Shad Run

by Howard Breslin

  “No. He’ll come here! I’m sure he will!”

  She was more than sure; she was positive. This was their meeting place, the scene of their lovemaking, where they had exchanged the words that bound them to each other. Justin would not flee without seeing her, and, with pursuit spreading, this was the only safe rendezvous. He needed help, and she had come to give it.

  “We’ll have to wait,” she said.

  Reluctantly, Dirck dismounted, tied the mare. The clearing didn’t strike him as an attractive spot in which to endure a brawling thunderstorm. Already the encircling trees had lost identity, were blended into a solid black wall. The open space looked sere and lonely, a bare patch of ground that nobody had ever visited.

  Dirck raised his arms to the girl. “We can’t wait long,” he said. The distant lightning flickered again, visually supporting his statement.

  Lancey slid down from the horse, was caught. She stood for an instant, holding Dirck for balance, and the breathless calm made her nervous. In spite of her worry about Justin she was glad that Dirck was with her. She spoke softly, with a rare timidity.

  “We must wait till he comes, Dirck.”

  “How can you be sure he will?”

  “Because—” said Lancey, and paused. She had rehearsed the speech mentally, but now felt oddly reluctant to speak it. Still Dirck deserved to know how things stood between herself and Justin. She said, “Because he’s asked me to marry him, and—and I said I would.”

  She braced herself, awaiting anger or cold silence. Lancey was surprised at the strength of her concern for Dirck. If I truly love Justin, she thought, nothing else should matter.

  Dirck laughed. His hands slid up her arms to grasp her shoulders, but he shook her only once, and gently.

  “Now why in the hell,” he said, “did you do a fool thing like that?”

  “Why—why—”

  Sputtering, Lancey was unable to answer. His laughter, the amused question, had shocked her speechless. Didn’t Dirck believe her? I love Justin, she thought in silent protest. I do! Her inarticulate stupidity angered her, and she tried to twist from Dirck’s grasp.

  Holding her fast, Dirck said: “You’ll have to change your mind, Lancey. You can’t marry Justin.”

  “I—can’t—” His coolness fanned Lancey’s anger. She welcorned the feeling because it loosed her tongue. “Who says I can’t?”

  “I do. You’re going to marry me.”

  “I’ll do exactly as I—” She stiffened as his meaning penetrated. His face was very close to her staring eyes.

  “Exactly as you please,” Dirck said. “Fine! That means we’ll be wed!” He drew her close, and kissed her.

  Oh, no, thought Lancey, that’s all over. She tried, vainly, to turn her head, to keep her lips tightly closed. Instead, her arms slid around him, and her body pressed against him. Even as she returned Dirck’s kiss, enjoying it, she deplored her conduct. You carnal wench, Lancey’s mind exclaimed. You sinful, lecherous, fickle harlot! Is it Justin one day, Dirck the next, any man whose kisses give you pleasure?

  “Please, Dirck.”

  “I love you, Lancey.”

  “Me or—or this?”

  “You and this, Lancey. I think—I hope—you love me.”

  “I—I don’t know,” she whispered, trying to tell the truth. She was clinging to him, but only because she needed support. “I’m—I thought I loved Justin.”

  Lightning curled its white whip through the sky, cracked it. The report was earsplitting, a sharp blast that seemed to shake the earth.

  It startled them both, drove Lancey deeper into Dirck’s embrace. She flinched, hiding her face against his coat. Thunder had never frightened her before, but this was like a judgment from Heaven.

  “It’s all right, Lancey. It’s all right.”

  “Dirck.”

  “It isn’t even close yet.” He was holding the girl with one arm, reaching for Meda’s bridle with the other. The mare didn’t like the thunder either. Two skittish females, Dirck thought, with exasperated affection.

  Dirck neither saw nor heard Justin until he was wrenched away from Lancey. Even then he had no chance to dodge or guard before a hard fist smashed into his face.

  CHAPTER 22

  “JUSTIN!”

  Lancey’s cry was almost a frightened scream. His sudden appearance, the outburst of violence, seemed a terrifying aspect of the thunder and lightning. The mare whinnied shrilly, reared, but the girl’s first concern was Dirck. He was lying, crumpled, where the vicious blow had driven him. In the thickening gloom Lancey could not see his face.

  “Dirck,” she said, and started toward him.

  “Oh, no!” Justin barred her way. “Let him lie there! It’s only your sex keeps me from stretching you alongside him!”

  The fierceness of his voice held her more than the threat. She stared at him, uncomprehending, but fear left her and was replaced by anger. She said: “He’s hurt. You’d no need to strike him.”

  “And you in his arms,” Justin said. He was coldly raging, speaking thickly, but with care. “How many times in one day can a wench betray a man?”

  “You’re easily betrayed! Dirck kissed me, yes, but—”

  “He’s welcome to your kisses!”

  Another flash of lightning brightened the clearing, and Lancey glimpsed Justin’s scowl. In spite of herself she shivered. She had never seen this man, couldn’t possibly love him. He had a right to blame her, perhaps, but not like this.

  “I’m sorry, Justin.” Lancey sounded contrite. “I honestly thought I loved you, but—”

  “Liar!”

  “I’m trying to explain!”

  “You’re good at that,” Justin said, sneering. “You have a way with fine sounding phrases. And all the while you’d sell a man behind his back.”

  “Sell? What are you talking about?”

  “Have you been so busy with your fancy friend that you don’t know a sheriff’s come from Springfield?”

  “Of course, I know. We saw you break away from them. That’s why Dirck brought me here. To help you, Justin.”

  “Help me? After it was you who sent them word?”

  “Me?” Lancey shook her head as if to clear her hearing. “I sent them word?”

  “Oh, stop it, Lancey, you sicken me. Aaron Nichols had your name. ‘Quist,’ he said. ‘You can thank a party called Quist for this, Justin,’ he said.”

  “And you thought that I—?” Lancey didn’t bother to finish the question. She was outraged and furious. If he could think that of me, she decided, his love was small indeed. Blood drained from her cheeks, came back with tingling heat.

  “Who else here knew my story?”

  Justin’s bitterness was equaled in Lancey’s reply. “No one knew maybe,” she said, coldly, “not even Conrad. He merely cast his net in hope of gain.”

  “Conrad?”

  “My brother. The tender at the horse-ferry. Conrad Quist. He has the name, too.” Her voice rose as she flared out at him. “Blast your mistrust, Justin! I’m ashamed I ever said I loved you!”

  “Your brother,” said Justin. He glanced at Dirck. “But you and van Zandt—”

  Following his glance, Lancey saw that Dirck had rolled over, was sitting up. She tried to push past Justin, but he caught her wrist.

  “Lancey, wait!”

  “Let me go!”

  “It was a natural mistake.”

  “If you thought that,” she said, “why did you come here to our clearing?” Lancey made no effort to free her arm. She didn’t look at Justin, watched Dirck slowly rise to his feet. His sluggish movements made her weak with sudden tenderness.

  “Venick was to meet me here,” muttered Justin. He was too skilled a fighter to miss Dirck’s revival, and he swung Lancey out of the way. “You want more, van Zandt?”

  The girl recognized the savage pleasure in Justin’s tone. He wronged me, she thought, but he would welcome Dirck as a whipping boy. Fear clogged her throat. Justin was th
e bigger man, and she had seen him fight.

  Dirck, hatless and swaying, straightened his coat. He said, “A coward’s blow, Pattison, while I wasn’t looking.”

  “You’re looking now.”

  “Yes, and at a bully.” Dirck sounded calm, spoke with deliberate contempt. “You evidently mistreat girls, too.”

  Justin growled, let go of Lancey, and crouched. His remark was drowned by a closer clap of thunder; Lancey stepped between them as the lightning flared.

  “Get back, Lancey.”

  Both men spoke at once. The girl shook her head, held a fluttering hand toward each. “No,” she said, firmly, “I’ll not have it! I brought Dirck here to help you, Justin. You owe him an apology and——”

  “I’ll see him damned first,” interrupted Justin.

  Dirck said: “No apology is acceptable. He struck me. Under other circumstances I’d demand a gentleman’s satisfaction, but as it is——” Dirck shrugged out of his coat. “I’ll have to settle it by thrashing him.”

  “Dirck,” cried Lancey, in panic, “he’s much bigger and stouter, and he nearly crippled Jan Elmendorf——”

  “For God’s sake, Lancey!”

  The horrified bellow that exploded from Dirck stunned Lancey into silence. She had never heard Dirck give way to such uncontrolled fury. Justin’s laugh stung her to the realization that she’d said the wrong thing. Desperate, aware she’d blundered, that she had broken some male code that she didn’t understand, the girl turned to Justin.

  “You know I’m right. You’ll be taking a cowardly advantage——”

  “Lancey,” said Dirck, “will you please hold your tongue!”

  “No, I won’t! I——”

  “Put your coat back on, van Zandt.” Justin ignored Lancey. “You mentioned a gentleman’s satisfaction. It will give me great pleasure to supply the same.”

  “Here?”

  “And now.”

  “May I ask how, with what weapons?”

  They were talking so quietly, with such an odd formal air, that Lancey’s head turned as she glanced, puzzled, from one to the other. To hear them, she thought, you’d almost believe the quarrel was mended. A chill lump of dread seemed to be forming in the pit of her stomach.

  “Pistols,” Justin said. He gestured toward the woods behind Dirck. “And witnesses enough so nobody’ll accuse me of murder this time.”

  Dirck turned, and then Lancey, too, saw the yellow lights bobbing among the trees. She blinked as lightning turned the clearing to white radiance, but the lights were still there when darkness returned. As Dirck donned his coat she knew them for lanterns. Thunder rumbled, and she judged the lightning was closer. It was coming at shorter intervals, now.

  “Friends of yours?” asked Dirck.

  “I think so.”

  Dirck bowed, picked up his hat, and went to soothe the mare. Meda wasn’t very happy, but she quieted under her master’s stroke and murmur. Lancey hesitated, but Justin was gazing at the glowing squares; she walked over to join Dirck. “Dirck,” she said, whispering, “what did he mean by murder?”

  “There’s no question of that,” Dirck said impatiently. “He just likes to wind his own horn.”

  The lights bobbed into the clearing, and by their glow Lancey saw the faces and figures of two men. She recognized Venick and Digmus Jaycock before the latter spoke.

  “Justin?”

  “Over here,” called Justin, “and fetch those lamps. It’s as dark as pitch.”

  The men started forward, dodged wildly as lightning startled them. Venick’s shout barely beat the following thunderclap.

  “Who’s that with you?”

  “It’s all right,” Justin said. “It’s just Dirck van Zandt and Lancey Quist.”

  “You haven’t told them—”

  “I’ve told them nothing, Venick. Did you bring the pistols I asked for?”

  “Yes,” said Digmus Jaycock, “my own brace.” The innkeeper held his light high, peered toward Dirck and Lancey. “I suppose it’s safe to talk?” He barely waited for Justin’s nod. “Pistols won’t help you much, Justin. They’re searching the riverfront for you. There’s men at my place, and at Pardon’s.”

  Venick said, “You won’t be much good to us caught or running.”

  “I’m not running,” Justin said. “I’ll hide out until the day of the vote, and lead the lads as we planned. But first there’s a little matter to be decided between Master van Zandt and myself.”

  “At your convenience,” said Dirck, with cold politeness, “though the storm will be upon us any minute.” Even as he finished thunder and lightning, roar and streak, crashed above the clearing.

  Lancey, trembling from the noise, aquiver from the growing dread within her, watched Jaycock take a pair of pistols from under his coat, give them to Justin. Strangely, she heard the click of the steel as he snapped each lock to examine the priming in the pans; it was a thin, metallic sound compared to the deep growl of the thunder. She clutched Dirck’s arm as Justin led the others toward them.

  The curved gunbutts gleamed in the pale diffused beams. They hung across Justin’s forearm, thought Lancey, like the sleek, drooping heads of slain brown birds. Colder pinpoints of light glittered on the steel hammers, seemed reflected in Justin’s dark eyes. His face looked as white and hard as the edges of the flints in their cocks.

  “My apologies,” said Justin, “that these pieces are not proper for the occasion. But they are twins, both loaded, and you may take your choice.”

  ~“Thank you,” Dirck said, and took one. He hefted the weapon’s weight without glancing at it.

  “What is this foolery?” asked Venick, lisping.

  “A duel?” Jaycock winced at the lightning, competed with the thunder. “A duel, Justin?”

  “No,” said Lancey. “No! Dirck. Justin. You mustn’t.” Her dread hardened to certainty. She had never known a duellist, or anyone who had witnessed a duel; differences on the riverfront were settled by brawls. She’d heard of the formal ritual by which men killed according to a code, but it was remote from her life. Not Dirck, she thought, aghast. Not Justin.

  “Jaycock can act for me,” said Justin, levelly. “You seem to have brought your second.”

  Dirck smiled down at Lancey’s hand on his arm, shrugged. He said, “As you wish.”

  “No, Dirck, please.” Lancey, horrified, was pleading. “Justin, this is madness!”

  “The girl’s right,” Venick said, “in more ways than one. This could double your troubles, Justin.”

  Justin stared at him, coldly determined. He said: “You give the word, Venick. Gold or no gold the riverfront men won’t follow you, and you know it. Unless I lead them there’ll be no rising.”

  “This conversation is beyond me,” said Dirck, “but I don’t think that you’ll be able to lead anything.” He smiled blandly, and yawned.

  “Ten yards apart.” Justin was clipped and brisk. “A lantern at our feet to mark position. Venick calls the preliminary commands, but we fire at the first lightning flash after that.” As if drawn by his words, lightning crackled, luridly brightening sky and clearing.

  “Agreed,” said Dirck. Gently he withdrew his arm from Lancey’s fingers. “Stay with Meda, will you, Lancey? She’s a mite restless.”

  “Dirck, wait!”

  He laughed, touched her cheek with his knuckles. “I’ll be right back, Lancey.”

  “Why don’t you tell the wench,” said Justin as he moved away, “that this has nothing to do with her?”

  “Nothing to——”

  “That’s right, Lancey,” said Dirck, cheerfully. “Nothing at all.” He took a lamp from Jaycock and walked off, swinging it.

  That, the girl recalled, was part of their stupid code. Jan had fought with Justin under the same pretense. They had some fool notion that the lie protected a girl’s honor. Honor! What did honor have to do with making a corpse of a lover?

  The two figures, with their blobs of horn-dimmed candlelight, mov
ed apart. Their shapes were dim, almost lost in the darkness, but the lights made identification possible. There, on the right, stockings showed Justin’s walk. To her left, where the black boots flashed as they turned, was Dirck.

  Lightning blinded Lancey; thunder smothered her scream. She couldn’t stand this! This duel was to the death, and when Justin fought he never lost! One thought shrieked in her brain, through the tumult of her heartbeats, the uproar of the coming storm.

  She loved Dirck van Zandt!

  Dirck, cried Lancey silently. Dirck must not be hurt, killed. She started to run forward, but hands gripped her, held her fast.

  “Whoa,” said Digmus Jaycock in her ear, “you could get hurted, Lancey!”

  From the darkness close by came the voice of Christian Venick.

  “Are you ready, gentlemen?”

  “Ready,” said Dirck.

  “Yes,” Justin said.

  The glow to her right made knitted stockings visible. Lancey turned to her left, where polished leather was streaked with light. Those shining lines wavered as her eyes blurred.

  “Cock your pieces,” Venick called. “Present them.”

  Dear God, prayed Lancey. Dear God, not Dirck. Neither, please, but not Dirck!

  Lancey could hear the wind rising, stirring the woods. So far it was only bending the tree-tops, but the girl felt as if it blew through her, chill and keen.

  Digmus Jaycock’s breathing was heavy, as rasping as if he snored.

  The wait seemed endless; the very air was charged with electricity. Lancey’s tension increased with each slow, passing moment. Where was the lightning? It had flashed with increasing frequency as the storm closed; now, it was taking minutes. Where was it?

  Jagged and brilliant, the lightning cast its thin tracery across the sky. For a glaring instant it froze the clearing into a cold, blue-white stillness.

  Everything was outlined starkly, black shapes in lurid brilliance. Lancey saw the grass, the trees, the outcropping rocks, Venick close, Justin and Dirck more distant and separate, against the glittering background. Both duellists stood with arms raised, pistols aimed, as rigid as signposts.

  Then, with a crack that ripped, shuddering, through the atmosphere, the light was snuffed out.