Portlandtown: A Tale of the Oregon Wyldes (41 page)

“I have no reason to doubt it,” Andre said. “Unlike the others, his is the body
and
mind of a man slain eleven years ago, though he is no longer a man.”

The marshal raised an eyebrow. “No soul?”

“I wouldn’t presume to know the path of the soul, but I do know the creature is not alive. The body may be perambulatory, but the heart does not beat, the lungs gather no air, the blood does not flow.”

“But he could think,” Joseph said. “And reason.”

“Yes, although how clearly I cannot say. He would not feel physical pain, which is how he continued to give chase despite his wounds.”

“He could barely stand by the time we got to the pier,” Kate said. “I don’t imagine he would have lasted much longer even if the river hadn’t swallowed him up.”

Kate caught an exchange between their guests. It wasn’t much, but a decade of watching the twins had made her aware of even the subtlest of communications.

“But you don’t think he’s dead, do you? That’s why you’re after him. If he could be destroyed like the rest, you wouldn’t need to chase him down. He has help.”

“There is a young man who helps him,” said Naira.

Kate leaned forward. “Helps him how?”

Andre smiled.

Kate felt her cheek twitch. It wanted to return the big man’s expression, but she wouldn’t let it, yet.

“What are you really after, Mr. Labeau?”

Andre had intended to share everything (or nearly so), but was surprised by how quickly the conversation found its way to the truth.

“There is a book,” he began.

Joseph shared a glance with his wife. “Books we know.”

“This is not a volume you will find in your collection, Mr. Wylde. There exists but one copy, which is already one too many.”

“Books aren’t dangerous,” Maddie said.

“Unless you throw ’em,” Kick added, eyeing his father.

Joseph grinned. “Larger volumes, maybe, although there are those who say certain ideas can be dangerous—in the mind of someone with evil intent.”

“Were this merely a collection of bad intentions, I would not have traveled so far to retrieve it. No, I am afraid words can be dangerous. Spoken aloud they can control, deceive, and destroy, as long as there is someone to believe them.”

In his mind, Joseph saw the Hanged Man crouched by a fire. It was an old memory, one seen with two eyes. The man, wounded but very much alive, read a passage from a small black book and the flames flared, first amber and then black. He held a handkerchief over the fire and watched the flames slither into the fabric and disappear. What came next had stolen Joseph’s sight and changed his path forever.

“You’re talking about magic.”

Andre nodded.

“We’ve got a dozen books on the subject down at the store,” Kate said. “I don’t think anyone has ever hurt themselves reading one.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Wylde, I am not making myself clear. This is not a book of tricks or stagecraft, but power—dark power. The power to make men do as you wish, to twist the heart and bend the will, to raise the dead.”

“It’s a book of curses,” Joseph said. “That’s what gave him his power.”

“It did,” Andre said. “Once, it nearly made him invincible.”

“Not near enough,” said the marshal.

“True, Marshal. Eleven years ago you broke his link to the book and thus his source of power. He was truly dead.”

“But now?”

“The book brought him back to this world, although he does not possess it. It now belongs to young Henry Macke. Fool though he is, Henry could not stop himself from reading it.”

“Why?”

“It told him to.”

Kate flinched at an echo in her head—two voices, speaking in the dark.

“Who would write such a thing?” she asked.

Andre hesitated, which was more than enough for Joseph to see the truth.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said before Andre could answer. “Not if you mean to destroy it.”

Andre stared at Joseph, seeing in the man’s face more than his words revealed. Andre nodded, once more wondering exactly how much Joseph truly saw.

“That is not so easily done.”

*   *   *

“That was the mayor’s aide,” Joseph said, returning to the living room. He rubbed the key in his hand, noting the number on its head, and then tucked it into his shirt pocket. “He’s checking up on us. Wants to make sure we’re on the team.”

Kate looked up from the couch. “We’re a team now, are we?”

Joseph smiled. “Apparently. He also mentioned that they found Mr. Edmonds.”

“Alive?” Maddie asked.

“Barely. But they think he’ll pull through … with a little help.”

Andre nodded. “I’ll check in on him as soon as I can.”

Joseph stoked the fire, adding another log before returning to his place on the couch between Kate and the twins. There was just enough seating in the living room for everyone, although Andre barely fit in the chair he’d chosen. He was used to it.

“Tell me about the book,” Joseph said. “You buried it with the Hanged Man, correct?”

“Yes. With no master, it was safer in the ground, soon to be forgotten.”

“Why not burn it?” Kate asked. “Burn it and the body together. Wasn’t that the story everyone was told?”

“I believe there was some miscommunication about his funeral arrangements.”

Andre tacked a smile onto the end of his attempt at humor, but Kate didn’t laugh. It did, however, elicit a grunt of recognition from the marshal.

“You made me bury him. Tricked me into it with one of them curses.”

“I was there,” said Andre. “And I helped you to do what needed to be done. But it was not a curse.”

“The hell it weren’t! You put a hex on me so I’d forget—but I didn’t. Oh, no. I remembered just enough to keep an eye on the dead bastard all these years, for all the good it did.”

Joseph leaned forward. “Marshal, I don’t think accusing Mr. Labeau of cursing you is going to help.”

“No,” said the marshal, standing up. “I want to hear him say the words. I want to know. God knows I ain’t gonna think it up on my own.”

Andre felt the block in the old man’s mind slipping. Yes, part of it had been put in place by his hand, though not the worst of it. He lowered his voice and did what he could to push the barrier out of the way.

“I only did what you asked me to do, Marshal.”

The marshal shuddered as the memory tumbled into place and all at once he knew it was true. All of it was true.

*   *   *

“You sure I ain’t gonna remember this?” the marshal asks. The star on his jacket glistens in the afternoon sun.

Andre tamps down the last shovelful of dirt on the dead man’s grave and nods. “Only what you need to, Marshal Kleberg.”

“Good,” the marshal says. “Just as soon forget as much as possible.”

“You will never truly forget, but the memory will remain hidden, safe. It will grow old with you and die with you.”

The marshal chuckles. “Shouldn’t take long.”

“Do not be so sure. I see a long life ahead. Quiet, happy, and full of respect from those you love.”

“And whiskey, I hope.”

The big man smiles. The marshal knows he has a name, but he can’t quite place it.

“Always loved the view from up here,” he says, appraising the town and river below. “Kids want me to move to Portland, but think I’ll stay put awhile.”

“A fine idea, Marshal.”

The marshal glances back, but he is alone. He has been all day. He spies the shovel on the ground and picks it up.

“Don’t want to forget this,” he says and walks down the hill.

*   *   *

“You made me forget,” the marshal said, plopping back down in his chair. “’Cause I didn’t want to remember.”

“Yes,” Andre said.

“All this time, thought I was losin’ my mind. Hell, I been getting it back.”

Andre glanced at Naira, who quickly redirected his gaze toward Kate, but too late.

“It’s true, then?” Kate said. “You put a curse on my dad?”

“It was not a curse. And your father accepted the charge freely—it was his choice to stay and watch over the dead man.”

“How did he have a choice if you made him forget?”

“It’s all right, Katie.”

“No, Dad, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. I wanted this—I asked for it—for you, for the family. It was my decision. Just didn’t work out quite how I expected.” The marshal looked at Andre. “Thought I wasn’t supposed to remember nothin’.”

“You were not.”

“Well, I did. Remembered just enough to think I’d forgotten something really important. Damn near drove myself crazy.”

“For that I am sorry,” Andre said. “But I believe it was a crack in your memory that you yourself created years ago. It was only a matter of time before it failed completely.”

The marshal stared at Andre. He knew. Course he did.

“A crack? What does that mean?” Joseph asked.

The marshal frowned and pulled the gun from his coat. He held it briefly before laying it on the small table between them. The handle glowed crimson in the firelight.

Kate’s breath caught in her throat but she managed not to make a sound.

“He means I went and dug this damn thing up a couple months after buryin’ it. Couldn’t never forget it, I s’pose.”

“It has a voice that is loud and clear,” said Andre. “Few men could resist its call.”

“Take it.” The marshal sighed. “I don’t want it no more.”

For a moment no one said a word, then Kate found her voice.

“I still don’t understand. You buried these things, these evil things, and then what? Made my dad watch over them, even though he didn’t know it? Why wouldn’t you just destroy them?”

“It is not so easy to unmake a thing, especially one that holds as much power as the Hanged Man’s weapon. I understand the desire to melt it down or simply throw it in the river, but the curse that is bound within would not be broken, but rather set free. It would only make matters worse.”

“Worse?”

“Yes,” Andre continued. “But to bury a thing beneath time and earth—to render it forgotten—that is a powerful weapon, indeed.”

“The marshal remembered,” said Joseph. “He dug it up.”

“But he kept it hidden for more than a decade. If he had not gone back for it, I believe someone else would have.”

“Someone did.”

Andre said nothing. He didn’t have to.

“Henry Macke,” said the marshal. “How’d he know about it?”

Andre shifted in his chair. “That was my mistake. I believe he was on the hill the day we buried the Hanged Man, hiding amongst the trees. I was so focused on the task at hand, I missed his presence.”

Maddie jumped in. “So why didn’t he dig it up right away?”

“He would have been just a boy,” Kate said. “Younger than you are now by a few years, I think.”

“True,” Andre said. “And it is my belief that because he heard my words he was bound by the same charge laid upon the marshal. Young Mr. Macke forgot what he saw. He likely would have remained ignorant had the marshal not left Astoria. But the charge fell to him in the marshal’s absence and his memory resurfaced, unclouded, it seems.”

“He knew right where to dig,” Naira added.

“Why would he dig up a dead body?” Kick asked, glancing at his grandfather. He was pleased to receive an approving nod from the old man.

“I do not know,” Andre said. “There were others involved, criminals who may have influenced Henry’s decision. They may have been after the gun. Not finding it, they took the body, hoping to sell it.”

“But kept the book,” said Joseph.

Andre nodded. “Henry kept it. Mostly to himself, I have no doubt. He used it to lift the Hanged Man from his slumber.”

“Weren’t no slumber,” said the marshal. “I put a dozen slugs in the bastard with his own gun. You were there. Man was dead.”

“Very much so. But he had prepared himself, using words from the book to preserve his body. He no doubt had a different plan in mind should he be cut down, but eleven years on it finally came to fruition.”

Kate folded her arms over her chest. “You believe he planned to come back from the dead?”

Andre shrugged. “He took precautions.”

“You know a lot about what’s in this book,” Kate said, choosing her words carefully. “I take it that means you’ve read it.”

“I have read it,” Andre said. “Once, as I wrote it.”

*   *   *

Andre’s explanation of how the book came to be was careful, considered, and perfectly rational. His personal penance for losing it had been harsh, and his efforts to recover and ultimately render the book inert were thorough and fairly accomplished. He had done everything he could to atone for an error of youthful indulgence and it was not his fault that so much evil had come from something born of his hands.

And yet Joseph was certain Andre didn’t believe a word of it. The man blamed himself and always would.

“But you never used a single curse?” Joseph asked. “Not even to see if they worked?”

“I believed they would. To use them would be wrong. It was my intention to stop others from using such words and for that I needed only to know them.”

“Very noble,” Kate said.

“And very foolish,” Andre added.

Kate stared at the man currently overflowing her mother’s favorite chair. He wasn’t holding anything back now. His story was fantastic, but it was honest. He believed it, and despite her better judgment, Kate found she did as well.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to bury it again,” she said. “If you can convince Mr. Macke to return it, that is. What about the gun?”

“We destroy it,” Andre said.

Kate laughed. “You just told us we couldn’t.”

“Eleven years ago that was the prudent course of action. Today circumstances are different.”

“You still think he’s out there,” Joseph said.

“Evil such as the Hanged Man is not so easily washed away.”

“Alive, dead, drowned … whatever he is, best to bust it up,” the marshal said, finding it easier not to look at the weapon. “S’pose I didn’t need to clean it.”

“Fine,” Kate said, starting to rise. “I’ll get a hammer and we can smash it to bits right now.”