The Keep of Fire (8 page)

“What are you doing, Max?” he whispered. “What are you doing?”

Travis folded the brochure and scrap, paused, then picked up the origami raven—no one had taken it from its perch on the bar—pressed it flat, and folded it inside the brochure. He shoved the bundle of paper back into his pocket, scooped up the keys, and headed for the door.

Afterward, Travis was never sure what made him stop as he pushed the key into the dead bolt, what made him turn the knob, open the front door of the saloon, and step out into darkness. Sometimes fate drew one onward. Sometimes danger did as well.

The onyx vehicle merged seamlessly with the night. Only the cool sheen of starlight against glossy paint betrayed its presence. He could just make out the pale curve of a crescent moon, far too low to be in the sky.

Travis stepped to the edge of the boardwalk. There was the solid chunk of a car door shutting, then the grinding of shoes on gravel. The man stepped out of the shadows into the pool of light in front of the saloon.

“I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you,” the man said.

Travis gripped the rail of the boardwalk. It wasn’t so much surprise he felt as dread. “Who are you?”

The man smiled, but the expression was secret, as if only for himself. He was short and handsome: blond hair and goatee shorn close, shoulders solid beneath a dark silk shirt, hips slim in black jeans. His
eyes were blue behind wire-rimmed glasses that were a mirror of Travis’s own.

“Worlds of possibility,” the man said. “Close to home.”

Travis shook his head. “But what does it mean? What are you selling?”

“Everything. Haven’t you seen our commercials?” His laugh was wonderful—low and inviting. “But of course you have. They’re sort of hard to miss. Thank our marketing department for that. Whatever people want, whatever people need, whatever they’re too afraid to dream of—that’s what we sell.”

“Possibility,” Travis murmured.

“Worlds of possibility.” The man paused. “But then, you know all about other worlds, don’t you, Mr. Wilder?”

The night was perfectly still. Sweat seeped down Travis’s sides. What had he been expecting the other to say?

The man stepped away from his vehicle and moved toward the boardwalk. His blue eyes were earnest behind his glasses.

“Do you know what it means, Mr. Wilder? Do you understand the implications of what you’ve discovered? What it means for this world, what it means for all of us?”

Travis’s mouth was filled with dust. It was hard to form the words, and when he did they were utterly hollow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

This time the man’s smile edged into a smirk. “On the contrary, you understand better than anyone, Mr. Wilder. You’ve seen for yourself what another world has to offer.”

“What do you mean?”

The man moved closer. “You really can’t see it, can you? That’s ironic. You’ve been there, but you don’t get it.” He shrugged. “Consider it this way. What do you think the Vikings thought when their dragon
ships landed on the desolate shores of Greenland? What did Christopher Columbus think when he realized that the jumble of islands he had found weren’t anywhere near India? What do you think was going through the minds of the men and women who sailed across a vast ocean to settle at Jamestown?”

Travis could only stare.

The man spread his hands wide. “A new world, Mr. Wilder. That’s what I’m talking about. The whole history of mankind can be measured as long intervals of meaningless static punctuated by the discovery of new worlds. These days most people believe there are no more worlds to find, at least not without climbing into a spaceship for a few hundred years.” He brought his hands together. “But you and I both know that isn’t true.”

“Leave me alone,” Travis said.

The man had reached the edge of the boardwalk. “Please, Mr. Wilder. I’m not your enemy. Far from it. Haven’t you wanted to meet someone who could understand what you’ve been through? Someone whom you could tell everything?”

Yes. Yes, more than anything. But this man hadn’t been there. He could never have understood.

Travis let go of the railing. “I said leave me alone.”

The man sighed. “All right, Mr. Wilder. I can see you’re not ready to hear what I have to say. But let me give you some advice. I know you don’t trust me. And I’m sure you know people whom you think you
can
trust.” He cocked his head. “But you can never really know another, Mr. Wilder. Not truly, not what burning secrets they keep deep in their hearts. Everyone is seeking something. At least I’ve told you what I want.”

Travis could not breathe. Despite the darkness the heat was suffocating. What was the man talking about? But the other only nodded, then turned toward his vehicle. Without thinking, Travis raised an arm.

“Wait—”

The rest of his words were cut off as the roar of an engine tore apart the night.

Travis jerked his head up in time to see a white-hot beam pierce the darkness. He shielded his eyes with a hand, and when he lowered it again he saw a motorcycle skid to a halt in front of the boardwalk. The rider flipped up the visor of a black helmet. Smoke-green eyes flashed.

“Get on, Travis!”

He stood frozen, then shock became motion, and he jumped down to the street.

The blond man laughed over the growl of the engine. “And here is one who seeks even now!”

Travis hurried to Deirdre. “What’s he talking about?”

“Don’t listen to him, Travis.” Her words were hard behind the face guard of her helmet.

Travis glanced at the man. The other’s hands were on his hips, his expression grave now.

“Remember what I told you, Mr. Wilder.”

Travis looked back at Deirdre. “What’s going on?”

“Come with me, Travis. Come with me if you want to understand.”

For a heartbeat movement was impossible. Travis could feel the man’s eyes bore into him along with Deirdre’s.

You can never really know another.…

Then he climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. He barely had time to circle his arms around Deirdre’s waist before she cranked the throttle. The Harley screamed forward like a Chinese dragon, and everything vanished in its dark wake.

Deirdre cut the Harley’s engine, and the motorcycle coasted to a stop. Silence descended over the night like a curtain of hot black velvet. Travis brushed wind-tangled hair from his eyes and saw, looming in the murk, the graceful facade of the Castle City Opera House.

These days the opera house was abandoned, but at its zenith its stage had played home to some of the finest tenors and sopranos of Europe, and it was said that once President McKinley himself had viewed a Parisian burlesque show there. Even in decay, there was an air of elegance about the opera house. Greek Revival columns glowed in the cast-off shine of a streetlight.

For what seemed an hour he had clung to Deirdre while the motorcycle sped down empty roads, but at some point they must have turned around, for they had come to a halt at the end of Elk Street, no more than half a mile from the saloon. He let go of Deirdre and stumbled off the Harley. It felt as if the world were still moving beneath him. Then again, maybe it was.

Deirdre stepped off the bike and removed her helmet in one fluid motion. She shook out her short black hair, then turned her eyes on Travis.

“Are you all right?”

It was the first thing she had said since the moment she shouted for him to get on the bike. He opened his mouth, but he could find no words to answer. Travis wasn’t even sure he knew what
all right
was anymore. Deirdre turned and gazed into the night. He was suddenly certain that she knew far more about what was happening than he did.

Travis looked up at the ghostly opera house. “Why here?”

“There’s someone you need to meet.”

With that, Deirdre headed up the sweeping marble staircase to the entrance of the opera house. Travis hesitated. Once, at the weird revival show, Brother Cy had told him that he always had a choice. Now he wasn’t so certain that was true. He hurried after Deirdre.

Travis caught up to her as she paused before the door. “It’s locked,” he said. “This place hasn’t been used in—”

He halted as she pulled a device from her pocket. It was shaped like a river pebble, but molded of plastic. She touched a small button. There was a click, and one of the double doors swung open an inch. She slipped the device back into her pocket and pushed through the doorway. Travis took a breath, then followed her into darkness beyond.

They moved through dimness, then came to the edge of a vast space. Across an ocean of shabby seats was a stage lit by a single spotlight.

Deirdre leaned against an ornate railing. She did not shout, but her voice rang out across the old theater. “They found him.”

Travis glanced at her. Who was she speaking to? Then a voice drifted through the proscenium arch, carried by the acoustics of the opera house.

“The Philosophers will not be pleased.”

Deirdre tightened her grip on the railing. “Damn the Philosophers.”

Now laughter floated on the air. “Speak carefully, Deirdre Falling Hawk. The Philosophers have many ears. You’ve always had a tendency to forget that fact.”

A figure stepped from the shadowy wings of the stage, into the spotlight.

“Welcome, Travis Wilder,” the man said.

Travis shook his head, and a sick feeling oozed into his stomach. Who were all these strangers who seemed to know him so well? He glanced at Deirdre, but her eyes were dark and distant, fixed on the stage. At that moment she might as well have been a stranger to him, too.

“What do you want?” Travis said, surprised at the way his trembling voice rose on the air of the opera house.

“To help,” the man onstage said.

Travis sighed. He noticed that the other had not said,
To help you
.

Deirdre touched his arm. “Come on, Travis.”

She led the way down to the stage, and he followed.

By the time they reached the bottom, the man sat on the edge of the orchestra pit. He looked to be Travis’s age, early thirties, or perhaps just a little older given the flecks of gray in his curly black hair. He wore rumpled chinos and a white linen shirt rolled up to the elbows. Stubble shadowed his square jaw, and his nose was aquiline above sensual lips. He looked like a movie star from some forties film noir: handsome, disheveled, possibly dangerous. On the stage next to him was a manila envelope.

“Who are you?” Travis said.

The man held out a hand. “My name is Farr. Hadrian Farr.”

Travis didn’t accept the gesture. That wasn’t what he had meant.

The man—Farr—seemed in no way rebuffed. His hand moved to the manila envelope, as if this was what he had been reaching for all along.

Travis tried again. “What do you want?”

The man smiled. His teeth were crooked. It was a charming expression. “We seek things,” he said. “Unusual things. Wonderful things.”

Travis drew in a sharp breath.

Everyone is seeking something.…

He breathed out, wanting to ask more, but he didn’t know where to begin.

Farr pulled something from the envelope and held it out. “Do you know this woman, Mr. Wilder?”

Travis’s hand shook as he accepted the photograph, as if somehow he already knew what he would see. The woman in the photo was desperate and regal. She ran down the steps of a building, her hand to her throat, staring forward with stunning green-gold eyes. In that instant, he understood.

Travis looked up and met Farr’s gaze. “You’re Seekers, aren’t you?” He turned toward Deirdre. “Both of you.”

Farr raised an eyebrow, and Deirdre’s mouth dropped open. Travis allowed himself a humorless smile. It was good to know that he could spring a few surprises of his own.

“Don’t look at me,” Deirdre said when Farr glanced her way. “I didn’t tell him.”

Farr nodded. “We need to remember that Mr. Wilder might well know much more than we imagine.”

Deirdre reached out, as if to touch Travis, then pulled her hand back. “How did you …?”

He smiled and brushed a finger across the photo. “It was Grace. Grace Beckett. She told me about the Seekers.” He glanced up. “And about you, Hadrian Farr.”

Farr’s expression was intent. “So you are acquainted with Dr. Grace Beckett.”

Now Travis did laugh. He thought of all he and Grace had been through, all they had done, all they had survived. “You might say that.”

He handed the photo back to Farr. Shadows pressed around them like silent actors.

Travis looked at Deirdre. “I suppose this means you didn’t really come to the Mine Shaft to play music.”

Her smile was small and private. “In a way, I did. That time I sang at the saloon, three years ago, is more special to me than you can know. I suppose part of me was hoping I could feel a glimmer of that magic again. And maybe I have. But you’re right. There’s another reason why I came to Castle City.”

“The Immolated Man,” Travis whispered.

Farr slipped the photo back into the envelope. “You’re right, Deirdre. He is indeed perceptive.”

Deirdre met Farr’s eyes. “Do you want to tell him? Or should I?”

“I think I can manage.”

Travis pushed the gunslinger’s spectacles higher on his nose. “Tell me what?”

Farr slid from the edge of the stage to stand. He was several inches shorter than Travis, but somehow Travis felt like the smaller one. There was an air of quiet power about Farr. In some ways he reminded Travis of Falken Blackhand.

“To tell you why we’ve been searching for you, Mr. Wilder.”

It was only when Deirdre caught his arm and led him to the front row of seats that Travis realized his knees were shaking. As he sat, a dusty exhalation rose from the cushion. He looked up at the two Seekers. Deirdre’s eyes were concerned. Farr’s expression was more difficult to fathom.

Farr pulled a slim silver case from the pocket of his chinos, took out a cigarette, then cocked his head toward Travis. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“I don’t tell other people how to live their lives.”

Farr nodded. “That’s good advice, Mr. Wilder. I’ll do my best to heed it.” He lit the cigarette, and spicy
smoke coiled to the catwalks above. “But allow me to tell you this. There is one who approached you tonight. He didn’t tell you his name, nor is it important. It’s whom he represents that matters. And I say this not in an attempt to control you, but in an effort to save you, Mr. Wilder.
Do not talk to them.”