James Axler – Way of the Wolf

“I’ll take your word for it.” Ryan tossed the old man a key. “You going to be around?”

“In the ville,” Doc replied, “there’s a place called Cobb’s that has a reputation for good literature and fine wine.”

“Keep your ass covered.”

“Tighter than the proverbial duck’s,” Doc said.

Ryan followed Krysty into the room. She sat on the bed, pulling off the second of her stitched blue cowboy boots. She wiggled her toes luxuriously.

“We’ve got to see if they have something that passes for a general store in the ville, lover,” she said with a grimace after she examined her boots. “And mebbe get a new pair of heels. These are tore all to pieces.”

Ryan nodded and crossed the room. He moved the curtain from the window overlooking the balcony. The air inside the room was thick and unmoving. He opened the balcony door and felt the circulation improve almost immediately.

A horse-drawn wag parked out on the street in front of a building with a sign that read Mercantile. The driver tied up his reins and climbed out of the wag, walking across the uneven wooden boardwalk. Three boys joined him, walking just behind him.

Ryan shifted his gaze, taking in as much of the ville as he could.

“What’s on your mind?” Krysty asked.

“Trader always had a saying,” Ryan said, “about how calm water covered everything. Even a man drowning in it.” He nodded at the ville. “I look out there, all I see is calm water when things should be muddied up some. Kirkland calls the tune in this ville, and everybody else seems to dance. Me, I’d kind of like to know what the piper’s got under his sleeve.”

Krysty joined Ryan at the window. She ran her fingers across his hard, flat stomach. Ryan liked the feel of her, and liked thinking about the clean bed and the possibility of a bath and whatever came after. He took her hand in his, splaying his fingers between hers and holding tight.

“Mebbe it’s only calm water out there,” she suggested.

“Mebbe,” Ryan agreed. But the uniform calmness about the ville unnerved him. Liberty had been a cunning, heartless bastard. It gave a man pause for some reflection thinking about what tied a man like Kirkland to Liberty. And he wasn’t going to forget Albert’s story about the wholesale slaughter anytime soon.

A discreet knock sounded at the door.

Krysty disengaged from Ryan. “Yes,” she called.

Ryan glanced at the young maid standing in the doorway. The girl’s eyes were brazen and bold, meeting his own with no shyness.

“I’ve got your water on the way up, ma’am,” the maid said. “Aunt Maim asked me to tell you and your man that she’d enjoy your company for supper tonight. She said to tell you that she understood it was short notice and everything.”

“When?” Ryan asked.

“At eight o’clock,” the maid replied. “After the evening church services.”

“Sure,” Ryan said. He glanced at his chron. “How long is that from now?”

“A couple hours.” The maid covered a faked cough, then trailed her fingers down the gap in her blouse. Another button had evidently come loose on her trip down and back up the stairs. “She has some clothing you can borrow for tonight. She likes to have something of a formal dinner. Gussied up and all.”

“Tell her we’ll accept,” Krysty said. “Have you got a kitchen available?”

“Yes, ma’am. Cook is one of the best in these parts. Aunt Maim wouldn’t have no other. A lot of people in the ville set store by her larder and the meals we serve out each day.”

“What have you got in the way of fresh fruit and cheeses?”

“Apples and pears,” the maid replied. “And we’ve got a half dozen different cheeses.”

“I’d like a plate sent up shortly after the bathwater,” Krysty said.

“Yes, ma’am. Aunt Maim said to tell you she had some rhubarb wine if you’ve a mind to sample some. She said you might be hungry from your trip, too. But she said to save some space for dinner because she’s having Cook do some special dishes.”

“Tell her thank you for us,” Krysty said.