The miners shielded their eyes as Mountain Iris waved her lantern to see them better. Henry Dale, the oldest son of the kind-hearted Dale family, backed against the wall. Henry had always worn his hair very short, but now it was long and dirty, as it was for the rest of the men.
Mountain Iris passed by David Rowland, Buford Jenkins and Julian Grandall. Thick gray tears ran from their forlorn eyes, down their bony cheeks. Next to them, Zachary and Jeremiah St. Claire leaned on each other. The St. Claires were former slaves who’d come to Souls Well for a fresh start after the war, but there was no trace of the tall and good-looking brothers anymore. They trembled as if struck with a high fever. Patches of dark green mold covered their skin.
Tobias Wilcox looked away when Mountain Iris illuminated his face. His skinny limbs showed crusted wounds, some of them so deep you could see the flesh and bone beneath.
Mountain Iris stopped in front of a young man who kept his chin down. She tried to touch his face, and he flinched.
“Don’t be afraid. I don’t want to hurt you,” she said.
Mountain Iris gently placed her hand under the miner’s chin and raised his head. A pang of pain seized Tiberius’ heart when her lantern revealed his face: Jonathan Tucker.
Mountain Iris touched the line of molten silver that kept Jonathan’s lips sealed. “What has he done to you?”
“What was necessary,” a new voice replied.
Mountain Iris turned, startled. Maxwell Donahue joined her inside the cavern. He carried a torch that burned with a blue and green flame. Its light seemed to devour the warm glow of Mountain Iris’ candle, and it made the streaks of silver on the walls sparkle more intensely.
“Gentlemen!” Maxwell greeted. “How’s your work coming along on this fine day?”
Maxwell’s voice, enlarged by the acoustics of the cave, sounded even more affected than his usual tone.
Maxwell examined the chunks of raw silver that covered the ground. “Not bad, not bad at all! But we can do better, can’t we?”
The miners remained mute and inert. Maxwell paced around the room and waved his ghostly torch nonchalantly. “So here you are, my dear. I’ve been looking for you all around this hell of a town. You didn’t need to sneak around and plot behind my back. I would’ve shared my discoveries with you. When you were ready.”
Mountain Iris slapped Maxwell hard across his face.
He touched his cheek and gave her an impish, toothy grin. “That was uncalled for.”
“You bring shame to our art. You’ve betrayed and corrupted everything I taught you.”
Maxwell laughed, not the soft, pleasant giggle he used when selling his tonics, but a blood-chilling cackle. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
Mountain Iris tensed. “Free these men at once.”
“I already did! Without me they’d still be rotting in their graves, wouldn’t they? I liberated them from the ultimate yoke. They owe me their new lives entirely.”
“They’re in chains. You welded their mouths shut. This is monstrous.”
“They can blame their friend John Hickok for that. I couldn’t stand by with my arms crossed after he ran away. And I can’t even bring my lost miner back, not with the sheriff patrolling the cemetery like a hound.”
Mountain Iris gasped. “Bring him back? I’m too late. You’ve broken all the rules of alchemy.”
Maxwell waved his hand dismissively. “Rules are for the fearing. I’m not your student anymore. Besides, you could’ve stopped me anytime. Why didn’t you?”
“What do you mean? How could I have known?”
“Please, don’t pretend you were oblivious to my comings and goings. You knew I was up to no good. You were curious to see how far I’d go.”
“That’s a lie.”
Maxwell placed his hand on the bare rock, then followed a streak of silver with his finger. “Remember, you wanted to come to Souls Well in the first place, not me. You wanted silver from the cursed silver mine. When I got it, you took it for those silly rejuvenating tonics of yours without blinking twice. You never asked how or where I got the silver from, did you?”
Mountain Iris glanced at the miners. “I should’ve never accepted it. We’ve brought only pain to this town.”
“Don’t tell me you feel guilty for that idiot shooting himself.”
Tiberius locked his jaw so tightly he was afraid they would hear the grinding of his teeth.
“But why, Maxwell?” Mountain Iris asked.
Maxwell placed his torch in a black hook on the wall and opened his arms. “Look around you. These walls are glowing with the most ancient, most powerful silver we’ve ever seen. And it’s all ours, now that Whitlock’s out of the way.”
“What do you mean?”
Maxwell shrugged. “The man was a liability. I caught him trying to blow up the tunnels.”
“Maybe you should’ve let him.”
“Oh my, what a waste that would’ve been! As always, you fail to see the bigger picture. Look at these miners. They’re as alive as they ever were. This silver carries the very essence of life. And my potions get stronger with every mix. My first attempt of reanimation lasted a few hours. Now I’m able to keep the miners alive for days in a row.”
Tiberius listened to the conversation from the shadows. Every word sounded so abhorrently macabre and unbelievable that, for the first time in his life, Tiberius had to fight the urge to run away screaming.
“I’m so close to making the effects of my tonic permanent,” Maxwell continued. “So close, I can feel it.”
Mountain Iris blinked her green eyes in utter disbelief. “What are you talking about, Maxwell?”
“Are you aware of how many workers have lost their lives while building the railroad, Iris? Or digging our mines? Or working in the new factories? Deathtraps, all of them! But we could minimize the damage. With my formula, there would be no risk of losing any more lives. No one would be fatally injured while performing his duties.”
Iris cocked her head, untrusting but intrigued.
“The West rots with violence and disease. Bodies were piling up in the fields before the war and still are. The time of masters and slaves is gone, but we both know many people in this country weren’t too happy about losing their laborers.”
“Times change, Maxwell. For the better.”
“Indeed. I see the new society clear as day, my dear. There’s plenty to do and what I can offer is a compliant, eternal workforce, immune to accidents or disease. Free from any moral dilemma or remorse, my patrons could let their industries thrive. I hold the key to the new dawn of human labor. There’s no such thing as slavery beyond the grave. The way I see it, it’s all a matter of… repurposing.”
“That’s sick. Sick and insane.” Mountain Iris circled the cave, like a trapped animal.
Tiberius moved quietly to the end of the rock ledge and cocked his gun as quietly as he could.
“Help me, Iris,” Maxwell said seductively. “Just imagine what we could achieve.”
Tiberius held his breath.
“No,” Iris replied. “You always had a talent for alchemy, Maxwell. That’s why I chose you. But you lack the temperance our art requires. You’re not the first alchemist who toyed with life and death, nor will you be the last. You fail to see that those forces are, and always will be, beyond our control. As they should be. Not only I could never help you, but I beg you to stop. There will be only doom if you don’t. Goodbye, Maxwell.”
Maxwell grasped her arm as she walked by him. “Not so fast. We’ve reached a bit of a predicament, you see. Should we part ways after all these years? Maybe. But I know you too well, Iris. You wouldn’t just leave quietly and go back to your cute, meaningless potions. You’re too afraid of breaking the balance. You’d try to undo my hard work.”
Mountain Iris scratched him and tried to shake him off.
Maxwell smiled, his lips tight. “It comes down to this: either you’re with me...” He revealed the golden pistol he hid under his velvet
vest. “Or against me.”
Tiberius aimed and shot. The bullet sent Maxwell’s pistol flying against the cavern’s wall. A sudden, burning pain tore through Tiberius’ shoulder and ran down his right arm. He dropped his gun. It landed in front of Maxwell’s spats.
“Donahue!” Tiberius screamed as he stepped into the light.
As soon as Maxwell lowered his guard, Mountain Iris broke free from his grasp and fled.
Maxwell looked up to the rocky ledge and grinned. He picked up Tiberius’ Smith & Wesson, examined it, then tossed it away with total disinterest.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Maxwell said as he put his pistol back in its holster and covered it with his jacket.
“It’s over. I’m taking you down.”
“That’s quite the bravado, considering you’re up there weaponless and I’m down here, fully armed.”
The miners rattled his chains and some raised their picks.
“Don’t even think about it, unless you want your families to fill your empty graves under the cemetery’s hill,” Maxwell muttered.
The miners exchanged furious glances but lowered their pickaxes and resumed their digging.
“Is that how you get what you want, Donahue?” Tiberius raised his voice, so it didn’t get lost among the clanking of the picks. “Chaining innocent men? Threatening women and children? You’re nothing but a coward!”
Maxwell cackled. “Save your taunts. They have no effect, I assure you.”
“I—” Tiberius screamed as an excruciating pain cascaded down the right half of his chest in harrowing waves.
“Are you quite well, Sheriff?” Maxwell’s vulpine expression sharpened. “You should’ve bought one of my remedies after all.”
Tiberius shuddered. Stray tears wet his face. He wiped them off with his hand and stared at his fingertips with astonished horror. They were the same gray-silver as the tears that streaked the miners’ faces.
Maxwell stared at his clean nails. “I envy your constitution. I’m amazed you’re still standing.”
“You murdered Lucy. And shot Obadiah Whitlock in his cell.”
“Wrong and wrong.”
“Liar.”
Another stream of agony brought Tiberius to his knees.
“My dear Sheriff, I abhor violence. Not the best trait if you want to survive in the West, I admit. The only reason I haven’t been killed yet is because I know how to pick my associates. Iris was my fortress for many years. But lately I’ve needed someone with a bit more of… grit.”
The torturous spasms inside Tiberius’ guts seemed to synchronize with the sound of the miners’ picks. Tiberius clasped his stomach, the pain blurring his vision. He closed his eyes.
Ti, fa, la, mi.
Tiberius kept his eyes shut. Delirium had torn his mind and his worst memories and fears were pouring out.
Ti, fa, la, mi.
Those four notes, the notes of a dead man on his walk to the gallows, haunted his thoughts and pierced his ears.
Ti, fa, la, mi. Ti, fa, la, mi.
Those whistled notes sounded so clear, even among the loud clanking of the picks. Tiberius shook his head and screamed. When he opened his eyes, he wished the jarring pain had blinded him forever.
Garret Drake greeted him from the bottom of the cavern with his silent, evil smile, his head cocked to the side, loosely supported by his broken neck. The skin of his face flapped around the grotesque marks of the crows’ pecking, and the festering wounds oozed not blood but liquid silver. The Tanager whistled.
Ti, fa, la, mi.
Tiberius stood up, his knees shaking, the relentless pain in his body stinging like a thousand wasps trapped beneath his skin.
“What stamina!” Maxwell yelled, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“What have you done to me?” Tiberius wheezed.
“I created an excellent balm from those who passed away, like our friend here.” Maxwell patted Drake’s back and the gunslinger’s neck wobbled horribly. “When administered to the living, the results are slightly less enjoyable.”
Tiberius took a weak step back.
Maxwell waved a finger. “Uh-uh! The more you move, the faster the poison will spread. I gave Mr. Drake’s bullets an extra coating. I assumed you would be a more difficult kill than that rich, pompous fool.”
Tiberius backtracked and lost sight of Maxwell and Drake. The entrance to the tunnel was only a few steps behind him, but when Tiberius reached it, his legs ached as if he’d raced up a rocky hill for miles.
“Fear not, Tiberius Tibbetts,” Maxwell shouted. “I promise to bring you back next. It’d be a shame for such a strong body to go to waste!”
Tiberius pushed his body through the narrow tunnel. He felt safer in its darkness, but the scorching torment destroying his insides wouldn’t let him move faster than a staggering walk.
Ti, fa, la, mi.
He covered his ears and did his best to leave Maxwell Donahue’s frightful cackling and Garrett Drake’s endless whistling behind.
XXIV
Where was he? Had he taken the last turn to the right or to the left? How could he tell? Everything was black and black only. Blind and injured, Tiberius dragged his heavy boots through the tunnels, pressing one hand to the walls for guidance and another against his hurting abdomen. The cramps started below his belly button, ran up his chest in an excruciating ripple of pain, and exploded around the scratch on his right shoulder. Tiberius imagined a giant centipede with blazing nails as legs trapped inside of him, shredding his flesh to get out.
Every time he stopped to catch his breath, he heard Drake’s eerie whistling behind. Behind, in front of, coming from every direction. Always somewhere in the nearby blackness. The gunslinger played cat and mouse while pushing Tiberius deeper into the tunnels. The sheriff had to keep moving. If Garrett Drake found him, his end would be worse than death. He’d only glimpsed Drake’s bloody eyes, but that’d been enough to witness the bloodlust and thirst for vengeance in his dead gaze, the venomous hatred that had grown from beyond the gallows.
The tunnels went on and on, always the same echoes, always the same darkness. At first, Tiberius thought he would successfully reach the trail of torches that lit the way to the exit under the cliff. After a while, he gave up. Who knew how many tunnels were part of the underground maze? He only hoped Maxwell’s poison would kill him before Drake’s undead grip tightened around his neck.
Ti, fa, la, mi.
That damned whistling. That maddening sound. A cold liquid oozed from Tiberius’ ears. Tiberius let it pour down his jawline.
Please, let it be blood.
Tiberius hated the helplessness, the disorientation, and even more, the terrifying certainty that Drake watched him from the shadows. He could picture his wretched, patient smile, a spider waiting until the moth tangled itself in her web.
The pain dwindled and gave way to an intense coldness that came from deep within. Tiberius shivered and hugged himself, his teeth chattered. He moved so slow, the darkness around him felt like thick, black mud.
Then, Tiberius felt Drake’s foul breath on the back of his neck.
Ti, fa, la, mi.
Tiberius swung a feeble punch at Drake , but fist cut through the empty air. He lost balance and fell to the rugged ground. He felt his surroundings until he found the tunnel’s wall, and dragged himself into a small crack in the rock.
Ti, fa, la, mi.
“Shut up, goddamnit! Shut up!” Tiberius coughed and spat. His tongue tingled with a metallic aftertaste.
Drake’s steps echoed up and down the passage. He was savoring the hunt. He wanted Tiberius to go insane with fear. Tiberius nestled deeper into the tight gap on the rocky wall. If only Maxwell’s silver poison killed him now, before Drake’s whistling shattered his sanity forever.
Tiberius coughed again, his lungs gurgling. His heartbeat slowed to a faint throb, like a ticking clock under a pillow. He could almost see Maxwell’s poison inside of him, pumping through his v
eins, turning his blood into sparkling silver.
“I’m sorry,” Tiberius whispered. To Lucy, Sarah Anne and Doc Tucker. To Souls Well. To himself. He wished Souls Well would fight back against the evil Maxwell planned to unleash, but Souls Well had never been a place that put heroics before survival.
Ti, fa, la, mi.
Tiberius had always known he’d die a violent, unfair death. But he’d always hoped the last thing he’d hear would be Sarah Anne’s soft voice. Not the hellish hymn of a madman so despicable even Death herself had refused to take him under her black wings.
Drake stopped whistling. He cocked his gun in the dark. The gunslinger had lost interest in his little. sadistic game. Tiberius touched the ground around him until he found a sharp rock. His end might be near, but he wouldn’t welcome Drake with open arms .
Ti, fa, la, mi.
While pondering if he should fight Drake or make a last attempt to escape, Tiberius saw a blue light from the corner of his eye, no bigger than a dot, but shining brightly like a firefly. It came from the opposite wall, somewhere in front of the breach where Tiberius had taken shelter. Tiberius rubbed his eyes to make sure the poison hadn’t tainted his sight, but the blue light remained.
Tiberius crawled out of his hideout and limped to the blue light, Drake’s quick steps closing in. The blue light glittered on the other side of an opening a few inches above the ground. Tiberius climbed inside and pulled himself forward with his elbows.
Drake’s chipped nails wrapped around his right ankle, but Tiberius kicked furiously until he let go. Then he moved deeper into the tight passage, like an earthworm.
A gunshot. Tiberius felt the impact of the bullet on his back, but nothing hurt. Icy blood drenched his shirt, cold as silver. The second bullet zipped past Tiberius’ ear. The third scratched his temple. Tiberius heard Drake’s horrid grunts and the sound of his clothes tearing as the undead gunslinger climbed through the tunnel in pursuit.
Tiberius slithered as fast as he could until he arrived at a small grotto. It gleamed with a dim, blue halo that came from a glowing sphere on the ground. Tiberius picked it up, its glass warming his hands and its light comforting him. It was a potion filled with a luminescent, twirling liquid.
Silver & Bone (American Alchemy - Wild West Book 1) Page 11
