Keeper of the Books (Keeper of the Books, Book 1)

by Jason D. Morrow

  Clive squatted in front of him and looked back at the group. It wouldn’t be too difficult to bash Clive in the side of the head and take off running. The others would probably catch Joe, but if he took off into the thick of the woods and stayed close enough to the road, he might be able to get to Vandikhan before they got him. He almost shook his head at the thought. They would catch him. They would catch him and they would skin him alive. Joe didn’t stand a chance.

  Clive looked back at him. When he spoke, his voice was low and almost a whisper. “There is no stash of weapons, is there?”

  Joe froze. How did he know? “What do you mean?” Joe looked past Clive and saw that the other soldiers were pretty far away and talking amongst themselves. The Warlord was talking to a few of his men, the lines on his face creasing with laughter at some joke. They paid Clive and Joe no attention.

  “Tell me the truth,” Clive said. “Your life depends on it.”

  Joe hesitated. Was this some trick?

  “If you tell me the truth, your life will be spared. Have you truly been stealing from the Crimson Army? Do you actually have a stash of weapons?”

  This was the moment. Either Joe lied or he took a chance and told Clive the truth. Telling Clive the truth felt insane. What could possess Joe to do such a thing? But there was something in Clive’s eyes that seemed different. It truly seemed like he wanted to help Joe.

  It may have been the worst, and perhaps last, words of his life, but Joe decided to tell Clive the truth. “No,” he said, whispering. “There is no stash of weapons. I don’t steal from the president. I don’t even know where I am.”

  Clive nodded. “I’m going to ask you a question and you’re going to tell me the truth,” Clive said.

  “I thought I just answered your question,” Joe snapped.

  Clive ignored him. “Are you from this world?”

  “No.”

  “Where were you before you came to Galamore?”

  “Texas.”

  “Texas,” Clive repeated.

  “Yeah.”

  The man let out a sigh and looked over his shoulder at the others again. They were still carrying on about something Joe couldn’t hear.

  “Then it’s true,” Clive said.

  “What’s true?”

  “Get up,” Clive told him.

  “What?”

  “Get up!” His whisper was much harsher this time.

  Joe stood and Clive pulled him behind one of the carts meant for carrying Joe’s stash of weapons. Clive peeked around the corner of the cart and seemed satisfied that no one was near them. He took the canteen from Joe’s hands and set it in the back of the cart. Then he pulled out a knife from his belt. This gave Joe a start, but he held his composure. Clive pulled Joe’s hands toward him and slid the knife between his wrists and pulled up. The ropes fell to the ground without noise and Joe simply stood there frozen in place. Clive didn’t miss a beat. He slid his knife back into his belt and then reached into his satchel. Joe didn’t know what to think when he pulled out Joe’s belt and holster along with his six-shooter.

  “I stole this from the Warlord in the middle of the night. You said you’re a good shot?”

  “I never said that to you,” Joe said.

  “You will,” Clive answered.

  Joe quickly fastened his belt and pulled out his pistol, inspecting every part. He checked to see if it was still loaded and was happy to notice that it was.

  “What do you mean I will?” Joe asked.

  “I’ll explain everything to you later. Right now, I have to know if you’re ready to kill.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve never killed a man, right?”

  “What makes you think that?” At first Joe felt offended that Clive would assume such a thing, but the moment felt too surreal to dwell on that fact.

  “You haven’t,” Clive said. “I need to make sure you’re ready to do it right now. I can’t take on ten men by myself.”

  “Why are you turning against them?” Joe asked.

  “I fail to see why it matters to you right now,” Clive said. “I’m offering you a chance. Either you’re going to help me kill these men, or I’m afraid I will have to kill you myself. You’re now a liability to me.”

  Joe looked down at the gun in his hand. He could hit a target better than any man. He had shot a man or two in his jobs with Nate, but he had never killed any of them. A leg wound here, a shoulder wound there. The shots had always been calculated. He didn’t like the idea of killing, but he would if he had to.

  Joe nodded at him. “I’m ready.”

  Clive nodded back. “Good.” He set his satchel on the ground and pulled his saber from its sheath slowly. The sound of the singing metal wouldn’t be heard by the other men, but to Joe it sounded menacing and cold. Was this murder? For Clive it might be, but for Joe it was self defense—life or death.

  Clive closed his eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths. When he opened them again, he stared Joe in the eyes, a look of fear mixed with determination spread across Clive’s face. “I will make the first move. Simply aim for any man that comes at me. And if you can, leave the Warlord for me to deal with.”

  Joe nodded. With another deep breath, Clive stepped out from behind the covered wagon with his sword held high. Joe moved to the edge of the wagon and watched as the Renegades sat on the ground oblivious to their impending doom. Some joked and laughed while others enjoyed their last meal. The two guards that had been sitting next to Joe had their backs to Clive. It was the last mistake they ever made. Clive held his sword with his right hand and reared back to take a swing. Joe wasn’t ready for the amount of blood he saw when the blade sliced through the neck of both men. One swing, two heads. The bodies fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. Before the others even realized what was happened, Clive already had his sword through the chest of another Renegade.

  When the others drew their weapons, it was time for Joe to spring into action. One man aimed his pistol at Clive, but Joe was too quick for him. The bullet took off two of the man’s fingers and he screamed out and fell to his knees as blood spilled from his hand. Clive answered the man’s cry with a blade to his neck. Two more soldiers aimed their rifles at him, but Joe put a bullet in one’s leg and another into the other soldier’s arm. Both of them fell to the ground. With a swift stab for each, Clive ended their lives.

  Clive then held the saber in his left hand and shot his pistol with his right. Clive shouted out when one bullet hit his thigh and another went through his shoulder. The man went to his knees almost immediately, the pain no doubt searing.

  Joe moved ahead, firing his six-shooter into the limbs of a few others, and then his pistol clicked in the absence of bullets. He cursed to himself, dropped the empty cartridges, and pulled more from his belt, loading one at a time. He felt frantic as the remaining soldiers had Clive pinned down behind a tree while the man struggled to stop the bleeding in his leg and shoulder. Clive then aimed his gun at a man and shot, his bullet going through the man’s ribcage, blood sputtering from his lips as a result. Out of bullets, Clive tossed his gun to the ground and pulled his knife from his belt and sent it sailing into the neck of another Renegade.

  When Joe looked up after loading his pistol, he saw that his job was finished. He was almost sickened by the river of blood that had once been a dirt path. Gaping necks and headless bodies littered the ground. All of them were dead by Clive’s hand. Somehow Joe had gotten through without killing a single one.

  But Clive wasn’t moving from behind the tree, and there was still the Warlord. The bald man stared at Clive, his teeth grinding against one another. Clive was trying to get to his feet when the Warlord took a few steps toward the man. Clive pulled his sword up and held it in defense. Joe wasn’t sure if the Warlord had seen him hunkered behind the cart.

  Joe could have killed the Warlord, but Clive wanted him for some reason. There must have been some ill past between the two of them that Joe knew nothing about. Stil
l, he held his gun ready.

  Clive was still on his knees as the Warlord approached, pistol in hand.

  “Filth,” the Warlord spat, staring down at Clive. “I always knew you would betray me.”

  “You’ve taken the Renegades in the wrong direction for too long,” Clive said. “You lead them for your own benefit. For your own power! That’s not what we are about.”

  “You’re a coward,” the Warlord said to him. He pulled back the hammer on his pistol, pointing it at Clive’s head. Joe cursed and aimed his gun at the Warlord and fired. The bullet went through the man’s wrist, throwing his gun to the ground. The Warlord turned and looked at Joe with fire in his eyes as he reached for his shattered wrist, blood dripping through his fingers.

  “You!” He stomped toward Joe, unafraid of the six-shooter in his hands.

  Joe let off another round at the Warlord’s leg, and the man stumbled to his knees. Joe shot three more times, and each time the Warlord didn’t even flinch, though blood flowed from the man’s limbs. Finally, Joe aimed the gun at the Warlord’s head, though the man still tried to crawl toward Joe.

  “Stop!” Joe yelled.

  The Warlord considered Joe for a moment and stopped as he was told. His eyes narrowed at him. “You don’t have anymore bullets.”

  Had he already shot six bullets? He was usually good at keeping track, but in the wake of the Warlord’s march, he had lost count. The Warlord was barely a few feet away. He dared not look down at the pistol to see. Joe knew the man had one good hand left, but what he didn’t know was whether or not the Warlord had a pistol hidden behind him.

  “Whatever you got, scavenger, you better make it count.”

  It was unusual for Joe to lose count when firing his gun. He never liked to take his eyes off his enemy. The Warlord stood from his knees, staggering toward Joe. Joe did the only thing he knew to do. Without knowing if there was a bullet left, he pulled the trigger.

  A cloud of red mist was Joe’s answer. The Warlord fell to his knees. His eyes stared up at Joe, but they were already lifeless. The hole in the middle of his forehead was tiny in comparison to the hole in the back. From his knees, the Warlord fell prostrate into the river of blood that was once a road.

  Joe had just made his first kill.

  Levi

  Autumn, 903 A.O.M.

  The cool night air settled around Levi and his new travel companion as they warmed themselves in front of a fire underneath a bright sky of stars. The man across from him claimed to be a peddler—uneducated by the way he talked, and he didn’t seem too friendly. He was the first person Levi had come across since he had appeared in this new place. As far as Levi could tell, no one knew he was here. Only this man.

  The man reluctantly shared some dried beef and coffee with Levi, but soon the two were sitting together, few words passing between them. Every now and then the peddler would look down at Levi’s holstered pistol. Levi couldn’t figure if it made the man nervous or if he wanted it for himself.

  “You’re not a lawman are you?” the peddler asked.

  “Why?” Levi asked. “You done something wrong?”

  “I’m a man just tryin’ to make my way in the world. I done a lot of things wrong.”

  “You one of those swindling peddlers?” Levi asked. His distaste for the man was growing.

  “I don’t swindle nobody,” the man answered. “I make an honest living. It ain’t a good one, but an honest one.”

  Levi shook his head. “I’m not a lawman. I don’t even know where I am. I don’t know what country this is.

  “Yer in Galamore,” the peddler said. “You must be a long way from home if you don’t know that.”

  “I am a long way from home,” Levi said. “I’ve been a long way from home for many years.” He stared at the flames in front of them.

  The book. Amos had been telling the truth about the book. That’s why Stewart and Ralph were missing from the bank. That’s why Nathaniel, Joseph, and their employer weren’t anywhere to be seen in the cabin. They had the book. A blank cover…magical pages… It was a portal to another world: Galamore. As they talked, the peddler told him about how the world worked. Galamore was run by a president. There were other people groups. Elves. Dwarves. Gnomes. Some word he couldn’t remember… Something about Ravagers.

  The peddler’s eyes fell on Levi’s gun again.

  Levi set a protective hand over it. “Friend, you seem interested in my weapon. A fair warning: don’t get too interested.”

  “Oh, it’s not that,” the peddler said. “I just get nervous around them. A few bad experiences. I’ve got a rifle myself, but I don’t like to carry it with me. A man needs it traveling the roads of Galamore. They ain’t safe no more.”

  Levi grinned at this. Galamore didn’t seem so different from home in this regard. The more Levi thought about it, he wondered how he was even supposed to get back to the real world. It wasn’t like he had a book in his hands to take him back to Texas. But he knew that wasn’t the priority. First, he had to get the Cole brothers. Then he would figure out a way to get back home. And Levi wouldn’t have to worry about dragging their bodies around until he found his way home, either. Levi was such a notorious bounty hunter that lawmen generally trusted him. He was at word status. If he walked into some sheriff offices and announced that the Cole brothers were dead, he wouldn’t have to produce a body. The money would be handed over to him and he would go about his business. That was what it meant to have a reputation. But it also wasn’t Levi’s style. He liked to bring the bodies with him. Most lawmen would probably prefer Levi just to give them his word, because he purposefully made a habit of plopping dead bodies on the doorstep.

  “I got a poncho for sale,” the peddler said. “It would do a pretty good job keeping you warm at night. Winter’s on its way, you know.”

  Levi was surprised to know that the peddler wasn’t going to simply give him a poncho. Levi had no money in this world. He had nothing of value to give the man. But the more Levi thought about it, the more the knew he needed that poncho. The nights here were cold. It was a different season. But before he got it, he needed information.

  “Where’s the nearest town?” Levi asked.

  “It’s a city,” the peddler said. “Called Tel Haven. If you just stay on this road for about twenty more miles, you’ll see it. Can’t miss it, really.”

  Levi nodded. “Is that where the president resides?”

  The peddler nodded. “President Jacob DalGaard.”

  “Is he a good president?”

  The peddler shrugged. “I don’t keep up with things like that really.”

  “Things like what?”

  “I avoid going to big places like Tel Haven,” the peddler said. “What I sell, people there don’t want.”

  Levi’s eyes flicked to the cart. What did he have in there?

  “What do you sell exactly?”

  The peddler waved him off. “I’ll let you stay near the camp for tonight if you wish, but I don’t entertain too many questions. I’m tired and have a big journey tomorrow.”

  “What’s in the cart?” Levi voice was much more stern this time. So much so that the peddler stiffened when he spoke.

  “Nothing for people like you,” he said.

  “Stolen goods?” Levi asked.

  The peddler swallowed.

  “You aren’t even a peddler are you?” Levi asked. “You’re a thief.” Levi stood from the dirt and tossed his mug of coffee to the ground. He reached for his pistol and marched toward the cart.

  “No, no, no!” the man said, standing to stop Levi, but Levi simply pointed the gun at the man and stopped him short. When Levi got to the cart, he grabbed a latch on the side and opened the back of the cart. Immediately, jewels, trinkets, and all sorts of random treasures fell out the back. This cart full of stuff was probably worth more than the man’s bounty if he had one.

  Levi circled the cart and came around to the thief. He now held a knife in his hands as if it
would do anything against a gun.

  “You put your nose where it don’t belong,” the man said. “You’ve gone and messed everything up!”

  Levi raised the gun and pulled the hammer back. “You are familiar with the differences between a gun and a knife, aren’t you?”

  The man swallowed and dropped his knife to the dirt. “Just take the cart,” the man said.

  “You got a bounty on your head?” Levi asked.

  The man nodded. “A few hundred coins,” he said. “But a man would have to be stupid to turn me in with all I got in the cart. Just take the cart. It’s worth a lot more than my bounty.”

  “Sometimes the bounty ain’t about the money,” Levi said. He took a step toward the man. “Sometimes it’s about justice.”

  “Please,” the man said. “Let me go. I never killed nobody. I just took valuables from some rich people. I ain’t never took from the poor.”

  “You think that makes it right?”

  The man didn’t say anything to this.

  “What’s your name?” Levi asked.

  “Vincent,” he said. “Vincent the Peddler.”

  “Some peddler. More like Vincent the Burglar.” Levi sighed deeply. “Vincent the Burglar, do you believe in fate?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it.”

  “I guess so…no…maybe…”

  “I don’t,” Levi said. “But right now, fate feels very real.”

  “What are you saying?” Vincent’s fingers were trembling.

  “I’m saying that by trade, I am a bounty hunter…the best there is, actually. And I just happened to stumble upon a man who has a small bounty on his head. Lucky for you, I’m after someone far smarter and more dangerous than you could ever be. He’s worth a lot, but again, that’s not what I care about. Do you know what I care about, Vincent the Burglar?”

  The man shook his head.