by Amy Cross
“So what exactly is it?” Munver stepped over to the window and set his rifle aside, leaning it against the wall as he peered out at the cart's covered load. His heart was racing. “What have you got under there?”
“Like I said, it's nothing.”
“But what is it?”
“A long story.”
“Yeah, but what exactly is it?” He turned to Garrett. “I'm just wondering, that's all. Just making conversation.”
Garrett paused, meeting his gaze for a moment before turning to look back down at his hands as he continued to warm them.
“I don't right reckon I can explain it all,” he said finally. “It's nothing important, and I'd rather not go into the matter. I'm sure you'll understand.”
“Of course,” Munver said, before turning to look back out again at the cart, “but...”
His voice trailed off. He wanted to ask again, but he knew he wouldn't get much of an answer. His visitor seemed like he wanted to keep the cart's contents to himself, and Munver had never been much of a persuader. He watched the cart for a moment longer, and then he turned to see that Garrett seemed lost in thought at the fireplace. If this man wanted to hide the cart's contents, then it must be carrying something even more valuable than Munver had initially thought.
“I've just gotta go out and check something,” Munver said finally.
“I can help you.”
“No!” Munver gasped, raising a hand quickly to stop Garrett. “Stay right there!”
Garrett, still crouching in front of the fire, furrowed his brow.
“I mean,” Munver continued, “you should get warm. Yeah, you need to warm yourself. I'll only be a moment, and I don't need any help. I've just gotta go and take a check on something I was doing before you arrived. It's something real important.”
“I see.”
“So wait right there and I'll be back.” Munver headed over to the door and pushed it open, before turning back to look at Garrett. “You'll stay by the fire?” he added. “You promise?”
“I won't leave this fire until my hands are nice and warm,” Garrett replied. “How about that?”
“That's okay,” Munver said, although he felt a little uncertain. He hesitated, but he didn't want to say too much more, in case he started to seem suspicious. “Just stay right there. You promise, so you have to. I'll be right back.”
With that, he headed outside and shut the door.
Garrett, still crouching by the fire, continued to warm his hands for a moment, before glancing over at the nearby chair and spotting a small box next to one of the legs. Reaching out, he picked the box up and saw that it was comprised of several sections of cowhide sewn crudely together. He turned the box around until he spotted a hole cut in one of the sides, and he saw that some kind of hair had been stuck to the hole's edges. The name Angelica Graft had been written in untidy handwriting. He tilted the box, and slowly a slimy white-yellow liquid began to ooze out.
“Disgusting creature,” he muttered, before tossing the box back under the chair, getting to his feet, and turning to look at the door.
Four
Hurrying through the snow, Munver ducked down as soon he reached the cart and then he glanced back at the cabin to make sure Garrett wasn't following. Once he was satisfied that he wasn't being watched, he made his way around to the other end of the cart and, while staying low, began trying to unfasten the straps that kept the load covered.
He'd thought he could just hurry out, take a peek, and then race back inside in less that a minute. He'd thought it would be easy. In fact, he'd already been outside for several minutes now and he was starting to worry that Garrett might get suspicious. Then again, he'd made Garrett promise not to leave the fire and Garrett seemed like an honorable man, so he figured he could take a little longer. As the snow continued to fall, however, Munver was really struggling to deal with the straps, and he was starting to worry that he might never get them loose. Yet he couldn't help thinking about the riches that were within his grasp.
He was finally going to get his lucky break.
Although he didn't know what was under the cart's covers, he'd already decided that he could sell it for a substantial sum. After all this time searching for the gold he'd been promised, he'd found nothing at all. Every day he went out at dawn with his pans, following the routes that had been drawn out by the man in the bar; every evening he returned to the cabin with nothing to show for his efforts. He'd even begun to feel a little dejected and defeated, but now he realized that great wealth was going to come from a slightly more surprising source. He could barely contain his excitement as he struggled to pull the covers away and get to his fabulous haul.
“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, trying to get the work done before his fingers turned numb in the cold. “You can do it.”
But he couldn't.
Not for several minutes, nor for several more minutes after that.
Despite anxious glances back toward the cabin, Munver saw no sign of Garrett coming out to check on him. Figuring that the older man must still be warming his hands, just like he'd promised, Munver figured that he had a little more time to get the covers off the rear of the cart. His fingers were hurting with the cold now, and he wished he'd brought some gloves out, but he was in too much of a hurry to stop and change his approach. Snow was falling heavily now, and some had managed to melt and dribble down the back of Munver's shirt. Finally, he managed to get one of the straps loose, and he quickly hurried around to the cart's other side and got to work on the next. This was easier work, since he'd learned from his first attempt, and after another thirty seconds the covers came loose and the wind immediately whipped them up and blew them aside.
“What the -”
Startled, Munver stepped back as he saw the two frozen, naked human figures in the rear of the cart.
A man and a woman, they were, locked in a partial embrace. Their skin was icy and pale, with ice crystals glistening in their hair. The man was resting on his left side, turned to look at the woman who rested on her back. With a hand touching the woman's hip, the man seemed almost to be in a caring, concerned pose, while the woman's dead eyes were wide open and she was staring straight up toward the darkening evening sky. She seemed unaware of the man's worries, as if she found the sky and the emerging stars infinitely more interesting.
After a moment, Munver stepped closer and craned his neck to get a better view of the woman's face. The area around her upper chin looked to have been somehow scraped away, exposing not only her gums but even the roots of some of her teeth. This left her with a striking grimace that suggested she'd died in agony. There was a dark patch on her left cheek, perhaps blood, and now Munver noticed that her right eye was open wider than her left. For a moment Munver could only stare at the woman's frozen face. His mouth opened slightly. He wanted to ask if she was okay, just in case somehow she was still conscious.
“Happy now?” Garrett asked.
Gasping, Munver stumbled back, tripped, fell, and then saw Garrett standing just a few feet away.
“I believe I said that I didn't want to talk about it,” Garrett continued, grabbing the sheets and struggling against the wind to draw them back over the bodies. “I would have appreciated it, Mr. Munver, if you had respected my wishes.”
“I didn't do anything,” Munver stammered, struggling up from the ground. “It just blew off.”
Garrett cast a glance at him, a glance that indicated deep skepticism, but then he busied himself with the task of getting the straps back into place. He was clearly annoyed, and Munver didn't dare say anything.
“In case you're wondering,” Garrett said finally, sternly, “no, I didn't kill them. And no, I didn't know them. And no, I didn't steal their bodies. I have documentation signed by officials in Lordstown, confirming my purchase of these two unfortunate souls and my absolute right to transport them wherever I like. They're mine. I don't have to explain myself to anyone, nor do I need to.” He pulled the first
strap tight again. “If you have any further questions, Mr. Munver, I'd invite you to bend over and bellow them directly up your own ass.”
Munver could only stare with a growing sense of horror as Garrett continued to work on the covers. The tops of the two figures were now hidden, but Munver stared at the protruding lower halves. The man's legs were turned to one side, while the woman's were spread quite a way apart. As he looked at the woman's feet, Munver noticed several deep scratches that appeared to have been inflicted before she froze. Finally, even the feet were covered, and Garrett muttered to himself as he put the last strap in place.
He grabbed a bottle from the rear of the cart, then he stepped back and took a deep breath as he watched to make sure that his work was finished.
For a couple of minutes, the two men stood in silence, staring at the sheets as they rippled in the ever-growing gale. In even that brief period of time, the sky seemed to darken noticeably, to the extent that it was now clear that night had begun to take its grip on the valley. Snow fell, rustling gently as it hit the ground. Wind rattled a few loose panels on the cabin's roof.
“Well,” Garrett said finally, “I hope you'll agree with me, Mr. Munver, that there's nothing more to be said about any of this. Nothing at all.”
Turning, he began to trudge back through the snow, heading toward the cabin, leaving Munver still standing next to the cart and staring at the covers.
As the other man's footsteps faded into the distance, Munver's eyes widened slightly. Even though the bodies were now covered, he could still see them in his mind's eye, and he couldn't help thinking back to every detail that he could remember. He'd barely even heard Garrett's non-explanation; instead he was frozen in place and his mind was rushing as he tried to understand what was happening. He'd expected to find something valuable on the back of the cart, something he could sell. He'd begun to dream of heading home and shoving his new-found wealth in Walter Graft's stupid ugly face. The fantasy had been swift and rapid, but it had taken root deeply and now it was gone and Munver was left once again with nothing.
This made him a little angry.
Yet again, the world had denied him his due. How could a man be dragging a cart around, making all that effort, with nothing on the back except two corpses? Corpses weren't worth anything, that was something Munver knew for certain, unless there were bounties on their heads. And he was pretty sure there were no bounties on these particular frozen heads. No, these were two worthless dead bodies. They were so worthless, in fact, that they couldn't even be chopped up and sold to a butcher for use as food. The cart was probably worth more than the bodies, and even that was broken. Slowly, clenching his fists, Munver began to realize that he'd been screwed out of another opportunity.
And that arrogant, smug Mr. Garrett hadn't seemed to care.
“Why do I never get a break?” Munver sneered, before turning and looking over at the cabin, and seeing the glow of the fire in the window. “You think you're going to come here and take some of my heat, do you? Well think again.”
He paused for a moment, and finally his rage boiled over and he kicked the side of the cart as hard as he could. Then he let out a gasp as he felt ripple of pain in one of his toes.
Five
“This is all I can pay you for board tonight,” Garrett said as he set the bottle of whiskey down on a table in the cabin. “It's not much, but it's good stuff. I'll split the bottle with you.”
Standing in the doorway, Munver stared at him for a moment. He still felt angry, of course, but he didn't dare show that anger. What if he ended up in a fight? He'd never had much luck there, as his crooked nose and missing teeth attested. Far better, he supposed, to bide his time a little. Besides, he might be able to find out why this man was almost killing himself on a journey to transport two dead bodies. Was he insane, or was there more to it?
Besides, in kicking the cart Munver had nearly broken his big toe. He was in no condition to scrap.
“Shut the door,” Garrett said again. “The wind.”
“Sorry.”
Munver limped inside and shut the door, as Garrett opened the bottle.
Glancing across the room, Munver saw that his lady-box had been moved. For a moment he felt a little embarrassed, but then he told himself that Garrett had most likely simply kicked it.
“So,” he said, trying to sound calm and carefree as he leaned against the wall, “where are you headed?”
“Tulston,” came the gravely reply.
“And where have you been?”
“I already told you. Lordstown.”
“Is that where you picked up the... things?”
“I told you.”
“And you're allowed to do that?”
“I am.”
“Seems odd to me.”
“Are you a man who concerns himself much with rules and laws, Mr. Munver?” Garrett asked. “Do you have a permit for what you're doing out here? Is your name known to any courts, back where you come from?”
Munver opened his mouth to reply, but then he held back.
Garrett reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he set on the table before taking a sip of whiskey straight from the bottle.
“See for yourself, if you must,” he muttered bitterly . “It's all legal.”
He drank again.
Munver shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to look as if he didn't care, as he ambled across to the table and looked down to see a document from the Lordstown Sheriff's Office. He'd never been much of a reader, but Munver had to admit that the document looked very official, with lots of printed sections and annotations and signatures. There was even a fancy stamp. Munver picked the piece of paper up and pretended to read it at some length, even going so far as to murmur his approval at certain sections. In reality, as he set the paper back down, he still had no idea where the bodies had come from or why Garrett had purchased them, but he was too shy to confess his illiteracy.
“I can't see how dead people are worth much money,” he grumbled. “How much'd you pay?”
“None of your business.”
“Who did -”
“That's none of your business either.”
“But if -”
“Be careful,” Garrett growled, before taking another glug of whiskey and then wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve. Stepping over, he picked the piece of paper back up and returned it to his pocket. “I only showed you that document so that you'd see I'm not a murderer. The rest of it's my business and mine alone. A man has a right to keep things private, you know. I'm not hiding anything, but I'll defend my right to privacy to the death. I'd advise you to ask me no more questions on the matter.”
“Of course not,” Munver replied.
“Drink.”
Garrett held the bottle out, and Munver took it gladly. He wasn't much of a drinker, but he could handle a light tipple if he needed to appear friendly. He took a sip but surreptitiously spat most of the whiskey straight back into the bottle, and then he thumped his chest with his left hand.
“Now that's good whiskey!” he exclaimed.
Garrett murmured something and walked to the window, where he stopped to look out at the darkening yard. The sun had almost set now and everything looked a dark shade of blue, except flakes of snow that fell real close to the window.
“Do you have wood?” he asked after a moment, still looking outside.
“Some,” Munver replied. “What exactly do you need?”
“Enough to make some repairs to the supporting beams on one side of the cart.”
“And how much is that?”
“Don't you know anything, man?” Garrett sneered.
“I've got plenty of wood,” Munver said. “You can have it. If you can pay for it.”
“I'm paying you in whiskey, aren't I?”
“I'm not sure that's quite enough.”
“And you have nails?”
“Oh,” Munver said with a giggle, “I've got nails. Lots o
f 'em.”
“It shouldn't take long,” Garrett replied. “I'll be out there at first light and then I should be gone within an hour or two of that. I certainly won't detain you long in the morning.”
“Don't worry,” Munver said. “I haven't got anything important to do.”
“Not going out to search for gold tomorrow?”
“No.” He paused, before realizing that maybe the answer was a mistake. “I mean, yes.”
“Haven't made your mind up yet?”
“I'm going.”
“I won't get in your way.”
Munver grinned, but suddenly he saw Garrett's reflection in the glass and he realized that he'd been watched during the whole conversation. Even now, Garrett stared at him with relentless intensity, and Munver finally took a swig of whiskey purely in order to make himself seem more normal. Once he was done, he lowered the bottle and saw that Garrett was still staring at him. Reminded of all the people who used to stare at him in town, he felt a flicker of irritation in his chest.
He forced a smile.
Garrett's gaze didn't shift an inch.
“Here,” Munver said finally, stepping forward and holding the bottle out to him. “You should have some more.”
Garrett turned and took the bottle, and then he drank until whiskey began spilling out over his chin.
“You really like that stuff, huh?” Munver said nervously.
“Show me a man who doesn't like whiskey,” Garrett said, wandering over to one of the chairs and setting himself down with force, “and I'll show you a man I don't like.” He took another long swig and then let out a heavy gasp. “So what's your story, friend? How did you end up out here all alone, with no-one around you for miles and miles, following a map you bought from someone in a bar?”
“There's nothing wrong with what I'm doing,” Munver said defensively.
“I never said there was. I just wondered how you ended up doing it, is all.”
“I told you, I met a -”
“I know that part,” Garrett said with a sigh. “You met a man in a bar, and he sold you a treasure map for the price of a drink.” He chuckled. “And now here you are.”
