Silver & Bone (American Alchemy - Wild West Book 1)

by Oliver Altair

  The paths around Souls Well were deserted. Tiberius and Doc Tucker stuck to the shadows, walking as far as possible from the farmhouses and cabins that still showed a hint of light in their windows. They used only the moonlight as guidance and watched their step. The last thing they needed was to trip and drop the late John Hickok in the middle of the road.

  They crossed the rickety bridge over Mule’s Creek, the thin tributary that meandered through the outskirts of town before joining Souls River in its center. Soon after, Tiberius spotted the eerie shapes of crosses against the dark horizon and the half-built, marble mausoleum on top of the cemetery’s hill, gleaming under the moonlight.

  The construction of the mausoleum had been one of Obadiah Whitlock’s most commented upon eccentricities. He brought big slabs of marble all the way from Italy and hired the best architects and sculptors from all around the West. But after the avalanche, Obadiah stopped its construction immediately and donated his parcel of the cemetery to the miners’ families, so their loved ones could rest together under the hill that overlooked the churchyard. Whitlock also paid for lavish, mahogany caskets. In his eyes, that was enough to honor the miners’ deaths and ease his guilt.

  Tiberius and Doc Tucker quietly passed the small church and circled Father Darley’s humble clergy house. They crossed the cemetery, climbed the hill, and lowered John Hickok’s body onto a patch of grass. Doc Tucker leaned against the facade of Whitlock’s mausoleum, which opened to nothing, like the archway of a ruined Greek temple. He breathed heavily.

  Tiberius lit the oil lamp and read the tombstones, one by one, until he found what he was looking for: Here Lies John Hickok. But the grave was closed.

  Doc Tucker peeked over Tiberius’ shoulder. “Where’s the hole?”

  Tiberius handed the lamp to Doc Tucker, then crouched and touched the soil. It felt grainy. “The earth has been recently moved.”

  Doc Tucker shuddered. Tiberius stood up and shook the dirt off his hands. “Time to dig.”

  Tiberius and Doc Tucker dug in silence. Their clothes soon became damp with sweat, even though the night breeze was crisp. They shed their coats but their breath still left misty trails, like a boiling kettle.

  Doc Tucker grunted with relief when his shovel clanked against the wooden casket. It was empty. Tiberius jumped out the open grave, and dragged the stretcher to its edge. With the help of the doctor, they placed John back in his casket, where he belonged. Doc Tucker closed it with the tip of his shovel. Then they drove their tools into the pile of fresh soil and dropped to the ground, back to back.

  “I remember, when I was a student, rumor had it some people stole corpses and sold them to medical schools for their anatomy lessons,” Doc Tucker said.

  “Well, don’t get any ideas.”

  Doc Tucker laughed quietly. “I hope you’re right and this was for the best.”

  “Was?” Tiberius stood back up and grabbed his shovel. “We still need to close the grave.”

  Doc Tucker whined but soon joined Tiberius as he shoveled the soil back on top of the closed casket. After a couple of shovelfuls, Tiberius came to a sudden halt.

  “What’s the matter?” Doc Tucker whispered.

  Tiberius pointed. A dim, yellow light and the barrel of a shiny rifle walked straight at them, between the stray pieces of the half-built mausoleum.

  “Don’t even think about running! I’m a sharp shooter!” a man yelled.

  Doc Tucker looked at Tiberius, helpless.

  “Shame on you! Disturbing the rest of the dead! How could you—” The man lowered his rifle. “Sheriff Tibbetts! And Everett Tucker!”

  “Hi, Father,” Tiberius greeted.

  Father Darley’s glare moved from one face to another. “What the devil are you doing? Digging graves in the middle of the night?”

  “We wouldn’t be the first ones,” Doc Tucker replied.

  “There’s a good reason behind it, Father. Trust me.”

  “There better be.”

  Father Darley waved his lantern over the open grave, then read the tombstone.

  “John Hickok.”

  “I found him in the clearing behind the pine forest. Not too far from his family’s cabin.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me instead of sneaking around the cemetery? Thank God, I didn’t shoot first and asked questions later.”

  “I didn’t mean to alarm you, Father. I—”

  “Hush. Not another word until we put this man back to rest.”

  Father Darley walked downhill towards his cottage, muttering and waving his rifle. He returned minutes later, carrying a rusty but sturdy shovel then helped Tiberius and Doc Tucker with John Hickok’s second burial. Tiberius was surprised at Father Darley’s stamina for a man his age. Doc Tucker kept quiet, breathing heavily with every shovelful. When the grave was finally filled, they put their shovels down, and Father Darley crossed himself. Tiberius sat down on a rock and stretched his tired arms.

  Father Darley stayed by John Hickok’s grave. “Disturbing the peace of the dead is a serious offense.”

  “That’s the least of my worries. Disturbing the peace of the living concerns me more.”

  Father Darley revealed a small, gray flask hidden in his sleeve, took a quick sip, then threw the flask to Tiberius, who caught it mid-air. Tiberius smelled its content and his eyes teared up a little.

  Tiberius smirked. “Why, Father. This ain’t no Mass wine.”

  Tiberius drank and the priest’s strong herbal liquor left a sweet aftertaste in his mouth. He stood up, stretched some more, and gave the flask back. Then he joined Doc Tucker, who sat in front of another of the twelve graves spread on top of the hill, his eyes fixed on the tombstone’s obituary: Jonathan Tucker. Beloved son.

  “When was the last time you visited?” Tiberius asked.

  “I never came back after I buried him,” Doc Tucker answered, his voice breaking.

  “I’m sorry, Doc. Let’s go home.”

  “No.” Doc Tucker sprang to his feet and faced Tiberius. “What if Hickok wasn’t the only one missing?”

  Before Tiberius could answer, Doc Tucker got his shovel, and started digging his son’s grave. Tiberius and Father Darley had only two options: help him, or let him do it all by himself.

  When they unearthed Jonathan’s casket, Doc Tucker reached for it with a shaky hand, but couldn’t bring himself to touch it. Tiberius took over and opened it very slowly, its hinges creaking. Doc Tucker looked over Tiberius’ shoulder and covered his mouth to muffle his pained scream.

  Jonathan Tucker’s casket was empty.

  X

  Tiberius crossed his tired legs over his desk, the dry mud on his boots leaving a trail of dust on the wooden surface. He stared at the three young men sitting in front of him. They were the ones who had taunted Garrett Drake on his way to the gallows.

  “What are your names again?” the sheriff asked.

  The three kids looked to their feet and said nothing.

  Tiberius pinched the bridge of his nose. Then pointed at one of them without even looking. “You, what’s your name, son?”

  “Fin—” he gulped., “Finney, sir.”

  Tiberius pointed to his friend, on the left.

  “Thompkins, sir,” the young man said.

  Then he pointed to the last of the three.

  “Rowland.”

  “Rowland? Silas’ son?”

  “The one that’s left.”

  Tiberius threw his hat on the table and combed his black hair with his hand. “Your pa is a good man. So was your late brother. You’re not honoring his memory by causing all this trouble, are you?”

  Young Rowland scoffed, but Tiberius noticed the slight tremble of his upper lip. They were nothing but frightened, little rabbits, those three. But Souls Well was full of hungry foxes.

  Tiberius drummed with his fingers on the table. “This is the thing. Early this morning I walked to the gallows to take The Tanager’s body down. And guess what? There’s no body han
ging from that rope. I don’t think you know anything about that, do you?”

  “No, sir,” Rowland answered.

  “What do you say Fin-Finney?”

  “I haven’t been to the gallows since the hanging, sir. None of us have.”

  Thompkins nodded in agreement.

  Tiberius yawned. His long night at the cemetery was catching up with him.

  “I’m too tired to deal with you three, so I’m going to believe you, for now. Get out of my sight. Skedaddle!”

  The three friends jumped to their feet so fast two of their chairs crashed to the floor.

  Tiberius locked the door behind them and lowered the blinds. Souls Well would have to manage without him for a couple of hours. He dragged his feet past the empty cell and up the stairs to his humble living quarters on the second floor.

  After closing Jonathan Tucker’s empty grave, Tiberius, Doc Tucker, and Father Darley had unearthed another three caskets. All of them were empty. That was more than enough for Tiberius to suspect none of the miners were under the cemetery’s hill. Tiberius asked both Father Darley and Doc Tucker to keep the secret of the missing bodies, at least until he could figure out who was behind it.

  Tiberius had walked back to town with Doc Tucker by his side. The doctor looked like he’d been struck by a burning arrow, right through the heart. When they passed by the gallows, they discovered an empty noose at the bottom of the rope. They parted ways sharing the same troubled gaze but without uttering a single word.

  Tiberius took off his clothes. They reeked of sweat and fresh soil. Of death. Exhaustion took over and he dropped on his bed naked. His sore muscles relaxed. His eyelids closed. His breath slowed…

  The avalanche. The silver mine buried in snow. The miners gasping for breath under the deadly pile of ice and rock. Tiberius was there. He was one of them. His broken ribs had pierced his lungs, and he drowned in his own blood. The snow melted. Now he sank in thick mud. It clogged his mouth, his nostrils. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank. He wanted to let go. Be at peace.

  A pair of strong arms pulled him out of the earth. Harsh pebbles scratched his naked skin. He shivered. He was standing on top of the cemetery’s hill. But he could see the whole town below.

  “Why won’t you let us rest?” a shadow whispered to his ear.

  John Hickok hit Tiberius with a rusty pickaxe. It broke into a million pieces against his head, like shattered glass. Tiberius fell to his knees. There was nothing but darkness.

  He heard the eerie whistling coming closer. Ti, fa, la, mi. Ti, fa, la, mi.

  He dug with his own hands, hurting his knuckles, breaking his nails. He needed to hide beneath the ground.

  Ti, fa, la, mi.

  He felt the ice-cold barrel of the gun against his temple. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

  Tiberius woke to the sound of insistent knocking on his door. He’d forgotten to close the blinds of his bedroom window and sunlight stung his tired eyes. Tiberius poured fresh water from a jar in his chipped, china basin, splashed his face, hands and body, got dressed and went downstairs.

  “Sheriff Tibbetts?” Tiberius recognized Jesse Valentine’s voice.

  Tiberius’ arms still ached from all the digging and they screamed with a slight pang when he turned the brass doorknob.

  “What’s the matter, Jesse?”

  Tiberius moved away from the door to let him in, but Jesse stood at his doorstep, silent, his head pointed to the wooden floorboards.

  “Spill it. I don’t have all day.”

  “There’s been a tragedy,” Jesse stuttered.

  Tragedy. The town’s favorite word as of late. Tiberius grabbed his coat and followed Jesse to the Silver Moon.

  “I shouldn’t have left her like that, Sheriff. But I didn’t know what to do.”

  Jesse Valentine, a man who broke up all sorts of bar brawls without even raising an eyebrow, a man who, according to the town gossip, had survived a stab wound and a gunshot, was shaking like a leaf.

  “Jesse.” Tiberius grabbed his arm and slowed him down. “What is it?”

  “She didn’t deserve that. She was a good girl.”

  Tiberius held his breath.

  “Lucy’s dead,” Jesse said.

  Jesse led Tiberius to Lucy’s room on the second floor of the Silver Moon, and opened the door, but wouldn’t go in. Tiberius entered and closed the door behind him. A black key poked from the keyhole on that side.

  “Did you unlock the door, Jesse?”

  “No, Sheriff. It was open,” came Jesse’s muffled voice from through the door.

  Tiberius scouted the bedroom and found Lucy’s body on the floor, between her bed and the window. For a moment, Tiberius wished Jesse had been wrong, and that she’d just passed out after having too much to drink.

  Tiberius kneeled beside Lucy. She was cold and her skin looked too white even under her pink blush. Her mouth was frozen in a grotesque grimace. Her eyes were bloody and bulged. A red rash circled her swollen neck.

  Tiberius called Jesse in. Jesse stood on the opposite side of the room, unable to look at the corpse.

  “When did you find her?” Tiberius inquired.

  Jesse shook his head. “I didn’t. Mother did when she came to wake her up, about half an hour ago.”

  “Where’s Madame Valentine?”

  “She took the rest of the girls for a walk, so she could keep them away until I went to get you.”

  “Smart. I’ll have to talk to her later. When did you see Lucy last, Jesse?”

  “Yesterday. She left in the late afternoon. Didn’t see her when she came back.”

  Tiberius looked at Lucy’s purple lips and thought of the song she would never have the chance to sing.

  “Go get Doc Tucker. And not a word to anyone.”

  Jesse darted downstairs. Tiberius heard him fumbling with the lock on the outside set of glass paned double doors Madame Valentine only kept closed during the winter months. Then Jesse’s quick steps faded away down the road.

  Tiberius sat on Lucy’s unmade bed for a moment and placed his head in his hands. He let the grief soak him head to toe, his oldest and dearest friend lifeless on the cold floor. His rage grew wild when he pictured Lucy alone and afraid, asking for help that never came. Then a sudden longing filled his heavy heart. The placid mountain town of his childhood was no more.

  Souls Well. The town’s grim name became more fitting with every passing day.

  But how many souls until the well was filled?

  Tiberius took a deep breath and did something he had almost forgotten how to do: he cried.

  XI

  Tiberius looked for signs of a struggle, but Lucy’s room seemed orderly enough. The only thing out of place was the pile of crumpled sheets trailing off her bed. Either Lucy had tossed and turned a lot in her sleep, or that mattress had been shared. Tiberius bet on the latter, but only Doc Tucker would be able to confirm his suspicions.

  On Lucy’s night stand, next to the small brass oil lamp, there was a round metal tin. It read “Runkel Bros. Chocolate. New York.” It was open, its beautifully hand painted lid placed lazily on top. There were no chocolates left, just a bunch of colorful candy wrappers. Lucy had always received gifts from one secret lover or another, but only one man in Souls Well could afford such luxurious treats. And if he was behind her murder, not all the silver in the world would save him from the gallows.

  Lucy was wearing a soft blue dress full of white satin bows and laces and a silver fur coat on top, and a pair of spotless button-up ankle boots on her rigid feet. Lucy couldn’t afford by herself any of those pieces. Not only had she’d dressed with the helping hand of a wealthier friend, her expensive coat told Tiberius she’d been on her way out right before death came to pick her up.

  Tiberius opened Lucy’s closet. It was empty. None of her bright dresses, pink feathers or pointy shoes. Nothing but cobwebs in all four corners.

  Tiberius crawled on the rough floorboards and found tin
y, pale green needles around Lucy’s body. He smelled something pungent.

  “What are you doing on all fours, like a mare in heat?”

  Tiberius stood up, startled. Doc Tucker stared at him from the threshold, his head cocked to the side.

  “Come in and close the door,” Tiberius said.

  Doc Tucker opened and closed the door a couple of times. “The door looks fine.”

  Tiberius nodded. “It was unlocked from this side. That makes me think Lucy knew whoever assaulted her.”

  “Just what this town needs. Local murderers.”

  Doc Tucker came inside as Tiberius picked one of the green needles up off the ground.

  “What do you make of this?” Tiberius placed the needle on the doctor’s palm.

  Doc Tucker examined it. His lack of sleep showed in the dark circles around his eyes, but he seemed sober. Or, at least, sober enough.

  “Looks like a needle from a pine tree.” Doc Tucker adjusted his spectacles. “No, wait. By the color, I’d say it belongs to a white fir.”

  “Now, take a deep breath, Doc.”

  Doc Tucker raised an eyebrow, but complied.

  Tiberius breathed in at the same time. “Do you smell that? I know the scent, but can’t put my finger on it.”

  Doc Tucker nodded. “It’s sage.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I have plenty in my practice. I gave it to you as an infusion when you came up with that cough last winter, remember?”

  So that was why the scent was so familiar. Tiberius mentally mapped the wild areas around Souls Well. White firs and sage bushes… There was one place where both plants grew abundantly all year round: on the slopes and rocky paths that lead to Obadiah Whitlock’s buried silver mine.

  Doc Tucker kneeled beside Lucy’s body and placed his leather bag on the ground. He took a small mirror and placed it close to her lips, though Tiberius knew that would prove pointless.

  Doc Tucker clicked his tongue. “Poor thing.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  Doc Tucker carefully turned Lucy’s head left and right.