Lucinda sniffed, shook her head, and gestured for Courtright to follow her back to their room. “We better get going. I think our best bet will be to split up at this point. I know some folks might be able to get me to Diablo Canyon quick as a wink, and you’ve always been better with those office types back east.”
He grunted in reply, not looking up. Lucinda continued, “We’ve got too much ground to cover, and not much time, if we want to get useful information from James before the Earps and their traveling Wild West show catch up to him.”
Chapter 9
The town was tucked into the dark forests in the northern edges of the territories, and no one left there remembered what its original name was. The place had been called Payson for decades, named by the world-renowned Doctor Burson Carpathian. It was a dirty town in the middle of once-beautiful country. Filthy brick buildings of almost entirely utilitarian aspect lined the streets, granting no decoration or ornamentation of any type. Factories, mostly, spewed red-tinged smog into the crystal blue sky, giving everything for miles around a sickly, pink pallor.
Jesse and his gang rode into town along the single dirt road connecting it to the rest of civilization to the far south. Everyone was exhausted from days of hard riding, but this would be no place for them to recoup their strength. There were no signs on any of the buildings, and the streets seemed all but deserted. Jesse raised a single fist into the air, and the Iron Horses of his posse drifted forward on their roaring engines, settling down around him.
Most of Jesse’s men had never been to Payson before, and these were in some danger of damaging their necks as they swiveled from side to side trying to take it all in. The sickly-sweet smell that was always Jesse’s strongest memory of the place had made itself known nearly a half hour before. It was even stronger than he remembered as they sat in the middle of the main street, wondering what they should do next.
“Jesse, you reckon there’s anyplace we can get a drink, recharge the ‘Horses, maybe, while you talk to the Doc about new equipment and weapons?” Frank was leaning against the control panel of his machine, his hat in one hand. “I don’t relish the idea of going into the lion’s den myself, an’ I’m wonderin’ if it ain’t best for the rest of these boys to be keepin’ a bit of distance as well?”
Jesse did not stop scanning the street, but nodded. “The saloon used to be down that alley to the left. It’s as far from the main row of factories as the folks who have to live here could get the Doc to put it. Every now and then they move everything around, though, so it might not be. I better get a move on or we’re gonna miss Billy at Diablo Canyon.”
“I hope this side trip was really worth it, Jesse.” Harding’s voice was grim, his tone frustrated. “We went straight past the turn off for The Canyon more’n a day back. The way you was pushin’ us, we woulda beaten the Kid there by a few days at least. Now, we’ll be lucky if we get there on time.”
“You got any pressin’ need to see Billy the Kid, Harding?” Jesse turned a severe glare on the older man. The look was rendered more effective, however, by the ruby lenses of his goggles, reflecting shards of light back into Harding’s face.
“Just don’t wanna have to ride any further than we gotta, is all,” grumbled Harding.
“Jesse, you go on down and see the Doc. I’ll let these dirt farmers in on the great and mysterious secrets of Payson while you’re gone. Who knows, maybe they’ll see an animation close up. Bryce’s been havin’ a bit of trouble moving his bowels. That oughta set you right as rain, heh, Bryce?”
The young kid snorted and flipped a middle finger in Frank’s direction, causing Frank to chuckle, shaking his head.
“You keep those foul Eye-talian gestures out of my face, Bryce, you hear? Or Sophie’ll have somethin’ to say to ya” He reached around for his gun as if threatening to pull it on the boy.
Jesse shook his head. “You lot of numbskulls go find the damned saloon while I go see what I can’t pry out of the Doc’s warehouses for this little shindig.”
“What’s it called, Jesse?” Ty had been quieter since leaving Kansas City, mirroring Jesse’s own dark silence.
“What’s what called?” Jesse goosed his machine forward a bit, drifting off down the street.
“The saloon?” Ty yelled after him.
Jesse called over his shoulder as he gunned the rumbling vehicle forward. “They call it the saloon, ya silly cracker. Payson ain’t got but one.”
As Jesse moved further down the main street he could hear Bryce say, “Town this size only has one waterin’ hole?” It made him smile.
The main street of Payson wound its way down a moderate incline in a slow turn that eventually left even the echo of his men’s Iron Horses behind. The echo of his own, bouncing off the plain brick buildings, was familiar enough but offered no comfort. He knew they had been under observation for days, and he knew that if Carpathian had wanted to keep him away, they would know it by now.
The fact that there were no animations present was a pleasant surprise. Every time Jesse had visited Payson before, he had seen many of the disgusting things shambling about on one errand or another. He knew the town was lousy with them; that they were, in fact, the source of the smell that troubled his dreams for days after every visit. Their absence, however, was almost as troublesome as their appearance would have been.
The main road continued down, side streets reaching away on either side almost at random. Eventually, the road leveled out to a wide, straight boulevard, and the first buildings with some style made their appearance. Along either side of the broad street intricate building fronts featuring dizzying arches, shaded promenades, large windows, and even gargoyles made out of some substance the color of the ubiquitous red brick rose into the sky. Large buildings marched down towards an edifice that looked like it had been dropped right out of a fairytale, except that rather than the smoothly polished, dressed marble of a castle, this one was built, once again, out of fired red brick. Flying buttresses, crenellations, turrets, and other archaic features completed the appearance. The presence of the bricks just made it all seem as bizarre as the rest of the town.
Jesse gunned his ‘Horse forward, watching, with his peripheral vision, all of the shadowed nooks and crannies in each building that he passed. He kept his head rigidly forward, however, and his chin up. It would never do for any of Carpathian’s creatures to read weakness or hesitation in his manner. He took a deep breath and banished the heartache, confusion, and anger of the last few days to a corner of his mind. He would be able to deal with all of that later. Right now he needed to have all his wits about him, dealing with the Doctor.
The Iron Horse rumbled to a halt in a grand parade ground before the castle-like main house. Jesse allowed the machine to rumble into silence and slowly swung his leg up and over the saddle, standing in an assured and easy pose beside it. The heat from the exhaust pipes radiated through his riding leathers and warmed the backs of his legs. He stood completely still, mechanical hands confidently on hips, and looked up at the big house, waiting for a sign.
The sign was not long in coming, as the large double doors in the center of the massive, intricate façade opened with a slow, dramatic movement. A large man in dark clothes and a grim face hiding behind a massive black beard stepped out and gestured with an abrupt wave of his hand for Jesse to approach.
Jesse forced the cocky, self-sure grin onto his face and began to saunter forward. He raised one arm and gave a quick wave to the figure at the top of the steps. “Howdy, Ursul. How’s things goin’ behind that awful thatch of brush you call a beard?”
The man scowled but made a slight bow. “Domnule James.” His accent was so thick that Jesse could never be entirely sure he understood every word. There was a grudging respect there, however, and Jesse had found himself in desperate need of that lately. One of the many reasons he had been hesitant to make this journey was a very real fear of his own reaction should Carpathian be in a foul, sharp-tongued mood. He had no doubt, if
it ever came to it, he could shoot the old man ten times before the body fell and the old coot would never know what happened. He also knew he would never make it out of Payson alive if he did it.
“Ze Doctor iz busy now. Eef you vill come vith me, I vill zee that you are provided vith refreshments unt somevere to zit down.” The big man gestured with one hand into the cool interior of the castle.
Jesse nodded his thanks and moved past the imposing guardian. “Thanks, Ursul. Mighty kind of you an’ your boss. You have any idea when he’ll be free, though? I’m in a bit of a hurry, with an appointment I gotta make back east. I really need to talk to him ‘bout some stuff afore I feel comfortable makin’ the trip.”
Ursul led the way deeper into the castle. He answered with a tone completely devoid of pity or concern. “Ven zee Doctor iz busy, he brooks no disturbance. Zis you know, Domnule James, yah?” The man did not turn around, but Jesse could hear the shrewd smile in his voice.
“Yeah, whatever you say, Ursul.” Jesse looked around at the wide hall with its dark wood paneling and gothic decorations. There was even an old suit of armor standing on a pedestal in one waiting area they moved through. They were almost past when Jesse noticed the two men lounging in the shadows. They both sported dark goggles, considering they were indoors, and both wore sleek black leather dusters of a strange design. Their hair, too, was strange; long like a woman’s hair, and blacker than a mineshaft at midnight.
One of the men looked up at Jesse and smiled, nodding slightly and raising a glittering knife to tap at his own forehead in a salute Jesse could only interpret as ironic.
“Couple o’ new pets, Ursul?” Jesse followed the large man down the hall and away from the strange pair. He forced his body, against every impulse, to move straight and not turn to look over his shoulder.
“A couple uv young men from zee old country, Domnule James. Zee Doctor prefers, ven possible, to provide assistance and guidance to such as they.” It was even harder to understand him as he powered down the hallway, heels clacking on the wooden floor.
“Ah, Europeans then?” Jesse called out for lack of anything better to say.
Ursul paused for a heartbeat in his stride, casting an astounded look over his shoulder. “Ah, yes, yes. Europe.” He nodded, then turned away, shaking his head, and hurried on at a greater pace.
*****
Frank led the men into the building they assumed was the saloon of Payson. A nondescript brick building like all the others, this at least had the look of constant use, and the windows along the front of the building were at least slightly larger than the rest that looked out onto the street. The door had a knob rather than the freely-swinging batwing doors favored by most establishments that might require the speedy eviction of a patron in the heat of battle. Frank had tested the knob, felt it give, and then nodded to the rest of the men, pushing the door warily open.
Inside the room was much more in keeping with saloons across the west. There were tables, a long bar running across the back, with a wall of bottles and glasses behind it. One thing they all noted with some relief was the fresher air within as the door closed behind them. Probably another reason to avoid the batwings, Frank thought as he surveyed the darkened room. A barkeep stood behind the bar polishing a mug with a clean white towel; however, he gave it one last brush and then placed it on the counter behind him when he saw the small crowd enter.
He stared at Frank and the other outlaws guardedly, taking in their dusty, trail-stained clothing and weary gaits. He nodded to Frank, who nodded back, and then gestured with one hand to any of the unoccupied tables.
Frank had been to Payson before, and as the saloon had not been moved since last time, he had even been in this very bar. He was not surprised to see that most of the tables were empty. In fact, he was moderately surprised to see any patrons at all. Only a couple of the tables were occupied, and the men sitting around them were sullen and quiet as they slouched in their chairs in the semi-darkness.
Frank gestured to the men to take a couple large round tables in the corner and then waved at the bartender, although the man was still staring at them as they moved through the room. “Barkeep, send over a couple bottles and enough glasses for the lot, will you? And good bottles, real whiskey, now, none of that ole Red Eye you push off on the locals, you hear?”
The man sneered slightly but reached under the bar and produced two dusty old bottles. He put them on a tray and loaded it up with enough glasses for the whole band. He pushed his way around the bar and to their tables, depositing the lot with a rattling crash. He held out a palm. “That’ll be ten dollars.” The man’s voice was harsh as if he was not used to speaking.
Frank’s eyebrow shot up. “Ten? You gonna kiss us each afore you go back to settin’ there, doin’ nuthin’?”
The large man’s hands balled into fists that he rested on his hips. “You want the Simon Pure, you pay for it, son. You want the same tar water the locals here suffer through, you can save yourself some coin.”
Frank smiled at the men with a shrug. “Well, nothin’ but the best for these boys, I guess.” He dug a few coins out of his pocket and made to hand them over, dropping them to the floor just as the bartender was about to grab them. “Oops. Sorry, barkeep. Guess I slipped.”
The smile Frank gave the bartender was lethal, and after a single glance the man quickly looked away, ducked down to grab the money, and backed off with a nod and a mutter of thanks.
“Damn hayseeds.” Frank sat down heavily. “Don’t know who the hell they think they are, way out here in the middle of nowhere, puttin’ on airs.”
The men nodded while Bryce opened the bottle and began to pour generous glasses for his table. “Hey, Frank, how come Jesse calls this place The Town That Death Built? I ain’t seen anythin’ too scary here ‘bouts.”
Cole Younger snorted from the other table and lobbed a healthy gobbet of tobacco juice onto the floor. “You ever face any animations on the trail, kid? Ever stared into the dead eyes of one of those walking corpses the Doc uses for all his dirty work?”
Chase nodded. “Doc’s animations ain’t nothin’ to shake a stick at, Bryce. If you’d ‘a seen a bunch of ‘em in action, you wouldn’t be havin’ any doubts now. You’d be just as happy they don’t seem to be hangin’ around today.”
Frank snickered as he took a sip of his whiskey, sighing harshly with satisfaction. “Now that is the good stuff. But yeah, what these old hands’r sayin’, kid. Folks say, once Doc scared the those who used to live here off the land – or convinced ‘em to join him – or killed ‘em all, depending on who’s tellin’ the story, he raised up a whole army of the dead with his RJ-1027 tech, an’ they went straight to work rebuildin’ the town. First thing he had ‘em build was a bunch o’ kilns, an’ then, digging up clay from the canyon up that’a way, they just started churnin’ out bricks to beat the band, an’ the buildings just kept goin’ higher and higher, day’n night. Pretty soon, faster’n any living men could o’ built it, Payson was as big as you’re seein’ it now. Some say he went through a thousand Boot Hills full o’ the dead before he was done, and ain’t a grave with a body in it for miles in any direction. Folks round these parts, they’ve taken to burnin’ their dead when they pass.” He took another sip. “Well, those that don’t up and sell ‘em to the Doc, that is.”
Gage looked around at the quiet men, and put his own glass down. “Well, if these dead folks are so good at workin’, how come there’s any live folks at all shufflin’ around?”
Frank shrugged. “God alone knows what the Doc needs these folks that ain’t done breathin’ yet for. There ain’t a lot of ‘em, but there’s enough. Jesse once tried to explain to me, the animations don’t have any brains o’ their own. They’re like idiot dogs, gotta be led around nonstop. They’re not as smart as those crazy metal marshals. So, could be, you need live folks to tell ‘em what to do.”
The outlaws focused on their drinks, occasionally shooting sidelong glances at the other me
n in the room. Most of the younger men had heard the stories but never seen an animation. Frank knew from personal experience that those creepy bastards were hard to believe in until you had seen one for yourself. He shrugged. They would see some soon enough, he had no doubt.
The men were muttering quietly, speculating on how long they would have to wait, when the door banged open and a smell worse than a charnel house wafted through the saloon. The outlaws all turned as one and stared as a figure shambled quickly in through the door, closing it clumsily behind.
As soon as Frank saw, he turned to look at his companions’ faces, especially the young ones. He watched for their reactions at the animation that had shuffled into the room, carrying with it the unmistakable stench of death.
The men stared as the thing moved slowly towards the bar. The bartender, looking slightly paler than he had, stood up straighter to receive the thing.
The walking corpse was dressed in ratty working clothes that would have been common on any unskilled laborer throughout the western territories. Beneath the clothing, the body seemed as if it must have been a very robust figure in life, with muscles straining at the ragged shirt. The flesh of its face hung loosely, its mouth gaping partly open, its filmed, milky eyes staring fixedly ahead. A collection of metal supports and leather straps served to hold the thing upright, and a dark metal collar was fitted around the back of the corpse’s neck and head. A small cylinder, glowing with the crimson light of RJ-1027, was rammed into a socket in the contraption and into the thing’s skull.
The animated body moved to the bar where it raised one desiccated hand, a wrinkled piece of parchment grasped loosely by the lax fingers. The bartender took the paper and unfolded it, read it with a jerky nod, and then reached under the bar for another dusty bottle. He wrapped some sort of netting around the bottle, looking sourly at the table of outlaws, and then draped the netting, now snagged around the bottle of premium alcohol, over the corpse’s head.
The Jessie James Archives Page 19
