Keeper of the Books (Keeper of the Books, Book 1) (19 page)

The other one spoke next. “We’ve been hearin’ that the Warlord’s gone soft. We hadn’t seen him here in a while.”

“I assure you,” Clive said, “he and the rest of us have been very busy.”

“Are you injured?” one of them asked.
 

“I’m fine,” Clive assured them.
 

“You’ve been shot!”

“Twice,” Clive said with a smile. “All in a day’s work. You gentlemen have no doubt seen worse.”

“You don’t mind if I take a look in yer wagon?” the one on the left asked. He lowered his shotgun and pulled up his pants with one hand as he made his way to the back of the wagon.

Joe looked past the guard at the gate and could see clearly into the city. There were a few dwellers that watched as the wagon was inspected. Most of them looked dirty and unkempt—much like the men he and Nate would run with. The surrounding buildings often blended with the trees of the forest, but this was undoubtedly a town. Down the road, Joe could see several merchants selling their goods, shopkeepers sweeping the front of their stores, and people walking about, living their lives as though dwelling in a city in the middle of the forest were normal.
 

“You might want to keep a close eye on yer stuff back here,” the man from the back of the wagon yelled. “Especially at night.”

“Noted,” Clive said.

The guard finally came around to the front of the wagon. “If you’ve been here before, then you know the answer to the question I’m about to ask.”

“I do.”

The guard cleared his throat. “What is your view of President Jacob DalGaard?”

“I view him as a traitor to the people of Galamore,” Clive answered. To Joe, he almost sounded bored, or maybe even annoyed. “And I would like to view him at the end of a rope with his gut split open and his entrails spread all across the land.”

The guard studied him for a long moment and finally nodded. “I’ll let you through this time, but we’ll have our eye on you.”

“I understand,” Clive said. “Thank you.”

The guard on the right motioned for them to pass through the gate, and the guard on the left never dropped his gun until they were out of sight. Joe slapped with the reins and looked behind them at the two fat guards and shook his head.
 

“That was a close one,” he said.
 

“Not as close as you would think,” Clive answered, wincing at the pain in his shoulder and leg. “They always do that. Really, they don’t care who you are unless they can tell you’re loyal to the president. The question is always the same.
What is your view of President Jacob DalGaard?
The answer is always the same too.”

“That he is a traitor and you’d like to view him at the end of a rope?” Joe asked. “Sounds a little harsh.”

“Well, you should add that you want to see his gut ripped open and his entrails spread all across the land. I’m not entirely sure that that part of the answer is required, but it always seems to work with the guards of Vandikhan.”

Clive pointed for Joe to steer the wagon down the road. There were some who stared at them, but mostly people kept to themselves. Almost every structure in the city seemed to be surrounded by trees and shrubs with small paths cut away for people to pass through. There were no decorations to speak of and very few signs to advertise businesses. The signs that were there were hand-painted with misspellings and deplorable penmanship.

Clive directed them down a side street and the view was much the same. At the end of the street, they came upon a building that looked like it was close to caving in on itself. A sign that had clearly been hanging above the front porch had been set against the steps with old and rotten ropes dangling down the sides of it. It read:
Red Boot Saloon.
Joe parked the wagon on the other side of the street and Clive nodded for Joe to follow him inside.

“So, I guess it’s all right to carry this with me?” he asked, holding up his pistol.
 

“It’s encouraged,” Clive said. “You don’t want to be caught in Vandikhan
without
a weapon of some sort.”
 

Joe followed a limping Clive toward the saloon and carefully placed his pistol in its holster. He was a quick draw and now he was a killer. Sure it had been done in defense, but a man was dead nonetheless. Problem was, Joe was okay with what he had done and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. There was little remorse. There was no regret. What disturbed him the most was that he felt relief, perhaps even happiness in knowing that he had shot the Warlord through the forehead. It gave him a sense of credibility that he always felt was lacking when working with his brother. Nate had killed many times. He had never talked about it much, and as far as Joe knew he had never killed somebody in cold blood. But would Nate really have told him if he had? The two of them had been raised a certain way, and with the parents they had, Joe was sure Nate would never tell him. Maybe he would confide in Joe if he were drunk which happened often enough.
 

The saloon was dark and full of smoke. There were plenty of people inside too engaged in conversation, card games, or flirting with saloon girls to pay any attention to the newcomers.
 

“A little early in the day for whiskey, ain’t it?” Joe said under his breath.
 

Clive shook his head and smiled. “For some, it’s just getting late.”

He led Joe to the other side of the saloon to a booth. Clive unstrapped his saber from his back and set it against the seat and then sat down. Joe sat across from him, unsure of himself as he took in the whole scene. He had been in plenty of saloons over the past couple of years, but this one felt strange to say the least. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the people were different than the ones he had grown accustomed to in Texas. Here in Vandikhan, they almost seemed rougher.

“Can I get y'all somethin’ to drink?” The voice came from a
 
woman standing uncomfortably close to Joe. She had curly red hair that fell down her back and a round, smiling face. She set a soft hand on Joe’s shoulder.
 

“Nothing for me,” Joe said, shifting in his seat.
 

“Bring a bottle of whiskey,” Clive said. “Two glasses. My friend here might want some too.”

Joe gave him a curious look as the saloon girl walked away winking at Joe as she went. Clive didn’t look Joe in the eyes for the longest time, but Joe was patient. Clive had something to tell him, but it seemed he couldn’t bring himself to do it without a drink. In less than a minute the saloon girl was back with a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. She set the bottle in the middle of the table and a glass in front of Joe and Clive. Clive slipped her a large coin and she took it quickly.

“Ya’ll just holler if you need anything,” she said with a big smile. “I’ll be around.”

“Thank you,” Clive said absently as he poured whiskey into both glasses.

“I said I didn’t want anything,” Joe said.
 

“You might when I’m done saying what I have to say,” Clive answered. He threw back his first drink and immediately poured more into his shot glass. Joe left his sitting. After taking his second shot, Clive set the glass down on the table and closed his eyes. Joe could see his fingers twitch just a little. No doubt the bullet wounds in the man were excruciating. They weren’t life-threatening by any means, but he had still been shot twice, yet here he was, visiting a saloon rather than a doctor. When Clive finally looked up, he caught Joe staring at him and let out a nervous laugh. “Battle gives me the shakes,” he said. “A drink takes care of it.”

“For some reason I don’t think it’s the battle that’s giving you the shakes,” Joe said. “Just say what you’ve got to say.”

Clive swallowed and look around him to see if anyone was within earshot. When he was satisfied, he took a deep breath and began. “I know who you are,” he said. “You’re Joseph Cole. From Texas. You’re here looking for your brother.”

Joe stared back at Clive with intensity. He felt like he wanted to run, but he didn’t know why. Was this just another bounty hunter from his side of the world? Did Clive plan to collect?

He felt his hand slowly slide off the table and to the butt of his gun, though it seemed Clive didn’t take notice. If the man tried anything, Joe could shoot him through the head and be out of the saloon before anyone knew what happened. But where would he go?

“How do you know that? Have you seen him? Have you seen Nate?”

Clive shook his head. “I know this because you told me.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Well, you did. Only
you
won’t tell me for another six years.”

“What are you talking about?” Had the whiskey already taken effect? Was Clive already drunk?

“First, I’ve got some questions for you,” Clive said. “Like, what kind of trouble are you in?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean from your other world. Texas.”

Joe shook his head. “Nothing really. Just a little bit of law trouble.”

“Stop playing stupid,” Clive snapped. “Look at where you’re sittin’. You think I care if you’re an outlaw? I live among thieves and murderers. What kind of trouble are you in?”

“I’m a thief,” Joe said. “I’ve robbed a few banks. Stagecoaches. Big money stuff. That’s how I came to be here.”

“Explain,” Clive said, pouring another glass and taking a gulp.
 

“My brother and I were hired to rob a safety deposit box. Only we didn’t know what was in it. We didn’t really care, you see. I just wanted the money. The man was paying enough for us to retire from thieving.”

“And why would you want to do that?”

“Because it was getting too big. Our bounties, I mean. My brother is worth a lot more than me, but I’m worth a pretty penny.” Joe watched Clive closely. “It don’t make you nervous sitting in front of a wanted man?”

“Half of the men in this room are worth enough for any one of us to retire,” Clive said. “Only problem is, there’s no one to take them in. Look at me. I’m worth at least a thousand coins.”

“Dollars?”

Clive shrugged. “Coins. I don’t know your currency, but everything here is coins, coins, coins. Everyone needs more coins. Well, I’m worth a thousand of them. That could buy you a nice farm in the country, or a decent house in Tel Haven.” He smiled now as if he was proud of the fact that someone wanted him enough to pay the equivalent of a farm to get him. “Anyway…continue, please.”

“Well, I led the group to get to the safety deposit box,” Joe said. “What I didn’t expect to find was a book. Two of my men opened the book and disappeared like they weren’t even there. I snatched up the book, and me and my brother took off after our employer. We brought it to him and demanded an explanation, but a bounty hunter and a sheriff caught up with us.”

“Who was your employer?”

“A man named Tyler Montgomery. Heard of him?”

Clive shook his head.
 

“Well, he’s here. Because before opening the book and disappearing, he convinced me and my brother to do the same thing. I opened the book first and was pulled into it. Next thing I know I wake up in the middle of a battlefield. I heard you and your men coming so that’s when I decided to play dead.”

“You didn’t do a very good job,” Clive said.
 

“Yeah, I know. Truth is, I don’t even know if Nate is in Galamore or not. I never actually saw him open the book. I went in before he did. For all I know, the bounty hunter got him and he’s dead now.”

Clive shook his head. “Nate’s alive.”

Joe’s eyes went wide. “You’ve seen him?”

“Well, no, but that’s what you told me,” Clive said.

“What is all this about me telling you something I never told you?” He could feel his cheeks getting red.
 

“Keep your voice down,” Clive said looking from side to side. He poured another glass. This time he sipped. “You’ve never heard of The Ancient Books, have you?”

Joe shook his head.
 

“Books in Galamore can be phenomenal things. They open you up to worlds that you have never seen before. Many books work in the same way, though there are plenty that aren’t magical, too.” He reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small book. “This is my journal. If you opened this up, you’d be able to witness everything that I’ve written about. First hand. Now, in this particular type of book, you can’t change anything. There is nothing to change. But it seems that the book you came across in the bank has a story that is yet to be finished.”

“None of this makes sense to me,” Joe said.
 

“Well, none of that matters right now,” Clive said, waving him off. “What matters is that The Ancient Books exist. They are very rare, and people sometimes spend their entire lives searching for them. One of them in particular is very dangerous. It’s called
The Book of Time.
Apparently, you come across it six years from now. And that’s why you were able to visit me before I even met you. Before you even made it to the world of Galamore.”

Joe took a drink then refilled the glass.

“This book you came across in Texas led you here,” Clive said, “only you must have opened it to a different spot than your brother.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked.
 

“The current year is 898 in the Age of Man. However, your brother doesn’t get here until 903 in the Age of Man.”

“Did he hold on to the book that long?”

“You’re not listening,” Clive said. “When you opened the book, what did you read?”

“The text said something about fire covering a battlefield and smoke turning the sky gray.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know what it meant.”

“You were reading about the skirmish we Renegades won against the Crimson Army,” Clive said. “Apparently your brother skipped a few pages.”

“And you’re saying I told you all of this?”

“Two days ago,” Clive said. “I thought the other version of you was crazy when he told me, but he was convincing. I tried to pass him off as a lunatic when it was all over, but then I found you on the battlefield. I knew you weren’t lying.”