“Told you not to say anything,” one of the other men muttered.
Johnson cast him a look of defiance. “We all did,” he said. “You hear lots of things down here: creaks, groans, and tapping.”
“Tommyknockers,” said one of his companions with a shiver.
“Yeah, well, this weren’t no tommyknockers. It was a sort of humming sound, coming from the other side of the rock. Never heard nothing like it. And there was a buzzing, too. Later on the same day, after we’d got the cart loaded, just as we left for the end of the shift.”
“Buzzing?” I asked.
“Yeah. Like some kind of bee. Only it sounded almost like…like words.” Johnson swallowed heavily, and his expression reminded me of a child whispering of monsters in the dark. “Like something talked to us. Something not human.”
A shiver trailed up my spine. “What did it say?”
“It said it’d show us a good place to open up a new face, if we’d just come with it.” He shuddered.
One of the other men shook his head. “I think you were hearing things. If it did say something, it weren’t clear enough to make out.”
A shiver crawled up my spine, and the lights seemed to dim, the dark bulk of the mountain pressing down. “And it occurred in this, er, room?”
Johnson nodded. “Yes, sir.”
I moved closer to the raw face, my carbide lamp throwing a dim cone of illumination over it. The rough coal glittered in the light, revealing nothing beyond the marks left behind by the work of the miners.
What had I expected to see? Pictographs? A crack leading to some hidden space, filled with yayhos? The very notion was absurd. The miners and Elliot must think me a fool.
I drew back. “Yes. Well. Thank you for, er, speaking with me.”
“Yes, sir.” Johnson glanced at his companions. “If it’s all right with you, we ought to get back to work.”
“Of course.”
Johnson took up the pick and laid down on the mine floor, extending his arm and upper torso beneath the overhanging cut. What awful, awful work. I couldn’t imagine spending ten hours a day, six days a week, in this claustrophobic place, unable to stand up straight and with the weight of the mountain bearing down on me. Let alone the actual strain of the labor involved.
Elliot led the way from the room. We had gone no farther than the first line of pillars, however, when there came a loud groan, almost as if the mountain itself were in pain. There followed a series of sharp cracks, shouts of alarm, a crash—and screams.
Elliot and I ran back the way we had come. The rock face behind us had transformed into a pile of rubble, a set of legs and the arm of another man protruding from beneath what must have been tons of coal. The hand convulsed, fingernails scratching across the mine floor, before falling still.
I froze, my heart pounding madly in my chest, bile rising in my throat. All around me, the mine came alive, men rushing from nearby rooms, crying out to one another. The only survivor of the three men we had spoken to screamed the names of Johnson and their other companion, clawing at the pile of rock.
Elliot seized my arm. All the color had vanished from his face, other than the thin layer of coal dust adhering to it. “I need to get you out of here, in case there’s another rockfall,” he said, tugging me after him.
“But…” I wanted to render assistance, and yet what could I do? A dozen trained men were already on the spot, with more hurrying to the site every moment. I would only get in their way. “Yes. All right.”
We were forced to walk all the way out of the mine. Word of the rockfall had spread, and Elliot answered the questions shouted to him as we passed other workers. One of the boys, on hearing two men had been killed, sped out of the mine ahead of us to spread the word.
By the time we emerged, a crowd had already begun to gather. It consisted mainly of women, panic and fear in their eyes as they wondered if their brothers or fathers or husbands would emerge alive. Even Orme had left his office and stood near the mine entrance, although his impassive face showed no emotion of any kind.
“Are you all right, Dr. Whyborne?” he asked.
“Er, yes.”
“Johnson and one of the other men were killed,” Elliot told him grimly. “But the rockfall seems to have been localized. They were undercutting, and must not have braced up the face correctly.”
Orme nodded. “I see. Have your men watch this crowd, just in case their mood turns. As for you, Dr. Whyborne, I suggest you retire to your hotel. You must have had quite a shock.”
Uncertain what else to do, I turned my steps toward the hotel. People called out to me for news as they hurried toward the mine, and I answered with what little I knew: two had died, but there didn’t seem to be fear of a larger disaster.
Griffin and Christine found me before I’d crossed half the town, both of them panting and out of breath, having apparently run from the hotel. When he saw the coal dust on me, Griffin’s eyes widened. “Oh God! Are you all right?”
“Of course he is,” Christine snapped, as Griffin seized me by both arms. “He wouldn’t be strolling about town if he was horribly injured, would he?”
“I’m quite all right,” I assured Griffin. “There was an accident, though. A rockfall crushed two men near me.”
I shuddered at the memory. Griffin’s hands tightened on my shoulders, and I knew he would have embraced me, had we been alone. “Tell us,” he said.
When I finished, Christine’s eyes narrowed in thought. “You talk to a miner about strange happenings, and the room he worked in collapses only moments later. Coincidence?”
“I don’t see what else it could be,” I said uneasily. “Surely Elliot is right, and they simply didn’t use enough bracing. Or they missed some flaw in the rock.”
“Says the man who can light fires by speaking a few words,” Griffin replied, finally letting go of my arms. “What if we’re right and there are unseen forces at work here in Threshold?”
“Then why kill poor Johnson, not to mention the other fellow? And why not kill all three?”
“Because one had to live to spread the warning.” Griffin turned his gaze up to Threshold Mountain, his mouth set in a grim line. “Anyone who gives away the mountain’s secrets will die.”
Chapter 10
As the day waned, a line of thunderheads built over the peaks to the east, sweeping in to cover the hollow in an early darkness. The humidity intensified, but a breeze sprang up, bringing with it the scent of rain and the distant rumble of thunder.
The weather matched the mood of the town. The remains of the dead men left the mine as they had entered, within one of the mule-drawn carts, while the church bells tolled somberly. I wondered if the next shift would be tasked with shoveling up coal soaked in their blood.
The accident served as a grim reminder of the dangers of the mine, even to those who didn’t share our fear something otherworldly had caused the rockfall. Only a handful of locals showed up for dinner at the hotel, although the bar seemed to do an even more rousing business than the night before, as men tried to drink away their fear and grief.
I retired to my room early. Griffin declared his intention to return to the bar, to gather more information, but I heard his door open and close before long. The scrape of a chair announced he had chosen to brace it further against possible entrance. With any luck, the precaution meant he intended to join me in bed.
A moment later, he knocked on the connecting door, and I bid him enter. “Did you learn anything further?”
“No.” His face wore a dark scowl. “Nor am I likely to. We aren’t the only ones who noticed Johnson and his companion died only moments after talking to you. Half of the miners are convinced there is some awful spirit in the mine, which will destroy anyone who speaks of it aloud. The other half laugh…but don’t speak either, because they secretly fear it’s true.”
“Drat.” The curtains over the half-opened windows stirred in the freshening breeze, and thunder growled nearby. I stood up, using the chair
to brace my door as well, before unbuttoning my coat. The suit I’d worn earlier in the mine had been taken away for cleaning; I hung my coat up carefully, not wishing it to be creased. “Perhaps we’ll find clues at the cave.”
“The cave?”
The rockfall had driven it out of my mind. “Yes—forgive me, I quite forgot to tell you. Elliot offered to show us the cave where they found the black stone.”
“Elliot, is it?” Griffin asked, an odd note in his voice.
“Well, er, yes.” Had I misunderstood his wishes? “I thought you wanted me to recruit him as an ally, if possible.”
“Elliot’s a good detective. He taught me almost everything I know,” Griffin admitted. “I was only surprised to hear you speak of him familiarly.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have no reason to apologize. But let’s not speak of Elliot. Not when we could be doing far more pleasant things.”
Hooking his fingers around my suspenders, he yanked me to him. His lips sealed over mine with almost bruising force, muffling my startled squeak. His tongue invaded my mouth boldly, and my thoughts began to unravel.
Thunder crashed, nearer now, and the curtains whipped into the room. The wind smelled raw and clean, of wet earth and green sap. It felt cool on my heated skin as Griffin loosened the buttons of my shirt, pressing a kiss against each inch of bare flesh thus revealed. My cock swelled against my trousers, aching for his touch. I grabbed his hair with one hand, dragging his head back up for another kiss. His lips tasted faintly of whiskey from the bar.
The wind blew out the night candle, leaving behind only the flashes of lightning to reveal tantalizing glimpses of Griffin’s naked skin, as he removed his clothing. I scrambled into the bed, and a moment later he crawled in on top of me. I reached to hold him, but he caught each of my wrists in one of his hands, pinning me to the bed. He kissed me again, with the same urgent heat, then worked his way down my throat, where he bit and sucked the flesh, hard enough to bruise.
God! I bucked against him, savoring the feel of his bare skin on mine, his length hot and hard as an iron bar against my belly. I tugged against his hold, not because I truly wished to be freed, but because being held down by him fired my blood. I wanted to be his; I wanted him to forget about Elliot and everyone else he’d ever been with.
Griffin fastened his teeth around one of my nipples, the sensation riding the fine edge between pleasure and pain, eradicating my ability to think. I swallowed back a cry and struggled to rub against him, as he switched his attention to the other side of my chest.
He released my wrists in order to work his way lower, biting lightly at my stomach. He licked the crease at the top of my leg, before nuzzling my thigh, nudging my knees further apart. His hair felt like silk against the underside of my sack as he licked and kissed each thigh.
“Wider,” he murmured hoarsely against my skin.
Lightning flashed just outside, making me jump—then jump again as his tongue touched my fundament. I closed my eyes and clutched at the sheets as he traced the puckered flesh. It felt incredible: warm and wet, and shockingly intimate, especially when he stabbed at the hole with the tip of his tongue. I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out.
He rose up to his knees. I moved to give him more room—and nearly fell off the narrow bed, letting out a startled yelp before Griffin pulled me back.
“Curse this narrow bed,” I muttered. “How on earth is one to manage?”
“One can manage fine. Two is the difficulty.” Griffin turned sideways to lean his back against the wall. “Here. Straddle my lap.”
I did so, the position bringing our lengths into contact. He felt exquisitely hard and hot, sensitive flesh pressed to sensitive flesh. This was the best feeling in the world, this undeniable proof he desired me the way I did him.
His hands gripped my buttocks, urging me to move. I wrapped one hand loosely around our cocks, to keep us together.
The lightning strikes came faster now, one after the other. A light sheen of sweat slicked our skins, my thighs rubbing against his as I thrust against him. “Feels wonderful,” he whispered in my ear, voice husky with desire. “Don’t stop, please.”
I kissed him in response. His lips parted wantonly for me, and I slid my tongue into his mouth, then out, and in again, matching the rhythm of my hips. He moaned, sucking frantically on my tongue. His fingers tightened on my buttocks, and his cock twitched against mine. Everything spiraled up and up, until it was too much: musky desire and sweat-slick skin, fingers and mouths, his body arching beneath me even as the storm exploded around us.
I flung my head back and cried out, the sound lost in a titanic crack of lightning. My fingers drove into his shoulder, while hot semen spilled over my other hand, everything reduced to a fiery epicenter of heat and pleasure. I pushed against him again, and again, until my sensitized organ could take it no more, and he groaned and bucked and spent himself beneath me.
I collapsed against him. The air of the room had gone damp and wet, and smelled of rain. Thunder growled again, but more distantly now, the storm moving on. Griffin’s hands gently stroked my back, and he made little sounds of contentment in my ear.
We remained thus for a long time, until the rain outside died away. Then Griffin slid out of bed, closed the window, and slipped back through the connecting door, leaving me alone.
~ * ~
We met Elliot immediately after breakfast. The clouds were gone, and the sun struggled to peer over the mountains and through the thick haze of the coke ovens. The rain, which had seemed refreshing last night, now formed stagnant pools already humming with mosquitoes.
For our expedition, Christine had donned her rational dress, and carried her rifle slung on her back. Griffin had his revolver and sword cane. As for myself, I carried the Arcanorum in my breast pocket as usual. In addition, we carried rope and lanterns, in case the cave proved accessible to exploration.
Elliot raised a brow at the sight of us. “Expecting trouble?” he asked, with a nod at Christine’s rifle.
“Are there not bears in these woods, Mr. Manning?” she returned.
“Yes, although they don’t tend to be aggressive, unless their young are threatened.” He looked as if he wanted to say something further—perhaps suggest she remain behind if she feared bears—but thought better of it. “Let’s go.”
He led us along the slope, above Threshold proper, although within the cleared area. Once we were past the town, we descended back into the hollow as the trees closed around us. Here the creek ran clear and cool, and the scent of wet earth and growing things saturated the air. The thick canopy cast us into gloomy shadow and blocked out the wind. Sweat soon pooled in my armpits.
From now on, I would insist Griffin only take cases in New England, if this was what I could expect from other parts of the country.
The rough terrain forced us to pick our way slowly along slopes more suited to a mountain goat. Thickets of laurel and rhododendron choked our path, and rocky outcroppings left us no choice but to make long detours. If only I’d had the foresight to purchase a pair of boots. My oxfords continually slipped on the ancient accumulations of fallen leaves, and the seepage of hidden springs slicked the rocks. Surely, even an experienced woodsman might become disoriented amidst the maze of trees.
Of course, Elliot seemed confident of his direction. He’d come equipped with suitable footwear, as well, curse him.
After we had hiked for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably less than one, Christine asked, “So, Mr. Manning, you and Griffin knew one another in Chicago?” Annoyingly, she didn’t even sound winded, while I panted like a bellows from the unaccustomed exercise.
Elliot’s gaze sought out Griffin, while a smile shaped his mouth. “Indeed. We worked at the agency together—well, eventually. We didn’t meet there.”
Griffin glanced away, a faint flush suffusing his cheeks. Why? “Elliot arranged for me to be hired by the Pinkertons.”
“Only bec
ause I knew you would be a tremendous asset.” Elliot turned his attention to me. “Would you believe it, when I first encountered Griffin, he could barely make it through a sentence without saying ‘ain’t’ or ‘shucks’ or the like. And his accent!”
“Truly?” I asked. Although I knew Griffin had been brought up on the plains, it had never occurred to me his speech must have once had a rural flavor.
Griffin’s mouth thinned with embarrassment. “Elliot, please.”
“Come now, Griffin, you should be proud of how quickly you improved, once you set your mind to it. Within a week, I knew he would be natural at undercover work. He’s a regular chameleon, but, underneath it all, I daresay the heart of a Kansas farm boy still beats.”
I wasn’t at all sure Elliot was right. I tried to imagine Griffin doing…well, whatever one did on a farm. Milking cows, or chasing goats, or tossing hay bales about. Weren’t square dancing and barn raisings involved as well?
“We didn’t come out here to discuss my past,” Griffin said. “Do you mind if I ask some questions about the cave-in, while we walk?”
Elliot step hitched slightly. “If you wish.”
“The other men on the expedition didn’t make it back, correct?”
“Correct.” All the earlier cheer had drained out of Elliot. Good. I hadn’t liked the overly familiar way he’d smiled at Griffin. The man had no manners whatsoever, if he thought such warm looks to a former lover were appropriate in front of a current one.
“And you were almost lost as well.” Griffin’s tone softened sympathetically. “It took you several days to find your way back to Threshold, did it not?”
“I was disoriented,” Elliot replied tightly. “I exhausted myself trying to dig the others out; by the time I gave it up as hopeless, night had fallen. They’d taken all the lanterns inside with them, leaving me without light. Men get lost in these mountains even on cloudless days.”
“Of course.” Griffin used his cane to scramble up a steep pile of rock, dirt, and roots, then held his hand out to me. I clasped it and he hauled me up, my shoes slipping the entire time. “Where did you say the black stone was found, exactly?”
Whyborne and Griffin, Books 1-3 Page 35