Beastly Bones Page 7

  “It looks as though we’re not the only ones who still have a trip into the valley to make.” Jackaby stepped up beside me, motioning down the road to the trapper’s sturdy cart. The rugged timbers and heavy burlap looked a little more at home here, but it was still an easy vehicle to pick out. Hudson had parked it just outside a shop with a wooden sign that read simply coyote bill’s. The muscular horses shifted their hooves absently as they waited for their master to return.

  As we neared the door, Jackaby slowed. His hand rose to feel the air ahead of him, as it had outside the train station.

  “Sir?” I asked.

  Jackaby ignored me and stepped up toward Coyote Bill’s, his brows knit in a scowl and his eyes lost in concentration. He knelt just outside the entrance, his fingers delicately tracing along the door frame. The door burst open, and Hank Hudson emerged, nearly toppling over Jackaby. The trapper had a couple of boxes under one arm, and in his fist was a thin bundle wrapped in brown paper.

  “Whoa! ’Scuse me, there, buddy.”

  “Hudson!”

  “Jackaby?”

  “Hudson, you must tell me—this shop, is there something peculiar about it?”

  “Yup. That’s why I like it. All kindsa stuff they don’t stock anywhere else.”

  “No—no, something more malevolent than eclectic wares. It’s very strong here, lingering about the door. Please. Use all your senses.”

  Hudson blinked, but then he leaned down tentatively and gave the doorknob an obliging sniff. “It smells like . . . metal?” he said.

  “Not—I don’t know—a bit saturnine?” asked Jackaby, “with a hint of stygian exigency?”

  “You know what any of those words mean?” Hudson asked, looking to me for help.

  “I think one of them might be a sort of cheese.”

  Hudson let the door close behind him. “Smells like an old brass doorknob, Jackaby, and maybe a bit like sweaty man hands.”

  My employer nodded and straightened up. “Chasing shadows, I suppose, but I have the most troubling suspicion that some unsavory element has frequented this establishment.”

  “Hah!” Hudson laughed and slapped Jackaby on the shoulder. “You ain’t never met Bill, have you? Unsavory elements are sorta his clientele. He’s real good at getting hold of whatever a fella might need. Not exactly a hundred percent clean, but real good at the trade. Me an’ Bill go way back. I always save him a few of my best hides, and he’s gotten me some . . . some hard-to-find items when I needed ’em most. He always keeps shells in stock for my best rifle, too, so I make a point of stocking up when I come through.” He nodded to the boxes under his arm. “They’re the big ones.”

  “This wouldn’t be the same Bill you told me about from the war, would it?” Jackaby asked, his eyes narrowing. “The one who sold Southern pistols to the North and Northern rifles to the South?”

  Hudson chuckled and strode over to the cart. “In his defense, neither batch of ’em worked. Bill’s as crooked as a bag of snakes, but he ain’t one for blood, if he can avoid it. He’s just a fence.”

  “A fence,” I said, “who deals in rare artifacts?”

  Hudson nodded approvingly. “I do like this one, Jackaby—she’s a razor, ain’t she? You and I had the same idea, little lady, but no such luck. If somebody is looking to unload a stolen fossil, they didn’t go through Coyote Bill. He doesn’t know nothin’ about it.” Hudson pulled back the burlap flap and stashed the rifle shells in the back of his cart. He tucked the paper parcel in his belt. “Y’all headed down to the valley? Happy to give you a lift—I’m all done up here.”

  “That would be wonderful,” I said.

  “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d rather meet Coyote Bill for myself, first,” said Jackaby.

  Hudson shrugged. “Go ahead and say hello, then. It’ll take me a sec to clear some space in the back, anyway.”

  “Hold this, would you, Miss Rook.” Jackaby handed me his heavy satchel, which nearly threw me off balance as he slung it over my shoulder. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  Hudson relieved me of the luggage as my employer vanished into the little shop. “Lemme give you a hand with that.” For all his rough and rugged appearance, the burly mountain man proved to be every bit the gentleman. Something squawked loudly as he nestled my suitcase into the back of his cart, and I jumped at the noise.

  “Don’t pay Rosie no mind,” he called over his shoulder. “She’s an ornery thing, but she won’t be able to reach ya.”

  I peered into the carriage at a bulky shape, draped in a heavy cloth. Only a small corner toward the bottom revealed the bars of what might have been a massive birdcage sitting atop a simple wooden crate. It was easily as tall as I was.

  “Fair warning, though,” Hudson added, pulling the canvas closed. “If she does her business on the way, you’re gonna want the windows wide-open back there.” He made a funny face and fanned his nose in pantomime.

  “I think I’ll be all right,” I said. “I’ve had to develop a certain tolerance for unexpected aromas working for Jackaby. Has he shown you his frog?”

  “Who do you think caught the lil’ stinker for him? Hah!” The cart rocked as Hank pulled himself up into the main compartment. “Had to throw away a nice moleskin coat after I bagged that critter.” He chuckled at the memory, shuffling the contents of the cabin to make room on the bench. He was clearly not accustomed to carrying passengers — the cabin was crowded with boxes, furs, and jars of dried goods, and it was hung with rifles, ropes, and antlers along the interior. He cleared a space and draped a hide of soft, lush fur over the bench for us.

  The door opened, and my employer emerged just as the trapper was finishing up. Hudson helped us both into the carriage and climbed up into the driver’s box. With a click of the reins we were on our way. The tools and traps hanging all around us jangled ominously as we began rolling, but the hide beneath us was impossibly soft and comfortable.

  “Find out anything interesting?” Hudson asked from the front.

  “Nothing especially,” Jackaby replied, fidgeting with a slim metal tube I hadn’t noticed before. “There have indeed been all manner of individuals in that shop, and recently, too—but no one aura I could single out. You never mentioned that your friend was of goblin blood.”

  Hudson’s head appeared through a little flap in the front of the cabin. “Come again? Known Bill for years. He ain’t no goblin.”

  “Half blood, almost certainly. I would guess goblins are on his mother’s side, based on the ears. For some reason they tend to be more pronounced down paternal lines. Notorious brigands, their lot. Not the least bit trustworthy, but it stands to reason that he has a propensity for peddling pilfered goods. A useful associate to have on your side, all things considered, so long as you’re not counting on loyalty.”

  The trapper looked about to object, but then nodded. “Huh. Actually explains a few things.”

  “He does indeed deal in rare goods,” said Jackaby, “but he told me the same thing he told you. Bones he can do—sheep, salamanders, even a few human reliquaries—but there are no dinosaurs in the bunch. He does have quite a few curious items tucked in with the ordinary goods on his shelves, though.”

  “Is that one of them?” I pointed to the small metal tube in his hands.

  Jackaby held it up a bit sheepishly. “Oh, this?” I saw that it was a little penny whistle. It looked like the sort you could buy from any dime store. “Not exactly. No.”

  “Then why on earth did you buy a—”

  “He is a remarkably talented salesman.”

  Hudson chortled and pulled the bundle of brown paper from his belt, waggling it through the flap in the canvas. “Tell me about it! Ain’t ever left that shop without somethin’ I didn’t need.” He passed the parcel back, and I unfolded it to find several strips of dried meat. “Deer jerky. Help yerselves.”

  Through the window I could see that we had already left the little town behind. Gadston was nestled just outside the mouth
of Gad’s Valley, twin bluffs bordering the natural gateway into the broad valley like marble pillars. As the cart rolled through the pass, we were briefly draped in shadow, and then the splendor of the landscape opened to us like a theater curtain. Light poured over the carriage, and vast acres of woody hills and waving grasses lay before us. The path wound past burbling streams and fields of wildflowers, with only the occasional barnyard or cottage adding a human touch to the scenery.

  The wheels began to bounce against a stretch of washboard bumps in the rough road, and the whole carriage shook. The boxes of ammunition beneath our seat rattled, and a bear trap, its steel jaws fortunately closed, swung free from its peg above us, whipping back and forth like a grisly pendulum. Jackaby dropped his whistle to grab at the trap, but on the third swing, the chain holding it slipped as well, whipping over his shoulder and rattling into the back of the cart.

  There came a loud squawk from behind us, and I looked back to find that the cloth shrouding Rosie had been knocked away. The bear trap had clattered to the floor, its long metal chain drooping over and into the poor bird’s enclosure. Every bar of the massive cage had been lined with what looked like corks from wine bottles. It had a round base about three feet in diameter, and as the creature within flapped to steady itself, I could see that its wingspan must have been twice as wide. The bird’s plumage was dark amber and rust red, with wings of brilliant gold. It was built like a large crane, with less neck and more beak—and what a beak! It was slightly curved and as glossy as polished brass. Rosie squawked again and shifted her weight from foot to foot as she eyed the intrusive chain with annoyance.

  I reached back to pull the jangling chain off her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jackaby said. “You don’t want any part of you too near that bird.”

  Hank’s head appeared through the flap again. “She’s a softie, these days, but he’s right. Best to keep yer fingers clear of—”

  Rosie let out a shrill screech, and I turned back in time to see her rear up and lash at the chain with her sharp beak. Two halves of a cleanly split link fell to the bottom of Rosie’s cage, and the ends of the chain slid away to either side. The light streaming through the flaps caught Rosie’s beak and danced along its razor edge, and she preened briefly before settling back down.

  “Don’t worry. She’s a grumpy old thing, but she’s basically harmless,” said Hudson. “Besides, she doesn’t go for the bars anymore. Haven’t found a metal she can’t cleave clean through, but she gets stuck in the cork.”

  “W-what?” I stammered. “What kind of bird is she?”

  “One of a kind!” Hank smiled. “Used to be whole flocks of ’em, once upon a time. I did some trade with a funny little Greek fella out of Arcadia a few years back. One day his ship comes in—he’s lost half his cargo, three crewmen are gettin’ hauled off to the hospital, and he tells me this pretty thing got loose in the hold. She carved her way through to the mess hall like it was a tin can and put a breach in the hull before they managed to get her secured. Poor girl was so trussed up in leather straps, she could hardly move. Well, the Greek is more than happy to let her go for a decent price, but he knows she’s worth more’n I can pony up—plus he’s got all them ruined goods to make up for—so, I brought your boss here out to the docks with me to see her for himself.”

  Jackaby nodded, confirming the story. “Seemed a shame to let such a remarkable creature be sold off to the highest bidder, and worse yet to see her fall into the wrong hands—besides which, Hudson had already proven himself a capable handler.”

  “So,” continued Hudson, “he drops enough for a whole new boat, which makes the Greek happy as a fish in whiskey, and he gives Rosie to me, along with a little history lesson to make sure I knew what I had bought.”

  “And what was that?” I asked.

  Hudson winked. “Stymphalian bird.”

  “Have you ever heard of them, Miss Rook?” Jackaby asked.

  “Isn’t that one of the labors of Hercules?”

  “Hah!” Hudson looked very pleased. “No wonder Jackaby hired you. Yup, the very same. Beaks like bronze, only sharper and stronger. Feathers like daggers. If she has enough room, Rosie can whip one of them suckers faster’n I can pull a trigger.” He leaned in with a grin, “An’ that’s purdy darn fast. Apparently old Hercules had to scare ’em off with some sorta magic chimes. The cork was Jackaby’s idea.”

  “Not entirely,” said Jackaby. “I did find a few relevant passages that suggested it had worked before. Soldiers in Arcadia made armor out of cork, because the birds carved right through iron. With the cork, however, their beaks would catch and become stuck.

  “Better than birdlime!” Hudson added.

  “I can’t imagine an entire flock of them,” I said.

  “That woulda been somethin’ to see.” Hudson sounded a little wistful. “I like ta think there might be one or two out there, maybe a few in captivity like my Rosie, but the rest are all gone. I do like a rare breed.”

  “I can see why you’re fond of Jackaby.”

  “Hah! He’s as rare a breed as they come—that’s the truth!”

  Jackaby rolled his eyes.

  “I’m real glad you two came out.” Hudson turned back to the road. “You’ll like Gad’s. It’s purdy out here in the valley. Only, best you don’t go explorin’ too much on yer own. Word is something big’s come to the valley. Bill says a couple local hunters found some paw prints a few weeks back like nothin’ they’d ever seen. I’m right keen to get a crack at it, whatever it is.”

  I nodded and absently gnawed a bite off the strip of deer jerky in my hands. I tried to imagine what sort of lumbering beasts might lurk in these hills. The last time I’d gotten lost in the woods, I really had been attacked by a vicious creature—and it would’ve done me through if not for Charlie coming to my aid. Even at his best he had barely been able to stand his ground. I blanched and nearly choked on the chunk of gamy meat.

  Had local hunters already stumbled across Charlie Barker’s secret? Charlie—properly Charlie Cane, as I had known him in New Fiddleham—was part of a nomadic family, the House of Caine, all of whom were born with the ability to change from men to dogs and back again. It was the exposure of his inhuman heritage that had forced Charlie out of New Fiddleham, and it was his most closely guarded secret. I took its keeping very seriously. I would not know it myself, had he not risked everything to protect his town. But Charlie could not endlessly deny his full nature; he had to occasionally change, and in his canine form, he would certainly leave footprints unlike anything a local had ever seen.

  Jackaby and I exchanged glances. I could tell that the thought had occurred to my employer as well. “What sort of prints did Bill say that they had found?” Jackaby asked. I eyed the heavy rifles and sharp skinning knives tethered to the walls of the carriage. “Mountain lions, perhaps?”

  “Naw,” Hudson called back. “Said it was like a fox or a wolf’s, but big—bigger’n a bear. He’s been trading with hunters in these parts longer’n I can reckon—so if there’s something in these woods he ain’t seen before”—the big, bushy-bearded face popped back into the carriage with a wide grin—“then I wanna hunt it.” He pulled himself back out and hummed happily as the carriage bumped along the rocky pass.

  The soft hide I was resting on suddenly felt a little less pleasant, and the sharp trapper’s tools looked a lot more dangerous. I swallowed hard, and the lump of deer jerky slid uncomfortably down my throat. Charlie Barker and Hank Hudson had been two of the most pleasant acquaintances I had made since my arrival in the States—but now it seemed I would be spending my trip worrying about whether one of the bullets Hudson had just purchased had Charlie’s name on it. The ammunition boxes beneath my seat clinked as the carriage bumped along. They were the big ones.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After a long, winding ride, a farmhouse inched into view ahead of us, the details crystalizing slowly as we approached. It was a two-story house near the base of a rock
y, sloping hill, which rolled and bumped its way up into the bordering mountains. Beside the building sat a barn with a slightly sagging roof, and beyond that, a half-dozen goats were grazing in a wide field bordered by a simple wooden fence. I spied a figure in the sunlight, and then a second and third. They seemed to spot us as well, and three men came to greet the carriage as we drew to a halt.

  The first was an older gentleman in faded coveralls and a battered, wide-brimmed hat. He gave Hank a friendly wave as we approached. The second was a young man in sturdy slacks and a tailored vest, though he had rolled up his sleeves, and his trousers were caked with dirt. A fine layer of dust seemed to have settled all over the fellow. The third was dressed in a policeman’s blues, and I recognized his face at once. Charlie caught my eye through the window and smiled as we drew near.

  “Hank?” called the man in coveralls when the horses had stopped. “Hank Hudson, it is you! It’s been forever since you were out this way.”

  The carriage rocked as Hank hopped to the ground. He greeted the man with a hearty handshake. “Hugo Brisbee. Good ta see ya, old man. Listen, I was real sorry to hear about Miss Madeleine. If you need anything at all . . .”

  Brisbee forced a pained but appreciative smile. His eyes looked like they were welling up, but he blinked and shook his head. “That’s very kind of you, Hank, but I’ll make do. I’ve got to press on. My Maddie was never one to let me mope around when there was work to be done. She always . . .” His voice caught, and he took a deep breath. “Anyway, you should meet my new friend . . .”

  Brisbee made a few introductions I couldn’t quite hear, and Charlie stepped forward to assist Jackaby and me out of the carriage. “Thank you, Mr. Barker,” I said, climbing down first.

  “I wish I had known you would be here this early. I would have come to greet you at the station,” he said. “Things run a little more slowly out here in the valley. My new cabin is up the road just a few miles, so I took the liberty of meeting you here, instead. I hope you don’t mind?”