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

by Jason D. Morrow

  The first dimwit made his move for the table, his beefy hand resting on his pistol. Nate was already on his feet when he saw the man moving toward Marum and the others.

  “What are the likes of you doing in these parts?” the man said.

  The three looked up at him, their faces blank and their voices silent. But the clicking noise of Nate’s pistol was enough of an answer. He pressed the barrel of his six-shooter into the back of the man’s head.

  “I think a better question for you,” Nate said, “is what are you doing at my table?”

  The man stiffened, paralyzed at the thought of his life ending in a flash. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’,” the man said. “Jus’ askin’ a friendly question’s all.”

  “With your hand on your pistol. Don’t seem too friendly.” Nate turned his head to the rest of the room, each person staring at him with fear in his eyes. This was a tavern. People here wanted to eat and drink in peace. It was as good a place as any to get drunk and pass out, but a ruckus like this was usually reserved for the saloons. “You all should know,” Nate said, “we’re on Sentinel business. You interfere with us, you will have to deal with them.” Nate inched his face closer to the back of the man’s head. “That answer your question or do you need me to be more clear?”

  “Yer clear as water, mister,” the man said, shaking.

  “Good,” Nate said. He released the hammer and holstered his weapon. The man scampered to the other side of the tavern where he’d come from, finding comfort in his drink.

  Nate looked around at the others throughout who immediately set their eyes back to whatever it was they were doing before the commotion.

  Nate took a seat at the table and sighed, wishing more than ever for a bottle of whiskey.

  “Sentinel business?” Rachel said, an eyebrow arched upward.

  “Technically, yes,” Nate said. He looked at Alban next to him. “That was fine to say, right?”

  Alban nodded slowly. “I suppose. We’re still a day out.”

  “Yeah, but I think it was good,” Marum said with a whisper.

  “I told you we shouldn’t have come in here,” Nate said.

  “It’ll be fine,” said Alban.

  Nate wasn’t convinced. Somewhere along the way they had crossed a set of train tracks—a possibility Nate didn’t know existed here. He tried to express his concern to Alban. If the president had wanted to send anyone after them, or even ahead of them, then all he needed to do was send someone by train. A trip that took Nate and company more than a month would take only a few days by train—a thought that thoroughly depressed Nate.

  “Yes, but they wouldn’t know where to look for us,” Alban had said.

  It wasn’t as if their small band could have simply boarded at one of the stations up north, and the stations here in no man’s land were few if they existed at all. Given that Marum had been on the mend, and that the rest of them were wanted criminals anyway, their set course had probably been best.

  “Besides,” Alban had told them one night, “giving this all a month to cool down works to our advantage. The president’s strategy to capture Marum didn’t work. I doubt he’s pouring all his resources into finding her again.”

  Now, as they sat in the small tavern, the smell of freshly cooked meat wafted toward Nate’s nostrils. The server brought them a plate each, filled to the edges with roasted pork, potatoes, and carrots. Nate had no idea he’d been so hungry until this moment. He, as well as the others, dug in, all the while remaining cautious.

  Nate was glad the tavern wasn’t part of the same building as their lodging. He didn’t want anyone to get any ideas and try to be a hero. This way they were able to get into their rooms as quietly as possible.

  As was proper, Nate and Alban shared a room and Marum and Rachel were in another. This wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for Alban’s incessant snoring throughout the night. This hadn’t been so much of a problem when they were out on the plains where shivering might have replaced the deep growls of Alban’s nostrils, but here it kept Nate awake.

  He found himself sitting in a chair next to the window of their room. The glass offered a view of the street a floor below them. The moonlight reflected off the snow and Nate could see just about as good as he might during the day—perhaps even better since there wasn’t such a harsh glare whenever the sun decided to come out.

  He couldn’t see a clock, so he didn’t know what time it was. Late. He knew that. If he just went to bed, he’d fall asleep eventually, but he found that trying only made him want to smother Alban with a pillow. An outlaw he was, but Nate didn’t consider himself much of a cold-blooded killer. Still, lying down would only bring on the temptation, so he found it best to stay awake until his eyes finally won the match. Dozing in this chair beat digging out snow trenches any day of the week.

  There was little to no movement through the streets at this time of night. From here he could keep an eye on their cart, the horse sleeping soundly, standing tethered to its post. If there was any life or noise at all, it came from the saloon down the street.

  Nate thought it was funny to be where he was now. If this were Texas, he figured he would be down there right now gambling and drinking. The point of all this carousing would be to forget about his travels and warm his belly with fire water. Now he wondered how much of that had been due to the company he’d kept. If he was with Joe, Amos, Stew, or Ralph, any one of them might have been the first to suggest they go to the saloon. Nate might have even tried to be the voice of reason among them, though he would lose out to their logic every time.

  You deserve it, Nate…

  We just finished a tough job, Nate…

  You almost died today, Nate…

  Any of those reasons were enough for him, but it would be strange if the suggestions came from Alban or Rachel. The two had been noble friends thus far. Nate sensed a genuine goodness in them that seemed misplaced on an outlaw like him. They were too good.

  This trip benefitted them very little, though Nate was sure it provided Alban with a sense of adventure that was long overdue. He was sure as well that Alban was able to justify it by the simple fact that it would be dangerous for them to go back home, considering they had helped two wanted criminals escape the clutches of the Rangers.

  Rachel wasn’t afraid to let Nate know that they were being kind to him. The two of them had gotten along for the most part on this trip, but she was sure to remind him they were doing him a favor. And indeed they were. All Nate wanted was to find his brother, Joe, and get back home.

  Marum was a different story—one Nate wasn’t too sure about. She feigned innocence, yet she had been on death row when Nate helped her escape. Nate hadn’t questioned her openly, but he did find it suspicious that she neglected to tell any of them how or why she had been caught in the first place. More than a few times, Nate wondered if helping Marum was noble at all. He understood their history—Alban had raised Marum, and she had been like a sister to Rachel. Perhaps such a relationship made them blind to her faults. But Nate never asked, mostly because he wasn’t one to talk. He often overlooked other people’s faults because his were so numerous. Nate was drowning in faults.

  His body was tired, but his eyes were awake, his mind alert. They had camped so much, avoided towns so often. Being here felt like an unnecessary risk.

  For the first time in almost an hour, Nate spotted a figure walking in the snowy street below. By the build and stature, he could tell it was a man, but it was difficult to see more than that. Nate stood from his chair and bent forward, almost pressing his face against the glass. He wasn’t sure if the man could see him.

  The man looked left and right, standing now next to their cart. Nate’s teeth pressed firmly together. He was ready to jump out of the window and chase after the man if he tried anything foolish. There was nothing of value in the cart, but that wasn’t the point.

  But the man didn’t go digging through their stuff. Instead, he tiptoed slowly to the edge
of the building and looked upward. Nate almost ducked away, but it was too late. The man had already seen him. But that seemed to have been the point. For a long moment, Nate stared down at him and finally realized that the figure was the wood elf he’d seen in the tavern earlier.

  He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but seeing the elf nearly made his blood boil. What did he want? Did he wish to kill Marum in her sleep? Did he plan to show her who was boss? Nate would shoot the wood elf between the eyes before that happened.

  The wood elf below waved at Nate quickly, then looked over his shoulder toward the saloon as if to see if he was still alone in the street. Nate considered ignoring him, but decided against it. He looked back at Alban who was playing trumpeter in his symphony of dreams. He then pulled on the bottom of the window and slid it upward. A cold rush of wind blew into the room, blasting Nate’s chest. But the cold didn’t wake Alban which was all Nate cared about.

  He stuck his head out the window and looked down. “What do you want?”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” the wood elf said.

  “I had a feeling you felt that way.”

  “It’s not me,” the elf said. “It’s a group of men at the saloon. They’re plotting your murder as we speak. Won’t be long until they’re over here.”

  Nate’s eyes narrowed. “How do they know we’re here?”

  “Well,” the wood elf said, looking down, “one of the plotters is the hotel clerk. Put two and two together and realized you’d snuck in a gray elf.”

  “How do I know you ain’t just saying all this to bring us out in the open?” Nate asked.

  The wood elf shrugged. “I suppose then either way someone is plotting your death and you ought to be aware.”

  Nate thought about the elf’s words and nodded. “What do you suggest?”

  “I can get your horse ready, so long as you and your group can get down here in a couple of minutes.”

  “Why do you want to help us?”

  “You said you were on Sentinel business,” the elf said. “I know that can’t be true, but right now is not the time to talk about it.”

  Nate nodded again, pulled himself into the room, and shut the window. The next few minutes was a furious scramble. Alban was more than perturbed about being pulled from his bed, but only offered one or two grumbles. Nate then did the ungentlemanly thing and barged into Marum and Rachel’s room to deliver the news.

  More so:

  Get up! Gotta go! Get your clothes on! Come on! Come on!

  Then he was out of the room. All told they were in the street in four minutes, armed and ready for the road, though not without groggy eyes and tired snarls.

  Marum seemed alert enough. When she saw the wood elf on his horse next to their cart, she immediately pulled her hunting knife from her belt and got into a fighting stance. The wood elf had his own knife at his belt, and a sword strapped to his back for that matter, but he defused the situation by pulling a pistol from his belt and resting it gently in his lap, daring her to come at him.

  “We can fight over our differences if you like,” he said, “but you might rather get in the cart so we can be on our way. I don’t often get the desire to help out a gray elf. Don’t make me regret it.”

  Alban turned to Marum and shook his head. Nate could see the struggle in her eyes. He understood what she felt. He might not have grasped the complete history of their race rivalry, but he figured it wasn’t much different than coming across a rival gang member going after the same treasure.

  “I can lead you to the Sentinels,” the wood elf said.

  “I already know how to get there,” Alban said as the group started toward the cart.

  “Yes, you know the main way, but I can get you there faster and by a more secret route.”

  The wood elf started off down the street, and just as Alban slapped the reins, a mob of men came rushing out of the saloon about a hundred yards away. Alban let out a curse and slapped the reins harder. The cart gave a sudden lurch and Nate nearly fell off his seat.

  Shots rang out through the air, smoke following deadly bullets.

  “Get down!” Nate shouted at Rachel and Marum, both of whom were in the back of the cart.

  The wood elf and wagon of outsiders pulled away from the crowd, but that didn’t stop a few from getting onto their horses and charging after them. Nate pulled his rifle from the sheath on his back, stood from his seat, and aimed.

  Two shots, two men down. A few more men followed, but Nate took down a third, the man falling to the snow, lifeless. The others stopped their pursuit, instead choosing muffled insults as a weapon rather than their guns.

  Alban’s horse didn’t let up until they were safe and a good distance out of the town.

  Nate couldn’t count how many times Alban shook his head and muttered, “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…” Eventually, one of them said that it didn’t matter, that they were still alive.

  It wasn’t Nate who said it.

  Dumb decisions were what got outlaws killed. If it hadn’t been for the wood elf, Nate was sure that night’s outcome would have been different.