The Black Widow (11 page)

Becky was to stay in the
shelter, to feed the fire, and to prepare to leave at a moment’s
notice. The horses were saddled up, tethered under the trees to
keep the worst of the cold wind off them. She was left the
derringer to look after
herself, and Coburn at the last moment decided to
leave her his Winchester.

‘
There’ve been tracks around
that I don’t much like,’ he explained to Herne. ‘If’n they’re bear,
like I reckon, then she ain’t goin’ to do much stoppin’ with that
toy. Needs a gun with weight.’

Herne
agreed. Telling the girl to keep
close to the shelter, and watch the horses. If there was a bear
around, then it might go for the animals. He’d seen a whole corral
of horses butchered by a family of bears in a single
night.

‘
When will you be back?’ she
asked, standing near the entrance, arms folded across her chest,
hair tucked under a thick scarf. Face pale and pinched with the
long spell of freezing weather.

‘
We’ll be up near there in
a couple of hours. Then we got to watch our moment. Take out the
men on guard, and get inside in their places. After that, it’ll be
over, one way or another, in another hour or so.’

That ‘one way or another’ haunted her
after the two men had walked out into the still falling snow and
vanished down the hill towards the lake. And towards that gaunt
pile of stone across the valley. In between the storms, she’d
looked across at the golden lights that seemed to speckle its
walls, and wondered about it. And about the two young men
inside.

She was cold, so she walked back to the
shelter, crouching to scramble inside, moving Whitey’s Winchester
out of the way. Herne had kissed her on the cheek before he left,
and Coburn had touched her on the shoulder, giving her a reassuring
squeeze.

Becky closed her eyes, lying back by the
fire, thinking about Jedediah Herne. And rubbing her face where the
bristles of his sprouting beard had scratched her, remembering the
silver hairs that gleamed amid its blackness. Like the gray that
streaked his long hair.

Wondering if she loved him.

It was a hard time going.

Once into the forest it was quieter, with
just the soft squeak of their boots among the white snow. Enough
fell each day to cover up their tracks from each previous
trip.

‘
Glad this is the
end?’

‘
It’s never really the end, is
it, Whitey? You turn what you think is the final corner. And find
it’s just another beginning.’

Whitey laughed, the noise sudden in the
hush. ‘Like I heard a bartender in Kentucky, called Roy Bean, once
say: one man’s floor is another man’s ceiling. Comes to the same
thing in the end, I guess.’

At last, like a monstrous tombstone, the
gray walls of the house appeared through the branches of the
thinning trees. The path faded away, narrowing to nothing, and the
two men stepped as quietly as they knew how, ducking right down to
avoid the snow-weighted limbs of the pines.

It wasn’t a time for long guns, and
Jed had left his Sharps back with Becky, wrapped safely in its
greased cloth. He and Whitey each wore a pair of matched Colts, the
holsters tied to their thighs to stop them swinging and bumping as
they walked.

‘
There.’

‘
Where?’

‘
Right. Coming round the
corner of the house. Only one of them.’

‘
Got him.’

‘
That’s the walker. And there’s
the one on the gate. If he’s reached this corner, then he’s due
back at the door in the tower in … let’s see … ’bout twenty
minutes, give or take a mite. That right with you?’

Herne
checked his own watch, then tucked it
safely away in his vest pocket, tugging the layers of warm clothing
back into place. Taking off his gloves, ready for the action to
begin, feeling the cold smarting in a scratch on his right hand
where he’d caught it breaking wood for the fire.

‘
That’s about right,
Whitey. Looks like this is it. I’ll take the walker and you go for
the man by the gate. Meet you back by that door in twenty minutes
from now.’

‘
Good luck,
partner.’

‘
Good luck,
Whitey.’

They touched hands briefly, then Coburn
was gone, ghosting away through the trees, heading round the house
in the opposite direction to the sentry, keeping under the dark
curtain of the trees.

Jed’s target was still in sight, walking
slowly, picking his way among the ruts of ice, frozen hard as iron.
For some reason he was wearing long, ornamental spurs, and Herne
hunted him by the silvery jingling, moving fast and silent,
stopping to draw the bayonet from its sheath inside his right boot.
Clasping his fingers round the warm hilt. Pausing to take several
deep breaths, steadying himself. Most of the windows of the house
were blank and shuttered, but on that side of the house,
overlooking the finest view, some were still clear. The sentry
carried a carbine, finger on the trigger, looking efficient. But
Herne noticed that the man didn’t once bother to look back over his
shoulder, and took little care of his flanks. He was asking to be
hit.

There was a point where a thick green
bush intruded clear on to the path, and Jed reached it first,
standing poised on the balls of his feet, knife held low, waiting
for the guard to walk right into him.

The jingling got nearer and
nearer.

And stopped.

Just the other side of the bush, so close
that Herne could actually see the man’s breath smoking in the
freezing air. Then he heard the tapping, and the noise of a window
opening. And a man’s voice. But a voice so soft and high that it
could almost have been a girl’s.

‘
Take care how you go, won’t
you, dear Anthony. I should hate one of those assassins to take
away my favorite guard from me.’

‘
Don’t worry, Master Mark,’
called out the man loudly, adding to himself: ‘Unnatural creepin’
bastard.’

The window slammed shut above Herne’s
head, and he tensed again.

The guard only had to take two steps to
get round the other side of the snow-capped bushes. He’d scarcely
had time even to get into his stride before he walked full into
Herne. They stood for a second, chest to chest, the carbine
touching Jed’s jacket.

The man’s mouth dropped open in purest
shock, and his eyes stared at Herne as though he was a demon who’d
sprung from the earth. He had time for a whispered, barely audible,
gasp before he was taken.

‘
Hello, Anthony,’ said Herne
softly, reaching up from his greater height to grab the man by the
back of his neck, pulling him forwards hard, off balance, so that
he pitched forwards on to the point of the knife that Herne held
braced against himself.

‘
Goodbye, Anthony,’ said Herne,
equally softly, feeling the life draining from the man, spilling
warm over the back of his right hand from the burst arteries of the
heart, soaking through the coat, and dripping, steaming on to the
ice. Forming a bright scarlet pool.

He watched the eyes roll backwards and
carefully dragged the corpse off the path, laying it behind the
bush, leaving the carbine still gripped in the dead fingers. He
didn’t need it and Anthony wasn’t going to be using it ever
again.

Then it was back along the side of the
house, past the windows which reflected the gray sky, leaden and
threatening, packed with the sullen promise of yet more snow later
in the day. It was tempting to put his gloves back on, and relieve
the numbness that endangered his fingers, but there was always the
possibility of running into a random patrol, and needing to be
quick on the draw.

There was the faint distant sound of
someone playing a harmonium in one of the rooms. Waiting for a
moment, Herne was able to recognize the tune. An old hymn. ‘Guide
Me O Thou Great Redeemer.’

The irony of that didn’t escape Jed.
He made his way towards the guarded tower door, still grinning. He
ferreted among his clothes with numb hands and managed to tug out
his silver watch. Still nine minutes to go. Plenty of time for
Whitey to waste his man and get back. They’d agreed that Whitey
should take the man by the gate. It was the easier killing. Jed had
always been the better stalker.

While he crouched behind one of the trees
nearest the house, Herne took a chance and slipped the gloves back
on, reveling in the warmth they provided.

Four minutes. There was a strip of path,
out from the trees to the door, of about fifteen yards. If anyone
was looking out of any of the windows during those fifteen yards,
then they were dead. None of the guards was near as tall as either
Whitey or Jed.

One minute and a half.

He heard a whisper of movement behind
him in the darkness, and spun round, Colt out and cocked, to stare
into the eyes of Coburn. He raised his eyebrows in a question, and
the albino split his mouth in a broad smile.

‘
Like stifling a babe in its
cot, Jed. Never even knew what happened. When I cut his throat, he
made a little noise like when you put your hands in water that’s a
mite too hot for you. Started to turn when he saw his own lifeblood
gushin’ out all over his hands. Then just fell down all of a heap
and I eased him out of sight. You got yours all right. I saw the
body when I come past.’

Herne
took off the gloves again, tucking
them safely in an inside pocket. Drew the handgun, and cocked it
with his thumb. ‘Ready?’

‘
As ever will be. The odds is
gettin’ better all the time. Only four of their guns left. I guess
you and me should be able to deal with four.’

Nobody looked out of the windows as
they ran as silently as possible over the snowy path, to pause by
the door. It was massively thick, studded with bolts of iron, and
had a barred grill in its top quarter. Using the barrel of the
Colt, Jed knocked, waiting to be let into Mount Abora, for the last
two steps on his vengeance trail.