SWAINS LOCK (The River Trilogy, book 1) (29 page)

***

“Lockee, lockee, lo!” Kevin sang out from
the towpath when he and the mule team were within shouting distance
of Swains. “We got somewheres to go,” he added, just for himself
and the mules. He pulled the tin horn from his coat pocket and
bleated four notes toward the lockhouse. Drawing near he saw the
lock was set for a light boat, but there was no evidence of a
locktender or anyone else nearby. The lockhouse door was closed. He
blew four more baleful notes on his horn. Still no sign of life. He
dropped back behind the mules to get a clear line of sight to the
scow. “I guess they’re hiding from us, Tommy!” he called out to his
brother at the helm. “Think our friend Cy don’t want to pay
up?”

Tom shook his head grimly and spat into the
canal.

“Maybe he’s sleeping off a drunk,” Kevin
said. “Let’s see if we can smoke him out.” He guided the mule team
up the incline toward the lock. The mules stopped just past it of
their own accord and Kevin jogged back to grab the snub-line. Tom
steered the slowing scow into the lock and Kevin snubbed it to a
stop.

“Like a ballet dance,” Kevin said. “Makes
you wonder why locktenders get paid.”

“Damn, they should pay us instead,” Tom
said, standing up from the tiller and edging around the cabin on
the race plank. “For all the gate-slinging we been doing.”

Kevin eyed the next level of the canal but
saw no one. He pulled out his pocketwatch, which read almost 11:00.
He aimed his horn at the lockhouse and blew more blasts. “Shit, it
ain’t like he didn’t know we was coming,” he said after catching
his breath. “Think we got a swindler on our hands?”

“Maybe,” Tom said. He had crossed to the
center of the deck and was using his knife to sever a hangnail. “If
so,” he continued, “we’ll have a score to settle next time we run
into him. Once the season gets going, a boat captain got nowhere to
hide on the canal.”

Standing on the lock-wall, Kevin looked
across and saw a rope ladder hanging from the opposite wall.
Locktenders sometimes used these ladders to perform maintenance or
retrieve objects that fell into the lock, so he thought little of
it. Next to the ladder was a plate that held four small cornbread
sandwiches. A piece of notepaper was pinned beneath the plate.

“Look at that, Tommy. Maybe he’s trying to
buy us off with bread!” he said with a snicker. “Maybe old Cyrus
plans to bake his way out of debt!”

“Well that ain’t no seventy-five dollars
worth. That ain’t even seventy-five cents.”

Kevin jumped down onto the deck. Since the
boat was unburdened by cargo, the deck was almost four feet above
the waterline. He walked across it toward the plate. “Food and a
ladder to reach it. Guess he’s trying to make us real comfortable
while he steals our whiskey and makes us work the lock ourselves!”
The top of the lock wall was at the level of his ribs, so he
ignored the ladder and took the plate of cornbread and the note
beneath it. He handed Tom the plate and read the note out loud.

Boatmen –

The lock-keys at Swains were taken last night by
vandals. Cy Elgin has gone to Great Falls to get replacements.
Please pull into the lock and wait. Help yourself to cornbread. Cy
will be back soon. Our apologies.

K. Elgin

When he was finished, he glanced at the
upper and lower gates and saw eight naked stems protruding through
the swing beams. He cocked his head and whistled. “Ever heard of
that, Tommy? Vandals taking lock-keys?”

“Don’t make much sense. They ain’t good for
nothing but turning a paddle.”

“Our apologies, K. Elgin,” Kevin said
mockingly. He crumpled up the note and dropped it into the water.
“I guess Cy’s little sister feels bad for us. Well I’m scandalized
that they didn’t leave us cups of tea to drink with our cornbread
and jam!”

“Hell with that,” Tom said. “We still got
whiskey.” He laid the sandwich plate down near the windowless
forward wall of the cabin and ducked down the stairs. He returned
carrying the whiskey jug and two tin cups, which he set beside the
plate. Then he sat down near the starboard rail, back against the
cabin wall and legs stretched toward the bow.

Kevin sat alongside him with the plate and
jug between them. He pulled off his black fedora and brushed it
while Tom poured two fingers of whiskey into each of the cups. He
handed one to Kevin, who swirled its contents absently while
tapping his hat back into place. Both men plucked a
strawberry-cornbread sandwich from the plate and took a wolfish
bite.

“I’m guessing,” Kevin said, chewing the
viscous offering, “that if little sister wrote that note for old
Cy…”. He swallowed and took a sip of whiskey to clear his vocal
cords. “Then she might also be our cornbread baker.”

“The fixings ain’t too bad,” Tom said,
taking another bite. He jerked his head toward the lockhouse.
“Maybe she’s in there right now baking our main course.”

“Hell, we can skip the main course and go
right to dessert. And she can just come out and service that
directly.” Kevin called out enthusiastically toward the lockhouse.
“We’re getting ready for our dessert, Miss Elgin!”

“Dessert in a skirt!” Tom blurted, laughing
with his mouth full and nearly choking. He reached for the whiskey
to wash down the rest of his sandwich. “That cornbread’s mighty
good,” he said hoarsely, “but the strawberry jam got a bit of a
tang to it.” He took one of the two remaining slabs from the
plate.

“Yeah. Maybe got some rhubarb or something
mixed in.” Kevin finished and snared the last sandwich. “Tommy,” he
said, “maybe you should go bang on the door. If she answers, you
can say she’s invited for pancakes…” He paused to yawn and scratch
his chest. “…at Emory’s establishment of fine dining. The griddle
is hot and we’re ready to fabricate!”

Tom finished his cornbread and echoed
Kevin’s yawn. “Why don’t you go invite her yourself. I’m too
comfortable to get up. Like a possum in a pumpkin patch.”

“Don’t much feel like climbing that ladder
myself,” Kevin said, succumbing to another yawn. “Maybe we can
serenade her from here.”

“Be my guest. Since you got the musical
persuasion in the family.” Tom laughed as he leaned his head back
against the cabin wall and lowered his hat brim over his eyes.

“Oh Miss Elgin,” Kevin sang out. He followed
Tom’s lead, leaning back against the cabin wall and shading his
eyes with his hat. His voice softened as he added a second line.
“Our porpoises are swellin’…” The third line was a light snore,
sung by both Emory brothers.

***

Ten minutes after the Emorys stopped
talking, Katie emerged from the lockhouse carrying a lock-key in
one hand and Lee’s leg-irons in the other. The open cuffs were
aligned in her palm, her fingers curled around two of the C-arms.
She stood on the lock wall and looked down at the scow. The Emorys
were slouched side-by-side with their backs against the cabin wall
and their legs extended toward the bow. Their hats were pulled down
over their eyes, but the rise and fall of their chests convinced
her that both men were asleep. Heroin and whiskey, she thought. Two
sedatives at work.

She set the leg-irons and lock-key down
beside the rope ladder and walked to the end of the swing-beam,
then pushed it to swing the gate closed. She crossed over the lock
and closed the downstream gate on the towpath side. Now the lock
was a sealed chamber.

Neither Emory moved as she descended the
rope ladder and stepped onto the deck of the scow. She walked
stealthily along the starboard rail past the snoring men and toward
the cabin stairwell. From the stern deck she ducked down the steps
and through the door.

In the starboard corner in front of her was
a coal-burning stove and to its left a freestanding cupboard. Two
bunks were built into the left-hand wall. She scanned the upper
reaches of the room, lowering her eyes until they reached the
floor, where she found what she wanted near her feet. Under the
drop-leaf table was the toolbox she’d seen the last time the Emorys
had transited Swains Lock. It was heavier than she expected and she
had to slide it out from under the table to lift it, but the thick,
hinged handle supported the box and its contents easily. She
tightened her grip and carried the box up to the stern deck.

Tilting toward the cabin wall for balance,
she retraced her steps along the rail past the legs of the sleeping
men. She quietly set the toolbox down a few inches from Tom’s feet,
perpendicular to and flush with the rail. After retrieving the
leg-irons from the lock wall, she knelt next to the toolbox,
flipped its handle upright, and threaded one of the open cuffs and
half the chain through the opening beneath it. Leaning over the
box, she held the open cuff above Tom’s right ankle. After a deep
breath, she eased the opposing C-arm under his ankle and pushed the
arms together until she heard a click. She pulled lightly to test
the cuff; it was closed and locked around his ankle. His rhythmic
breathing rattled on.

She sidestepped to Kevin’s shoulder and
listened for a second. The breaths were slow and deep, so she
gingerly gripped his coat with a hand near each shoulder. He didn’t
stir. She pivoted and dragged him toward the rail, then gently
lowered his head and shoulders to the deck. He was still snoring,
with his hat balanced precariously on his forehead. She slid his
feet into alignment with Tom’s, soles facing each other across the
toolbox. The second cuff was still open and she positioned it above
Kevin’s left ankle. Speed was more important than silence now, so
she drove the C-arms together with a metallic snap. She pulled to
confirm the cuff was locked and backed away to survey her work.

Both Emorys were still asleep, though Kevin
was twitching and starting to move his hands. Tom was still
slouched against the cabin wall, hat brim concealing his eyes. The
leg-irons ran along the rail – from Tom’s right ankle, through the
opening under the toolbox handle, to Kevin’s left ankle. The cuffs
were wider than either man’s ankle but narrow enough to prevent the
shackles from slipping off.

A knowing smile formed on her lips. Making
no effort now at stealth, she retrieved the lock-key and carried it
back toward the sleeping men. She plucked Kevin’s fedora from his
face and he sputtered momentarily, lips and brow twitching. She
flipped the hat toward the middle of the deck, then removed Tom’s
hat and tossed it alongside. The light made Tom stir and bring his
hand to his face.

Katie knelt beside the toolbox and removed
the sandstone pendant and its cord from around her neck. She
wrapped the cord around the toolbox handle, tying off the loose end
to hold the pendant against it. Then she pulled the box halfway out
across the rail. The chain grew taut as the toolbox teetered over
the water four feet below. The box began to tip and the cuffs
pulled against the ankles of the men.

She stood up and held the lock-key like a
sword, then swung its socket against the sole of Kevin’s shoe. He
swiveled his foot and began to grumble. She swung the key back and
tapped Tom’s shoe. He waggled his head and brought an arm to rest
on his extended leg. She swung the key more forcefully, again
striking the soles of both men’s shoes. The third time she struck,
the snoring had stopped. Kevin was trying to sit up and Tom was
rubbing his eyes with both hands. She struck a fourth time and
heard Kevin issue a guttural protest.

“God dammit. Stop hitting my foot!” She
looked back at him and smiled. He was sitting now, hands against
the deck, trying to understand his position. His eyes settled on
the cuff around his ankle and followed the chain through the
toolbox to the cuff on his brother’s leg. Tom’s eyes were open as
he gripped his shackled leg and tried to bend his knee. His effort
swung the toolbox away from the rail and left it dangling more
precariously over the water.

“The money!” Kevin cried as the scene in
front of him began to register. He thrust toward the toolbox, but
the slack in the chain created by his lunge allowed the box to
tumble free, and the falling box pulled his foot off the rail. The
cuffs bit more deeply into their ankles. Tom tried to retract his
leg but pain from the strangling cuff dissuaded him. He swore and
jerked his head, then noticed Katie for the first time, standing
just beyond reach. “Get these things off of us!” he yelled at
her.

She glanced at him, then turned back toward
Kevin. He was poised on one knee now, left leg stretched out over
the water by the leg-irons, eyes focused solely on the toolbox. It
hovered three feet above the water in the lock, but the chain was
tantalizingly close. If he could just snare it with his left hand…
He took a deep breath and stretched for the chain just as Tom made
a parallel gesture, which sent the toolbox dipping toward the
water. To Kevin’s horror, the chain fell away from his outstretched
fingers and he felt his center of gravity follow it past the rail.
Tom tried to roll toward the centerline, but his effort was
overpowered. Both Emorys tumbled into the lock.

Katie walked to the rail and looked down.
Part of a hip and a shoulder broke the surface. The lock held
almost five feet of water and she knew the toolbox would find the
dirt-covered stone floor at its base, pulling the men into an
upright position. The water was cold despite the warming weather,
and the chill should jar them to their senses.

As she expected, both Emorys brought their
heads above water. They used their free legs to tap-dance against
the floor of the lock, balancing themselves. With water draining
from their heads, they looked first at each other and then up
toward the scow, where Katie was already stepping from the rail
onto the rope ladder. She climbed to the top of the lock wall.

Kevin tried to hop toward the ladder while
Tom prepared to jump for the scow’s rail a few feet overhead. Their
efforts nullified each other and both brothers lost their balance
and cursed. Katie retracted the ladder, which she bundled up and
tossed toward the lockhouse.