Scryer's Gulch

Episode 30: Sucker

That was an interesting little diversion. I'll let you get back to John and Annabelle. Take it away, grandkid!

*

"All right," said John once he'd recovered from his shock, "you've convinced me you're a great shot and a great wielder with access to some pretty fancy hardware. Now convince me you're Treasury and tell me why you're here."

"Only Treasury would care about the reason," she answered as she stowed her etheric pistols in their case. "Someone is corrupting ore coming out of Scryer's Gulch."

Icy prickles came over John's skin. "Corrupting--you mean like that nugget you found on Jamie? Someone did that on purpose? It's not natural?"

Annabelle shook her head. "Engineered. The best, our men tell me. Like nothing they've ever seen before."

John's temper rose hand in hand with fear for his son. "And you didn't see fit to take this to local authorities why, exactly?"

"I didn't know who was involved. I still don't. I don't know who the spellcaster is, and I don't know who if anyone is running him."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," she said as if explaining to one of her slower students, "that you could have been in on it for all I knew. I'm taking a risk as it is that you don't turn that rifle on me and leave me in some gully for the coyotes."

John chuckled and rested the rifle barrel over his shoulder. "I'd like to see the man who could get the drop on you, lady."

"That's why they sent me," she smiled, though she quickly sobered. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you more about it sooner, and I'm very sorry I didn't discover what the ore did before Jamie got hold of it."

John made a dismissive motion with his free hand. "You'd been here a matter of days--" He stopped short, confused and horrified. "You didn't know what it did? They didn't tell you?"

"No." Annabelle frowned. She slid a finger restlessly over the pearl handle of her right-hand gun. "They said they weren't sure, and that they wanted me to figure it out here. It's never set right with me..."

"Yes?" he prompted.

"I was given everything I need to do the investigation, but little of the information," she said reluctantly. "They hustled me out here straight from another assignment. I haven't been back to DC in six months." She looked at the toes of her boots. "It's almost as if...as if they don't want me to figure it out." She crossed her arms against the chill, the unspoken "Why?" hanging between them in the air.

*

Over at the Hopewell, Emmy was keeping herself warm out of doors back behind the hotel by means of exercise, swinging a cane carpet beater against Julian Hopewell's parlor rug. Her long dust-brown hair hung in untidy braids where they'd fallen from atop her head--she never could get the hang of pins--and they flopped against her thin back as she waled on the carpet.

She stopped to brush sweat from her brow and glanced down the alleyway, just in time to see that Duniway woman slip between two buildings further down. What was she skulking around for? Emmy beat the carpet slower so as to keep a better lookout, tiny poofs of dust barely rising from the pile.

Sure enough, five minutes later here came John.

Emmy beat at the carpet so hard the crumbs and dust flew; she kept at it until the cane beater broke clean in two. She'd show John what kind of woman that Annabelle was.

"You surely put a lot of muscle into things, Emmy," said a man's voice.

Emmy whirled around; it was Rabbit Runnels, John's brother. She sighed. Rab was always hanging around. She didn't want him, she wanted his brother. Though Rab had been good custom back when she'd been a goodtime girl full time, and still was on occasion; she turned a trick quiet-like now and again, with men she knew were discreet. Like Rab. He was a sucker.

Maybe she could make a coin or two today, but he didn't have that look on his boyish face. "What do you want, Rabbit?"

"Nothin'," said Rabbit gently. "Just came to pass the time, bid you good day."

"Ain't never a good day for me." She pushed up the drooping sleeves of her worn calico blouse and made a few ineffectual slaps at the carpet with the broken beater.

"Here," said Rabbit, taking it from her. "You want me to run and ask Minnie if you can use ours?"

"Hopewell can buy his own damn carpet beaters hisself," grumbled Emmy, snatching it back. "Anyway, carpet's clean enough, I reckon."

"Well, then, you want help carrying it back up to Julian's office?"

Emmy put her hands on her hips and squinted. "What do you want, Rabbit Runnels?"

"I told you, nothin'!"

"You think you're gonna get a free one for helpin' me wrassle a carpet up the stairs?"

"Emmy, don't talk like that," grimaced Rabbit, turning his head away. "No, I didn't have a single thing in mind for helpin', specially that."

"Oh, you don't like me no more?" she taunted.

"I like you a lot, Emmy," he said, his face solemn. "I just wish you liked yourself a little more." They stared at each other until Rabbit said, "So'm I gonna help you with this or you gonna wait for Ralph?"

"Ralph didn't help me get this thing down here, he ain't likely to help me back up with it. All right," she relented. "If you're fool enough to help me, I'm smart enough to let you."

The two of them took the carpet off the line and carefully rolled it up. They carried it between them into the hotel like a well-fed snake slung over their shoulders, Rabbit taking most of its weight as they marched up the stairs to Julian's parlor. "Thankee, Rab," she said when it was done. He tipped his hat--tipped his hat!--and took the stairs down two at a time.

What a sucker, she thought, and rolled out the carpet.