The Way of the Black Beast (17 page)

One outbuilding they passed harbored three men working amongst a mountain of sawdust. Guitars in various stages of construction hung from every available wall, post, and rafter. Next, a row of well-kept but cheaply-made buildings lined the way. Each appeared to be packed with people sleeping.

They rounded a corner and approached the stables. One squat building on the right Malja took for an outhouse, but when she peeked inside, she saw a man in a black suit standing on a stool before a cracked and smudged mirror. Another man circled his legs, making marks on his clothes with a white stone while nearby two women used needles and thread on some cut cloth. Malja had seen Gregor mend his shirts and pants before, but never had she seen such fine threads and delicate work.

Three stable boys hurried forward and walked all seven horses away, leaving Malja and Fawbry heading with the men toward the house. A chubby fellow rocked on a wooden chair and smoked a pipe. His pale skin stood out amongst all his darker brethren.

"Get out of my chair, Suzu," the guitarist said.

Suzu bounced out and lowered his head. "Sorry, Willie."

Willie took his seat and strummed a few chords. "Go tell her we're back. Tell her I got two birds. Ask her what she wants with them."

"You got it, Willie. I'll be right back." Suzu hurried inside while the group listened to Willie play — nothing fancy, but a pleasant tune with a steady rhythm like a trotting horse.

A sweating laborer walked by with a basket of potatoes on his shoulder. "Hey, Willie," he said with a booming voice.

"Hey, Rev. We gonna have a feast tonight?"

"You know it. Might even gut a knonol in honor of our guests."

"Oh, that'd be great. I love what Cook can do with a knonol."

"That's the truth."

The men laughed, and Rev rounded the house with a joyous step. Malja had seen towns filled with people who found peace and happiness in a special harmony they built between each other and working the land — rare but she had seen them. She had also seen towns ruled by madmen and followers who thrived on abducting the unfortunate and carving up their bodies and souls for survival. But never had she seen both co-exist. How Willie could be an assassin, a Bluesman, and also carry on with Rev like a happy farmer baffled her.

Suzu returned with a glass of some gold-brown drink. Little clear cubes bobbed in the glass, making odd chiming clinks. He leaned his bulk over and whispered to Willie. Eyeing Malja with both fascination and trepidation, Suzu went back inside.

With a nod at Shotgun, Willie said, "She wants them locked up. Don't take any guff, but keep them alive."

Malja didn't know the word
guff,
but she got the idea. She stayed silent and Fawbry only grunted as they were roughly handled. Shotgun guided them to the stables — ten stalls, five on each side, and a wide path down the middle. Shotgun opened a stall and tied them to the barred door. As he backed out, he tipped his head with a contrite but firm expression. He pulled a stool over and lowered with a relieved exhale.

"I don't play guitar as good as Willie, but if you want, I'll play awhile for you."

Malja turned away. She had worried that Fawbry's cowardly streak would cause her trouble, but looking at him, she saw rage. She nodded at him —
I feel the same.

"I hate you," he said. Her surprise must have shown because he continued. "I may not have been doing great, but my life was a lot better before I met you."

"I didn't ask for you to come along here. I wanted to leave you at Dead Lake."

"Well, don't worry. When we get out of here, I'm leaving you and all your stupidity."

"I'm not the one who blew up that house."

Fawbry rattled the gate and kicked at the hay floor. "Hey, can I be put in another stall? Please. I can't stand to be with her."

Shotgun raised his hands and shrugged.

With another kick at the door, Fawbry said to Malja, "Y'know, if you would just let this all go, so many people would be alive right now. Death is all over you like perfume, and you don't care. Poor, little Malja is mad at her daddies so everybody must suffer. Have you ever stopped long enough to think about what a mess you've made of all this?" While he barked out all his frustration, Malja wanted to defend herself but felt as if Gregor, not Fawbry, criticized her actions. She stood like a scolded schoolgirl. She could see his disapproving frown and wanted to hug him.
This is for you, Uncle Gregor. I do this for what they did to you.
But as the figure before her pounded the stable door, she saw Fawbry once again.

His voice rose as he continued his rant. "Jarik and Callib — clearly they don't want you finding them. They don't love you. And for most of us scattered around the world, Jarik and Callib don't matter. They're just names."

"You're wrong 'bout that," Shotgun said. "Those magicians are nothing good, but they're far more than just names."

"Great. Thanks. Now I can't even argue without somebody interfering."

Malja took a sharp look at Shotgun. "What do you know about Jarik and Callib?"

"Kryssta help me," Fawbry said. "Have you heard nothing I've said? Let it go or we'll all be killed. You want Tommy dead?"

Malja shoved Fawbry aside. Swiping her hair away from her eyes, she returned to Shotgun. "You were going to say something about the magicians."

"Me? I got nothing to say." Shotgun stood and scratched his chin. He sauntered out of view for a moment, every step infused with a cockiness that under different circumstances Malja would find attractive. When he returned, he held Viper. He practiced a few swipes, inspected the blade, and even ran his thumb on the edge. "This is a fine weapon."

"I know," she said, gritting her teeth.

"Lots of chinks in it, though. Must've tasted a lot of action."

"Keep playing with it, and I'll see it gets a taste of you."

His confidence faltered, but he brought it back quickly. He did place Viper gently on the ground, though. Refusing to meet Malja's eyes, he settled on his stool and crossed his arms. Malja called to him and banged the gate, but he refused to answer. He cast his gaze outside.

I couldn't have scared him that much.
But something had shifted. Fawbry crouched as far from her as his bonds would allow. Malja leaned back against the gate.
Wait, listen, and observe.
The more information she had about her opponents, the more chances she'll have at success — Gregor taught her that.

Hours later, after the sun had set, Suzu appeared. He whispered to Shotgun, who stretched his legs. "Time to go," he said. As Fawbry rose, Shotgun shook his head. "Just her. You stay with me for now."

"Of course," Fawbry said and slumped down.

Suzu led Malja along the dirt path to the house. Little bags with candles lined the path. Two armed men guarded the porch. Even from halfway down, Malja could hear the party. Giddy yelps, explosive laughter, shouted names — all riding the crest of a thundering music wave.

Off to the side, a group of people formed a large circle. Two dogs were let loose, growling and barking and fighting. People cheered and laughed.

At the porch, however, Suzu turned away from the door, leading her around the side. A rusting ladder connected to metal stairs that jutted from the wall ended at a platform and door high above. "Go," Suzu said, pointing upward.

"Can't climb with my hands tied behind my back." Suzu pursed his lips and searched for someone to help him decide what to do. Though Malja enjoyed watching him wiggle in discomfort, she had more important matters at hand. "Relax. I want to go up there to meet your boss."

"She ain't my boss. She's just—"

"Shut up, Suzu," Willie called as he turned the corner. He had taken off his suit coat, and his fine shirt stuck to his chest with sweat. "I'll take her up." Suzu relinquished Malja with grateful relief and scurried away.

Willie escorted her into a small, sumptuous apartment. The pounding party downstairs reverberated in the floor and walls. Willie directed her to an overstuffed chair and waited by the door. Low candlelight and deep-red paint closed the room in. All the furniture had been carved with intricate patterns and several portraits of guitarists hung on the walls. In the distance, Malja heard a dog yelp followed by a huge cheer erupting from the circle of onlookers.

A woman entered from a dark hall. At first, Malja only saw the dress — a slinky, red cloth that hung loose and low. It sparkled off the candles. As the woman closed in, her dark skin finally contrasted enough to be seen. She was exquisite. Malja rarely found women appealing, but this time she thought she saw what men found so interesting. Though flat-chested and more straight than curvy, sexuality slid off this woman like lava burning down a mountainside.

She flowed into a chair opposite Malja and with a rich, silken drawl said, "My. Look at you. All grown up."

"You're Cole Watts?" Malja knew the answer, felt it the second she saw the woman, but she had to ask anyway. Gregor had many sayings on the subject of assumptions.

"I am," Cole said. "And you're a very special young lady."

"Is that why your people have been trying to kill me? Because I'm so special?"

If Malja's abrasiveness rattled Cole, she never showed it. In fact, the more tension Malja felt, the smoother Cole seemed to become. Crossing her legs, showing off her strong, tone calf, Cole said, "Sweetie, think about it. I've had you under guard for quite awhile. If I'd been trying to kill you, why would you still be alive?"

"You've certainly been trying to stop me from finding Jarik and Callib."

"That I have been doing. But not for any reasons you might think of."

"Then why don't you tell me."

"Mmm, yes, we'll get to that. But first, Willie, please excuse us."

Willie leveled his hard eyes on Cole. "I think it best I stay. To protect you."

"That's very thoughtful," Cole said, her voice harder than his eyes. "However, it's entirely unnecessary. Malja's a seasoned fighter. She won't harm me until she knows such an action will help her. She's not rash. Willie dear, you could learn quite a bit from a woman like this."

"Maybe so, but —"

"Willie. This office don't belong to you, yet. So leave now." As an afterthought, she flashed a faux smile. "Please."

Clenching his hands, Willie said, "Of course. My apologies."

Cole watched him until he turned and walked out, closing the door with a loud bang. Returning her seductive smile, she faced Malja. "It's never easy being a leader, is it? Something we have in common, I imagine, considering Fawbry."

"He can be trying."

"Why that's an understatement."

Raucous laughter pushed up from party. Malja asked, "What's the celebration?"

Cole rose and poured a drink at a small counter. Her hands moved smooth and sure, but they were calloused and scarred. "Dear sweet Malja, you ain't ready for that party. No, ma'am, not just yet."

"Okay. Since you won't answer my questions, I guess your pal Willie might help me out."

"A little patience, please. This is our 'getting friendly' phase. Or if you prefer, this is foreplay. We'll get to the hard action soon enough. And as for Willie — well, I suppose that's part of what this is about. That is to say, just who is it you're going to support?"

"I have no interest in your games."

"'Course you do. You want Jarik and Callib, don't you? Well then, you'll have to help me out."

"Fawbry warned me you were ambitious."

"Oh, I'm a lot of things."

"So what is it you want? How do I help you?"

Cole returned to her chair like a spider that knows its prey is caught. "Right now, patience. I've got a party to attend or I'll lose some support. Next time we meet, you'll understand, and then we'll see if you'll help me." Cole finished her drink. "I'm off now. Willie's waiting outside to take you back. Goodnight."

Walking back down the candlelit path with Willie just behind her, Malja tried to digest her brief meeting with Cole. The woman certainly intrigued her, but Cole's strangeness worried her more — in this case, strange meant unpredictable. If Malja wanted to get free but also obtain the whereabouts of her fathers, she'd have to find a way to make Cole predictable. Or get real lucky. When Willie placed a firm hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the stables, she knew luck had abandoned her.

He took her into the middle of the fields where only the moonlight revealed them. Two men joined up — he called one Robert and the other Lonnie. More oddball names — and she thought Tommy was a funny name.

"Is he ready?" Willie asked.

Lonnie kept his eyes on the house. "He's the best he's gonna be. I don't promise anything beyond that."

"I know. Thanks for doing what you could."

Robert kicked a clump of dirt. "C'mon, let's get this done before anybody wonders where we gone to."

Grabbing Malja's arm, Willie led the group toward a rundown shack on the far end of the field. Next to the shack, the necessary equipment for making alcohol sat. Heat radiated outward and with it a sour odor — the machine rarely got rest, Malja guessed. They didn't stop there, however. They walked for several minutes — well beyond the tilled land and into the harsh world just outside the oasis. They came upon two men seated before a rock face. One of the men strummed a sad tune on a beaten guitar while the other blew a soft accompaniment into a mouth harp. Neither stopped playing as Willie approached, but the guitarist did acknowledge him with a nod.