Outcast_Keepers of the Stone_Book One

by Andrew Anzur Clement

  “Rabbits.” Liza turned to yell at them. “Hey! Get over here! We finally get this cargo you insist we need, and it turns out to be a payload full of rabbits!” Both Henry and Malka walked over to the back of the wagon where Liza was standing.

  “Um, apparently?” Henry seemed both confused by and a little afraid of Liza’s irate outburst.

  “You want us to rob a bank. With bunnies?” The felinoid’s voice carried a down note.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean. So what?”

  “‘Yeah?’ So, it’s crazy!”

  “No.” A broad smile spread across Henry’s face. “It’s perfect.”

  ***

  The earth that rested on either side of the dirt path remained undisturbed. Bozhena was sure of it. On either side of it, the two Shadow Warriors assigned by the Chosen flanked her. They appeared to look for traces of deviation from their quarry’s track, which the Slavic Urumi had eventually found a few hundred yards from where the two sets of prints had appeared to converge, back in the Californian desert. It had taken a while to find them. The attempts at their concealment were expert.

  That location lay at least a few hundred miles behind. Since then, they had tracked their targets through the open countryside for weeks until the trail had intersected with a road. Although it was not widely traveled, there were enough disturbances in the soil that the Slav could not make out which belonged to those she had been tasked with finding. Adapting, she had directed her efforts to looking for some indication that the appropriate number of hoof prints had deviated from the slightly more worn path.

  The other two Urumi followed behind her during all of that time, never venturing ahead of her position. They had pretended to look, she could tell. None of them offered a single suggestion.

  These are whom the Chosen believes to be my betters? It was only half of a question. Otherwise, the blond-haired girl felt sheer resentment. She had been thrust into this life against her will. For all of her abilities at discharging her duties – or because of that competence, it now occurred to her – she was still to be scorned.

  Bozhena trudged on, noticing no deviation from the path. No indication that the course her quarry had taken did not remain on this road. Bozhena – and the two who flanked her – ascended a small rise. As they moved forward, the blue-eyed Urumi could make out a small building. Two men were gesticulating wildly in front of it. As her invisible form neared the wooden construction, the conversation became audible.

  “What am I going to do? I had responsibility for hauling that load to a farm near Elko. No insurance. Needed this job to keep the business. Hell! Now what’s for it?” The man sounded more scared than peeved.

  “And you’re sure you didn’t see who stole it?” the other man asked.

  “Nope. All I could see was this long black hair.”

  “Long black hair? It was a woman?”

  “Yep, I guess.”

  Not bothering to listen to the rest of the conversation, Bozhena walked past them. She had gleaned an important clue; they were on the right track. With her two shadows following her, she continued past a bend. Then, she felt a rush of wind at her back.

  “It has been weeks. Our Dark Prince grows impatient with your progress. Report.”

  Ziya, Bozhena thought with annoyance, though she was surprised that he had deemed to leave the sanctuary. Usually, he didn’t bother – calling others for consultation as it suited him.

  “Chosen, we have found nothing,” one of the lieutenants reported immediately.

  “It is she. She slows our progress,” the second replied.

  Again, with all of the Urumi in their invisible aspects, Bozhena looked about for prying eyes.

  Does anyone not think to look? She grated with frustration. Satisfied that no one was around, she took voice.

  “Me? Chosen, they have yet to find even a single trace of those whom we seek.”

  “Then why is it taking so long?” he accused. “Our Dark Prince requires the Fragment. It is His right.”

  “Those whom we track are skilled, Chosen. If we move faster, we risk losing their trail completely.”

  Ziya turned to his lieutenants. “This is true?” His high voice did not carry the gravitas with which he posed the question.

  “No, Chosen,” said one of the lieutenants. “The girl has served in confirming only that which we already suspected. If you wish to doubt our progress, look no further than her.”

  Bozhena bristled at the lie; she felt even more perturbed at the certainty the commander she had been indentured to serve would choose to believe it. Her suppositions were to be proven true. The Chosen turned in her direction.

  “You will find them before the day is out. Or meet our Dark Prince in His aspect. I will see to it personally!” He spit out the last sentence with unbidden contempt.

  Bowing, Bozhena walked on, continuing to search for any deviance from the main road. A few hours passed; the Slav saw something off to her left. The rocky ground had been disturbed. While not noticeable to the casual observer, the scuffs made by horseshoes and wheel irons as they collided against the stones that dotted the landscape pointed in a vague direction. The Urumi’s blue eyes followed the traces, which led toward a thin copse of coniferous trees. She moved in their direction, her superiors in tow.

  Entering the lightly forested area, Bozhena noted signs of multiple horses and a wagon having plied the course a few yards to her left. Moving towards those disturbances, she continued up a short rise, stopping at the edge of a sudden drop-off. Looking down, she noticed the remnants of a campsite on a wide outcropping below her. Its fire was almost still smoldering.

  Idiots! she thought. Choosing a campground like that in a tactically indefensible position.

  Still, they were no longer there. And, Bozhena supposed, if you bet that none would follow you to the immediate vicinity, the caldera did offer concealment.

  “This is their camp?” It was Ziya al-Din again.

  “It was. They have moved on,” the blonde-haired Slav replied indifferently.

  She felt the rush of air and then a blossom of pain as the Chosen of the Urumi struck her face. One of the girl’s front teeth came loose and she tasted blood in the aftermath of the blow. Her head knocked to one side, Bozhena felt surprise. The one selected as Chosen rarely bothered to do his own dirty work.

  “This is your incompetence! You have allowed them to escape!”

  The blue-eyed Urumi considered arguing the point but quickly realized its futility. Ziya had already decided her guilt. She took stock of the details around her, then spit bits of the enamel that had once comprised her left front tooth onto the ground.

  “They have not escaped, Chosen.”

  He closed on her again. “How can you say that?”

  “The embers of the fire. They are still fresh. And the tracks.” Bozhena pointed to what appeared to be natural disturbances leading down the opposite side of the lightly forested hill. “They have attempted to conceal their traces well. But the signs are there, nonetheless. I assure you we cannot be far behind.”

  “See that you aren’t.”

  With that, the Chosen removed his presence.

  Wiping the blood from her lips, Bozhena continued down the far side of the rise. The two Urumi followed her, as the native of Podole pondered whether her efforts would always meet with vindictiveness until death finally welcomed her.

  ***

  Elko’s main street was comprised of nothing more than a short procession of wooden buildings, which rose over both sides of a narrow but well-traveled dirt road. A covered wagon drawn by five steeds moved down the thoroughfare. Pedestrians, seeing the large assemblage, scrambled to move out of its way. It pressed forward, seemingly ignorant of their presence.

  About halfway through the colonnade of edifices, it slowed, pulling roughly to the left as it approached Allen and Sons City Bank. Henry pulled on the reins, bringing the horses to an abrupt halt. Next to him, on the driver’s bench, sat a black-haired
, green-eyed feline, which struggled to maintain its purchase as the wagon lurched to a halt.

  “I told you I was never very good at this.” The young, American-born driver of the carriage appeared to address the cat under his breath as he stopped. The animal pointedly cocked its head; Henry rolled his eyes. His original idea had been for him and Malka to promulgate the main substance of his plan. But Liza had vetoed that on condition of her participation, slightly altering its series of events in the process. His shortcomings when it came to wagon driving aside, Henry hated to admit that it made sense. Given the felinoid’s fantastical abilities, he still did not really trust her, in spite of – or in fact, because of – those talents.

  Taking the folder of trade documents in hand, the young man climbed down onto the wooden boardwalk that lay in front of the bank’s main entrance. The black cat followed discreetly. Without hesitation, Henry entered the bank.

  Lit by two windows on either side of the open door, the establishment remained a dimly illuminated affair. Characterized by bare wooden walls and a similarly unadorned floor, its environs did not constitute what Henry always imagined a bank would resemble during his upbringing in the mining village. A line of over a dozen people stood in front of a long, polished desk, at which three separate bank tellers dealt with their queries. The man who was ostensibly the manager sat at a surprisingly ornate desk behind his employees with his attention focused on what appeared to be some sort of ledger.

  Henry’s eyes moved to what he knew he would see to the right of the manager’s workspace: the vault. Earlier that day, Liza had visited the bank in her bipedal form and inquired as to the possibility of opening an account. Quickly, she was told that this would not be possible if she had no actual funds to deposit. However, it had offered enough time for her to glean the general layout of the building. In addition to the safe, she had noted a hallway leading past the nook where the manager’s desk sat. It continued to a back door, situated on the left side of the bank. Clearly, the passage opened onto the smaller cross street of the intersection on which the bank was situated.

  Standing just beyond the bank’s entrance, the brown-haired boy was able to confirm the accuracy of Liza’s reconnaissance. His plan was going to work, he told himself.

  Attempting to exude a self-confidence that he did not feel, Henry moved past the line and, ignoring the protests of its waiting customers, moved to address the manager.

  “Excuse me. I have some goods to deliver,” he began.

  The manager, a portly balding man dressed in a suit, rose ponderously from his desk and turned to address the individual who regarded him.

  “We aren’t expecting any deliveries, child.”

  “Really?” Henry attempted to sound surprised. “But I…I have the documents right here.” He moved to take out the waybill from its folder.

  “Allen and Sons City Bank, Elko, Nevada. That’s here, right?”

  The older man moved toward the long teller’s desk.

  “Let me see that,” he rasped in annoyance, snatching the paper that Henry held out toward him. The bald man regarded it for an instant. Then dismissive confusion spread across his brow.

  “No. This can’t be right.” He growled.

  “I’m sorry?” Henry did his best to sound genuinely confused.

  “Direct Documentary Collection. Now, I doubt a kid like you knows what that means. But here in banks, we only use that for goods like precious jewels. Not…,” the manager read a description from the form: “‘New Zealand White rabbits, one-hundred head, gross.’ You’ll just have to take them to their final destination.”

  “Sorry, sir. The terms of the contract are clear. I can’t, um, sign off on their, uh, delivery and hand over this form until I see them placed safely in your bank’s vault for collection by the consignee upon proof of his...well, you know...payment.”

  “That is ridiculous!” the bald man grated. “This is a bank, not a barnyard! Who are you anyway? You don’t look old enough to drive those wagons let alone be...,” he directed his gaze down again to consult the waybill, “James Pinkerton of Pinkerton Hauling Services.”

  “Well, um…. He’s, um…. He’s my father,” Henry lied. “He...uh, he couldn’t be here right now. So, he...sent his little helper.”

  The slightly rotund man appeared unmoved at the brown-haired boy’s attempt at innocent levity. Then, he turned his face back down to the sheet of paper that he held in his hands. As he did so, Henry noticed a flash of black slink soundlessly behind the teller’s table and into the shadows of the alcove occupied by the manager’s desk, next to the vault. Liza appeared to have moved into position unnoticed. So far, Henry’s scheme was going off without a hitch.

  “Oh, Lord in heaven,” the manager intoned eventually. “I’m sending for the idiot lawyer who put together this document. We’ll see if he can sort this out.”

  Henry had been ready for this response and replied, using what actually was the truth to his own advantage.

  “Excuse me, sir, but if I remember right, the two contracting parties agreed to have the consignor’s lawyer in Reno draw up the legal documents. I mean, you could, um, send for him, but it would take a few days for him to get here. In the meantime…,” he allowed his voice to trail off.

  The manager stewed over the document for at least a moment. Eventually he responded.

  “Very well. Move your rabbits into our vault, for all the good it will do.” Then he called over his shoulder to one of the tellers. “Maurice! Go fetch the buyer of this...merchandise at once. And tell him that after this, Allen and Sons severs its relationship! Lock the front doors on your way out, will you. I don’t want anyone else coming in here while the vault’s open.”

  Without responding, one of the tellers got up and walked out of the building, shutting the front doors and locking them with a key as he did so.

  The manager moved to the vault and entered the appropriate combination of digits into the brass dial that formed part of its metal surface. Then, spinning the wheel-like mechanism that retracted the bolts, he swung it open, looking expectantly towards the bank’s side door as he did so.

  “Well, get on with it. Bring your wagon around to the side door. The last thing we need is a bunch of animals disturbing the customers while they’re stuck waiting here,” the older man groused. As he did so, Henry noticed a small form – black as pitch – move into the vault’s recesses. Smiling slightly, Henry moved to comply. He walked down the short hallway to the bank’s side entrance, opened the door – which he was surprised to find unlocked – and moved back around the corner to the wagon. Climbing onto the driving bench, he moved it in a series of lurches back to the location that, as he had suspected, the manager had demanded.

  Henry descended from the driving perch again and moved to the wagon’s rear. He threw back the burlap tarp that covered the cages to where part of it already gathered at the front of the conveyance’s cargo bed. After, he carried each of the twelve enclosures into the bank’s vault, one by one. The consternated manager waited from inside the vault, looking back out towards the bank’s main floor.

  “That’s all of it?” the manager asked as Henry set down the twelfth case.

  The brown-haired youth did not respond; he stared the bald man directly in the eye. Suddenly, there was movement behind him. Before the manager could turn, Liza locked her arm around his neck, hiding her body behind his, while locking him in a chokehold. Simultaneously, Henry moved as fast as he could, unfastening the catches on each of the cages, whose egresses he had arranged to face the vault’s entrance. Taking advantage of their newfound freedom, the rabbits exploded from their cages into the bank’s main salon.

  There were cries of shock. First, from the customers, who could directly witness the whole affair unfolding in front of them. Then, from the bank employees as the formerly caged animals overran the tellers’ desk. Some of the rabbits moved onward, spilling down onto the bank’s main floor. Two children – no older than five – began to
run about, chasing them, which only added to the confusion.

  Taking advantage of the general melee, Henry had already begun to fill the empty cages with the reams of cash that lay in the vault while Liza and her hostage moved past the few rabbits still in the safe’s environs. She blocked the vault’s doorway. The plot’s originator had only barely filled the first of the cages when he heard a woman’s voice yell:

  “Robbers! They’re stealing our money!”

  Most of those present in the bank turned their attention from the building’s newfound lagomorphic infestation to the activity being carried out in the vault as Henry continued to fill the cages.

  Struggling to open a drawer in the large front desk, which remained covered by Henry’s mammalian cargo, one of the tellers extracted a large pistol.

  “Gun!” Liza yelled back at Henry. “Damnit. Didn’t I say I was sure something like this would happen?”

  “Well, that’s what he’s for, I guess.” Henry kept working, thinking of the manager that served as their human shield. The blue-eyed boy had almost finished stuffing the wire cages with cash. He noticed some gold and jewels, but decided not to take them. Their conspicuous nature could lead to questions about their origins.

  “Surrender or I’ll fire!” the bank’s employee pointed the pistol in the direction of Liza, who still held the manager in front of her.

  “Try and shoot me and you’ll at best injure him.” The felinoid jerked her arm around the bald man’s neck. “Besides, it’s not like it’s really your money, anyway.” The man continued to keep his weapon raised. Attempting to pick their way through the rabbits that carpeted the floor of the bank, some of the customers attempted to approach the cash desk, while others made way for the locked exit. Liza sensed that their device of confusion had begun to wear off.