Kelli Stanley - The Curse-Maker

My feet crunched on something as I walked toward the entrance, and I bent down to see what it was. A clay cup, exactly the kind used to extract silver from lead.

This was supposed to be a lead mine, not a silver mine. And it was supposed to be closed.

I rubbed my finger inside the bowl of the cup. Fine metallic dust covered the tip. He sure as hell was an energetic ghost. Maybe he was trying to scrape up enough cash to pay the ferryman.

I tucked the cup in my saddlebag and took out my favorite club. No metal to catch a gleam of failing light; big enough to crack a head. I just hoped it wouldn’t be my own.

I walked slowly toward the mine opening, my feet crunching on bits of charred wood and broken cups. The cave loomed open like a Cyclops’s mouth. Busy mine. Fire marks scarred the rock around the hole, where they’d used fire and water to crack open the mountainside, Gaia’s wealth spread out for the taking. On the ground, fifty feet from the entrance, there were embers of fresher vintage. Still glowing. Someone built a fire and didn’t want any smoke.

I repositioned the club in my right hand. He’d be nearby. I flattened against the side of the mountain and inched toward the entrance.

Nimbus nickered again. A sturdily built man in a thick, filthy tunic, face covered in dirt and lead dust, cautiously crept out of the opening. He was going for my horse.

I waited until he was in front of me. Before I could land a blow on his back, he heard or felt me behind him and spun. There was a long, sharp knife in his fist.

The club landed on his arm. He yelped, dropping his hand, but didn’t drop the knife. Quickly it passed to his other hand. Just what I liked, after an all-day ride. An ambidextrous knife-fighter.

We stood and watched one another for a minute. No feints, no circling, no snarling. He was a professional. I was, too-but not with clubs.

I said: “Why don’t you show me around?”

He looked at me, face too dirty for expression.

“Why not?” He motioned with the knife toward the cave. “After you.”

I laughed. “I’m not that stupid. We go in side by side.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you’d like.”

We walked beside one another, keeping a distance. He was getting more confident. Maybe he’d make a mistake. Hopefully before I did.

I knew the cave would be dark, and my eyes would need time to adjust. So I started blinking them quickly, and he got a little closer. Probably figured there was dirt in my eyes. When we reached the outside of the cave, I faced him, so that I was standing sideways. I could see a little way in, and still watch him.

A shuffling noise came from inside, and the unique odor of donkey hit my nose.

“What’s the donkey for?”

He spat on the ground. “Stubborn bastard. Works the screw pump, keeps the water out.”

“So you’re down pretty deep.”

He eyed me. “Yeah. We’re deep enough. Wanna see?”

I smiled. “Not tonight.”

The donkey was on a short tether and started to walk toward the light. There were raised, bloody welts on its back. Hip bones stuck up where they shouldn’t, ribs protruding through the scarred scruff of fur. It raised a hopeful, bleary eye toward the waning sun.

He raised his knife toward it, still watching me, and made a movement like he was going to hit it. The donkey’s head flinched, and it took a step backward.

“So that’s what you do for fun, all the way out here. When you’re not stealing lead and silver, that is.”

He spit again. “What I do-and what I do it to-is none of your goddamn business.”

I was too angry to be careful. Fuck careful. I’d take this bastard, and I’d take him now. He saw it in my face.

He lunged for my side, but I swung the club low, figuring he’d think I’d go for his head-the most satisfying, but hardest target. It caught him on the side and back of his knees, and he fell backward with a yell.

He tried to grab his knees in reflex, but I already had mine pushing down on his chest. I smashed his hand against a helpful boulder and watched it crumple. It wouldn’t hold a whip for a while. He couldn’t breathe much, and whined between his teeth, and the knife finally came loose. I scooped it up and tucked it in my belt. I was breathing hard.

“Get-off-me!” he hissed.

I was beginning to like hitting people like him. I punched him in the face. Twice. My knuckles got scratched when the teeth broke off. Then he was out. He’d be eating a soft diet of donkey shit for a long time to come.

I climbed off and looked down at him. He obviously couldn’t give me any information, but he wasn’t worth carting back to town. I doubted he knew the kind I needed, anyway. The rest I could see for myself.

I walked into the cave, and the donkey shied away from me. I held my hands up to her and untied the greasy, grimy rope she was moored to.

There were niches all over the walls for lamps, and a few looked like they worked. Clay cups were stacked in the corner. Pitch-lined buckets, copper pails, and chisels and picks were strewn against the sides of the cave. It led into a back gallery that looked at least as large-probably where they kept the water pump.

I led her out. She didn’t want to trust me, but she’d seen what I’d done and took a chance. I got her outside and gave her some water and most of Nimbus’s oats. Nimbus gave me a dirty look and sniffed at the donkey as if she smelled bad.

I put the donkey on a long tether, securing it around a spiny dogwood branch. She was in bad shape, but I figured freedom would help her get down the mountain.

The bastard was still unconscious. I fought an urge to kick him when I walked back inside. It was getting dark, and I took some flint and lit one of the lamps along the wall. Started to walk toward the other gallery.

A crunching noise behind me made me spin. Nobody. Probably the donkey. I breathed again. When I reached the arched opening, I found the reason for the ghost.

Silver. A lot of it. Unmarked ingots, not stamped, no money going back to Rome. Rome wouldn’t like that. She never liked people who cheated on their lease.

A silver mine, not a lead mine. Cousins, sure, and incestuous ones, too-you could get the silver out of the heavier metal with fire and the clay cups. But this was more than extraction. This was a good-sized vein.

I turned around to leave and the world went black. Somebody was digging for something in my own head. And he was using a pick.

Goddamn it. I screwed up. There were two of them …

I opened my eyes and saw exactly what I expected. A stubbly-faced man with worried eyes stared down at me in the dark as if he were waiting for something. The black fog around him started to clear, and I wondered why the ferryman looked so damn big. Then a pain that made my toenails quiver shot through my head. I was alive. I squinted. The ferryman looked familiar.

“Draco? What the hell-Draco?!”

He shrank back, as if I were going to jump up and chase him away.

“I-I came with a message from Bilicho, and the mistress-I mean-your wife-sent me after you. She-she said she didn’t want you to know. So I followed you here.”

He stood up. He was thinner than usual, and the only thing up here that looked genuinely haunted. I didn’t want to be the one to tell him that Coir wasn’t worth it. I rolled over on my side and groaned, then tried to push myself up.

He helped me to my feet. We were standing outside of the cave, near the fire, and the darkness did nothing to lesson my feeling that any second Cerberus would take a bite out of my ass. I rubbed my eyes. The ears still worked. I could hear the horses snatching illicit bites of thistle.

I tried to walk and wobbled instead, like a bird just out of the nest. As soon as I could stand without his arm, I figured my head would live to be hit another day. I took a good look at my new freedman.