Scryer's Gulch

by MeiLin Miranda

  “Who coulda done it, then?”

  “I ain’t zactly in a position to investigate, son. No, I’m fair graveled on this’n,” sighed the voice. “Well, now that we’ve argied that’un out, my name’s Aloysius.”

  “I’m Georgie. Georgie Prake,” said the boy grudgingly. “You really believe me?”

  “I do, Georgie Prake, an I’ll see if’n I cain’t put a good word in.” Georgie perked up. “Though no one listens to me much,” added the ghost.

  Georgie sunk his chin into his broad little chest. “Aw, heck. One person believes me, and him the ghost of a horsethief.”

  Episode 11: Moonrise

  In Mamzelle’s boudoir, the madam and the cat were still embroiled in their murderous heart-to-heart. “But I do not understand, chéri,” she said. “Why would you not wish me to keel your master?”

  “Two reasons,” Misi answered loftily. “For one, I can’t reciprocate. You’d have to maneuver your master into a situation where he became a direct threat to my master.”

  Mamzelle laughed. “You underestimate me.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. But for me the more important reason is the second. If anyone kills my master, it’s going to be me,” he growled. “I’ve been plotting it for eight years, and no one is going to deny me that pleasure.”

  “Only tell me who ‘e is,” she coaxed. “I weel take care of ze rest.”

  “In time, sweetheart, in time.”

  A loud voice sounded from down the hallway outside Mamzelle’s boudoir. “That hanging tomorrow’s gonna have the men riled up!” Bonham’s voice floated in. “Be sure you got enough whiskey watered down in advance, and hire on some new muscle if you think it necessary. And shine up the brasswork! I want this place looking fine!”

  “”E’s coming,” said Mamzelle, dumping Misi unceremoniously off her lap and pressing a long-fingered hand to her throat. He fingernails shrank to human size, and her eyes changed from ruby to brown. “Sorry to say, ‘e hate cats. You’d best go, chéri. Quickly, quickly! ‘Ere ‘e is!”

  Misi bounded out the balcony door, Mamzelle herding him along with her skirts. She watched the little black form flicker over the rooftops toward the Bonham mansion. Was that where his master lived? She would discover him, and when she killed him, Misi would be free to kill Jed Bonham, and everyone else in Scryer’s Gulch--even the Sheriff. The flames flickered in her mind’s eye.

  Her thoughts were so filled with her dreams of destruction that Jed’s actual entrance caught her by surprise; she turned, in a tangle of white chiffon, at the sound of the door.

  “You look guilty, darling,” said Bonham in a dark, silky voice. “What are you looking at?” He strode to her side and surveyed the scene.

  “Nossing!” she said, putting on a smile. “Nossing at all!”

  “Mamzelle, I know when you’re lying to me,” he said, returning the smile.

  You have no idea when I’m lying to you, you stupid bastard, she thought.

  “I order you to tell me,” he commanded.

  “I was looking at un chat, a cat who stopped by my balcony,” she replied.

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all. I told you it was nossing.”

  “Hmf,” he said, sitting down on the chaise lounge. He put his feet up. “Why were you so reluctant to tell me, then?”

  Mamzelle gave a faux-Gallic shrug. “You hate cats.”

  “I surely do. Don’t encourage it. I order you not to feed it. Change your hair and come rub my feet.”

  “As you wish,” she said. She shook her hair out into the golden wheat color he preferred, and which, consequently, she’d come to hate. It won’t be long until I find out who Misi’s master is, she thought as she rubbed his gnarly feet. And then, you will die, Jed Bonham, as prolonged and as painfully as I can manage.

  When Annabelle returned from the schoolhouse to the Hopewell, she went straight to her room, took off her dress and lay down in the cool of her bedroom. The noise of that schoolroom! I may not survive this assignment, she thought just before she drowsed off.

  Misi scratching at the bedroom window woke her. She slipped into a wrapper and let him in, closing the curtains behind him. “You’re in something more comfortable,” he complained.

  “Oh, all right, go ahead,” she said.

  He gave a quick hop and landed on two feet instead of four. “Boy, what a day,” he groaned, unfolding his arms and wiggling his fingers before settling himself in the room’s only chair.

  “You’re telling me,” said Annie, sitting back down on the bed. “What happened to you?”

  Misi quickly recounted his conversation with Mamzelle, leaving out the part where Mamzelle offered to kill her; if anyone’s killing her, it’s me, he told himself. “And I left the Palace in the opposite direction, to throw her off.”

  “I wonder if the Sheriff knows she’s the one who’s been killing the greenhorns. She wants you to kill Bonham for her?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Misi. “She wants everyone here dead.”

  “Can’t say as I blame her,” mused Annabelle. “I haven’t used you that badly, have I, Misi?”

  “No comment.”

  Annabelle laughed. “I’ll be more careful, then. Has she made me yet?”

  “Nope, but not for lack of trying. I don’t know how much time we’ve got before she does, Annie, and then we’re in trouble.”

  “Hm. Were you able to find out anything about the contamination?”

  Misi shook his furry head. “I’m leading up to it. I thought it’d be a little too suspicious to just come right out with the questions.”

  “Good thinking, kitty.” Annie realized she was hungry and consulted her brooch on the bedside table. “Ralph must have dinner going by now. I’m off. You can stay in that form, but you have to stay in here if you do. And if anyone even sounds like they’re coming in, you are to change back into a cat. Understood?”

  “Yes’m,” grumbled Misi.

  Downstairs, Julian Hopewell met her in the doorway of the dining room. “Miss Duniway, have you heard? Looks like they caught the little ruffian who defaced your schoolhouse.”

  “Oh?” said Annabelle, startled. “Who is it?”

  “Georgie Prake,” said the hotel owner, rocking on his heels. “Coulda said the boy would end up in the jailhouse. Tied my shoelaces together once, the brat,” he added under his breath.

  “The jailhouse? Surely Sheriff Runnels didn’t put him in jail?”

  “He surely did, miss. He’s in there right now!”

  “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed.

  Georgie didn’t do it, she was positive. The boy was full of beans, but he wasn’t destructive, and he seemed to like school. No. More and more, she thought it was Jamie.

  She’d sensed adulterated ore on him. The Treasury’s encoders were hazy on what that hidden spell would ultimately do, but one thing they would tell her: unless the person carrying it was the encoder, it might make him do things he mightn’t do otherwise--and not remember it.

  She ate a hasty dinner of chicken and dumplings. She usually commented when the food was good, and Ralph had outdone himself that night--but she said nothing to him as she hurried out the door. His dejected face brightened, though, when he saw that Miss Duniway had practically licked the plate clean. Too bad she’d run toward the jail when he had a second helping saved for her and everything. He supposed he’d have to eat it himself.

  Dusk darkened the town; the full moon would be up soon, thought Annabelle as she strode across the still-crowded street. Mamzelle might venture out tonight. It was tempting to go after the demon herself, but she couldn’t risk it; maybe Misi could distract the madam from her hunt. She opened the door to the jail, its bell jangling.

  John and Rabbit turned at the sound; Rabbit let out a dismayed sigh, but they both stood. “Miss Duniway, to what do we owe the pleasure at this hour of the evening?” said John.

  “Good evening, Sheriff. I was looking in on Georgie, I heard you had him lo
cked up in here.”

  “We sent him home hours ago with a good scare. It’s not very wise for a lady to be out in this town after dark. Perhaps I should see you home.”

  “I thank you for your concern, but it’s unnecessary,” she said.

  “In truth, Miss Duniway, we’re closing for the night,” said Rabbit, his voice shaking.

  “Closing?”

  “Closing,” declared John, moving to shoo her out the door.

  Just at that moment, the moon decided to slip over the horizon, its pale rays glinting silver on the river and ashen on the dusty streets and buildings. Rabbit gave a despairing cry. “It’s too late, Johnny, don’t open the door! Oh, miss, I’m sorry you have to see this!”

  Episode 12: Creature of the Night, Pistol on the Right

  John rushed to his brother’s side, whipping off the bandana around his neck. To Annabelle’s astonishment, he stuffed it in the deputy’s mouth and guided the gagged and sobbing man gently to the floor. “It hurts, Miss Duniway, and he screams a lot,” said John. “I’m here, Rab, I won’t let go, I promise!”

  “‘M srry!” whimpered Rabbit around the bandanna.

  “Not your fault!” said John.

  “What’s happening, Sheriff Runnels?” demanded Annabelle. “Should I be going for the doctor?”

  “Don’t open that door!” said John savagely. “I told you to go and now you can’t, you have to stay here! If he gets out--”

  Rabbit screamed, high and piercing even through the bandanna. The deputy began to shake and struggle in his brother’s arms, and to Annabelle’s horror, brown fur sprouted from his skin. His face lengthened; his eyes moved toward the sides of his head, and his ears to the top. Annabelle let the small derringer rigged to her forearm slide unnoticed into her right hand as Rabbit’s front teeth grew and his nails turned to claws.

  Then, to her amazement, he began to shrink. He grew so small he slipped straight out of his clothes; John held tight, taking one hand off only long enough to pull the bandanna out of the deputy’s altered mouth before it choked him. In the end, instead of his lanky brother, John held a huge brown hare the size of a terrier, long-eared, gangly, and long-legged--unmistakably Rabbit Runnels, in the form of an actual rabbit.

  Annabelle let out a breath and slipped the derringer back up her forearm. “This explains the nickname,” she said in a trembling voice. She was no longer afraid; she knew such things as wolf-men and other creatures existed, but she’d never seen a man actually transform.

  “He had the nickname before,” said John bitterly. The hare kicked as John stood up. “There now, little brother, it’s all right. Into bed for the night.” He carried Rabbit to the corner cell, where a large wire cage sat; inside, a well-chewed blanket made a kind of nest, and a bowl of clover and dandelion leaves sat invitingly nearby. He shooed Rabbit inside and latched the door, then closed the cell.

  “Hey thar, li’l feller,” crooned a voice. “I’ll keep ya company, don’t worry.”

  Annabelle started, staring about for its source.

  “Aloysius,” said John, sagging into a chair. “Nothing to be afraid of. He’s just a ghost.”

  “Pleased to make yer acquaintance, miss,” said Aloysius. “Sorry to give you a fright.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she replied gravely. “And it’s all right, you didn’t frighten me.”

  “You don’t seem too shook up by any of this, Miss Duniway,” observed John.

  “I’ve met ghosts before. The academy was haunted,” she said, omitting that it was Lincoln Academy, where the government trained its most promising agents, and not where she allegedly took her teacher training.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “When did it happen?” she deflected. “When did he get bit?”

  John sighed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “When we came here last year. This place is--excuse my language, Miss Duniway, but by the Method, this is a cursed place! It draws all manner of wicked things--demons, spirits, were-things. Ghosts form, if you’re not careful.”

  “I fail to see how hangin’ a feller goes careful-like however you do it,” said Aloysius.

  “You got hung for a reason, horse thief,” said John. “The hills are riddled with ghosts--men killed for their claims, mostly. And quite frankly, we’ve had to pay for a few visits to Mamzelle’s for--” He reddened. “When we’ve had certain very magically-sensitive, very young men here in town,” he resumed carefully, “we’ve been bothered by poltergeists and have had to take measures to help the young men causing them to...blow off steam.”

  Annabelle got his meaning. When her older brother reached puberty, both his magical talent and his sex drive had been so strong that a poltergeist built around him until their father dragged him off to a bordello and satisfied his frustration. Annabelle wasn’t supposed to know about the whole episode, and so even though she learned early on how to keep her own frustration to a minimum by herself, she kept a blank, uncomprehending face turned toward the Sheriff.

  “Anyway,” said John hastily, “Rabbit caught a hare one night in a wire trap, and it bit him when he went to fetch it for dinner. He killed it and was going to skin it when it turned into a man--an Indian, in fact.”

  “I didn’t think they came near this place.”

  “No, they don’t, but this one was probably driven from his tribe. Nowhere else to go, and then, the ore calls magical creatures. Rabbit gets pretty fidgety when he’s more than fifty miles from this place now. We may be stuck. Oh--where are my manners, Miss Duniway,” he said wearily. “Please, sit down.”

  “Your manners? Oh, please, Sheriff, don’t concern yourself,” she reassured him, though she took Rabbit’s chair across the desk from him. “I’m heartily, heartily sorry for your brother’s dilemma. But why do you keep him locked in like this? Wouldn’t he be happier if you let him run?” She eyed the enormous rabbit, nibbling alternately at the pile of clover and the cage’s grille.

  “Because I’m worried he’d get torn to shreds by a dog or coyote, or caught in a wire trap like the one that bit him. That’s why I wouldn’t let you out--he’s quick, and he’s not himself when he transforms. He’d’ve been out that door lickety-split. He doesn’t remember he’s human, or who Jamie and I are. He’s a wild animal, and like any wild thing, he wants out and away from humans. The only blessing in this whole thing is, he doesn’t remember what happens when he’s a rabbit. He wakes up in the cage--you may note it’s barely big enough for a man--and it’s as if he just went to sleep and had a bad dream.”

  “Who knows?”

  “Jamie. Mayor Prake. Now, you.” John stared across the desk at her, and she felt a telltale blush build on her cheeks; every time he turned that sharp blue gaze on her, she nearly lost her composure. “Again, I wonder why you seem so at home with all this, Miss Duniway.” He leaned forward, and Annabelle’s heart skipped a beat. “Who are you? What’s your game?”

  She colored furiously and stood up. “Sheriff Runnels, I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I find it insulting nonetheless,” she said. “I will tell you why I came here, and then I’ll leave you to it. I came to say I’m almost certain Georgie Prake didn’t deface the schoolhouse.”

  “Oh?” said John, raising his eyebrows. “What makes you so sure?”

  Annabelle bit her lip. How could she explain? “Georgie...Georgie truly seems to enjoy his studies. He’s helpful, he does his homework, he never hesitates when I call him to the board. He’s a very smart young man. I just cannot bring myself to believe that someone who seems to like school so much would try to frighten me off.”

  “So who did it?” said John bluntly.

  Your son, she thought, but said only, “I’m not sure. I just know it wasn’t Georgie. There are plenty of interests in this town that I’m sure would rather it not become more civilized, Sheriff. I suggest you turn your attention there. Good night.”

  John stood as she walked out the door. Brave woman. Wasn’t flustered at al
l, didn’t scream, didn’t faint, barely jumped when Aloysius spoke up. Maybe that derringer strapped to her arm has something to do with it, he thought wryly. Annabelle Duniway was no schoolteacher. And she knew something about the vandalism she wasn’t saying. By the Method, why did she have to be so beautiful?

  Episode 13: Messages

  The wretched Rabbit woke up at dawn inside the wire cage, naked and shivering. “John?” he called weakly.

  “Sheriff’s asleepin,” said Aloysius. “Hey! Runnels! Wake up! Yer brother’s lost his fur!”

  John scrambled up from his cot, instantly awake. “Sorry, Rab, sorry! I’m coming.” He opened the latch on the cage and helped Rabbit to stand; he wrapped his brother in the still-warm blanket from the cot. “Are you all right?”

  “Did I scratch or bite?” said Rabbit. “I’m so afraid I’m going to bite you some day, Johnny--if I ever brought this on you, I’d throw myself in the river!”

  “Don’t talk about that now,” said John. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving!” said Rabbit, sucking on a tooth. “Dang it, I always get clover stuck between my teeth.”

  “Get dressed and we’ll go see what Mrs Smith has for breakfast.”

  Once at their own kitchen table, with huge stacks of their housekeeper’s pancakes in front of them, John finally allowed himself to think about what Rabbit said. Some day, he’d bite John, or worse, Jamie. What could be done? He didn’t know. Rabbit had more than once talked about ending his life, but John always talked him out of it. “You can’t do that to Jamie, little brother. There has to be something someone can do. Some day, someone will find a cure,” he’d say, and his good-natured brother would nod and say, “Of course they will, Johnny,” and give his sunny, lopsided smile. Such dark thoughts usually put him off his breakfast, but he was so very hungry, and Mrs Smith was such a good cook.

  He waved Jamie off to school and sent Rabbit back to mind the jail. There was only the one prisoner: the man who’d knocked his mining partner over the head at the Lucky Pint. He’d never fully woken from his drunk, still sprawled on the bunk in his cell and occasionally muttering to himself. Doc Horridge said the man had a wet brain, and might never wake up to face the noose. But then, his injured partner still lingered on, so maybe it wouldn’t come to a hanging after all. That’d disappoint a fair number of folks in town, thought John as he put on his hat and left the house, but they’d just have to make do with other entertainment.