‘If you say so, Professor,’ she giggled. ‘I never was allowed to learn no reading or writing.’ She toyed with his thin necktie, dancing her fingers over his silk shirt and the elaborate brocade waistcoat he wore over it.
Alvin leered. ‘Ah, but you have other talents in such abundance.’
The girl gave him a playful tap. ‘You’re a gentleman to say that!’
The saloon doors opened with a creak of hinges and Godlove’s gaze snapped up, alert for trouble. He grimaced as Walking Crow stalked over to his table, his face bleak. ‘I must talk to you.’
‘So talk,’ Godlove looked away. His good mood was fading again. The free drinks and the attention of the saloon girls – the ones not too sick to show their faces, that was – had made him feel better after arguing with the Pawnee, but now here he was again, a redskin storm cloud cluttering up Alvin’s otherwise lovely day.
‘Alone.’
Alvin blew out an exasperated sigh and gave the girl a tight smile. ‘My dear, could you be so kind as to get me a refill, while I address my bothersome assistant here?’ She wandered away and as soon as she was out of earshot, Godlove snarled at Walking Crow. ‘What now?
‘Strangers have arrived,’ he told him. ‘A man, a boy and a girl.’
‘And this is my concern how?’ He sniffed.
‘I know the boy. He was the son of the lawman in the last town we visited. You used the cure-all to heal him, remember?’
‘I think I do. Yes. Saving his life brought his daddy around to my way of thinkin’, if I recall. A good move on my part to do so.’ He shrugged. ‘What of it? If anything, him being here will be good for us. I can parade the lad around as an example of my skills!’
Walking Crow’s face darkened. ‘I heard him speak about the nightmares. His manner was not of one who has come to thank you.’
Godlove swallowed, faltering slightly. ‘I can’t be blamed for some excitable youth’s mental infirmity.’
‘If he has the dreams, then it is likely he knows that others have as well.’ He paused, thinking. ‘But it’s not the boy who concerns me. The man . . .’ The Pawnee frowned. ‘I do not know him but he walks as if he is used to his authority. He wears a brown coat, he stands tall and clear-eyed. I saw a gun belt on him.’
The last pieces of Alvin’s good temper evaporated. ‘You think he’s John Law? A peace officer?’ Godlove felt a flutter of fear in his stomach. The motivating reason behind Alvin’s choice to flee the East Coast and try his luck out here in the West was to do with a number of massive gambling debts and the illegal things he had done on the way to incurring them. He believed that he was outside the reach of legal retribution for those deeds, but suddenly the possibility of that belief being wrong seized him and squeezed his heart in his chest. Alvin’s mind raced, teetering on the edge of panic. ‘Could be he’s a United States Marshal, maybe. They’ve been after me ever since St Louis . . .’ He trailed off.
‘Perhaps we could reason with him.’
Godlove shook his head. ‘Don’t be stupid! Listen to me, now. Get back to the wagon and wait up until nightfall.’ He shot a look over at the three brothers, thinking quickly. ‘Then you come lookin’ for me, out at the hidey-hole, you understand?’
Walking Crow sighed. ‘And we will run again? How many times does this make?’
‘Just do what I told you!’ he snapped, his voice drawing the attention of the bar girl. He gave her a weak smile and looked back at his associate. ‘You heard me! Go!’
With a doleful glare, Walking Crow got up and left the saloon. Godlove tapped his fingers on the table and then stood up, gathering his composure. He wandered over to the brothers. ‘Gentlemen,’ he began. ‘About what you said just a moment ago, about repayment?’ Alvin glanced down at the long-nosed pistols holstered at the hips of each man. ‘I find myself in need of some protection from a personage of harmful intent. Could I call upon men of character such as yourselves to safeguard me?’
The tall man drained his whiskey and slammed the glass down on the bar. ‘There’s some varmint that means you ill?’ He grinned harshly. ‘Well, sir, the brothers Lyle would be happy to handle that for you.’
‘I am much obliged. The scallywag is outside, I believe, a long fellow in a brown coat.’
‘Good. Haven’t had opportunity to shoot a man in weeks.’
ELEVEN
NATHAN WALKED PURPOSEFULLY, his hands in his pockets, his jaw set. Martha kept pace, watching. She considered telling him to head back to Redwater and leave her and the Doctor here, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not when those two longriders Kutter and Tangleleg were still out in the scrublands.
She felt useless. She wanted to say something to make him feel better, to assure the young man that everything was going to be all right; but Nathan had seen his father shot down in front of him, and she realised that nothing she could say or do would heal that terrible pain.
‘I’m sorry,’ The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Nathan glanced at her. ‘So am I.’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘I know I gotta be strong, but . . . it’s hard.’ He looked away. ‘You ever lose someone?’
‘I’ve seen people die,’ she admitted. ‘Good people, innocent people. It never gets easier.’
Martha thought about her own family, Mum, Dad, Tish and Leo, half a world and a century away from where she was; and she felt a strange mixture of sadness and joy, knowing how far she was from them but also knowing they were still there, still waiting for her. In that moment, the thing that scared her the most was the thought that she might never see them again. ‘But we all have to be strong.’
He walked on, raising his head. ‘I think I see it.’
‘The wagon?’
Nathan pointed to a tall box on high wheels. It was a rectangular frame with a canvas roof and wooden panels lashed together by thick rope. Lurid text in foot-high letters announced that this was The Most Illustrious Medicine Show of Professor Alvin Q. Godlove.
‘Purveyor of Potions, Bane of All Ailments Under the Sun,’ she read aloud. ‘Blimey. Doesn’t have a thing about modesty, does he?
They circled the wagon, finding a dozy grey horse tethered at the front, nibbling at a bale of hay.
Nathan patted the animal. ‘Where’s your boss at, huh?’
‘Not here,’ Martha admitted, peering at the crates and sacks lashed to the sides of the vehicle. ‘Perhaps we ought to take a peek, do you think?’
The boy frowned. ‘I’ve a mind to put a torch to the damned thing,’ he retorted.
‘I think the subtle approach might be better.’ She walked back to the rear of the wagon and balanced on the wooden steps there. ‘Keep an eye out. I’m going to have a nose around.’ She pulled back the flap and scrambled inside.
The saloon seemed to be the best bet; every hamlet, no matter where or when you were, usually had an alehouse and a place of worship – or whatever the local equivalents were – as the focal points of their community. And Alvin Godlove, despite his name and in keeping with what the Doctor had intuited about his character, did not seem like the kind of man who’d be spending much time in church.
Hands in his pockets, the Doctor crossed the street towards the drinking den, which bore a sign proudly announcing its name as the Pioneer and offering drinks, dancing and games of chance. Unlike the compact Bluebird back in Redwater, the Pioneer was broad and open, and through the windows he could see tables set up for dice and the like; this was more a casino than a place to get a drink, built to soak up the earnings of workers from the local iron mines.
But he never got to the doors. Three men in shabby coats and black hats stepped out and blocked the entrance. They did it with undisguised menace, each of them giving the Doctor a predatory glare.
‘Hello?’ he offered. ‘Are you the bouncers?’ He smiled. ‘Let me guess.’ He pantomimed a gruff voice. ‘You’re name’s not down, you’re not coming in. Is there a private party going on, then?’
‘Bro
wn coat,’ said one of the men.
‘Yup,’ agreed the taller of the three.
‘Reckon it’s him?’ said the other.
‘Yup,’ repeated the tall man.
The Doctor studied them back. ‘Do I detect a family resemblance? I do, don’t I? You’re all brothers!’ He grinned. ‘Brothers Grim, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘The name is Lyle,’ growled the tallest. ‘Guess you ought to know it before you take a dirt nap.’
He held up a hand. ‘Now let me stop you right there. I’m new in town, and I’m not looking for any trouble, far from it . . .’ The Doctor paused. ‘Well, not any more trouble than the trouble I’ve already found, if you follow me . . .’
One of the other brothers snorted and spat. ‘You talk too much.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the Doctor, ‘that has been said, on more than one occasion. But I find communication is always the best place to start from—’ He broke off as the three men pushed open their jackets to reveal the butts of their pistols.
‘We’re callin’ you out, stranger,’ said the taller of the Lyles. ‘Step back and make your play.’
‘You’ve only just met me.’ The Doctor frowned. ‘It usually takes people, ooh, at least five minutes before they decide they want to kill me.’ A flicker of movement in the saloon’s window caught his eye and he saw a shifty figure peering out at him. One of the brothers gave the man a questioning look and in return he got a firm nod.
‘Oh. OK, I get it now.’ Judging by the obvious finery of the shifty man’s clothing in comparison to the dress of the other folks in Ironhill, there was only one person it could have been. ‘Alvin Godlove!’ The Doctor called out. ‘Could I have a word? There’s something we need to talk about. I think you know what I mean.’
‘He don’t want to waste no time with you,’ said the tall man.
‘I think he might want to, considering what I’ve got to say to him. Trust me, the good “Professor” there is best off putting himself in my, uh, protective custody.’
Godlove gave the Doctor a sly smile and a shake of the head, and then he retreated from the window, disappearing into the shadows of the saloon.
‘Reckon that answers that,’ said the brother on the right.
The Doctor held up a hand. ‘No, look, you don’t understand. His life is in danger. Everybody in this town is in danger. People have already been killed.’ He pointed at the Lyles. ‘You could be next!’
The tall man made a mock-concerned face. ‘Why, did you hear that? Sounded like a threat to me.’
‘Yup,’ chorused the other brothers.
‘We don’t take kindly to those.’
And all at once the Doctor noticed that the other townsfolk were ducking into doorways and shutting them, closing windows and pulling down blinds. He backed off a step and the Lyle brothers followed him out onto the street.
The inside of the wagon was a mess of boxes, with a makeshift worktop and big pottery jugs dangling from ropes. Martha picked one at random, uncorked it and took a sniff. The powerful stench of smelling salts hit her like a smack in the face and she reeled back, her eyes watering. ‘Ugh. Lovely.’ She found bottles of rotgut whiskey and parcels of stale old beef jerky, wads of roughly printed fly-posters announcing Godlove’s genius to the world, and a crate filled with brown bottles of his ‘panacea’, identical to the one that Jenny Forrest had shown them.
But nothing weird. Nothing strange or peculiar. Martha pouted. She had been expecting to come across, oh, a glowing crystal? Some creature living in a cage, maybe even a time machine like the Doctor’s TARDIS. Not stinky bottles and unwashed clothes; but then again, she reasoned, the wagon was Godlove’s mobile home, and most single guys didn’t clean up very well after themselves.
Her foot nudged a metal box and Martha paused. Hidden under a grubby blanket she found a small iron chest. The latch came open easily in her hands and her eyes widened. Inside there was a fortune in jewellery, thick wads of big paper dollars and cloth bags that rattled with coins. She didn’t know what counted as being rich in the Wild West, but Martha imagined it wasn’t far off this lot. And there was another strongbox, just the same – only this one had a padlock on it. She tested the thing’s weight and it was light, rattling slightly.
Martha hesitated. That didn’t make sense. The unlocked box had all this money in it, but the locked one felt like it was practically empty. ‘What’s up with that?’ she said aloud.
The axle of the wagon dipped, creaking as someone climbed onto the back steps, and Martha turned. ‘Nathan, I said wait outside.’
The boy came through the canvas door flap but said nothing, because there was a man holding a hunting knife at his shoulder. The young man’s dark, leathery face was morose.
‘You,’ said the Pawnee. ‘You should not have come here.’
Martha was careful not to make any sudden moves. ‘I think you might be right.’
He glanced at the knife and sighed; then he did something she definitely didn’t expect. He put the blade away and let Nathan go. ‘I warned him,’ he said, sitting down on a box. ‘I warned him that one day someone would come looking. It was only a matter of time.’ He shook his head. ‘I always knew no good would come of it.’
‘Of what?’ Nathan ventured.
‘The cure-all.’
‘Three against one. That’s hardly fair, is it?’ The Doctor kept his hands up, trying to look harmless.
‘Nope,’ agreed one of the brothers. ‘But then, life ain’t fair neither.’
He pressed on. ‘I’m sure we could work out a less violent solution to this, uh, situation. Perhaps I could speak to the town sheriff?’
The taller Lyle smirked. ‘Why, sure thing. You just wait five minutes. Then we’ll be sure to put you on the pile with him and all t’other deaders who perished from the smallpox. Y’all can have a nice long chat there.’
The Doctor stopped backing away and drew himself up. ‘All right then,’ he replied, steel in his voice. ‘If that’s the way it’s got to be. You boys want to throw down?’ He adjusted his hat and gave them a level stare. ‘I’m willing to oblige you.’
His sudden change in manner brought the Lyle brothers up short. They weren’t used to facing people who stood up to them, that was clear. The Doctor took a quick glance left and right, making sure that there were no bystanders around who might get caught in the crossfire. He allowed a slow smile to cross his lips.
‘Why, this fella’s itching to buck out.’ The taller brother returned a cold grin. ‘Draw!’
There was a flash of motion and three guns cleared leather, fast as striking snakes.
Alvin was swinging into the saddle of the horse he had stolen from the hitching post behind the Pioneer when the sounds of gunshots rippled through the air. He grinned wolfishly, and dug his heels into the animal’s flanks, urging it on and out of Ironhill in a headlong gallop.
He didn’t look back.
‘My name is Walking Crow,’ said the man. ‘I have been travelling with Godlove for two years now.’
‘Why?’ asked Nathan. ‘You’re Pawnee, ain’t you? Why aren’t you with your tribe?’
‘I am disgraced,’ came the dour reply. ‘I would be dead now, if not for Godlove. He won my life in a game of chance, and I have been with him ever since.’
‘You’re his slave?’ Martha was disgusted.
Walking Crow began to shake his head, but suddenly the sharp report of gunfire cut through the air.
Nathan started. ‘Remington .44s!’ He gasped. ‘I’d know the sound of ’em anywhere.’
Martha’s blood ran cold. ‘Doctor?’
The Lyle brothers were quick on the draw, and they put a fan of bullets into the air before them; but they could only be as fast as human beings.
The Doctor was a Time Lord, and he moved between the ticks of the clock. His hand blurred towards the holster on his hip, grabbing the slender wand there and thumbing the activation switch. The sonic screwdriver droned loudly, and the a
ir between the gunslingers and the Doctor shimmered like heat-haze off the desert. Three speeding dots of lead stopped dead and flattened against an invisible wall of sound, before falling harmlessly to the dirt.
‘What th—?’ The eldest Lyle gawked. His aim had been true; the talkative stranger in the brown coat should have been laid out and croaking his last.
‘I warned you,’ growled the Doctor. He adjusted the gain on the sonic and it buzzed, a wasp-storm sound that hammered at the ears of the brothers.
All three of them looked down at the guns in their hands as the weapons began to vibrate and tremble, rattling furiously. The Doctor kept the sonic trained on them and, with a sudden clatter of metal, each brother’s revolver came to pieces in his grip. Screws and bolts, barrel and bullets, the components of the pistols fell apart leaving them unarmed and most certainly shocked into silence.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow and switched off the vibration pulse, raising the screwdriver’s tip to his lips. He blew imaginary smoke from the end and eyed the Lyles. ‘Don’t let me see you three rattlesnakes in this town again, you hear?’
They turned and fled, as Martha and Nathan emerged from a side street with a Pawnee brave following behind them.
‘Doctor!’ she called, ‘We heard shots, are you OK?’
He twirled the sonic and holstered it. ‘I’m all-a-settlin’, as they say around here. Intact and undamaged, thank you.’
Nathan nudged at the broken pieces of gun with his boot. ‘How’d you manage this, Doc?’
‘Easy,’ he sniffed. ‘Focused molecular frequency wave. Brilliant for taking things to bits in a jiffy.’ He glanced at the Pawnee. ‘I know you. You were watching us when we rode into town.’
‘Doctor, this is Walking Crow,’ said Martha. ‘Alvin’s, uh, assistant.’
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