The Cunning Man

by D. J. Butler

  He whirled around to look at the submerged passage. Flies were swarming out, and the size of the swarm grew from moment to moment.

  “Run now!” he panted. “Later, we talk!”

  Sorenson responded by pushing Hiram ahead of him along the shelf. They followed Hiram’s chalk marks. Hiram ran to the chasm, and then scrambled as quickly as he could over the boulders, slipping where they were wet and picking up a few bruises in the process. Sorenson stalked behind him.

  The buzzing sound grew louder as he went.

  “You’re with me!” he shouted every minute or so.

  “Ja!” Bill Sorenson shouted back.

  Finally, they came to the planks barring off this chasm, and Hiram turned to run for the surface.

  “Wrong way, Woolley!” Sorenson against grabbed Hiram, this time by the neck, and dragged him through the high coal tunnels, stumbling and nearly tripping over and over on the mine-cart tracks, until they burst out into the cold night air. Then he let Hiram go, and they both staggered down the stone-lined trough and out onto the hillside of Kimball Canyon.

  Hiram turned and shone his carbide light into the mine opening. He saw nothing.

  “What was dat?” Sorenson asked him, panting.

  “Do you hear the flies?”

  “No. Do you?”

  “No.” Hiram took deep breaths, steadying himself, trying to get control of his breathing. “I don’t know what that was. I didn’t get a good look.” He straightened his back, raised his helmet, and ran his fingers through his hair over a scalp slick with sweat.

  “Did you find what you wanted?” Sorenson asked.

  Hiram considered the question. The presence of Teancum Kimball’s corpse in the cave suggested that he had mailed Samuel Kimball his seer stone and then deliberately gone down into the tunnels, as his letter had seemed to indicate. He had gone dressed well, and carrying a small animal. Had he known he was going to die? Had he gone down there to face something?

  The thing behind the flies?

  Mahoun, Samael? The fallen angels of the Wastes of Dudael, as Gus had said? Gus claimed he wanted to defeat the demon—had Teancum done down into the caves to defeat Samael? No, he had gone down to make a thirty-year deal.

  But first he’d sent the peep-stone to his son, the stone from which Teancum thought he received guidance.

  Guidance from whom, or from what?

  Hiram needed to take a good look into the seer stone.

  “Can you check on Michael for me?” He handed his revolver to Sorenson, grip first.

  Sorenson took the Colt. “Something comes for your boy, don’t worry, it’ll have to come through me first.”

  “And then just wait at your home for me to join you? I have something else I have to do, over at the Kimball house, but I’ll be along shortly. And, Sorenson…Bill…if you see Ammon, don’t mention me coming around. And with my son…maybe…”

  “Ja, of course, and I won’t tell your son nothing. Holy Jesus, I won’t tell my wife nothing. But be careful, Hiram. Dese things that you have to do…dey frighten me.” Sorenson chuckled, a bass rumble. “Hey, de mine…maybe it’s haunted, after all, like Samuel says.”

  Hiram smiled. “How do I turn off the lamp?”

  “De on switch,” Sorenson said. “You turn it to off.”

  Hiram extinguished his carbide lamp and gave the helmet to Sorenson. He retrieved his fedora from the mine building, and he moved both their chits from the “IN” board to the “OUT” one. He then headed north across the canyon, toward the big house.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hiram had become accustomed to the warmer air within the mine; the February night pierced his flesh and sank into his bones. His feet, damp from the water of the cave, froze immediately. He walked faster and huddled into his Army coat. Smoke from fires hung like a fog over the shanties.

  He paused by the light of a window to rifle through the billfold he’d taken from Teancum Kimball’s body, finding only a few ragged dollars. What kind of thirty-year deal had Teancum attempted to make with the fallen angel? And, since it was ‘another’ deal, did that mean he had made a previous thirty-year deal? The answers to his questions might have died two years earlier with Teancum himself.

  Or had Teancum become the demonic fly creature?

  Gus Dollar might have the answers, but Hiram couldn’t test the truth of Gus’s words unless he knew the right questions to ask the man.

  Hiram pocketed the billfold and felt the keys he’d retrieved from Teancum’s body. One should fit the lock of the Kimball house. That would save Hiram the task of working a charm at the door, and such a match would also confirm the identity of the corpse.

  A man in a thick wool sweater and a hat pulled down ambled past Hiram. He wore a red bandana over his face, and Hiram recognized him from the scuffle at the mine gate. He stared intently down an alley as he walked past. Perhaps he was looking for a lost dog?

  Hiram raised his hand in a silent greeting.

  The masked fellow stopped and looked at Hiram.

  “Evening,” Hiram said. The ordinary politeness sounded strange in the wake of the evening’s events.

  The masked man nodded and walked on.

  Hiram jogged down the hill and across the road. He approached the Kimball house past the spot where he’d buried the snake head and found the human skull.

  What might the skull have to do with Teancum’s planned bargain? Or had Hiram stumbled across the remains of some prospector, or a Ute hunter who had lost his way and died in this canyon, perhaps long before the house was even built?

  The stone on Ammon’s mantel had to be a seer stone. As a mere rock, it had no value, but a peep-stone could grant true visions which had a worth beyond price. If Teancum Kimball possessed such a stone, he might well have sent it to one of his sons as a gift, especially if he were approaching a meeting that might result in his death. Such a stone could have shown Samuel where to dig a new mineshaft, and it might even have directed Samuel to then place the stone back in his family home…perhaps with the intent that Ammon would then look into the stone.

  But whose intent? The intent of the stone? Teancum’s intent? The intent of someone who had created the stone, or a power that was connected to it?

  Could the stone have guided Teancum to his death? Could the stone have told Samuel one thing, and then Ammon another, setting them at odds?

  Or could the stone be giving them true visions in a difficult situation? Could the Kimballs be failing to heed the guidance of a true messenger?

  Hiram shuddered. This was really not what he had expected when Bishops Smith and Wells had asked him to deliver groceries to out-of-work miners.

  He sneaked around to the front of the house.

  He didn’t want Ammon to catch him breaking in. “In the name of the Father, up and down,” he chanted, “the Son and the Spirit upon your crown, the cross of Christ upon your breast, sweetest lady send Ammon Kimball rest.” He repeated the charm three times, then stepped onto the porch.

  There he paused. He was an honest man. Wasn’t he? And yet here he was, breaking into someone’s home for the second time in as many days. When had he become a burglar?

  And breaking into Gus’s home had deprived Hiram’s charms of power.

  Only, he had tried to speak with Ammon openly—as well as with Samuel and Eliza. And they weren’t willing to budge. Could he wait until morning, and try to talk to Ammon again?

  But Hiram doubted Ammon would be any easier to deal with now. He had called Samuel a thief, presumably for having their father’s seer stone in his possession, even though it seemed that Teancum himself had sent Samuel the stone.

  And besides, Hiram wasn’t going to take anything from Ammon. He just needed to look at the stone, and confirm it for what it was. Ammon wouldn’t be harmed.

  Hiram chuckled, but his chuckle split into a sob.

  “Lord Divine, if what I work here is sin, I beg thee to look on my heart with mercy and forgive me. But also, do
n’t let my charms fail, and don’t let me get caught. Amen.”

  It felt like a burglar’s prayer, but at least it was honest.

  He felt inclined to add, “And a special blessing on the Markopoulos family, Medea, and Callista, and help heal Basil’s leg, but keep him from the temptation of banditry. Amen.”

  He stepped to the door and tried the key; a perfect fit.

  He opened the door, the hinges whining. Closing the door produced more squeaking, and he clenched his teeth. Door shut, he waited to see if Ammon came down, forcing himself to count to a slow one hundred.

  No light, no sound, no Ammon.

  He probed in the darkness to see whether the single-shot break-action shotgun was by the door. It wasn’t. Ammon might sleep with it under his bed. For use against burglars, presumably.

  Burglars like Hiram.

  But the house was quiet.

  Hiram was grateful for the cloudless night, the stars, and the bare windows. He slunk across the front room to the mantel. A handful of coals glowed orange in the fireplace, but not enough to illuminate more than two feet in front of them. Hiram took off his hat.

  The brown stone was only a dark shape. If it was a seer stone, Hiram might see visions. But visions sent by what power? Hiram half-hoped he was wrong, and that the stone was just a rock.

  Hiram steeled himself.

  He picked up the rock. It was cool to the touch. It didn’t feel evil, or good, or spiritual, or powerful at all. The stone felt like a stone.

  Hiram placed the stone in his hat.

  He took a minute to listen again to the quiet of the house. Nothing but silence.

  Hiram lowered his face into his hat.

  The effect was immediate and overwhelming.

  The quartz strip in the rock ignited in a blinding light that hurt to look at and he felt his body move. Vertigo seized him, as if he were flying, and a strong wind beat at his face.

  A Bible passage bubbled up into his mind: chapter seventeen of Matthew, the first few verses. And after six days Jesus taketh Peter, James, and John his brother, and bringeth them up into an high mountain apart. And was transfigured before them: and his face did shine as the sun, and his raiment was white as the light.

  Hiram knew, and felt, that he stood in front of the dying fire, faced buried in his fedora. Yet at the same time, he was standing beside himself, head up, gazing upon both his own body and the shape of a beautiful man, legs, arms, torso, head, and a face that was both indistinct and sharp. Light came from the man’s body. Looking right at the figure, he couldn’t make out any details. Shifting his gaze, he saw in his peripheral vision features well-proportioned and without blemish.

  He and the angelic man stood atop a high mountain, clouds and light around and below them. As long as his eyes rested upon the man, Hiram could see him and the rocky landscape, but when he shifted his eyes slightly, all he saw was Ammon’s furniture and shadowy walls.

  Greetings, Hiram Woolley, of Lehi. I bring thee glad tidings.

  Hiram’s heart pounded. Something bothered him, in the back of his mind.

  “Greetings, spirit. I stand ready to hear your words,” he whispered.

  Thy heart is troubled by the suffering of the Kimball family and their endeavors to excavate the treasures of the earth. The time of weeping will soon be over. I shall remove a keystone from the vault of the earth, and the blessings of wealth and prosperity will return to this valley.

  The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

  “What is my role, messenger?”

  Many are called, but few are chosen. Thy labors here are completed. I bid thee to return to thy home.

  Hiram took a deep breath. Everyone wanted him to leave, including Rettig and his ruffians. At first, Rettig had seen Hiram as someone who could help him bring the Kimballs over to the railroad man’s side. Word must have gotten back to Rettig that none of the Kimballs would sign, so hurting Hiram would make him just another victim and throw a scare that no one was safe in Spring Canyon. Or maybe Rettig had come to fear that Hiram would unite the Kimball family against the railroad man.

  And of course, Michael had provoked Rettig.

  Hiram saw his situation with Rettig so clearly now. Could this be a true vision of an angel? Did God want Hiram to leave?

  “I can’t go until I see the mine operating again,” Hiram said. “The food I brought is running out.” Medea Markopoulos, whose husband Hiram had run over, would starve. So would her children.

  Wouldst thou argue with me? The voice in Hiram’s mind rose to a thunderous roll. Where was thou, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

  The shining man was quoting scripture. That was as should be—when angels showed up, to Mary in the New Testament or to Brother Joseph in upstate New York, they quoted scripture.

  And then Hiram realized what bothered him. The other piece of any true angel’s introduction was fear not. Hiram feared, and the angel had not tried to allay his fears at all.

  Was it a false spirit?

  Could this, after all, be Mahoun or Samael? Could a fallen angel or a demon or a monster have pitted the Kimball brothers against each other, and was the same being now attempting to trick Hiram into leaving?

  And if the spirit spoke deception, why didn’t his bloodstone warn Hiram? But Gus Dollar, with his Jupiter ring and his Samael glyphs, had already proved that the bloodstone could be defeated.

  “I don’t mean to be difficult,” Hiram said. “But I was sent to get these men fed. I brought them food, but men need to eat more than once. Tell me how I can soften the hearts of the Kimballs…Ammon, Samuel, and Eliza.”

  This is my work, and not thine. Go home, cunning man.

  Hiram knew a way to test angels.

  “Spirit,” he said. “I understand. Take a grip from me in sign of our covenant.” He reached out his right hand, both the physical hand in Ammon’s drawing room and his spiritual hand atop the cloud-shrouded mountain.

  He hoped the spirit wouldn’t notice his fingers trembling.

  The shining man regarded Hiram coolly.

  Dost thou not fear to be struck down, as was Uzza when he dared to touch the ark of the Lord?

  “What have I to fear from my Father’s servants?” Sweat poured down between Hiram’s shoulder blades.

  So be it. The blinding white figure reached forward. Diamonds seemed to sparkle on its ethereal skin as it reached out to touch his physical body.

  Hiram drew his spirit hand back. “Liar.”

  An angel of heaven was a creature without flesh and bone, and knew it, and would never try to shake hands with a human being. Any spirit that would attempt to touch a person bodily was a deceiving spirit—a fallen angel, a demon, or a ghost.

  It was time to end the interview. Hiram tried to remove the hat from his face and couldn’t. He tried to turn his feet and step down from the high mountain, and couldn’t do that, either.

  What is this treachery?

  Hiram grunted from the exertion of will, but he couldn’t move his body. He couldn’t get his face out of the hat.

  I will repay thy trickery with death.

  Hiram felt cold fingers around his heart, and his vision began to blur. Parts of his consciousness drifted into silence, as if the memories and personality of Hiram Woolley were being wiped off of a chalkboard.

  But not thy death, cunning man. I will wield thine own hand to visit horrors upon thy kin!

  His own hand? Kin? What kin did he have?

  He had no kin.

  He was floating, a mote in a cosmic sea.

  Alone.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  Michael. The fading parts of Hiram’s mind snapped back into clarity.

  The demonic being was threatening Michael.

  Thy son, the man-child!

  The thing knew his thoughts.

  “I will call upon the Lord,” Hiram cried, shouting the words of the psalm at the top of his voice, “who is worthy to be praise
d: so shall I be saved from mine enemies!”

  He couldn’t take his face from the hat, but he managed to slap one clumsy hand to his chi-rho amulet.

  The mountain disappeared. So did everything else, and Hiram stood in darkness, his body freezing with cold sweat. He whipped the hat away from his face, panting, and found he could see nothing. Blindly, he dug the seer stone from his fedora and managed to grope his way to the mantel again. He set the stone there awkwardly, on the lip of the wood.

  Hiram gasped, shuddering to get air in and out of his lungs. He was making way too much noise for a burglar. Nausea hit him, his legs buckled, and his stomach boiled. Closing his useless eyes, he drew in deep breaths until his belly calmed down.

  Finally, he opened his eyes. Tracks of light blurred his vision, and he blinked and blinked until tears stung his eyes and he could see again.

  The seer stone was not divine. A malign creature gave visions through the stone. It had given Samuel false visions, and it must have given false visions to Ammon as well. The creature, fallen angel, ghost, demon, or monster, wanted the Kimballs to fight.

  Hiram couldn’t leave the stone in the house.

  He was also loath to touch it again.

  Hiram climbed unsteadily to his feet. He got out his green bandana, stained with the blood from his nose and the crayon or lipstick that had been used to write on the Double-A. That seemed fitting. He wrapped the stone up in the cloth and then pocketed it.

  He left the house.

  He wasn’t sure whether the stone’s spirit was the same entity as the fly demon, and whether either of those was Mahoun or Samael, but it seemed likely that they were all one and the same.

  And the creature had threatened Michael.

  He broke into a ragged run, racing across the dark valley back to Bill Sorenson’s house.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Michael dreamed of flies. Every so often, he heard a bang against the side of the house, or a crackle on the street. At each noise Michael started, but then nothing happened, and he’d wonder whether he’d heard anything, after all. Sleeping on the hard sofa against the wall of Sorenson’s small house wasn’t easy, but he tried to force himself.