James Axler – Trader Redux

Patches of thick conifers rimmed the canyon, mainly spruce and larch, with a number of taller ponderosa pines. There was no sign of any real trails, though it wasn’t difficult for the men to make their way southward along the edge.

“There’s that ruined building,” Abe said, stooping to rub at his sore ankles. “Smoke out the chimney. Could mebbe go and take a look.”

“Why not?”

J.B. FOUND HIS WATER a quarter mile along, where the trees had thinned out, showing the glint of a large, reed-lined pool. A heron, disturbed from its fishing, flapped its stately way into the air, flying away inland.

“Could’ve shot it,” Abe said.

“With the scattergun or the Uzi? Can’t say either of them are the best weapons for going wildfowling. That place is occupied. Don’t want to let them know we’re in the area. Not until we’re ready for that.”

Abe flopped down and drank from the cool water, cupping it to his face, splashing noisily. The Armorer was more cautious. He stood still and took a good three-sixty look around the open clearing before taking off his stained fedora and placing his glasses neatly on top of it.

“Skin flames where the poison got sprayed on it,” he said. “Come out in a rash.”

Abe turned and stared at it. “Yeah. Kind of little whiteheads, with sore, red places around them. Give them a real good washing, J.B.”

The Armorer winced as the icy water bathed the spots, running down his neck, inside his collar. “Better,” he said. “Cooled them some.”

He was kneeling down, leaning over the small lake, when he straightened. “Black dust!”

“What?”

“Look. The surface of It’s another”

The pool was rippling, as though a strong wind had gusted across it. But there wasn’t more than the lightest breeze. Abe, standing up, felt the earth begin to shift beneath his combat boots.

“Quake! “he shouted.

“Could be an aftershock,” the Armorer said, snatching up his spectacles and his beloved hat. He straightened, rocking to his left at a severe jolt.

They heard the same rumbling noise, far below them, like a procession of subterranean war wags.

Somewhere on the far side of the lake they saw one of the tallest of the pines suddenly start to fall, crashing down, its top splashing into the water.

A beaver broke from cover, under the bank to their left, and started to swim across the rippling pool. There was an explosive gout of mud and bubbles and it vanished, giving a desperate cry, disturbingly like a terrified child.

J.B. and Abe looked at each other, waiting for the quake to subside.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Baron Torrance was everything that his ville of Hightower would have led you to expectdisgusting, rundown and filthy.

He was lying on a mattress on the floor, in what looked like it might once have been the main restaurant of the sprawling resort hotel.

Ryan guessed his age would be around seventy. Thin strands of white hair were pasted across the top of a yellowing skull. It was difficult to calculate his weight, but it was certainly the wrong side of three hundred pounds. His little eyes glowered piggishly up at the two outlanders from their wrinkled beds of layered fat. The baron’s lips were thin, peeling pettishly back off the yellowed remains of crooked teeth.

“So, these are the men who have been sent by my enemies to assassinate me, Arkadin?”

“They lost their horses and trade goods in the quake, Baron. Managed to climb out the canyon. Came here looking for some kind of help.”

“Help? What sort of help would someone of my rank and dignity offer to a pair of murderous wolf’s heads?”

“Bed for the night, Baron,” Trader said. “Little food to see us on our way in the morning.”

“Do we know you?” Torrance asked, leaning up on one elbow, wheezing with the effort of moving. His clothes were just as baggy and shapeless as the man himself, looking like they’d been hastily tacked together from the stained and worn-out curtains of a pesthole gaudy.

“We?” Trader looked across at Ryan. “Something wrong with my old glims, is there, brother Danny? I don’t see any ‘we’ in here, do you?”