Chapter 2 The Diabolist

Oren Knox holstered his six shooters. The lithe shadow had ducked into some trees up ahead and his eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be, even in the daytime, much less at night. He felt around on the ground for his walking staff and found it. The staff felt cold to the touch but the rough surface wasn’t so polished it wouldn’t offer him a way to prop himself back up into a standing position. The old wound in his leg gave him fits, especially on cold nights like this, but he had learned to ignore it, mostly. He put the staff under his right arm and rubbed his cold hands together, blowing on them to get the circulation going again. He reached into his duster overcoat and produced his leather gloves. After carefully pulling on each glove in turn, he grasped his staff and moved through the snow toward the trees where the shadow had gone.

The crisp air was laden with moisture and, sure enough, after he took a few more steps the snow began to fall. He tightened his duster as he traipsed onward. At the tree line, he whispered a few arcane phrases and the diminutive footprints in the snow began to glow a dim, light green. He followed them to a clearing where they disappeared. He carefully surveyed the ground and found wagon tracks, most likely a buckboard wagon. The snow was quickly filling the tracks and erasing them; there wasn’t much time to follow them far. It didn’t matter, he could see they were traveling for town. They would most likely stop for the night at the saloon and inn to get out of the weather. Oren decided he would return to his cabin and return on horseback at first light.

The snow still fell and the clouds obscured the sun as Oren made his way along the trail, by memory, to town. The cold, wet white stuff wasn’t so deep yet as to impede his progress but it was just deep enough to cover up tracks and trails. Only the absence of brush and his keen sense of direction guided him in the correct direction.

The sun was bright enough to break through the canopy of clouds, straight up above, as he arrived at the only saloon in town. He stopped and stared at the building for a long while, contemplating, before he rode a block over to the stables to secure his horse. He trudged through the snow and frozen mud to the saloon. In the past, he had taken to drinking too often and now, in his later years, he found he had to moderate himself. He didn’t like what he became after too much of the bottle, but in moderation, he was fine.

Oren removed his leather glove from his right hand and clinched his fist to stop the tremor. A shot of whiskey will fix this. He thought. The double, swinging doors to the saloon swished open as a big man with almost unbearable body odor exited in front of him. the man nodded his head with a grunt, a common greeting in these parts. Oren nodded back and then entered the saloon.

As was his custom when entering a new establishment, he began his survey of the room. One door leading out into the kitchen and possibly the rear of the saloon at the right end of the bar, a set of stairs on the left leading up to a balcony and he inn rooms beyond, nine tables scattered throughout the room, two of which had several men smoking cigars and playing cards. Sitting at one of the tables was three men he recognized as hired men, probably here for the same reason he was. He found his way to the bar all the while seeking the reactions of the patrons to his arrival. No one seemed to care or even notice him, as far as he could tell, not even the three hired men.

“What’s your pleasure, stranger?” The barman asked.

“Whiskey, straight up.”

The barman set out a shot glass and poured it full of rot gut. Oren downed the shot and winced at the burn. “Another.” He said.

The barman tilted the bottle and Oren put his hand over the shot glass to stop him. “The good stuff.”

The barman reluctantly corked the bottle and reached under the bar, producing a fancy, clear glass container. He uncorked it and poured the shot. Oren downed it. The burn was absent and the taste was smooth and mellow with a hint of vanilla.

“Much better.” Oren said.

“Much more expensive.” The barman added.

Oren cocked his eyebrow then nodded. He reached into his top shirt pocket and flung a solid gold piece down on the bar. “Worth it.”

The barman smiled at the gold piece and poured Oren another shot of the good whiskey, “What brings you to Summerville?”

“I’m looking for someone who came this way, maybe yesterday. A young woman of about 20. She was traveling with another, older woman.” He produced another gold piece and held it up for the barman to see.

The barman’s eyes fixated on the gold; a crooked smile graced his lips. “The old woman passed over in the night. She came in here very sick, apparently.” He cleared his throat nervously, “I hope it was old age and nothing catching.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. What of the girl?” Oren asked matter of fact.

“I figured the girl to be a prostitute. She was just down for breakfast and she took two men up to her room just a few minutes back.”

Oren coughed. “She what? Did it appear to you that she went willingly?”

The barman had a far off look on his face. “I didn’t pay much attention, but now that you mention it, one of them did have her arm and was leading her off.”

“What room?”

“She is staying in room three.” Oren flicked the gold piece to the man and got up heading for the stairs. “Don’t go tearing up the place.” The barman called after him.

Oren reached the top of the stairs and drew his six shooter. He found room three and listened. He could hear soft whimpers through the door. He hefted his shoulder and rammed the door. The pain shooting through his arm told him he was too old to bust through a solid wooden door. He grumbled and then whispered a few words under his breath. The door crashed off its hinges. He entered the room to find the two men on top of the half-naked girl. One had his hand over her mouth, the other had a trance-like appearance, staring off into space. The first man yanked his hand back. The entranced man jolted, quite suddenly, into reality. Oren sighed in relief, both men were still fully dressed. He wasn’t too late. The first man went for his gun, and Oren fired at him while whispering under his breath. The bullet found both men’s hearts before lodging into the wooden wall frame.

The girl was astonished. “You shot them both…with one shot.”

“Well, ammunition is expensive.” Oren said as he dug the lead out of the wooden frame with his pocket knife. “And so is lead.” He stowed the spent bullet in a small leather pouch and put away his pocketknife. He kicked the first dead man off her bed and let him roll onto the floor before he reached for the girl. “Your name is Loril?”

The girl nodded. “And your name is Orennox.”

“More or less, yes.”

“All right, Oren Knox then.” She giggled. “That’s not a terribly big leap to make from Orennox to Oren Knox, is it?”

“They sound different enough to me, I suppose, I’m not trying to hide anything.” He said. “Come on, my gunfire will draw unwanted attention.” He took her by the arm.

“Mother Cooper said if anything should happen to her and you came for me that I should not resist anymore and just go with you.”

“Wise woman.”

“You’re not going to ask me about these two men?”

“Nope, but I am going to sling you over my shoulder if you don’t hurry it along. Cover yourself up and gather what things you want to take.”

“I didn’t have any money. I didn’t know you were coming for me this soon.” She got up from the bed and pulled her dress to cover herself, looked in the mirror above the dresser and pulled her messy hair back. “I wasn’t going to let them do anything to me, not really.” She grabbed a hold of a medium sized bag and stood ready.

“Not my concern now.” Oren said. “I know what you are, a Diabolist.” He stuck his head out the door and peered down the hallway. Someone took a shot at his head and narrowly missed. The wood trim around the door tore loose where the bullet struck. “Looks like we can’t go back the way I came.” He looked her over. “You can’t go outside like that. Do you have anything heavier to wear? It’s snowing out.”

“What’s a Diabolist?”

Oren looked annoyed, “Did you hear me?”

“I have an overcoat.” She put her bag on the bed and rummaged through it, producing a ratty overcoat. “You didn’t answer me.”

“It’s a fancy word for a charmer, I suppose. Can you get at those sheets?”

Loril nodded and began to tear the sheets and tie the strips together.

“Good thinking.” She said. “We can climb out the window.”

He took a shot down the hall when he heard footsteps coming from the stairway. “Better hurry it up.”

“Hurry, hurry.” She said. “Always hurry. What do you think I’m doing?”

“Well, whatever it is, do it faster.”

A few minutes later Loril was throwing the makeshift rope out the window. “There is no one out back if we hurry, that I can see.” She threw her bag out and started to climb out the window.

Oren shot a few more rounds down the hall, wincing at every wasted bullet, before he joined her. They both slid down the sheets as quickly as they could. Oren took Loril’s hand as soon as she picked up her bag and headed for the livery stables. “We will get my horse and head back east.” He looked back at the sheets hanging from the window. “Wait.” He said. He waved his hand and the sheets burst into flame.

“What about my horse?”

“You have a horse? I thought you were traveling by buckboard.”

“We had it tied to the back of the buckboard wagon. It’s in the stable.”

“Even better then.”

They reached the stable and found the stableman preparing to take the saddle off Oren’s horse. “No, leave it on. Did you feed him?”

“I did.”

“Get her horse.” Oren nodded to Loril.

The stableman shrugged, “It may take me a few minutes.”

Oren produced a gold piece. “Will this speed you up any?”

The stableman’s eyes gleamed and he nodded while reaching for the coin. Oren folded his fingers and the gold piece disappeared. “After you get her horse, quickly now!”

The stableman gleefully hurried away.

Oren took Loril’s bag and fastened it to his saddle. “Get ready. If the hand doesn’t get your horse fast enough, you will ride behind me.”

“Is that why one of them was chanting and both his eyes were glazing over?” She asked.

“What?”

“The men in my room.”

“Sure, why not. Yes, he was trying to steal your power and locate an earth node.” Oren answered.

The stableman brought up Loril’s horse, ready to go. Oren could see he did a horrendous job, sloppy and haphazard, but it would have to do. “You did a lousy job.” The man shrugged at the comment. Oren flicked the gold piece to the stableman and Loril got up on her horse. “Stay close to me.” He spurred his horse on and Loril followed close. He whispered a few words and the stableman wandered off, dumbfounded.

They reached the edge of town before Oren befuddlement spell wore off. Oren knew the stables would be the first place anyone following him would go to intercept him.

“What did you do to the stableman?” Loril asked.

“Hmm? Oh,” Oren snickered for a moment. “anyone who steps foot in that stable will forget what he was doing for a few minutes. It’s called befuddlement and its useful to buy a few minutes to ride out of town.”

“Clever. Where are we going now?”

“I have a spot, a good hidden spot. We should reach it in a few hours ride. Just stay close to me and try to stay warm against the snow.”

“If the snow keeps falling like this, won’t they be able to follow our tracks.”

Oren shook his head. “Look behind you.”

As the two sauntered along, their tracks disappeared without a trace.

She turned back to him and smiled, “Another useful spell. At this rate you will use up all your magic.”

Oren nodded, “Worth it,” He said.