Curse of the Daemon Beast

by Francis James Blair

  “Message?” Temperance cut in. “What message?”

  John motioned towards a table. Temperance realized the crowd had gathered around it before her arrival. She would have noticed what they were looking at if she hadn’t been keeping a safe distance.

  Across the table’s surface was painted a single sentence in vivid slashes of red:

  My servant shall return in three nights.

  Temperance glanced back at the crowd. “Where’s the rest of the message?”

  “There ain’t no more.” The mayor shrugged. “Was like that when Olivia found it this morning.”

  He turned back to the crowd. “I know none of us is pleased with what’s been going on these last few days, but we’ve got to be strong a little longer. I know Miss Alba here will see the problem resolved in short order. With that in mind, I’ve decided that the Harvest Social will go on tonight as planned. Abner and Penelope have offered their remaining cornfield to provide for the social’s accompanying vittles, so as soon as you’re all able let’s get to work.”

  The crowd dispersed. Temperance caught the mayor’s sleeve just as he was leaving the clearing.

  “You sure you want to go on with this social of yours? No saying the daemon isn’t lying in its message.”

  “I can’t have my people giving into fear, Miss Alba. ‘Sides, if this daemon of yours comes for us, ain’t gonna make much difference if we’re celebrating or working in our fields, is it?”

  He had a point. It would be better if everyone remained indoors behind her protection circles, but that was probably asking too much of them. Temperance nodded, and the mayor wandered off. At least he didn’t seem mad about her failure last night. Still, no telling how long this mood might last.

  She wandered over to the Felts farm, but Patrick and his family were already gone. It took her a while of searching, but at last she found the field where the town had gathered. Several of the men had carried over the tables from the town center, and a row of townsfolk were shucking corn, while others harvested and brought it to them from the fields. Still others came and collected the ears, taking them off for cooking in various dishes, if Temperance had to guess.

  Ruth looked up from a table where she was shucking with a vengeance and smiled at her. “Care to join me? It’s more fun than it looks.”

  Temperance gave her a thin smile. “Maybe later, I need to talk with Patrick first. He here anywhere?”

  “I think I saw him in the field.” Ruth pointed off through the cornstalks.

  The rows in the field weren’t straight, but curved as they followed a nearby treeline. Temperance found Patrick at the far end, pulling ears of corn with half-hearted interest.

  “Mind if I talk to you about something?” she asked.

  The boy nodded. “I got a mind I know what.” He glanced over to where his mother was working. “Not here, though. Follow me.”

  He led Temperance through the trees, past a grassy marsh, and stopped next to what looked like the Samson’s barn. Patrick stood there a moment, not looking at her, scratching at the back of his neck.

  “Well?” Temperance asked, when she felt her patience growing thin.

  Patrick jumped. “Sorry, never been good at talking with ladies. Ain’t sure where to begin.”

  Temperance crossed her arms. “How about at the beginning?”

  “Right. The thing you got to understand is, we never expected it to go the way it did. We were just supposed to scare him, y’know?”

  “Who?”

  “Me and Johnnie.”

  “No, who were you supposed to scare? What does this have to do with the daemon?”

  “Daemon?” The boy looked confused. “I ain’t got no clue ‘bout that. I thought you was asking ‘bout—”

  The distant cracking noise almost didn’t register in Temperance’s mind. She might have dismissed it if she hadn’t been on edge already. She jerked her head, looking for the source as the sound faded away. When nothing else followed, she turned back to Patrick.

  The boy stood there, mouth hanging open, a look of surprise and terror on his face. As she watched, a red spot bloomed on his chest, spreading downward and soaking through his shirt in moments. He dropped to his knees, and Temperance just caught him before he hit the ground.

  “I . . . I . . .” The boy gasped. His mouth flapped open, but no words came out. He reached a hand for Temperance’s shoulder, but before it got there the life went out of his eyes and the hand dropped away.

  Temperance lowered his limp form to the ground, distantly aware of the blood now coating her jacket. She stood, and looked around, but everything appeared quiet. Even the sounds of the townsfolk working the field were lost through the treeline.

  “Damn it all to Hell,” Temperance said to no one in particular.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Miss Alba, was that gunfire—what in the bloody Three?” Abner Samson leapt back as Temperance clambered to her feet. Behind him appeared the mayor, followed by most everyone else in town. Fortunately Missus Felts didn’t appear to be among them.

  Ruth poked her head out of the crowd, smudges of green decorating her gray lindsey-rak. The smile on her face died as she took in Temperance’s disheveled appearance.

  I must look worse than I thought, Temperance mused, finding the idea funnier than it had a right to be at that moment. Now was no time to give into shock. She had to deal with the situation before it got out of hand.

  “Patrick is dead,” she said, as if that weren’t plain as the sun to anyone looking. Before the gasps turned into questions, she continued, “Someone shot him while we were talking. We need to search the area before they escape.”

  “Was it the daemon?” Cyrus Hander asked.

  “I doubt it, but we won’t know until we search.” She started to say more, but stopped as a scream tore through the crowd.

  That would be Missus Felts, I imagine.

  Salina fell to the ground next to her boy, crying and babbling incoherently. She lifted her son’s head up and clasped her arms around it, rocking back and forth while she sobbed. More than a few people in the crowd turned away with uncomfortable expressions on their face.

  Temperance tried to catch the mayor’s attention. “Listen, Mister Cullings, we need to get on top of this now. Patrick was trying to tell me something before he died, and I’m square certain it had to do with—”

  “You!” Salina Felts had gotten to her feet and launched towards Temperance with murder in her eyes. “This is your fault, ain’t it? You brought this calamity on our little town!”

  Temperance backed up, hands held before her, until she felt the rough wood of the barn between her shoulder blades. Then Salina was in her face, screaming so fierce that gobs of spittle burst from her mouth to splatter on Temperance’s cheeks

  “You ain’t been nothing but trouble! I knew it the moment I saw you! You brought your evil magicks down on us, and now the Three are punishing this town because of you! You killed my boy!”

  Her husband Edmund and the mayor pulled Salina back, and a moment later Temperance was free. She wiped the spit from her face and glared at the other woman. “I know you’re hurting, but none of this is my doing. I tried to keep your son safe, but I can’t protect him from threats I can’t see.”

  Salina burst into tears again, and her husband led her away. The mayor watched them go, then turned back to Temperance. “I know you mean well, Miss Alba, but you got to admit this ain’t looking good.”

  He paused as one of his sons came towards the barn. The boy didn’t appear much older than ten and had a rifle cradled awkwardly in his arms. It looked much newer than any of the others Temperance had seen around Shady Hollow.

  “Found this over in the marsh. Grass was a bent down, like someone had been lying in it.”

  Temperance took the gun and inspected it. She handed it to John. “You seen any like this before?”

  The mayor shook his head. “I’ll ask the others, maybe someone knows it. So what di
d Patrick tell you?”

  Temperance shook her head. “He didn’t get a chance. Just that he was sorry about something he and your boy Johnnie did . . . .” She trailed off, and felt a line of cold work its way down her spine. “Mister Cullings, is anyone with Johnnie right now?”

  “Not at the moment. He woke last night for a few minutes, but only long enough to ask what happened before he fell asleep again. We left him to rest back at the house. Needed every hand available to prepare for the social. Why?”

  He must have seen something in Temperance’s eyes, because the blood drained from the mayor’s face even before she spoke. “I think we ought to get over there. Now.”

  They both took off running, and for once Temperance didn’t have to worry over leaving the mayor behind.

  * * *

  The Cullings’ kitchen didn’t look much different from the one at the Mason house, other than the table was bigger and had a few more chairs. Temperance paused in the entryway and let the mayor show her the way.

  John moved down the hallway, then froze as he stepped into one of the rooms. Temperance squeezed past the man, but when she saw what was waiting on the other side, she wished she hadn’t.

  Johnnie Cullings lay wrapped with bandages in a bed just on the cusp of being too small for him. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling, his mouth hanging open in a last, silent scream. His pillow lay on the floor, and one of the boy’s arms had torn through his linen wrapping, like he had made a final attempt to save himself. On second glance Temperance realized that was exactly what had happened.

  She stood by the bed in silence. After a long pause John appeared next to her.

  “What happened here?” His voice cracked as he spoke.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say someone smothered your son with his own pillow. See the tear marks on it here, and here? Like he was trying to pull it away.”

  The mayor let out a curse coarse enough it might get a man kicked out of even the shadiest of saloons. He scrubbed at his face a moment, then reached out and slid his son’s eyelids shut. Temperance could feel anger rolling off the man hot enough to cook a meal over.

  “I should’a had you placing one of your circles ‘round my house this morning. If I hadn’t been so focused on keeping up the town spirits . . . to think that piece of scrum daemon was walking through my house, stalking my boy—”

  “With all respect, Mister Cullings, I don’t think it was Belial that did this.” Temperance pointed to the floor, where several muddy boot prints showed on the otherwise clean boards. “There’s no sign of smoke or anything else to indicate it was a daemon. More likely whoever shot Patrick earlier came here to finish the job.”

  John said nothing, so Temperance pressed on. “We need to find who that rifle belongs to. It’s the only clue left, and until the daemon makes another appearance, I can’t figure if there’s a connection here or not.”

  “I know where the rifle came from.” The mayor didn’t look at her as he spoke. “Was waiting until we had a moment alone, didn’t want nobody else in town getting the wrong idea.”

  “Wrong idea? Whose rifle is it?”

  “A few days ago, a miner working over on the western hill reported a missing rifle matching the description of that one.”

  How many times now had Temperance heard mention of these miners? Too many to write this off as a mere coincidence. “You think they might be involved? I could ride out there and question a few of them—”

  “No!” The mayor turned towards her, muscles in his arms and shoulders tightening as he clenched his fists. Temperance was suddenly reminded what a large man he was. She pressed in against the wall, hand resting on one of her revolvers.

  John didn’t seem to take notice any of this. “You stay away from the mines, you hear? ‘Em miners got nothing to do with any of this. If anybody up there needs investigating, I’ll do it myself.”

  “Alright,” Temperance said, holding up a hand in a placating gesture. The mayor seemed to remember himself and took a step back. “If that’s what you want, Mister Cullings.”

  “It is. This town appreciates what you’re trying to do for us, but everything is starting to fall apart, even without you stirring up trouble where it ain’t wanted. I put my neck on the line too many times here, and now . . . .” He glanced at the bed a moment. “If you can’t see this daemon dealt with next time it appears, I fear I’ll have no choice but to ask you to leave. We’ll solve the problem on our own.”

  So that was how it was going to be. Temperance nodded. “You know what’s best for your town, Mister Cullings. I’ll try not to disappoint.”

  “See you don’t. Now, if it’s all the same to you, I think you might want to make yourself scarce for a while. It’d be better if you ain’t ‘round when my wife hears ‘bout our boy.”

  * * *

  “There you are. I been looking all over.”

  Temperance looked up to see Ruth standing in the barn doorway, hands on her hips. She went back to brushing Astor. “Shouldn’t you be enjoying the Harvest Social?”

  “Mayor postponed it to give him and the Felts time for mourning. We’re hardy mountain folk though, so I reckon we’ll have some sort of celebration tomorrow. Helping people forget their problems is half the reason we hold these things in the first place.”

  That made sense. It should have occurred to Temperance already, but her mind had been too focused on other matters. She nodded and worked down Astor’s other side. The horse let out a little whinny of pleasure.

  “Just as well, I got business I need dealt with tomorrow. Better if everyone is occupied elsewhere.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. You happen to know where the western hill is? The one the miners are working?”

  “Sure, I’ve had to haul my share of meals out there for ‘em. Why?”

  Temperance wanted to ask about that, but stowed it for later. “Both the reverend and your mayor have made it rather clear I’m not to go bothering them. I think it’s time I find out why.”

  “Oh.” Ruth tapped a finger to her chin. “Well sure, I can take you right to ‘em.”

  “Take me? I don’t think you tagging along is the best idea. I’m walking a thin line around here as is.”

  “Didn’t you just say the mayor told you to stay away? Not like me being there could make that much more trouble.” Before Temperance could respond, the girl continued, “‘Sides, ain’t stuff like this what being a Pistol Witch is all ‘bout? I got to learn sometime.”

  As much as Temperance hated to admit it, having someone to watch her back for once would be nice. “Fine, you can come, but you do as I say, and at the first sign of trouble you turn tail and run, you got me?”

  “Yes Ma’am!” Ruth looked so happy Temperance wondered if the girl might start dancing then and there. “When do we leave?”

  “As soon as I’m sure everyone’s busy tomorrow. We’ll meet back here, collect Astor, and finally see about getting some answers.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Temperance had just finished one last check of her tack when Ruth appeared out of the trees. “All good. My mama thinks I’m helping Missus Felts with baking her pies. Nobody will dare to bother the woman until suppertime. You think we’ll be back by then?”

  “If we aren’t, likely we won’t be coming back at all.” Ruth blinked at that comment but didn’t seem worried, so Temperance mounted up and pulled the girl on after her.

  She patted one of Ruth’s hands as they wrapped around her. “And here I thought you wouldn’t find it so terrifying this time.”

  “Terrifying?”

  “Last time you were holding me so tight I thought you would bond to my skin.”

  “Oh! S’rry.” Ruth immediately let go.

  “Hey now, I don’t need you falling off, either.” Temperance pulled the girl’s hands back to her hips.

  “Um . . . if you’re sure.”

  “Don’t fret over it, we’re all ladies here. Not like I have to worry about yo
u spoiling my honor or anything.” Temperance chuckled to herself.

  “Right.” Ruth muttered the word more than spoke it.

  They rode in quiet for a time, and the land sloped towards the far mountains. The trees were still thick here, but the variety changed the higher they got, smaller and already missing most of their leaves. Soon they moved through a dense world of white limbs grasping at the sky. Temperance tried to enjoy the ride, but the silence ate at her after a while.

  At last she couldn’t stand it any longer. “So what is the situation with these miners, anyway?”

  “What’d mean?”

  “I mean, why is the town sending meals up here?”

  “That unusual?”

  Temperance frowned. “I’ve never heard of anything like it before. Most towns near an active mine are ready enough to do some trading, but that’s usually the extent of the relationship. Is that it, they providing supplies in exchange?”

  “If they are, I ain’t never seen none of it. We bring food, leave it by the entrance. Miners return the dishes when they come to church on Sabbath.”

  “They don’t give you any of the coal or silver or whatever it is they’re working a vein of up here?” Even if they did, she couldn’t fathom what use the town had for it. Coal might keep you warm, but most of the fires she had seen in town were burning wood, which they had in plenty. Silver was as much use to Shady Hollow as a dress on an orak.

  “Nuh uh.” Ruth shook her head for emphasis.

  Maybe it was bribery. If the mine had a writ from the local gentry, whoever ran it might be threatening to report Shady Hollow’s existence if they didn’t provide for the workers. If that was it, the plan wouldn’t work for the town long-term. When the mine ran dry, what would the town do to keep the miners quiet? For that matter, what kept them from talking the first time they went somewhere to spend their earnings?

  Temperance chewed these thoughts over, but couldn’t make anything out of them. Astor continued following a muddy path that snaked up through the hills, Ruth occasionally directing him to take one route or another.