Devon Monk - Dead Iron

The brothers drank. Both watched him from over the tops of their cups. Cedar sniffed his drink. Moonshine. He swigged it back in one shot. It plowed a hot path down between his ribs to his stomach, and left the taste of pine sap in his mouth.

“I’ve had enough of gods, strong and Strange,” Cedar said. “But I thank you anyway. Afternoon, Madders.” He stood from the table and started across the chamber. “If you’d open the door, I’ll be on my way.”

Just as the words left his mouth, the door to the chamber opened. Cedar glanced back at the brothers to see if they had somehow devised a way to trip the lock from a distance.

“Ho, there, those within,” Bryn, the middle brother, called out. “Is there room for two more?”

Cedar did not want to involve himself any more than he had to with the Madders’ business. Seemed that each time he crossed paths with them, it cost him more than he wanted to give. Meetings with the Madder brothers were best done two ways: quickly and infrequently.

He did not expect to see Mrs. Jeb Lindson walking out of the shine of day into the deeper lamplight of the room.

She wore the same dress as this morning, but had put on a silk bonnet that made her brown eyes wide and warm, and cast her lips in a soft shade of pink. She’d been riding, that was clear, and the wind had tugged some of her fine blond hair out from under her bonnet, so that it fell in a gold curl against her cheek. He found himself entertaining the thought of what her hair would look like unbound, spilling around her bare shoulders—yellow as sunlight and soft as silk. Then wondering if her skin, white as moonlight, would be softer still, beneath his hands.

Mrs. Lindson folded her fingers over the bag on her wrist and gave him a calm look. He glanced away while adjusting his hat, buying up time to brush off the thoughts and heat that she stirred up in him.

She was lovely; that was plain sure. And every time he set eyes on her, he was reminded of feelings he never thought he’d own again. Feelings he’d only ever known with his wife.

“Hello, Mr. Hunt,” she said. That calm greeting of hers held a dark fury, a desperation.

“Ma’am.” Cedar stopped fiddling with his hat and schooled his features. The brim had brushed against the goggles still fitted on his head and made his forehead itch.

“Have you reconsidered my offer?” she asked. Her words caught deep in her throat, as if wedging between sorrows before finding their way out.

Cedar said nothing. He’d given her his answer. It wouldn’t change. He couldn’t entertain so much as the idea of looking for her man’s killer until he gave the lost boy a chance to be found alive first. “I’m sorry. No, ma’am.”

Mae Lindson dropped her gaze. “I see.” When she looked back up at him, he could tell the woman had made a decision. There was death in her eyes. “Then I wish you the best, Mr. Hunt.”

Sounded like she wished him the best grave, or the best hanging rope.

“Didn’t know this was going to be a proper social,” Alun said, “or I would have washed up a few more cups.”

“I’ll be on my way,” Cedar said.

“Now, now, we wouldn’t think of it, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “Come sit with us a spell longer. I’m sure Mrs. Lindson would enjoy the company.”

Mae didn’t look to him, but Cedar suddenly realized the situation from her angle. She was alone, possibly unarmed, and in the home of three men who had locks that could seal a person away in the mountain until the world wound down.

And even though the day burned on, and little Elbert’s time grew shorter and shorter, he wasn’t possessed of the kind of morals to leave a woman alone with the miners.

He tugged Wil’s watch out of his waistcoat and glanced at the time. There was still a good seven hours of daylight ahead of him. He’d be able to cover a fair bit of ground before the moon came up. And if the silver fork led him lucky, he might yet find the boy.

He tucked the watch back into his vest pocket.

The Madder brothers had gone awful quiet. Alun and Cadoc stared at him like he’d just turned into a rattlesnake.

The brothers took a step toward him and Mae Lindson. Bryn Madder, still standing at the mouth of the chamber, spun the big brass captain’s wheel and sent the door rolling on its hidden tracks.

“Tell us, Mrs. Lindson,” Alun began, mild as church tea. “How is it we can assist you today?”

“I am looking to buy a weapon to kill a man.”

“What sort of man?” Alun asked.

That, Cedar thought, was an interesting question. Most people would ask what sort of weapon she wanted.

“A monster. A murderer. The man who killed my husband.”

“You had your eyes on his killer?” Bryn asked as he sauntered over from the door. “Know his height, build, manners?”

“No.”

Bryn sucked on his teeth, disapproving.

“Is there a weapon you prefer to kill men with, Mrs. Lindson?” Alun asked.

“Something,” she said, “that will make sure even his soul can’t be found.”

Alun laughed and so did Bryn. Cadoc Madder stared at Mae like a drift of snow had fallen out of a summer sky and landed right here in the middle of their dining room.

“A gun, I’m thinking, will do enough damage to unbreathe a man,” Alun said. “Strong enough to break bone, stop a heart, unhinge the soul.” He gave her a tight smile. “And not so powerful that a lady will feel the weight of its burden.”

“It will be no burden in my hands.” Mae stepped forward and touched Alun’s arm.

His eyebrows shot up, but he did not pull away. Looked for all the world like he had suddenly been frozen in ice.

“You will find me the weapon that will destroy my husband’s killer. The cost will be bartered between us. There are promises I can make you that are worth more than any coin.”

Cedar took a step back. There was something in her words, a push, a power. It reminded him too much of the Pawnee god, and the curse the god had invoked. Fear, instinct, a good head for danger, made Cedar lift his gun, barrel tipping just up from the floor. He took a breath, ready to level the gun at her if need be.

Mae Lindson let go of Alun’s arm. He exhaled like he was coming up from underwater. His face flushed red as a hot coal. “Keep your hands to yourself, witch. Our kind have no quarrel with you. But I’m not unwilling to reconsider my stance.” He turned on his heel and barked at his brother. “Bring the gun she wants, Bryn. I want her out of here.”

Bryn scurried across the room and through the same door into the room Alun had entered to retrieve the tuning forks.

Mae looked after him. Unconcerned. Calm, except for her fingers that tapped against the purse she held in one hand. At that motion, the clink of coins rubbed like spurs inside the purse. Between Cedar’s and Mae’s offerings, the Madders would be making a grand wage today.

“Will the coin cover your price, Mr. Madder, or will other agreements be necessary?” Mae asked.

“Agreements,” he muttered. “Curses, more like. And you of the white magic. What would your sisters say if they saw you bargaining for a gun?”

“My sisters are not here, Mr. Madder, and I would thank you to keep them, and any mention of them, out of our business.”

Alun opened his mouth, but Mae spoke first.

“Please, Mr. Madder. Some mercy.”

He paused, then clamped his mouth shut with an audible click, and stomped to the table. He filled the cup again and drank the moonshine like it was water, shifting his glower between Mae and Cedar.

“You, Mrs. Lindson, are too quick to offer up such things that are in your power. And you, Mr. Hunt, are too reluctant to do the same. But when you both come to my mountain asking my favor, on the same bright morning after the full moon, it is I who sets the price.”