
“So, what’s your deal, Donahue?” Tiberius asked the salesman.
“We’re just travelers, pleased to bring some joy to the poor souls of—”
“Alright, cut the act. You’re different from the other quacks, I’ll give you that. But whatever you’re plotting behind that smooth tongue of yours, I don’t like it. I’d be much obliged if you and the lady drove that pretty wagon out of my town.”
Maxwell’s expression turned harsh and somber. “Is the free trading of goods forbidden in Souls Well?”
“After the mine closed, most of the townsfolk hardly make enough tin to eat a warm meal a day. So be a good chap and go warble some place else.”
Maxwell tightened his lips and curved them in a forced smile. “I completely understand, Sheriff. We don’t want to cause any trouble, but our horse is exhausted. Traveling through these rocky paths is already dangerous as is. Beasts and bandits all around. Don’t forget I’m traveling with a lady. If something happened—”
Tiberius raised a finger. “One night. But no more shows. And no selling anything without my permission, or I’ll put you on the road myself. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Mountain Iris replied, resting lazily against the wooden frame of the wagon’s door.
Tiberius tapped the brim of his hat and walked away. If only this was the end of his day and not just the beginning.
“A good day to you too, Sheriff!” Maxwell called out.
His honeyed voice made Tiberius cringe.
Father Darley joined Tiberius and strolled besides him up Main Street.
“You look troubled, my son.”
“Those two are gonna be a handful, Father. I feel it in my gut.”
“Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Matthew 6:34.”
“Wise man, that Matthew.”
III
The Silver Moon was both beloved and loathed, but it represented Souls Well’s social heart no matter what. Men enjoyed sharing a drink while watching the sensual can-can girls. Some of them gambled, while others preferred to invest their money in sharing the bed of one of girls, even two if they had enough cash in hand.
The saloon had opened shortly after the boarding house. Obadiah Whitlock hired a lot of new miners. Some came to Souls Well with their families, some didn’t, but all of them needed a refuge, a space where they could leave their worries behind. And that’s what Madame Valentine had to offer.
Madame Valentine’s legend went that she’d escaped from the Ivory Tower, a brothel so infamous travelers still shared horror stories about the cruelty of its owner and his clientele of desperadoes. Rumors also said Madame Valentine had killed more than ten men to claw her way to freedom. But rumors said a lot of things, and Madame Valentine had never confirmed nor denied anything about her past.
She ran her business with
an iron hand, but was kind and protective to her girls. The Silver Moon girls were free to come and go as they pleased, but if they stayed, Miss Valentine didn’t charge them for food and lodging, and she split their profits equally. She also made sure all of her girls visited Doc Tucker at least once every two weeks.
Guns were strictly prohibited inside the Silver Moon. Men who carried grievances were welcomed to use the back alley to settle their scores, but no fighting was permitted in Madame Valentine’s establishment. And any man who touched one of the girls before she’d agreed to be touched would be promptly kicked out by her tall, broad-shoulder son, Jesse.
Every night, the music of the pianola echoed down Main Street, but in the morning the Silver Moon was haven of peace. Jesse Valentine cleaned glasses behind the counter and the Chief sat at his regular table, enjoying his morning coffee. Doc Tucker snored in front of him, his head resting on the table. The doctor’s body was on the verge of slipping from his chair.
“Mornin’, Jesse,” Tiberius greeted as he sat down on a stool.
The bartender poured him a cup of black coffee. Tiberius drank it unhurriedly, indulging in its earthy scent and bitter taste. He treasured those placid moments, the little oasis of time that made his dry daily routine more bearable. Doc Tucker groaned in his sleep.
“He was already full as a tick when he came in,” Jesse said.
“I know.”
Tiberius walked to the Chief and placed a couple of coins in front of the dark-skinned man.
“Take Doc home, would you? Through the back, avoid the busy streets. I appreciate it.”
The Chief nodded, pocketed the coins, and helped Doc Tucker to his feet. The doctor grunted but was too drunk to resist the Chief’s muscular arms. The Chief dragged him away between the empty tables.
No one remembered when the Chief had arrived to Souls Well. No one knew from where or why. No one knew the man’s real name, and no one cared. The Chief was amicable and quiet. He made an honest living running errands around town and he stayed out of trouble.
If everybody behaved like the Chief, my life would be much easier.
Tiberius sighed. “I bet Doc spent the whole night stuck to the corn juice.”
Jesse breathed on a glass then polished it with a damp cloth. “Can’t blame him after what happened.”
The avalanche had not only trapped the miners under rock and snow, but had choked the whole town under a layer of eternal grief as well. Tiberius finished his coffee and put the metal cup on the counter.
“Where are the girls?”
“Some went to visit Violet’s grave with my mother. I guess the rest are in their rooms.”
“Is Lucy around?”
Jesse bobbed his head to the small stage at the back of the saloon.
Tiberius crossed the saloon’s wooden stage and stepped behind its painted backdrop of the Rocky Mountains. The curtain hid a small dressing room where the girls changed clothes before a number. Brightly colored can-can garments hung close together in a short rack by the wall, their laces and ruffles touching the ground. Some of the dresses lay on a pile on the floor, mixed with corsets, white undergarments and various pairs of striped stockings. Headdresses made of colorful feathers occupied a table in the center. To the right, a lackluster, hand-painted folding screen created a false sense of privacy.
Tiberius knocked on the thin wooden panel. “Lucy?”
“It’s Lulu now,” replied a singsong voice.
Tiberius met Lucy on the other side of the folding screen. The curvy blonde sat in front of a rickety table with a loose mirror on top—her rendition of a show girl’s vanity. She wore only a tight, pink corset and white knickers, but didn’t seem concerned about her state of undress.
“What do you mean?” Tiberius asked.
Lucy brushed her golden locks vigorously. “It’s my name. I changed it.”
“What’s wrong with Lucy Mills?”
“All the biggest stars have nice sounding names. I changed mine to Lulu De Lune. It’s French.”
“So, I have to call you Lulu now?”
Lucy frowned. “Don’t mock me, Tiberius. I need to start thinking about my career. It takes a name with a bang to be remembered.”
“Alright, don’t get mad. It’s nice.”
She drew the brush through her blonde hair. “What brings you here so early?”
“I need your help with something.”
Lucy poked him with the handle of her hairbrush. “Are you making me your marshal?” She put her brush down, held her hair up, and stared at her round face on the mirror. “My mother always said I had the face of a milkmaid.”
Lucy opened a small mother-of-pearl box that was filled with white dust, rubbed a powder puff in it, and powdered her rosy cheeks.
Tiberius fanned the floating dust with his hand. “Do you need to do that right now?”
Tiberius coughed. Lucy stopped her powdering.
He cleared his throat. “It seems someone stole Obadiah Whitlock’s pocket watch.”
“How unfortunate!”
Lucy stood up and browsed through her trunk. It overflowed with dresses and shoes.
“What do you think I should wear for tonight’s show? I want to look good. Madame Valentine’s letting me sing a full song, you know.”
Lucy’s effort to divert the conversation strengthened Tiberius’ suspicions. But he didn’t have the time nor the patience for her childish games.
“I think he was robbed here at the saloon.”
No answer.
“Mrs. Whitlock will be very upset. Seems the watch was a wedding present.”
Lucy looked him straight in the eye. “Are you implying I’m a home wrecker or a thief?”
“Listen, Lucy—”
“Lulu!”
“Alright, Lulu. Jesus…” Tiberius sighed. “You know why I’m here.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea.”
“Your private affairs are none of my business, but—”
“Damn right they ain’t!”
Tiberius stroked his temple. Talking to Lucy was proving harder than walking Garrett Drake to the gallows. Tiberius and Lucy went way back. They’d been friends since the cradle, and sweethearts for a short summer when they were in their teens, long before Lucy became an orphan and found her new family under Madame Valentine’s wing. Tiberius had grown to love her like a sister, and as such, she never listened to a word he had to say.
“Don’t make me go through your things, please,” Tiberius said.
Lucy stared at him, her blue eyes wide open, her lips shut, like a porcelain doll. She darted back to her table and opened and closed a drawer furiously. The table shook so much Tiberius thought it would collapse.
Lucy handed him a luxurious golden watch with a matching chain.
“I’m no thief. I was going to give it back.”
“Thank you.”
Lucy sat down and returned to her pampering.
“I wish you were more careful. You better look out for yourself or—”
“Or what? I’ll end up like Violet? He would never.”
“I’m just telling you to watch out, Miss Lulu.” Tiberius stuck his tongue out at the Lucy in the mirror.
Lucy responded with a faint smile. “Are you coming tonight? I’m singing around midnight.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Tiberius left the dressing room and listened to Lucy’s humming from the other side of the curtain.
People like Lucy didn’t belong in Souls Well. Her dreams stood unharmed while everybody else’s had shattered a long time ago. Tiberius wished someone would take her away, far from the whirlpool of sadness their town had become, far from the heart ache and the empty promises.
Miles away from Obadiah Whitlock.
IV
An ice-cold breeze slapped Tiberius as soon as he left the saloon. The sun was high now, but it hardly made the day warmer. It smelled like winter too soon. Lost in his thoughts, Tiberius almos
t tripped over the short figure who sat on the wooden steps of the saloon’s porch.
“Hullo,” said little Thomas Hickok.
“Howdy, Thomas.” Tiberius looked around. “Are you by yourself?”
Thomas shook his head. “My ma’s at the store. I got bored.”
Thomas spotted the shiny object in Tiberius’ hand. “What’s that?”
“It’s a pocket watch.” Tiberius opened the case with his thumb and held the watch by its chain. It swung, its polished, golden surface catching the sunlight .
The pristine glass of the watch’s crystal protected its Roman numerals, enclosed in a tiny garland of white gold. Both tips of the ticking hands ended in a pointy spade. The back of the watch was engraved with intricate twirls and a six-point star in the middle of an open flower, the initials “OW” etched on one of the petals.
Tiberius followed the thick gold chain with his thumb, feeling the uncommon pattern of round and rectangular links and pearls: white, black and then white again. Thomas stared at it, mesmerized. “You must be rich, Sheriff!”
Tiberius smiled and patted the boy’s head. “It’s not mine. It belongs to Mr. Whitlock.”
Thomas wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like him.”
Tiberius put Whitlock’s watch inside the right pocket of his sheepskin duster.
“Your ma told me you’ve been having a visitor.” Tiberius said.
Thomas kept his eyes on the road and kicked the sand.
“Have you seen him too, Thomas?”
Thomas nodded.
“Don’t talk to strangers. If you see that man again, go tell your ma right away, so she can come find me.”
Thomas drew circles on the ground with the heel of his left boot and said nothing.
“Alright, pardner?”
“Can I see the watch again?” Thomas replied, his eyes twinkling.
Tiberius patted his head again. “Sorry pal, I have to give it back to its owner.”
And have a word or two with him as well.
Tiberius strode down Main Street towards Whitlock Manor. Obadiah Whitlock’s weathered late Victorian monstrosity sat on the north side of the town square, a reminder of his capital role in Souls Well’s history built right in the heart of the town. Whitlock’s claws spread from his mansion all the way to the silver mine, but his grip had lost its strength since his empire disappeared under layers of rock and snow.
Silver & Bone (American Alchemy - Wild West Book 1) Page 2