Elementary (15 page)

“There's no one out here to help you, girl,” said the old man. “So quit that racket!”

Pearl did as she was told, but couldn't help whimpering with the rifle in her face. Garnet clung to her sister, as much out of fear as support. “Please, just let us go,” she begged. “You can have the amulet.”

The old man shook his head. “No, I'm not worthy to hold Master Marco's focus. I can only work in his name. But you two . . .” He gave them a toothy grin that had more than a few gaps in it. “You would make a fine addition to his empire. I've got prey to hunt, and you're coming with me to find it, even if it takes us to California.”

The sisters dared a glance at each other. If everything the man said was true, then his master had been dead for fifteen years. He must have been crazy if he thought there was still an “empire” after all this time.

Keeping the rifle trained on the girls, the old man bent down to pick up his rucksack. While his gaze was averted, Pearl clutched the focus and quickly whispered the words to the calling spell.

The old man snapped his head up. “What was that you just did? Answer me!”

“N-nothing,” Pearl stammered, dropping her hands. “Just a prayer.”

The old man snarled. “You lie, girl. I'm old, but I'm not stupid. I've served Master Marco for many years, longer than there's been a state of Colorado. I may not know any magic for myself, but I know the ways of it. So I'll tell you one last time, tell me what spell you've made, or I'll break it by ending you right where you stand!”

Garnet spoke up quickly for her sister. “It was for protection! It would make our skin hard as stone if you tried to shoot us.”

The old man squinted at Garnet and scowled. “I'm not going to shoot you, girl. Not yet, anyhow. You're much too valuable. But that doesn't mean I won't reappraise that value if I have to. Now help me break this camp. We've got a lot of walking to do before sundown.”

The girls did as they were told without another word. When they had packed up the tent and cooking gear, they were a bit relieved that their captor didn't make them carry any of it. The old man simply told them to start heading west and kept behind them with the rifle ready.

By the time the sun hit the horizon, Pearl and Garnet were numb from the cold and exhausted. They hadn't spoken a word the entire time for fear of angering the old man, making do with holding each other's hand for support. The old man hadn't spoken to them, either, just mumbled to himself.

The old man finally stopped and spoke. “We camp here for tonight. Now how about you work a little magic to get us some meat for dinner?”

Pearl paled and shuddered in revulsion. To ask her to do such a thing was cruel. “I don't know any spells like that, sir,” she lied. “But my sister can find us some edible plants.”

The old man made a face. “Fine. But don't go where I can't see you. You run, I shoot.”

The girls were more than happy to get some distance between them, even for a little bit. Garnet made herself busy scrounging around for whatever she could find, while Pearl kept an eye on the old man making camp and peered off into the gathering darkness.

“No sign of any help?” whispered Garnet.

Pearl shook her head. “Not that I can see,” she whispered back. “My bear can't have gotten that far. I called for him specifically.”

Garnet smiled at “my bear” but kept the amusement to herself. “Try casting the spell one more time, just to be sure. Just say it was to help me, if
he
asks.”

Pearl nodded and clutched at the focus, pushing everything out of her mind but the bear as she cast the calling spell. With the spell away, the girls returned to the camp with a bucketful of roots and leaves. The old man grumbled about the lack of meat, but quieted down once Garnet got a stew going.

After their meal, the sisters sat quietly by the fire while the old man spun grand tales of Master Marco: the vastness of his empire, its wealth in gems and gold, and the feats of magic he had performed. Despite their family's modest wealth and magical ability, Pearl and Garnet had been raised to be grateful for what they had and were rather unimpressed with his stories.

“All right, into the tent with you,” the old man finally said. “We've a long day of walking ahead of us.”

As the girls stood up, there was a loud crash of breaking wood off in the darkness. The old man sprang to his feet, aiming his rifle out toward the sound, while the girls clung to each other and edged to the far side of the fire.

There was another crash, closer this time, and the old man shouted, “You stop right there or I'll shoot!”

A furious roar echoed through the trees. A large black bear came crashing through the trees, bearing down on the old man. He raised his rifle. Garnet cried out and lunged, ruining his aim, but not before he could get a shot off. The bullet grazed the bear's shoulder but didn't slow him down.

With another roar, the bear swiped at the old man and sent him flying. The old man hit the ground without a sound. The bear stumbled back a step, looked at Pearl, and slumped to the ground. Pearl immediately ran over and put her arms around him.

“You brave, silly thing,” said Pearl, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Please be all right . . .”

A muted glow surrounded the bear, and to the girls' shock, it began to shrink and take the form of a man, just like in their father's story. The glow subsided, and the man sat up on his knees, taking Pearl's hand and smiling. “I am now, thanks to the both of you.”

Before either sister could find her voice, a man on a horse came through the trees where the bear had crashed through. He dismounted and walked toward the trio. To the girls' relief, his was a familiar face.

“Uncle Silas!” the girls cried, running to him and hugging him tightly. “How did you find us?” asked Garnet.

Silas nodded at the young man. “You can thank him for that. Three nights ago I felt a strong surge of magic around here, all the way from St. Elmo. I headed out this way to investigate when I came upon your bear here. I sensed the magic on him, different from the first. He led me this way, where I found you two. Now, what are
you
doing out here?”

“Rescuing me,” the young man answered, extending his hand to Silas. “Bernhard Furst is my name.”

Silas took his hand. “I know your family. From Utah, yes?”

Bernhard nodded. “We were, until Marco came along. His lust for power drove him to claim our family's land and bespell us. We were cursed to wander as wild animals. I made my way here in search of your family, hoping you could help. Turns out I was right in a way.”

Bernard turned to Pearl and took her hand. “Radiant Pearl, you and Garnet have done us all proud. Your compassion and strength were a balm to me. I owe you much. Pearl, with your family's blessing and when you are of age, could I have the honor of your hand in marriage?”

Pearl blushed deeply, struck dumb and only able to smile and nod. Jealous of her sister for the first time, Garnet made a face.

Bernhard grinned at Garnet. “I haven't forgotten about you, brave Garnet. You are indeed the staff to your sister's shield. Marco was very powerful in this part of the world, and much of his influence still lingers. I would send my brother to you, to help protect these mountains. I think you would be well suited for each other.”

Garnet brightened up at this. “I'd like that,” she answered, then hugged her sister in joy at their shared luck.

Bernhard grinned and turned to Silas. “What say you, sir?”

Silas tipped his hat back and said, “It would be an honor to join our families, young man. I'm not their parents, but I don't think they will object.”

He looked at the girls and smiled. “So, I'd say that these two little gems have found their fittings. With a little polish, they'll outshine us all.”

Jennifer Brozek

The smell of the cooling pasty in the cold morning air was too much to resist. It'd been two days since Josie had last eaten. Stowing away on a train to Carson City hadn't come with any benefits except for getting away from Salt Lake City. From what little she had seen of the place so far, it was worthy of its title as the capital of the Utah Territory. Not surprising—not with all of the gold and silver miners looking for a claim at the Comstock Lode.

Josie had spent last night in a burned-out shell of a farmhouse. It had been better than nothing, but not by much. There'd been no food. Not even wild grain to scrounge. It had been a bad fire. Her walk in search of something—
anything
—to eat took her from the dead farmhouse into Carson City proper. The town was alive with a bustling Main Street, already awake in the dawn light. It was why she had moved away from the crowd to this side street. And why she now had eyes on the best-looking thing she'd smelled in days. If she were lucky, the pasty would have both savory and sweet in it. It didn't matter either way. What she needed was something to stop the cramps in her tummy.

So intent on her prize in the open window, Josie didn't even know the man was there until she had snatched the pasty and felt bony fingers dig into her shoulder.

“Gotcha, you little mudsill!”

“Lemme go!” Josie twisted and turned, but the man held her tight as he pushed her around the corner of the building. She fought to get free while still trying to keep her prize, but she was small for her age, and he was a grown man. Even as scared as she was, her tummy cried out for the hot food. With a final hard shove from her captor, she tumbled to the ground, the pasty flying out of her hands to land in the dirt.

“Whatcha got there, Bosh?”

“Little thief. He stole one of the pasties I made. Didn't want you to think I shorted you.”

The second voice was much deeper than the first, but Josie wasn't listening. She scrabbled forward, grabbing the pasty and hugging it to her chest. She was caught—might as well get as much of it in her as possible before the beatings came. Only when her mouth was full of flaky crust and peas mixed with potatoes and dirt did Josie look up and back at the man who had caught her.

He was a lean man. Clean-shaven, his skeletal face was all angles—as was the rest of his body. Clad in brown homespun trousers and shirt, he wore the half-apron of a baker. He had enough flour covering him to prove her assumption. Josie turned back to the man with the deeper voice.

Standing above her was a tall old man with a full white beard sucking on a pipe and holding a mallet. His shirt was the no-color of dirty white from countless washings, and his patched gray trousers were frayed at the bottoms. Only his thick leather apron looked to be in good shape. Behind him was a forge. He was a blacksmith. His lined face was ruddy from the heat of the fire, and he looked tired, though his eyes smiled at her.

“Looks like your ‘he' is a ‘she,' and a hungry one at that.”

That stopped Josie in mid-bite. She touched her hair with a grimy hand and winced. Her braid had come untucked from her shirt in her fall. She knew she should've cut her hair off. Now it was too late. Things were always worse for girls on the road.

The baker shook his head. “A thief's a thief.”

“Bosh, it's a hungry child. Go on, man. I got her.”

“I didn't short you.”

“I know. Just bring a couple more pasties at lunch and add it to my tab.”

Bosh gave Josie a withering look as she stuffed another bite of pasty in her mouth. Then, he turned away and disappeared around the corner of the house.

“Hungry, eh?” The blacksmith nodded to her and then to his left. “The dog's hungry, too. Give him the rest. You can have one that doesn't have dirt on it.”

Josie looked around and saw a mutt of a dog eyeing her with keen attention, his tail thumping up puffs of dirt. She didn't want to give up her meal, but the blacksmith was watching, so she stood and offered it to the dog.

“Sit, Dog.” The blacksmith's quiet voice was so full of command, Josie almost obeyed him. “He won't bite.”

The dog sat, his eyes never leaving the half-eaten pasty in her hand. She walked to him and held it out.

“Go on.” The blacksmith's voice was kind. “Gentle.”

Dog reached out and mildly took the pasty from her. As soon as she stepped back, he wolfed the food down in a couple of hasty bites. Josie nodded, understanding that kind of hunger.

“C'mon, little one. You can wash up here. We'll have a meal inside and find out your story.”

 • • • 

Freshly scrubbed, Josie sat on the edge of a rough wooden chair at the only table in the room, looking around the blacksmith's small house while he got breakfast together. It was two rooms as far as she could see. A main room with a kitchen area, rocking chair, and hearth, and then a back bedroom. Based on the fact that his plates looked like the special ones they brought out for important visitors at the orphanage, Josie could see he was doing well in this rough-and-tumble town. She'd expected plain tin plates. These were stone and had a glaze on them.

“Name's Huff. Edward Huffington. But Huff'll do. That's what everyone calls me.” He pulled a cast iron pan from the fire and checked the cooking eggs and bacon before scraping the food onto two warmed plates.

“Josie, sir.”

“Not ‘sir.' Huff.” He put both plates on the table, giving her a good, long look as he sat across from her. “What's your story?”

The smell of breakfast made Josie's tummy rumble again, but she made no move to eat. Instead, she watched Huff as she figured out what to tell him. The silence grew. Finally, she shrugged. “Ran away from an orphanage.”

“Why?” Huff picked up his fork and shoveled food into his mouth. There was no recitation of prayer, no pretense of etiquette or manners that she'd been forced to learn.

“Girls disappeared from it all the time. They'd show up in bad places, and I wasn't going to be a painted lady.” Josie watched the food disappear into his mouth, bits of egg falling into his beard.

He nodded, then waved his fork at her plate. “Eat, child. I ain't gonna bite.”

Josie didn't hesitate, and she didn't bother trying to be ladylike, either. Food needed to be eaten as quickly as possible—never mind the taste or the heat.

“What now?” he asked.

She looked up at him, still chewing, and shrugged. She'd gotten this far, but it was as far as she'd planned.

“How old are you?”

Again she debated, then opted for the truth. “Nine.”

Huff nodded. “Looking for work?”

“Yeah.” She paused long enough to point her fork at him. “But not as anyone's jilly.”

He nodded again. “I got that. I'm an old man. No salt left in me anymore. But. . . .” He looked around. “I could use some help around here. Cleaning, cooking, mending, fetching. That sort of thing.”

Josie looked around. “Where would I stay?” She couldn't keep the suspicion out of her voice.

Huff threw back his head and laughed. It was halfway between a coughing fit and a crow's cawing. “Trig. The bedroom's mine. I can make you a bed by the fire. For now. We'll see how we cotton to each other.” He shrugged. “After that, we'll figure something out. Get another room built or something.”

Josie looked around again. The place was a mess, but no worse than Saint Beatrice's Home for Lost Children. Fewer people to clean up after, too. “What's my pay?”

“Room and board.” Huff gave her a shrewd look. “A penny a day. More if you help in the forge. But that's hard work, girl.”

She nodded. With her plate cleared and her tummy full of warm food, the prospect of a roof, regular meals, and actual money was appealing. She stuck out her hand. “It's a deal, Huff.”

“Good.” He smiled at her with yellowing teeth and a twinkle in his eyes. “You can start now. I got to get back to work. The new city hall building's keeping me busy.”

 • • • 

Josie had slept in worse places. The nest of blankets and Dog made for a comfortable bed. Huff had given her one of his old shirts to sleep in. It came down to her knees and smelled pleasantly of the old man's pipe. Still, something kept her awake. It sounded like someone crying. She put her ear to Dog's side and listened. It wasn't him whining in his sleep.

Sitting up, she listened hard. It wasn't Huff. He was snoring away in his bedroom. The noise sounded like it was coming from the hearth. She leaned toward the fire, the coals giving off a pleasant heat. The crying was louder there. Josie shook her head. That wasn't possible.

She decided she'd ask Huff about it in the morning.

 • • • 

Of course, she didn't. By morning, Josie wasn't certain she hadn't dreamed up the crying. And she didn't want Huff rethinking the deal so soon. It was nice to know where she was staying for a while. Even if Bosh glared at her when he arrived with the day's pasties for both Huff and her. Josie just smiled, politely greeted him, and continued sweeping out a house that had not been swept in months, maybe years.

By lunchtime, the place had a clean look that it must not have seen in ages, and the small window in Huff's bedroom had been pried open to let the stale air out. The biggest mystery was the weird-looking symbols Josie had found scratched into the walls all around the house. Symbols she'd never seen before. She decided she'd ask about them later. After she'd gotten a good gauge of the man.

Huff came in and nodded at the state of the house. He grabbed two of the three pasties, eating half of one in a single bite. He washed it down with water. “Going into town with an order. I'll be back by dinner. Figure something out, eh?”

Josie nodded, knowing the cold box was scant on supplies, but the larder had enough staples to get by. She'd talk about that with him tonight, too.

“And don't forget to play with Dog. He needs his exercise.”

She grinned as he winked at her and was gone. Josie took the other pasty and went out to the forge yard. She felt good. Food, sleep, a place to stay, and a dog to play with. There wasn't much more she could ask for.

 • • • 

There was singing. It had been going on for hours. A wordless song in the back of her mind.

At first, Josie didn't realize she was humming along to the tune. It was a sad song, full of loss and longing. It made her think of the parents she'd never had. She finished her pasty, giving the last of the flaky crust to Dog, when she realized that the music she was hearing wasn't just in her head. Like the crying from last night, it was faint, but it was definitely there. Almost like music from the next room, except she heard it in her head and her ears.

Walking around the yard, she traced it to the back of the covered forge area. Josie swore the singing came from the forge itself. Creeping forward, she peeked in at the glowing coals and realized two things at once: the coals and wood were actually stones, and there was something—a creature—cavorting within the flames.

She gasped and jumped back. When nothing followed her, and that wordless singing continued, Josie took two hesitant steps forward and looked into the forge again. This time, when the creature appeared, Josie stood her ground, her heart pounding hard, and watched it.

It was about a foot long, and looked like a cross between a lizard and a fish. Its body was red and orange with flashes of white along its tummy. It was long and sinewy, with a series of small fluttery fins running down its back. It cavorted through the flames on four stubby legs, its claws finding purchase on the impossibly burning rocks. A snouted face toward her, its eyes like white-hot, glowing coals.

“So pretty . . .” she murmured.

The singing stopped, and the creature came to the edge of the stone forge. “You can see me?”

Josie looked around, then nodded, her eyes wide with surprised pleasure. It was something she'd never seen before. Not even heard about. And yet, there it was, fins fluttering in the flames. “You can talk and sing!” She looked around again to make sure no one was watching her talk into the forge, then at Dog to see if he could see what she could see. From his low tail and head, she thought he could and was afraid. Turning back to the undulating creature, she wondered if she should be afraid.

“Yes. I sing.” The creature's voice was like the crackling of fire.

Curiosity won over caution as Josie leaned into the heat as far as she dared. “But why is the song sad?”

“I sing for my lost child.”

“Lost?”

The creature tilted her head. “My lost child, who feels no flame.”

“I'm sorry.” Josie stared at the creature. “What's your name? I'm Josie.”

“Seneca.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, Josie asked, “Where did you lose your child? I could help you look for him.”

“Ask the Master what happened to my Scintil. Ask him.”

Josie shook her head. “I don't understand. The Master?”

But Seneca said no more. She disappeared back into the forge and blended in with the flames until she disappeared. Try as she might, Josie couldn't coax the fire creature back out into the open.

 • • • 

Two days passed before Josie could bring herself to ask the questions she knew might change the good thing she had going. A warm bed, a roof, regular meals, and a guardian who didn't yell at her were all powerful incentives to do nothing about what she knew. It was almost like having a real home. But every night she heard the crying by the fire, and it killed her to know that it might be from Seneca's lost child.

“I met Seneca.” The words were out of Josie's mouth before she realized they'd bubbled to the top of her mind. She continued wiping the last of the dishes, half-hoping Huff hadn't heard.