Annabelle shook her head. “He may have believed that, but he was wrong.” She snatched up the paper she’d been writing on. “Look, I’ll show you the figures—”
The Kid held up a hand to stop her. “Just tell me what it’s about, in plain English.”
She shrugged and nodded. “All right. Like I told you, in Konigsberg’s time, astronomy and astrology were all mixed up together. He seems to have been a halfway competent astronomer, but he also believed firmly in the ability of the stars to predict the future. The Twelve Pearls was his name for a group of a dozen different stars that he believed were going to line up in a certain order at some point in the future, something that would happen only once every few thousand years.”
“And he thought when they did, something important was going to happen,” The Kid guessed.
Annabelle nodded again. “That’s right. According to Konigsberg, when the Twelve Pearls were in conjunction, they would unleash a power on the earth like nothing ever seen before, and that the man who could harness this power would be able to rule the world.”
“Sounds a little loco to me.”
“Yes, of course, because you’re a modern man who doesn’t believe in such things. But Konigsberg did, and he was desperate to remain alive until 1685 so that he would be that man.” Annabelle started flipping through the pages. “But here’s the interesting thing. Some of these calculations were done after he escaped from the Inquisition and fled to America. He realized, once he got to Mexico, that the perfect spot to view the conjunction of the Twelve Pearls was right here in what was then Nuevo Mexico.”
“Wait a minute…You’re saying that when he ran again from the agents of the Inquisition, he didn’t come up here just to get away from them. He wanted to find a particular spot.”
“Exactly. He didn’t make it, though. According to his calculations, the place he was looking for was a couple of miles east of here.” Annabelle snapped the book closed and tossed it aside. “Anyway, none of it matters, because while Konigsberg might have been an adequate astronomer, he was a terrible mathemetician. His calculations of the time when the Twelve Pearls are supposed to be in conjunction were incorrect. He worked out the date to be July 16, 1685, but he was off by two hundred and sixty years.”
“You mean…”
Annabelle laughed. “That’s right. Even if he was correct about the Twelve Pearls lining up like he thought, it’s not going to happen for almost fifty years yet! He believed he had the key to immense power, but the only thing of value he really had was the candlestick he had stolen.”
The Kid had to laugh, too, as he picked up the candlestick. “Well, we’ve got this, anyway. If we have to, we’ll use it to bargain with Fortunato for the padre’s life.”
Annabelle looked surprised. “You can’t mean to turn it over to that…that…”
“If we have to do that, we’ll just steal it right back.”
She shook her head. “No, you can’t. You don’t understand, Kid. Father Jardine would gladly give up his life to restore the candlestick to the Church. You can’t give it to Fortunato, even to save him.”
“Now, hold on. I know a hunk of gold this heavy is bound to be worth quite a bit, especially with those jewels stuck on it, but it’s not worth a man’s life.”
“You don’t know Father Jardine like I do.” She stooped and picked up the worthless book she had thrown aside a few moments earlier. “This! This is what we’ll use to bargain with.”
The Kid thought about it and knew she might be on to something there. Fortunato wanted the secret of the Twelve Pearls. He might be willing to trade Father Jardine for it, and if The Kid and Annabelle and the padre could get away before Fortunato realized that the book wasn’t worth anything…
They were going to have a chance to find out, because at that moment, a voice called from outside the cave, “Doctor! Dr. Dare! I know you’re in there! Come out and bring the German’s treasures with you, or I’ll kill Father Jardine!”
Chapter 30
Fortunato had been furious when the Yaquis had come back from one of their scouting forays and told him that Dr. Dare and that so-called Kid Morgan were ahead of them. Arturo’s prediction had proven to be correct; the woman and the gunfighter had abandoned the wagon and were racing toward the northern end of the Jornada del Muerto on horseback.
But after a moment’s thought, Fortunato wasn’t sure but that was a good thing after all. So far, Father Jardine had surprised him by holding up under the Yaquis’ torture. The priest still refused to reveal what he knew about the hiding place of the Konigsberg Candlestick. It was inconvenient that Fortunato couldn’t really turn the half-breeds loose on Father Jardine, but that would have meant risking his death and Fortunato couldn’t afford that. So the Yaquis had not yet brought the full force of their inventive cruelty to bear on the old cleric.
Now they wouldn’t need to. Fortunato could simply follow Dr. Dare to her destination and let the good doctor do the hard work for him. Then he would swoop in and take the spoils for himself.
That was where the situation stood now, with Fortunato, Novak, and the two Yaquis arranged in a rough half-circle below the mouth of the cave. That had to be it, Fortunato thought as he called out his ultimatum to Dr. Dare. The place where the Konigsberg Candlestick and the secret of the Twelve Pearls had rested for the past two centuries.
Father Jardine stood in the center of the half-circle, his hands tied in front of him and his head drooping from exhaustion and pain. Farther back, Arturo was waiting with the horses. That was the only job he could really be trusted with.
“Dr. Dare, did you hear me?” Fortunato called again. “If you want to save Father Jardine’s life, you have no choice but to cooperate with me! I promise you, give me what I want, and no harm will come to any of you!”
That was a lie, of course, and Fortunato suspected that Dr. Dare knew it. Novak wanted to kill Kid Morgan for what he had done to his friends, and Fortunato wanted Dr. Dare and the priest dead because he never left any witnesses behind when he acquired a new treasure.
But despite knowing that Dr. Dare and Morgan wouldn’t trust him, Fortunato felt certain that they wouldn’t stand by and let Father Jardine be killed. They would try to negotiate with him, and those negotiations would probably involve some sort of trickery…
“Fortunato!”
That was a man’s voice coming from the cave. Not Dr. Dare, then. Fortunato’s hands tightened on the rifle he held as he shouted back, “Morgan! Kid Morgan! Is that you?”
For a moment, Morgan didn’t answer. Then he said, “I reckon the padre told you my name.”
“That’s right. Come out, and you won’t be harmed. You have my word on that. All I want are the things Albrecht Konigsberg concealed in that cave.” Fortunato paused. “That is Konigsberg’s hiding place, isn’t it?”
“He was here, all right,” Morgan said from deep in the cave, still not showing himself. “In fact, he’s still here. His bones, anyway. But there was a cave-in, Fortunato. If the candlestick is here, it’s buried under tons of rock.”
The count felt a chill go through him. Morgan was probably lying, but it was possible he was telling the truth. The Konigsberg Candlestick might be crushed, ruined, lost forever. Fortunato wouldn’t believe that until he saw the evidence with his own eyes. There was still the matter of the other precious thing Konigsberg had brought with him to America.
“But we have the secret of the Twelve Pearls!” Morgan called, as if he had just read Fortunato’s mind. “We’re willing to trade it for Father Jardine’s life and safe passage out of this hellhole!”
From a few yards away, Novak called softly, “It’s a trick!”
“Of course it is,” Fortunato said. “Don’t worry, I don’t believe him.” He raised his voice. “What is it, Morgan? What is the secret of the Twelve Pearls?”
“It’s a book,” Morgan replied. “A book filled with writing in German. I can’t read it, but Dr. Dare says that it’s the instructi
ons for how to acquire more power than anyone in the world has ever dreamed of. A new weapon, Fortunato, the likes of which nobody has ever seen!”
Fortunato’s breath hissed between his teeth. Even though he was still distrustful, Morgan’s words suddenly had the ring of truth. He gave in to his curiosity and asked, “What sort of weapon?”
“You’ll have to figure that out for yourself. But you can do it if you have Konigsberg’s book.”
Novak said, “This is loco. No book could be worth that much.”
“The book itself, perhaps not. But what’s written in it…” Fortunato raised his voice again. “Throw the book out here. We’ll take it and go, leaving Father Jardine.”
“No deal,” Morgan replied without hesitation. “Ride off and leave Father Jardine here with us. Once we’re gone, you can come back and have everything that’s in the cave, including Konigsberg’s bones.”
“That’s unacceptable. I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, Morgan. Do you know what that means?”
“A standoff,” Morgan said. “In this case, I reckon you’d call it a New Mexican standoff.”
Fortunato laughed. He couldn’t help it. This Kid Morgan had the sort of audacity he admired. It was a shame Morgan would have to die.
Novak said, “You really think some old book is really worth something?”
“I’d like to find out,” Fortunato replied without hesitation. The promise of power was intriguing. He had wealth, more money than he could ever spend, in fact. And he had the treasures he had acquired over the years, the things that were his and his alone. If Konigsberg had really stumbled over something so powerful that it would make other weapons obsolete, then that should belong to him as well, Fortunato decided.
“I’m coming up there,” he called toward the cave.
“What!” Novak exclaimed.
“You and the others stay here,” Fortunato said as he stood up from where he had been crouched behind a boulder formed from the same lava that covered the ground. He strode forward and grasped Father Jardine’s arm, then started up the slope toward the cave.
“Morgan!” he said. “I’m bringing the priest! I want that book!”
Manuelito understood enough of the white man’s tongue to know that they were yelling about a book, and a candlestick, and a German, whatever that was. None of those things seemed important to him, but clearly they were to the white men. All that mattered to Manuelito was the need to kill them. He no longer cared about the redhaired woman. He wanted to kill her, too. He was too sick to do anything else.
The hate he felt toward all white men had kept him going the past two days, despite the fever that raged within him. And, although it was only a small consideration, he was curious, too. Where were all these insane white men going, and what was so important that they seemed to be racing with each other to get there? A book? A candlestick? A German? Madness!
Like most Apaches, Manuelito preferred horses for eating, rather than riding, but in this case, he never would have been able to keep up if he had not caught two of the horses left behind by the whites. He had trailed them at a distance, seldom pausing except to switch horses and take a small sip from one of the canteens. The fever made him thirsty, but he didn’t give in to that. He just wanted to live long enough to kill them, and now they were all in one place, even the two Yaqui half-breeds who were polluted with white blood.
He would start with the easiest, he thought as he crept through the lava field. One of the men stood by himself, well back from the rest, holding the horses. Manuelito would kill him first, then the others.
He was outnumbered, of course, and all the white men had guns except the old priest, but in his fevered state, filled with rage and hate, those thoughts never occurred to Manuelito. He was invincible. He would walk among his enemies, slaying them in a frenzy of blood and death, and if they killed him it would be a good way to die.
Rising to his feet as he came up behind the man holding the horses, he lifted the knife in his hand above his head, ready to strike and spill the man’s blood.
Then a wave of weakness went through him without warning, and he stumbled slightly, just enough so that his foot hit a loose bit of lava and made it clatter as he kicked it aside.
The white man turned and saw him and said, “Oh, hello. Who are you?”
Manuelito snarled and leaped forward, driving the knife downward.
“Kid, what are we going to do?” Annabelle asked as they stood pressed to opposite walls inside the cave mouth, watching Fortunato and Father Jardine climb slowly up the slope toward them. “You know we can’t trust Fortunato!”
“I know,” The Kid said. “But he’s so anxious to get his hands on that old book, he’s made a mistake. He’s given himself to us as a hostage.”
Annabelle’s eyes widened. “You’re going to take him prisoner?”
“That’s the plan,” The Kid replied. It was a hastily-formed one, he thought, but it was all they had. “We’ll keep him with us until we get back to civilization.”
“He’ll be trying to get loose and kill you every step of the way.”
“I reckon.”
“And even if we make it, he’ll never forgive you for humiliating him like that. He’ll hire killers to hunt you down, no matter where you go in the world—”
“I’ll take my chances,” The Kid said. “All that matters is getting you and the padre and that candlestick back where you need to be.”
“Why?” she said. “Why does it matter to you?”
He frowned. He couldn’t answer that question. Ten days ago, he hadn’t even known her and Father Jardine. He’d never heard of Albrecht Konigsberg or that blasted candlestick or anything called the Twelve Pearls. But since then, he had risked his life numerous times for them and was about to do so again. Why indeed?
“I don’t like anybody who feels like he can just take whatever he wants, no matter who else gets hurt along the way. It’s not right.”
“You want the world to be fair?”
The Kid knew better than that. The world would never be fair. He had a hunch that fortune was always going to smile more on those who didn’t deserve it. That evil was going to win more than it lost. That the ultimate triumph, if there ever was one, would belong to the barbarians of the world, and despite Count Eduardo Fortunato’s cultured veneer, that’s what he was—a barbarian.
Most folks would say that he fit that description, too. A drifter, a killer, a man who rode alone. There was no place for him in a civilized world.
But at least he knew that every now and then, a man had to stand up and do something because it was right. He might not have a personal stake in it, but if he could help bring about even a brief flicker of light in the encroaching tide of darkness that threatened to wash over the whole world…
Well, that was worth something, wasn’t it?
Those thoughts went through his mind in the blink of an eye, and he said in reply to Annabelle’s question, “No, I just want to shoot that son of a bitch because he’s got it coming. But I’ll hold off if it means getting you and the padre out of here safely.”
There wasn’t time for any more talk, at least between the two of them. Fortunato had stopped about ten feet from the mouth of the cave. He stood there gripping Father Jardine’s arm with his left hand. His right held a Winchester slanted across his body with the muzzle pointed at the priest’s head. The light from the lantern in the cave spilled down over them and revealed Father Jardine’s bruised, bloody features as the priest lifted his head to look at them. Annabelle gasped at the sight of him. The Kid’s jaw tightened in anger.
“Padre, are you all right?” he asked.
In a voice tinged with pain but still containing a note of strength, Father Jardine said, “The Lord sustains me, my son. The Lord sustains me.”
Annabelle spoke up for the first time, unable to contain her anger. “What did you do to him, Fortunato?” she demanded.
“Ah, Dr. Dare,” the count said. “You are in the
re. I was beginning to worry that something had happened to you, since Mr. Morgan was doing all the talking.”
“What did you do?” Annabelle said again.
Fortunato shrugged. “I did nothing, Doctor. It was my Yaqui friends who tried to persuade the good father to reveal your destination. But then I realized it wasn’t necessary for him to do so. You led me here, Doctor. You and Mr. Morgan.”
In the lanternlight, The Kid saw the rage on Annabelle’s face and knew how close she was to losing control. She wanted to step out there and rush to Father Jardine. She wanted to shoot Fortunato, too. Giving in to either of those impulses might be disastrous.
“Annabelle,” The Kid said softly. “Take a deep breath. Settle down.”
She glared across the opening at him, but she took his advice, then gave him a curt nod to show that she was all right.
“I’m not sure I believe you about the Konigsberg Candlestick,” Fortunato went on, “but we’ll leave that for later. For now, I want this book that contains the secret of the Twelve Pearls. Hand it over, and you can have Father Jardine.”
“If we do that, what’s to stop you from killing us?” The Kid asked.
Fortunato shrugged. “My word? Is that worth anything to you, Mr. Morgan?”
“Not a damned thing.”
“Then we won’t be able to continue this negotiation. Perhaps you’ll feel differently in the morning. Come along, Father.”
“Hold it,” The Kid said. “What makes you think you’re going back down that slope, Count?”
To emphasize his point, he cocked the Colt in his hand. In the close quarters of the cave, the sound was loud, plenty loud enough for Fortunato to hear it outside.
Fortunato’s face darkened with anger. “We were trying to strike a deal,” he snapped. “That implies a truce.”
“It may imply it, but nobody said it,” The Kid drawled. “Anyway, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over lying to a snake like you, mister.”
Fortunato stiffened. “Have you no honor, Mr. Morgan?”
The Loner: Dead Man’s Gold Page 21
