by Amy Cross
“Have you just been outside?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You have snow on you.”
“No, I don't.”
“You have snow on you, man.”
“That's just from when I was checking the door.”
“Checking it?”
“To make sure it works.”
“And does it?”
Munver hesitated. “Seems to,” he said finally.
Garrett stared at him for a moment, before leaning back in the armchair and taking a deep breath. The fire was still crackling in the hearth, and the warmth gave Garrett comfort. He knew he should be more suspicious of Munver at this particular moment, but in truth the nightmare had left him exhausted and he needed a moment to regather his strength. Besides, hadn't he pegged Munver as being a pathetic waster earlier? A moron? There was no reason to alter that judgment. He took care to breathe slowly and steadily, following a technique that Mary had once had to teach him, and already he was beginning to rally. Still, he was unable to keep from thinking back to the nightmare in brief snatches, reliving the worst moments.
Reaching up, he felt for the small silver crucifix that hung from a chain around his neck.
“The snow's really coming down out there now,” Munver said.
“I don't think this storm is going to pass any time soon,” Garrett muttered darkly, still touching the crucifix. “I hear that this is the coldest winter that any man around these parts remembers. I hope that is true, for I cannot imagine anybody having ever survived worse.”
“It's not so bad,” Munver replied with a calculated shrug. “I suppose weaker men might struggle, but it's okay if you're tough. Like me.”
Garrett cast a skeptical glance in his direction.
“Were you dreaming?” Munver asked.
Garrett stared at him. The flames cast great, dancing shadows under his eyes.
“You mumbled a little, that's all,” Munver continued. “I didn't hear what you were saying, though. Don't worry about that. You seemed troubled, though.” He paused for a moment, trying to pick his next words carefully. He knew that his attempts at subtlety often didn't work too well. “Were you dreaming about your cargo? If so, perhaps it would benefit you to speak of it.”
“To speak of what?”
“Those bodies out there, and why you're transporting them.”
“My purchase is none of your business.”
“But -”
“And my dreams are none of your concern,” Garrett said firmly, although he still felt a little too weak to rise from the chair. This surprised – and perturbed – him. “If I made any sounds, or if I disturbed you in any way whatsoever, you have my full and heartfelt apology. I would not wish to cause any discomfort for you here in your home.” He paused, before looking around at his surroundings. “Tell me, man,” he continued, “do you have a copy of the Bible?”
“Well, uh -”
“The Bible, man!” Garrett snarled. “Fetch one!”
Munver dared not move.
“I see,” Garrett said with a heavy, growling sigh. “You have no copy of that most holy of books, do you?”
“Well, no,” Munver said, struggling to come up with an explanation. “I mean, I've read it before. Bits of it. I meant to bring one up here, but I reckon I just... forgot.”
“For some reason,” Garrett replied, eyeing him up and down, “I do not find that difficult to believe.”
With that, he gripped the arms of the chair more firmly and began to rise. His backside made it no more than an inch from the seat, however, before a crippling pain shot through his hips and he gasped as he sat back down. The pain throbbed now, rumbling deep in his body and threatening to return at any moment. He let out a few choice cuss words, committed himself to great strength, and then tried again, only to experience the same painful failure.
“Are you alright there?” Munver asked.
“I'm fine.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I said I'm fine.”
Munver eyed him with suspicion for a moment.
“Food,” Garrett growled. “What do you have?”
“Not a lot,” Munver replied. “Some beans.”
“Heat them.”
“I don't rightly know that I have so much I can share.”
“I am a man on a mission for the Lord,” Garrett replied through gritted teeth. “Evidently you live a godless life up here, Mr. Munver, so it would perhaps do your soul some good to offer me a little assistance. The Lord might just look favorably upon you if you perform some service for him, even if it's by proxy. I do not propose to eat you out of house and home. A few spoonfuls of beans is all I ask for.”
Munver hesitated, before nodding.
“Well, yeah,” he muttered, “I guess...”
“And while you prepare them,” Garrett continued, “let me have a little peace. I'm starting to develop a headache.”
“It won't take long,” Munver replied, before heading over to the far corner and crouching down to get some food ready. Grabbing a knife, he set about opening a rusted old can.
Sighing, Garrett leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and then – despite a ripple of pain in his back – he leaned forward into the light of the fire and puts his hands together in prayer. Even now, he was not entirely sure how to begin, except that after a few more seconds he realized that perhaps he was merely afraid. He had been ignoring the severity of the situation up until now, but his failure to rise from the chair made him confront the truth.
“Lord,” he whispered, speaking low in an effort to avoid being overheard, “I am now and have always been your humble servant. I beg you, grant me the strength to complete this one final journey. The two poor souls out there in the snow deserve...”
His voice trailed off for a moment.
Over on the far side of the room, Munver was making a lot of noise as he scraped muck from one of his saucepans.
“I am guilty of pride,” Garrett continued. “I should have nominated my successor by now. Instead, I ignored the signs of my weakness. I assumed I could go on forever, or at least for a good while longer, but now I see that I must work to find someone who can take over my work.” He opened one eye and glanced briefly at Munver. “Not him,” he added.
He opened the other eye and looked at the window. Snow was still falling, but beyond that he saw only darkness. He knew that the bodies were out there, naked under the cart's covering, undignified in their poses.
“I have to get them to the burial place,” he whispered. “They have their coins, so they are safe for now. I beg you, Lord, grant me the strength to complete the journey and to bury those two poor wretches, and then to appoint my successor in this most important work. Once I am done with those tasks, I shall not debase myself by clinging unduly to life. If my time is to end, then so be it. I trust in your judgment and I shall not question it.”
Munver brought over a saucepan half-filled with beans, and he crouched to place it on the fire. As he did so, he glanced at Garrett and waited, hoping to hear some of the older man's prayer.
“I beg you,” Garrett continued, apparently oblivious to Munver's proximity. “If I am not permitted to complete my work this time, the consequences can only be terrible. I must get my latest purchase home.”
Nine
“There's only one time that Angelica Graft properly looked at me for any length of time,” Munver continued a while later, as he sat cross-legged on the floor and scooped more beans into his mouth, “but I'm sure she at least glanced at me a few other times. She definitely knows that I exist.”
“Perhaps she smelled you,” Garrett muttered testily, stirring his bowl of beans and waiting for a scrap of appetite to return. Finally he forced himself to take a spoonful of beans into his mouth.
“One morning I was sitting by the side of the road,” Munver explained, “and I saw Angelica coming my way with several ladies in her company. Why, I got to
my feet and brushed myself down, and I bowed most humbly as they all walked past. Ladies like that, you know. They like a man who -”
Before he could finish, he was shocked to hear a loud, anguished snarl burst from Garrett's lips, and he watched as his visitor bent forward in the chair as if in great pain.
Not knowing how he should react, Munver merely watched as Garrett remained bent over.
Finally, slowly, Garrett opened his eyes. The pain had been sudden and shocking, and he knew that it could no longer be ignored. He'd already begun to suspect that his body was failing him, but here was the confirmation and now his mind was racing as he tried to work out what he should do next. It was bad luck that, at this awful moment, he found himself stuck alone in a shack with an idiot, but he supposed he'd have to make do with what he'd got. His own comfort mattered not; what mattered was his work.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice tense with pain after the agony of having tried to swallow the beans, “do you by any chance have a pen and some paper?”
“No,” Munver replied, “I do not.”
“Do you have anything to write with and on?”
“No.”
“I thought as much,” Garrett said, and now it was evident that he was still in pain. He was holding the bowl of beans with one hand, but with the other he was touching his belly. “If I should die out here on the road,” he continued, “it is imperative that Mary should receive two messages from me. One to inform her of my great respect for her long service as my wife, and the other to inform Father Briars of the emergency steps he must take to contain the threat of coinless souls.”
Munver stared at him, unsure as to whether or not he'd finished.
“I'm not entirely sure what you mean,” he said finally.
Garrett turned and stared at him for a moment.
“No,” he murmured angrily, “I don't suppose that you do.”
Munver, not understanding quite what was happening, decide to smile, and then he scooped up some more beans. Sauce was dribbling down his stubbled chin, and after a moment he tried to lick some of it back into his mouth.
“So tell me this, then,” Garrett continued. “If I were to give you two messages, and if I were to impress their inestimable importance upon your person, would you be capable of taking those messages to the people I described?”
“I'm not sure what you mean,” Munver replied.
“Could you deliver two messages for me?” Garrett snapped. “Reliably, and in good time?”
“I don't see why not,” Munver said, “but there's no-one around here to deliver a message to.”
“If they were around here,” Garrett sighed, “I could deliver the messages myself. I mean that you must go on a journey, on my behalf.”
“I wouldn't get far in this bad weather. It'd be suicide.”
“You'd have to wait, then. And memorize the messages, along with the details of the intended recipients. Then, when the weather cleared, you'd have to follow my precise instructions and take those messages without further delay to two specific addresses. Upon your arrival, you'd have to...”
His voice trailed off as he stared at Munver's confused expression, and in that moment he realized that this particular plan had no hope of success.
“Never mind,” he muttered. “I shall not need you to deliver any such messages. I shall find the strength in myself to continue my journey, come morning. The Lord shall be with me, I am sure. He shall prop up my weary frame and drive me onward. I shall complete my work for him.”
“Well...” Munver thought for a moment. “That'll be nice.”
He looked back down at his bowl of food, but already in the back of his mind his thoughts were consumed by the gold coin he'd taken from the back of the cart. He knew he couldn't just blurt all his questions out, but he desperately wanted to know just how much the coin was worth. Already, a plan was forming in his mind. Come morning, he'd assess the weather. As soon as the storm cleared sufficiently, he'd strike out from the cabin and head to the nearest town and sell the coin, and then his days as a prospector would be over. He could go home, show off his newfound wealth, and secure the lust of Angelica Graft.
Lost in these thoughts, he spent several minutes trapped in a kind of trance, until finally he stirred and looked back over at Garrett.
For a moment, Garrett seemed to have fallen back asleep, but then his eyes flickered open. He certainly appeared to be struggling in his attempts to stay awake, and Munver preferred not to disturb him. After almost a full minute, however, the older man's eyes opened properly again and he seemed – for now – to have won his battle with sleep.
“Why do you stare at me like that?” Garrett asked.
“I wasn't staring,” Munver replied, forcing himself to look down at the bowl and scoop up the last of his beans. “I don't know what I was doing. Daydreaming, I suppose.”
“The heat from this fire is perhaps making me drowsy,” Garrett said. “I feel almost as if I shall melt right here in the chair. Perhaps the cold would do me better, to wake me up.”
“There'll be plenty of cold soon,” Munver pointed out. “If I were you, I'd enjoy the fire and -”
Suddenly he froze for a moment, and his eyes opened wide with a burst of realization.
“Melt,” he whispered.
“What was that?” Garrett asked.
“Melt!” Leaping to his feet, Munver sent his empty bowl flying across the room. “She might have melted by now!”
“What in tarnation are you talking about?” Garrett asked.
“Uh... Nothing.”
Munver looked at the door, then back at Garrett, then at the door again, then once more at Garrett.
“It's just,” he continued, his mind spinning as he tried to think of an explanation, “I need to go and check something outside, that's all. It's real important.”
With that, he hurried to the door.
“What are you doing, man?” Garrett asked impatiently. “There's nothing out there but snow and wind.”
“I won't be long,” Munver mumbled, fumbling to get the door open. “Wait right there. You promised before, you have to stay by the fire. Wait there and I'll be right back. I just have to go and check on the...”
He hesitated, frozen for a moment by the struggle to come up with an explanation.
“Horses,” he managed to say finally.
“Horses?”
“Pigs.”
“What?”
“Rain covering!” Munver blurted out. “I have to go and check on the rain covering!”
In a state of high excitement now, he hurried out into the snow, letting the door swing shut in his wake.
Garrett stared at the door, trying to work out what could possibly have worked his host up into such a ridiculous condition, but then he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes and told himself not to worry. The man was clearly a lunatic, he reasoned, and it would be all too easy to get entirely lost in the task of untangling a lunatic's plans. Besides, he preferred to be alone right now as he continued to struggle for a little more strength. He knew that despite his growing weakness, he had to fix the cart in the morning and then he had to set back out on the road to resume his journey. For a moment the task felt utterly impossible, but he told himself that somehow he would find the necessary resolve. He would get to where he was going.
Suddenly his eyes opened wide, and in that moment he realized he'd heard the distant thump of somebody climbing up onto his cart.
Ten
“Damn it, what are you doing?” Garrett gasped as he shoved the door open and stumbled out into the driving snow.
Clutching his belly, still feeling constant ripples of pain that threatened at any moment to burst out and consume him, he struggled to make his way around the side of the cabin. Whereas a moment ago he'd been slumped in the chair, barely able to summon the strength to keep his eyes open, now he was filled with a righteous mix of anger and fear and pure blind fury. He knew he'd heard Munver messing about w
ith the cart, and the thought of that man interfering with the purchase was enough to send Garrett into a frenzy.
“Stop!” he called out, but he was surprised to hear that his voice was hoarse and frail. “For the love of God, man, stop whatever it is that you're up to!”
Stumbling, he barely managed to keep from falling down into the snow. He stopped and leaned against the side of the cabin, and in that moment the pain in his side began to tighten a little. Looking ahead, he was just about able to make out the shape of the cart, and then he saw a faint shape moving about at the rear section. His worst fears were now confirmed, and this realization spurred him to set out again, forcing his way through the snow and the pain until finally he reached the side of the cart and he once more had to steady himself.
Now he could hear Munver constantly scrabbling about on the cart's rear section.
“I swear,” Garrett muttered as he pushed through the snow, “if you -”
Stopping suddenly as he rounded the corner, he was horrified to see Munver on his hands and knees on the cart's rear, with his pants pulled down and his plump buttocks raised high in the snow.
Too shocked for a moment to react, Garrett spotted a faint light in Munver's hand. He tilted his head slightly, trying to understand what he was seeing. Perhaps his fury blinded him, or perhaps he simply could not believe what was right in front of his eyes, but it took longer than it should for him to realize that Munver was mumbling away to himself while holding a candle to the frozen woman's nether regions and scraping his fingernails against the mound between her legs.
“It's not fair!” Munver hissed. “Why's it still not soft?”
Suddenly letting out a furious roar, Garrett lunged forward and grabbed Munver by the scruff of the neck before hauling him back and throwing him out of the cart. Crying out again, he slammed Munver down against the snow and stared wide-eyed in horror as the pitiful figure wriggled and squirmed and tried desperately to pull his pants back up.
“What are you doing?” Garrett shouted, as snow continued to fall all around them. His weakness had been blasted away by a resurgent fury, and he felt for a moment as if he could tear Munver apart with his bare hands. “Tell me right now, or I swear I'll kill you!”
