Peacemaker (9780698140820)

by Stewart, K. A.

  Unfortunately, the horse lost interest before it severed the rope completely, and it wandered a few yards away to look for greener grasses among the dry stalks. Caleb glared at the frayed bond for a few moments, tugging to see if he could part it any further. The remaining strands seemed determined to hold.

  He rested his head against the hard soil for a few moments, only half noticing that it wasn’t pounding like a brass band anymore. In fact, though the skin on his forearms was a rather cheerful shade of pink, the blisters were gone, and it felt like nothing more than a mild sunburn.

  “Until I roast out here all day again.” The horse seemed to be attracted to his voice, and came back over to see just what he had to say on the subject. “You’re a friendly sort, at least. Any chance you want to finish dining on that rope? I promise I’ll get you something nice.” What the hell did horses like, anyway? He had a vague memory of sugar cubes, but that could have been just a child’s story from long ago.

  The horse snorted and turned its attention—his attention, Caleb could clearly see from this angle—to its grazing, again finding Caleb inconveniently in its way. The animal was strong, and had no qualms about shoving the prone Peacemaker this way and that to get at the choicest tidbits.

  Only when the animal wandered away yet again—though never farther than a few yards—did Caleb notice that his actions had dislodged the nullstone amulet from his chest. Though it was still looped around his neck on a thin chain, the heavy medallion had slipped back off his shoulders, nestling in the grass right next to his ear.

  Caleb hardly dared to breathe. So long as the stone wasn’t actually touching his skin, he had a chance.

  It should have coursed through his veins like living fire, the substance of life itself burning and enticing all at once. Instead, his power was sluggish, a reluctant trickle of thick sludge. It was a supreme effort of will to draw on that murky core, forcing what little he could out the length of his arm toward the frayed rope. It almost oozed, cold and lifeless, chilling him despite the day’s heat already brewing.

  He let the power pool in his palm, the vibrant blue energy now clouded and almost black. He’d have one shot, and then he’d have to wait until more of the nullstone cleared from his body before he could gather enough strength to try again. That could take hours that he didn’t have.

  With his staff, he could have taken even the sluggish remnants of his energy and focused them into a narrow blade, a tiny point of controlled force to part the strands of the rope. Without it, he was left with brute force. He almost took comfort in that. It had always been where he excelled.

  “Wish me luck,” he told the horse, and squeezed his fist closed.

  There was no boom, no crack of released power. It came out instead as a sick squelch, superheated energy dripping between his fingers to sizzle in the dry grasses, sending up warning tendrils of smoke. “Come on . . .” A twist of his wrist, a tilt of the hand, anything to direct those dribbles onto the rope itself.

  When it finally snapped in two, his arm whipped upward by reflex, the last of his power searing down his own arm before he could think to draw it back in. “Yes!” The horse started and stamped at Caleb’s joyous celebration, and eyed the beginnings of the prairie fire warily.

  With his newly freed hand, Caleb beat out the tiny flickers of flame before they could turn into something monstrous. His next act was to yank the amulet from his neck and fling it as far as his prone position would allow.

  The horse whickered in concern at the violent movements, but was apparently too intrigued to run away. Its ears flicked back and forth, swiveling almost full circle as it watched the strange human put on a little show.

  Though it took some rather painful stretching, and he got rope fibers embedded deep under his fingernails, Caleb managed to work his other arm free the old-fashioned way. It was only a few minutes more before he had his legs free.

  He stood and immediately swayed on his feet, his body adjusting to being upright for the first time in almost a full day. A reaching hand found the horse’s warm flank under his palm, and he gladly took the support. “Thanks.”

  The horse craned its neck to look at him, snuffling softly with what Caleb took to be curious noises. “Yes, I’m the crazy person talking to a horse. You should have seen me last night. I was talking to an imaginary coyote.”

  Slowly, the world righted itself. The morning sun was just off the horizon, casting the prairie in a brilliant yellow glare that promised to bake it dry and hard for the hundredth day in a row. And as Caleb stared around the flat grassland, he realized he had no idea where he was.

  “I don’t suppose you know the way back to Hope, do you?” The horse flicked its ears, but didn’t say anything. “Didn’t think so.”

  For good measure, he kicked some dirt over the nullstone amulet, grinding it into the soil with his boot heel. It was time to reach for Ernst.

  He was still hampered by the residual null effects, but somewhere, deep down beneath the thick cotton batting in his head, he could feel the little jackalope far in the distance. His shoulders sagged in relief. “Ernst . . .” It took several tries, but he finally managed to feed a small pulse into that connection. Hopefully, it was enough to get his familiar’s attention.

  Almost immediately, there was a pop as the air was displaced to make room for one frantic little familiar. “Caleb! Thank everything!” Quivering with excitement, he gathered himself to leap into the man’s arms, but Caleb quickly stepped back.

  “Don’t! I’m all over nulled. Don’t touch me.” The chalky stone was debilitating to any human with a shred of power. It was fatal to familiars who were nearly made of magic.

  Ernst’s ears perked up, and his furry nose wrinkled as he got a good whiff. “Eugh, you reek of it! What did you do, roll in it?” He noticed the horse for the first time, the larger animal giving back the same startled look. “And since when did you go native?”

  “I . . . actually don’t know where the horse came from.” He had his suspicions, though. It looked awfully like the one Falcon Woman was riding the day he saw her at the Anderson place. “And you can thank Warner for the nullstone.”

  “He didn’t!” The little rabbit-ish creature puffed up to twice his size. “Oooh! I’ll scratch his eyes out! I’ll put fleas in his sheets! I’ll . . . I don’t know what I’ll do, but it will be bad, I tell you!” He hopped around in furious circles until he landed on the buried amulet, at which point he leapt sky-high with a pained yelp. “Ow!”

  “Be careful, Ernst!” With thorough reluctance, Caleb retrieved the medallion, careful to touch only the lead casing. “First things first, which way is Hope?”

  “Almost due south. You’re practically in the Wyoming territory, you’re so far north.”

  Caleb cursed softly. “Even if I had a transport, I’d have to ride the better part of the day before I got back there. On foot . . .”

  “Well . . . you have the horse. . . .” Caleb raised a brow at Ernst, who shrugged his little shoulders. “What? Indians ride them. And it has a bridle; surely it’s trained.”

  “Regardless of how, I have to get back there. Miss Sinclair isn’t safe, especially since Warner thinks I died out here.” He eyed the horse, getting a quizzical look in return. The animal seemed to know that it was about to be accosted.

  “There was some hubbub starting in town when I blinked out, but I didn’t get to see what was going on. You want me to go back? Since I can’t ride with you anyway.”

  Caleb nodded. “Yeah, see if it’s something serious, and help out if you can. Hey, Ernst?” He caught the jackalope in mid-blink, and the animal quickly faded back to something resembling solidity. “How’s Hector?”

  Ernst drew himself up proudly. “He’s awake, and giving Sven and Jimmy tips on repairing the telegraph.”

  “Good. Get going, I don’t want anyone to see me make an ass of myself with this
horse.”

  “Aye-aye, captain.” And he was gone, at least physically. Caleb could still feel him, distant but there, and he took comfort in it.

  “At least if I break my neck, someone will know to come looking for me.”

  The horse snorted its agreement.

  The first dilemma was the lack of a saddle. All transports and most haulers had the stirrups built in, making mounting quite easy. The horse had no such convenient handles and steps, and Caleb walked around it a few times trying to judge the best way to get on.

  Finally, he grabbed a handful of the animal’s mane. “Don’t tell anyone about this, all right?”

  The first attempt to throw his leg over was less than graceful, but at least he didn’t wind up on his rump. The horse was less impressed, shying and snorting for a few moments before Caleb could get close to it again.

  On the second try, he made it aboard, where he clung to the animal’s neck precariously. How different it was to be atop something with nothing to hang on to. And was a transport this high up?

  The horse decided that the strange man riding him was going to offer no guidance, and lowered its head to graze again, nearly dumping Caleb off headfirst.

  “Whoa! Easy there!”

  He carefully let go of his hold on the mane and took up the reins. That would allow him to steer, of course, but how did he make the thing go? There were no pedals to step on, no levers to kick forward.

  He must have been sitting uncomfortably for the horse, because the big animal gave a shudder, every inch of its sensitive skin shaking at once. Caleb grabbed for the mane again and clung tightly with his knees.

  The horse’s head came up suddenly, and it lurched forward so abruptly that Caleb was almost unseated yet again. They were off across the prairie before he even knew what had happened, the Peacemaker bouncing and clinging to the animal in a most undignified manner.

  Some very painful moments passed while he got himself righted again, and it was quickly apparent that knee pressure was going to be a guiding force with the animal. Once they both understood that, Caleb got it pointed south, and they galloped toward Hope, following his connection to Ernst.

  Riding a horse was very different from riding a transport. Caleb adapted quickly as he found his own body moving in rhythm with the animal’s. He could feel the horse’s lungs heave like bellows between his legs and see the pulse of the animal’s great heart in its arched neck. He thought his own heart might have matched that beat, until they were almost one creature.

  Bare-chested as he was, he was reminded of the dream Falcon Woman had given him, of the Indian brave riding across the prairie to find his village decimated. It sent a shiver of foreboding down his back, and he leaned forward more, urging the horse to run faster. Suddenly, he needed to reach Hope.

  The sun was well past its zenith by the time he arrived in the small town, and both he and the horse were soaked in sweat. When he reached the saloon, a crowd had gathered, pressing close and calling out until he couldn’t tell one voice from another.

  Holding the reins, he slid off the horse’s back and tried to make sense of the clamor.

  “Agent Marcus!”

  “Oh, thank God you’re back. . . .”

  “You have to do something.”

  Caleb tried to shout over the din but was getting nowhere. The horse had better luck. Pressed on all sides by shouting humans, it suddenly reared up on its hind legs, lashing out with its sharp hooves. That effectively cleared an awed circle around the beleaguered Peacemaker.

  Caleb stroked the horse’s sweaty neck, hoping to sooth the agitated animal. “One at a time, please. What is going on?”

  One of the women stepped forward, her hands clutching reflexively at her skirts. “He won’t let the children leave. They tried to go get them, and men with guns turned them away at the gate!”

  That declaration spawned another chorus of impassioned pleas, and it was a few more minutes before Caleb could restore order. “Who won’t let them leave where?” He knew, though. What better way to control a town than to hold their children hostage?

  “Mr. Warner! They went out there this morning, like usual for schoolin’. Then folks from the homesteads started arrivin’ in town, saying that the Injuns were on the warpath, riding down outta the mountains and all. So some o’ the men went to collect the children, give ’em safe escort back here. Only Mr. Warner wouldn’t even let them on his place. Says it’s too dangerous to have the kids out in the open if the reds are on the warpath.”

  “They threatened to shoot my David if he didn’t leave!”

  Someone finally noticed Caleb’s state of undress and his unconventional mode of transportation. “You been with the Indians, Agent Marcus? Are they really comin’ down ta scalp us?”

  Fearful cries rang out, and once again Caleb had to shout them down. “No! The Cheyenne are no danger to you. I have a feeling that Mr. Warner’s motives are not nearly so noble.”

  “What’s happening, Agent Marcus?” They fell silent as a whole, their desperate eyes looking to him for some answers, any answers.

  “I will see to your children. I need a few moments to change and gather some things, but I promise you, I will bring them back. All right?”

  “Well, we’ll go with you!”

  “No. This has become a law enforcement matter. I’ll be going on my own.”

  The townsfolk clamored in protest, but he did his best to ignore them. Sven Isby shouldered his way through the crowd with a scowl and yanked the horse’s reins from Caleb’s hand.

  “Horse run too much. Must walk.” He glared at the Peacemaker and walked off with the painted horse following docilely behind. He was already gone before Caleb thought to tell him about his destroyed hauler.

  “Agent Marcus!” Teddy appeared at his elbow, offering him a shirt, which Caleb took gratefully. “There’s somethin’ else.”

  “What’s wrong?” He winced as he pulled the cotton garment on over his sunburned shoulders.

  “Miss Ellen. I just went upstairs ta tell her you were back, and she’s gone.”

  Caleb froze in the act of donning the shirt. “What do you mean, gone?”

  “She left a note.” Teddy handed over a crisp piece of paper, and Caleb glanced over the precise penmanship.

  I intend to tell Mr. Warner that I will not testify against his men, in exchange for the release of the children. Agent Marcus will still have Jimmy for a witness. My testimony will not be important. I will return soon. ~Ellen

  Caleb swore, and dropped the letter so he could work at his shirt buttons faster. “He was willing to kill me just for knowing about that mine, Teddy. What do you think he’s going to do to her for possessing truly damning evidence?”

  The Scot went pale under his beard. “She can’t have been gone more than an hour.”

  “That’s long enough to get her to Warner’s.” He tucked the shirt in with brusque movements. “Find Jimmy; tell him to get my trunk. Get me some water and something to eat quickly.” Nodding, Teddy took off at a dead run. “Ernst!”

  The jackalope popped into existence balanced on the sidewalk railing. “We’re going?”

  Caleb nodded. “Go ahead. Find Miss Sinclair and the children. I need to know where they’re being held.”

  “There’s nullstone there somewhere.”

  “Do your best, but stay safe.” He reached out to scratch the familiar’s ears. “I’ll catch up around sundown if you’re not back to me by then.”

  Teddy returned with Jimmy on his heels, the boy struggling to carry the large trunk by himself but proudly refusing all help. Caleb gave the boy a brief smile as he took the box from him. “I hear you’re making good progress on the telegraph.”

  “Yessir. Mr. Pratt and Mr. Isby and me. We might get it workin’ in a few days.”

  “Get it working tonight, Jimmy. Tell Hec
tor to send a message to the Peacemaker office in Kansas City. Tell him to use the gibberish; he’ll know what it means.” The authentication codes would get Graeme moving, if nothing else.

  The boy’s eyes went wide. “Yer goin’ out ta Warner’s alone, ain’cha? Lemme go, too!”

  “No. I need you to get that telegraph working and that message out in case . . .” In case he didn’t come back. Which was highly likely. Crying Elk said it would be a good day to die. “Just get that machine working. If anybody can, it’s you.” He mussed the boy’s hair and flashed him a smile he didn’t truly feel. “And thank you for taking care of my trunk.”

  “Yessir. Yer welcome, sir.”

  Shouldering his trunk, he ducked into the relative coolness of the tavern. No one was inside, save Teddy, who produced a glass of water and a dripping wet canteen, as well as a plate of beef and cold potatoes. “It’s the best I have on short notice, sorry.”

  “That’s fine. I just haven’t eaten in a day or so.” Unless he counted the broth from Falcon Woman . . . if that had even happened. “I need to get my strength up for this little excursion.”

  “Did ye even make it to Tasco? What happened to ye out there, Agent Marcus? Ye came ridin’ in here like a red Indian.”

  Caleb talked around mouthfuls of food. “I didn’t make it to Tasco. They shot the hauler out from under me, went up like a Chinese rocket. It was a long shot; I never saw it coming. I’m willing to bet it was Schmidt.”

  “Sweet Mary, mother of God. Yer lucky yer not in bits all over the prairie!”

  Caleb nodded his agreement. “Knocked me cold, and when I woke up, Warner and his boys were there. They tied me to stakes and left me to die. Put a nullstone around my neck.”

  “So how’d ye get loose?”

  “I just . . . did. It took me a while.” There was no need to tell him about shamans or dark-eyed Indian women with hypnotic voices. “Now, I need you to listen to some things, Teddy, and tell the other Peacemakers when they get here.”