A Stillness of the Sun (Crowmakers: Book 1): A Science Fiction Western Adventure

by L. E. Erickson

  Behind Vincent, in the back hall, Kellen and Ger stood on unsteady legs. They weren't touching each other, but Vincent didn't like how close they were standing.

  "Once they're patched up," Vincent said, "send them out to the barracks with the other men."

  Mrs. Lockton grunted. "Don't know how hisself thinks we can keep up with the cooking and cleaning if he's gonna make us into physicians, too."

  "Damn." Jennett peered around Mrs. Lockton at Kellen and Ger. "What the hell happened to the two of you?"

  He had that look in his eyes, too, the same one that Rawle had after being made, as if he'd been asleep for years and only just awakened.

  Kellen's eyes didn't look a whole lot livelier as she stared back at Jennett—at his tattoos, Vincent realized. At the black lines of wings fluttering across his bare torso and arms and face, stark against his pale skin and blonde hair.

  "Ripley," Kellen replied, haltingly. "We—"

  Jennett's Crow, on the floor at his feet, moved its metal wings, the briefest of clack and whirrs. Kellen's words cut off, and she shifted her stare to the Crow.

  Vincent didn't stick around to see what happened next.

  "To the barracks," he repeated to Mrs. Epler. "I'll be with Captain Ellis."

  Voices murmured down the hall from James's study—one voice, sweetly girlish and yet with a depth echoing beneath it that made it seem the sound was not only her voice. Vincent was too busy trying to untie the knots in his gut to wonder which man was being made now.

  He stopped outside Ellis's door, sucked in a deep breath, and knocked.

  "Come."

  Vincent attempted to judge Ellis's mood by the tone of that one word—but what luck had anyone ever had in guessing at Ellis's thoughts? Vincent pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The wooden floor was swept perfectly clean, as was the cold hearth outlined in delicate white and blue Delft tiles. A mahogany secretary sat beneath one window. Through that window, spring-new leaves bobbed and danced.

  Ellis stood at the opposite window, his back to Vincent and gazing out. Through that window, Vincent could clearly see between the trees and down the hill to the barracks. He could also see the carriage house and the veranda—the one Vincent had just walked along with not one additional soldier, as Ellis had instructed, but two.

  Damn.

  Vincent closed the door behind him. Ellis did not turn around. Didn't move at all. Didn't say a word.

  The anger Vincent had been nursing toward Kellen and Ger abruptly seemed small and far away and utterly unimportant. With great effort, he folded his hands behind him and waited just inside the door.

  "At which point in our earlier conversation did I suggest you should bring back two persons from Philadelphia with you?" Ellis's voice was perfectly calm. Perfectly level. Perfectly—no lilt of false charm whatsoever and yet not a hint of anger or even annoyance.

  A weight settled onto Vincent's chest. He had to swallow to wet his mouth before he could speak.

  "It became necessary. I apologize."

  Ellis turned away from the window, finally, and faced Vincent. His face was as perfectly composed as his voice.

  "If you are going to do something which requires you to be sorry, then don't do it," Ellis said. "If you've done something for which you are not sorry, then don't apologize for it."

  "Yes, sir."

  Ellis stared at Vincent for a long moment. Vincent had to struggle to meet his gaze, but he managed it.

  "They were injured," Ellis said. "Have you dragged us into the middle of trouble we don't need?"

  Vincent dared to let himself breathe a little easier. Was that Ellis's only concern?

  "No, sir," Vincent replied. "The situation was handled. Nothing will follow us."

  Ellis's silent regard continued to be unsmiling—not even his usual vague smirk showed itself. Vincent had to work hard not to squirm.

  "That situation may have been handled," Ellis finally said. "This one has not."

  "Sir?"

  "We had this discussion before you left for Philadelphia, Lieutenant Bradley. I asked for one man, and you stated you had one. One. We do not need any 'spares,' Lieutenant. My plans have been laid very carefully, and the details are exacting. There is no room for your embellishments."

  Ellis was going to make Kellen leave. Hell, maybe he was going to make Vincent leave, too. Maybe he was about to get fired. One mistake—after all the things he'd done right—and Ellis was going to fire him.

  Vincent was startled at how badly he didn't want that to happen.

  "I didn't mean—" Vincent started.

  "Didn't you?" Ellis took a step closer to Vincent and leaned slightly forward, like a fox scenting blood. "Tell me, why would you bring them both here—two of them instead of just the one—if it was not your intent to bring them both? What did you think would happen?"

  This was a test, Vincent thought wildly. This was another of Ellis's damned tests, and he had no idea how he was supposed to pass it.

  "You assured me," Ellis said, "that this would work out for both of us. So far, it is only to your advantage—although I fail to understand yet what that advantage is. I suppose, then, that you were correct when you stated that trust is for fools. And I was correct to state that I am no fool."

  "They'd make better Crowmakers than any other man you have here," Vincent said. "Both of them."

  Ellis's eyebrows lifted. He leaned away, and Vincent started to feel like he might be able to breathe again.

  "Are they, now?" Ellis said. "So what you're suggesting is that you have gifted me with a choice?"

  The only possible destination for the path Vincent found himself on became abruptly clear. Ellis wanted only one more Crowmaker. If Vincent tried to send Ger back now, Kellen would go, too. Vincent would not only lose her but also further regard from Ellis. Kellen and Ger had to stay—both of them.

  "I did not ask for a choice, Lieutenant Bradley," Ellis said. "I did not ask because I did not wish one. I still do not wish one. I wish for twelve men to match with twelve Crows, and I do not care in the least which twelve men they are."

  You did care, Vincent tried to think. But Ellis leaned toward Vincent again, and now his voice did rise, ever so slightly, in what had to be the coldest fury Vincent had ever heard.

  What Vincent couldn't quite grasp was why Ellis was so furious.

  "You can see, surely, how this turn of events creates something of a quandary?" Ellis asked.

  "Yes, sir." Vincent's mouth was so dry he almost couldn't get the words out.

  Ellis drew himself up straight and turned to look out the window again. The drapes sagged heavily from their metal rod, as if they objected to the sunlight streaming past them into the room.

  "It is not, however, my quandary." Ellis's voice was utterly calm again. "We will leave as planned, with twelve Crowmakers and not one single additional person beyond those already in my employ. It is your responsibility to determine which of the remaining men will not be accompanying us."

  Vincent dared to wonder, suddenly, if all the fuss was really about an extra person, or if it was about punishing Vincent for failing one of Ellis's never-ending tests.

  I'll fix this, he thought but didn't quite dare to say. I can fix this.

  "You made this mess, Lieutenant Bradley," Ellis said. "You will unmake it."

  ~

  Vincent kept his cool as he opened and closed Ellis's door and retreated down the hall. In the kitchen, voices rose and fell—Kellen's mostly but also Jennett's and Ger Owen's. Vincent shoved open the back door as sharply as he'd have liked to punch that scrawny blonde piece of shit.

  And then caught the door before it could slam shut behind him. He could not let Ellis hear that. He could not let Ellis know he'd lost it. Breathe, and ease the door closed, and breathe again as he stared down the hill toward the barn turned barracks.

  Think. Be calm. Be in control.

  One less man. It couldn't be Owen, or Kellen would walk. Vincent
was tempted, briefly, to march back into the kitchen and send Kellen home—damn her, anyhow. But he suspected that Owen wouldn't stay without her, and as much as he'd have liked to just put the little bastard into the ground, he needed one of them to stay—which meant they both had to stay, and someone else had to go.

  Fine. Simple enough. Vincent stiffened his spine and marched down the hill to the barracks.

  Colley and Byrne were at the wood pile, their dark hair making them nearly twins from a distance. Kalvis and Goodson were headed toward the horse barn. That left six men in the barracks, since Jennett was up at the main house recovering from being made—no, five. Another man had been in the study going through the making.

  Five men to choose from. God, he hoped Ackermann was one of them. It would make this whole mess almost worth it, if only he got to tell the fat German bastard he had to go home.

  Ackermann wasn't one of them. When Vincent shoved open the barracks door, daylight streamed in with him and lit the five faces that tilted toward him.

  Rawle and Langston and Bosch wore matching slashes of black ink across their faces. Of the five in the barracks, only Petras and Poanski's faces remained unmarked.

  Too bad—getting rid of Langston would have been almost as good as getting rid of Ackermann. Petras and Poanski were neither particularly annoying.

  "Hey there, Bradley." Langston perked up and grinned at Vincent with nearly-believable good cheer. "You get demoted and sent back to hang out with the real heroes?"

  It was close enough to the truth that Vincent wondered what would happen if he just killed Langston. Would that break whatever link Langston had with the Crow, so they could use it for someone else? Vincent burned with the wish to find out.

  Bosch and Rawle snickered. Vincent fought back the urge to murder Langston and merely shot a dismissive glance at him, instead. Then he turned his attention to Petras and Poanski.

  There wasn't much difference between them, Vincent figured. In the end, it was Poanski's slack, obediently rounded chin that inspired Vincent's choice—Petras's chin was square and set like a bulldog's. Or maybe it was just because Poanski was standing closer to Vincent. Who he chose was less important, Vincent figured, than making them all believe that someone had been chosen.

  "Poanski," Vincent said. "Get your things together and turn in your gun. You've been dismissed."

  Silence, all the way around. The look on Langston's face was almost as good as if Vincent had gotten to call him out. Poanski's mouth fell a little open.

  Petras stepped up beside Poanski and planted himself like the block of stone he resembled.

  "You cannot do that," Petras said, his words wrapped in his thick Lithuanian accent.

  Vincent stood a little taller and looked down on Petras. "Can't I?" he said.

  "Just making room for your little girlfriend," Bosch grumbled. "That's all you're doing. Ain't fair."

  "We won't let you do it." Langston stood up from his cot and strutted closer to Vincent. His eyes still looked feverish from the effects of the making, but obviously he was recovering.

  "Yeah." Rawle got up, too, and stood swaggering behind Langston. "We won't let you."

  Vincent stared them down without saying anything more for a long moment—long enough that it should make them uncomfortable and then a moment longer than that.

  "I'm sorry to bust your bubbles," Vincent said, "but this is Ellis's call and not yours. You really want to argue it with him?"

  Langston and Rawle both stayed where they were, chins up and mouths turned down, but their shoulders dropped.

  "Elena," Poanski murmured. He seemed to shrink an inch shorter. "Oh, Elena. I'm so sorry."

  "No," Petras said. He took another step toward Vincent. "I will go. I will go in Tomas's place."

  Vincent didn't care one damn bit who went. But damned if he wasn't tired of them—the whole lot of them—acting like Vincent hadn't been the one given the rank of lieutenant.

  "No," Vincent said back at Petras. "You won't. Poanski will."

  Poanski put a hand on Petras's shoulder, then, and took a deep, quavering breath.

  "It will be all right, Petras." Poanski's voice shook, but he grimaced a smile at Petras. "I will be just one moment, Mr. Bradley."

  "Lieutenant," Vincent said, before Poanski could turn away. "Lieutenant Bradley."

  Poanski stared stupidly at Vincent for a second. Vincent felt the other men staring, too, but he didn't look at any of them, just Poanski. Eventually, Poanski nodded.

  "Lieutenant," he said. Then he turned and headed for his cot.

  "Tomas," Petras said. He aimed a quick disapproving frown at Vincent and turned to go after Poanski.

  "The wharves will still be there." Poanski waved Petras away. "All will be well, Petras. All will be well."

  Before anyone could think of any more objections, Vincent swung around on his heel and stalked out of the barracks. His back crawled with the certainty that any of the men he left behind would've loved to stick a knife in it.

  Chapter 35

  Kellen wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. Despite some irritated muttering from Mrs. Lockton, she and Mrs. Epler had done just what Vincent had told them to do. Kellen's skin tingled from the scrubbing she'd endured, and the long gash left by Ripley's knife still burned from first soap and then whiskey. The uniform she wore was maybe a little on the big side, but it was clean. She felt better put together than she had in possibly ever.

  She felt better than she deserved to feel.

  Once the two servant women had finished with Kellen, they'd sent her down to the barn. It was dark inside, and cool, and it smelled of men and horses and hay, a musty combination that shouldn't have been pleasant and yet was. No one else was there by then, so she'd chosen a cot with no belongings stowed beneath it and collapsed onto it. Her head ached, and she couldn't quite stop shaking. Overhead, dust swam through streamers of daylight trickling between loose-fitted boards.

  Every time Kellen tried to close her eyes, she saw Ripley's face, wreathed in flames and slowly melting, collapsing in on itself like a jack o' lantern left to burn for too long. She kept hearing those unearthly screams and tasting smoke.

  She was lying there, trying to calm the sense of panic that kept rising, when she heard the door open. Ger, she figured, finally done with his own scrubbing and patching.

  She didn't want to talk to him, she suddenly realized. They hadn't been alone for even a second since the fire. Since she'd found out that Vincent's betrayal hadn't been a betrayal at all. Since she'd realized that even knowing that, it didn't change how fiercely she wanted Ger in her life, too. She didn't know how to explain that, not even to herself, so she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

  Footsteps crossed the barn, hushed by strewn hay. Two sets of footsteps, one shuffling just inside the other, Kellen realized. Just as she did, a voice whispered nearby.

  "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, lass."

  Kellen opened her eyes.

  Brian Byrne was leaning over her. His bony face had filled out some, and his hair was longer. An unfamiliar softness eased the laugh lines around his eyes. He gave a start, and then the corners of his eyes crinkled, and a twinkle returned to their blue. He chuckled.

  "Oh now, that's no fair, sleeping beauty. You should be letting the prince kiss you before you magically awaken."

  Kellen grinned and shoved herself upright. The joy that gripped her was the purest thing she'd felt in days, maybe weeks.

  "Byrne," she said. "I'm so glad to see you, I could almost hug you."

  That easy grin of Byrne's faltered, then, as if Kellen had accused him of something.

  "I'm sorry, lass," Byrne said. "We didn't know what we were leaving you to deal with."

  Colley stood just past Byrne's shoulder, squinting at Kellen through his spectacles as if it hurt to look at her.

  Em, she abruptly remembered. Her breath caught, and she fought the urge to burst into tears.

  "Guess you've talked to Jenn
ett," she said.

  "Aye," Byrne said.

  Colley nodded.

  They all fell quiet. After a second, Colley said, "Em's father ran off when he was just a boy, you know. His mother lost all her other children, a couple to the fever and some to lives of their own. One drowned. Em was all she had left."

  "The brightest light in her life," Kellen said. Then she did burst into tears, and all the tired and scared and angry she'd been storing up came busting out in a series of sobs.

  Byrne shifted foot to foot for a few seconds and finally perched on the edge of Kellen's cot and put one arm carefully across her shoulders.

  "Not yer fault, lass," he said.

  Kellen shook her head. "Was," she said.

  "I didn't tell him about all this. Didn't mention a word of it, though I could've." Byrne's voice cracked, and he paused for a heartbeat. "I meant for him to stay in Philadelphia. Because he'd be safe there."

  Kellen tilted her head against Bryne's shoulder, just the tiniest of bits, and let it rest there for an even tinier of bits. Then she sat up straighter and pulled herself together again.

  She'd barely dried her eyes and gotten her sniffles under control before Ger appeared in the doorway. He looked cleaner and wore a uniform, too, although his hands were wrapped and his face was the color of curdled milk. But he wasn't gutted and hung in a mooring line, and he wasn't ashes in the ruins of a burned-out house, and he wasn't going to be hanged for killing a woman he didn't kill or setting a fire he didn't set.

  "Well, now," Byrne said. "And don't you look like seven kinds of hell."

  Colley nodded to Ger and smiled faintly. "I guess you didn't listen to me about Ripley."

  Ger just blinked at Colley.

  "Sweet mother Mary," Byrne said. "Pull up a cot, man, and lie down before you fall."

  Ger shifted his gaze to Byrne and then finally over to Kellen.

  She met his gaze, just for one second. Ger didn't say anything, but Kellen felt like she knew all the things he was feeling—the weary resignation, the fearful uncertainty, the guilty relief over being alive when they shouldn't have survived. She didn't speak either, but she felt like he could hear all her confused thoughts, too. Then Kellen lowered her gaze.