Into Eden: Pangaea - Book 1 (15 page)

“No I haven’t,” said Jesse as he screwed the blade back on. “See? Good as new. Besides, I’ll take two of them.”

Delighted, Lamech reached into the box and retrieved a second spear.

“Where did you get these?” Jesse asked him.

As if accused of some horrific crime, the shopkeeper was immediately on the defensive. “Why, a man doesn’t reveal his sources. Have to protect the supply-chain, you know.”

“They’re an-nef made.”

Both Seth and Enoch looked at Jesse with curiosity when he said that.

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that. I just buy them from a retailer in Atlantis, and then ship them to Mountain Shadows. Where he gets them I have no idea, and don’t care. An-nef or human made it makes no difference to me as long as the price is right.”

Jesse and the others looked around the room. Sitting on the floor were two more crates like the first, only one was wider and shorter than the crate with the spears, and the other appeared to be a much shorter crate of the same general dimensions.

“What’s in those crates?” Jesse asked.

“None of your concern, young man!”

“Open it!” Enoch snapped.

“The dog spoke!” The shopkeeper gasped.

Without further delay, Jesse rammed the spear that he held under the lid of the smaller of the two crates and began to pry.

“Stop right this minute!” Lamech yelled. “You have no right…”

With a “creak” and a “pop” the lid came off and they found themselves staring at a crate filled with mechanical bows packed in straw.

“I didn’t know that the crossbows were there!” The shopkeeper protested. “By the gods, I swear it!”

“Oh no?” Enoch replied. “Then how do you know what they are called? For the last month all I have heard them referred to is, ‘mechanical bows.’ Seems strange that you know what they are.”

“Get out of here! All of you!” the shopkeeper demanded, but Jesse just rammed his spear under the lid of the remaining box and pried it off like the others. Inside were the short arrows of an-nef manufacture like the one that he had found by Horse-head Rock.

“And what are these called?” Jesse asked him.

“I don’t have to answer you! Leave this very minute!”

“Either you tell me what they are called, or I’ll sic my dog on you.”

Enoch began to bear his teeth and growl.

“Bolts! They’re called bolts! Now get out of here! You’re going to get me in a lot of trouble!”

Jesse and the others left the back room, spears in hand and headed for the door.

“See here!” Lamech yelled at them as they departed, “you haven’t paid me for the spears!”

Jesse turned and tossed the shopkeeper a denarius, “Here. Keep the change.”

Once outside they stopped to discuss their recent discovery.

“How did you know the spears were an-nef?” Enoch asked, trying to whisper.

“Remember Horse-head Rock? I found an arrowhead—I mean ‘bolt-head’—at the scene of the battle. It was made the same way. The wood was turned so that the shaft screwed into the head. I don’t know of anyone who makes arrows like that. We need to tell the sheriff what we have discovered.”

“Agreed,” both Enoch and Seth said in unison.

Within minutes Jesse and Seth were talking to Whitehurst’s sheriff. They thought it best to leave Enoch out of the conversation. The sheriff introduced himself as, “Sheriff Able of the house of Farin.” He sat behind an oak desk, leaning back in his chair, his hands laced behind his head, and his sizable gut protruding from under his shirt. On his desk was a carved wooden plaque which read, “The Denarius Stops Here.” The sheriff listened intently as Jesse and Seth told of discovering the an-nef weapons in the shopkeeper’s back room. They skipped over the part about Jesse prying open the crates over the man’s protest, and focused on Jesse’s discovery of the crossbows of an-nef manufacture. When they were done the sheriff rocked forward in his chair. He put his hands on his desk and shook his head. “Really,” he began, “I don’t know what I can do about it. Does sound suspicious, I’ll admit. A man with a crate of mechanical bows made by an-nef? These ‘crossbows’ sound just like the same weapons that those jackal-heads used to terrorize the town on their way down river when they torched the boats at the docks. But folks here in Whitehurst have laws—same as you in Atlantis or Mountain Shadows—and I can’t just bust in and arrest the man because I suspect that he’s up to no good. I have to have proof. And you can’t even tell me where he got them and who he’s selling them to. Atlantis is a big place. Mountain Shadows is a big place, too. Lot bigger than Whitehurst. Besides, I’ve got my hands full today with the lion attack and all. I suppose that you’ve both heard about the attack?”

“Yes,” they agreed.

The sheriff sat up straight and ran his hands through his hair. “I’ve got people running all over town toting spears like they’s fishin poles. I got men standing guard at all entrances to the city—also armed with spears. There’s even vigilante bands of lion hunters going from farm to farm outside the city looking for the man-eater. But I tell you what: If any of those boys did meet a lion they’d just drop their spears and run as fast as they can. Not a lion-hunter among them. And when they do find the lion he’ll already be dead—died of a fever from that crazy-dog disease. I guarantee you that! Nosir. I’d like to check out that crossbow-toten shopkeeper but I just don’t have the time!” With that the sheriff leaned back in his chair again, staring at the ceiling, as if counting the knots on the planks above him.

“Thank-you, Sheriff,” Seth said politely.

“Un-huh.”

Jesse and Seth left the building and found Enoch waiting patiently outside.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“Just peachy,” Seth replied.

“Sheriff gonna check into it?”

“Sheriff Able of the house of Farin is a busy man,” Jesse replied. “His hands are full protecting the city from lions and counting knots on the ceiling planks.”

“I see. Well then. It’s past noon. Let’s say we go get some more meat pies.”

Sheriff Able of the house of Farin stared up at the ceiling for a long time. He only glanced out the window to see the two out-of-towners pause outside long enough to get their dog and head off in the direction of the town commons. But the longer he stared, the longer that he thought of their story, the more that it bothered him. What was that shopkeeper doing with crates full of an-nef weapons? Really, nice, weapons too. He had fought in the An-nef War himself as a young man, and he had never heard of such things as crossbows on either side. Back then it was sword-to-sword, spear-to-spear, and better not get too close to the an-nef or sure ‘nuf they’d drop the spear and start gnawing on your throat. Yessir, that’s how real men fought. Up close and personal. After a while he ceased his contemplation, got up from his chair and strapped on his sword. Going into the next room he found one of his deputies asleep at a desk.

“Wake up!” the sheriff yelled. “Do you want citizens to come in here and see you like this, Deputy Arkin?!”

The deputy didn’t answer, but raised his head and wiped the drool from his chin.

“Strap on your sword,” the sheriff told him. “We’ve got some investigative work to do.”

With that, the Sheriff headed for the door and down the street toward Sword Street. He knew the place. He’d bought a knife or two there himself. Owner was a weasely sort by the name of Lamech. Behind him Deputy Arkin hopped in the mud on one foot as he pulled on his boots trying to keep up with the sheriff. He’d taken the liberty to remove them before his noon nap so that he could get real comfortable. But the sheriff never looked back.

Two streets down, and half a block in, and they were standing in front of the Razor’s Edge. The sheriff tried the door, but found it locked. What’s more, the OPEN/CLOSED sign in the window had been turned to, “CLOSED.”

“Very strange, Deputy Arkin.”

“Strange,” the deputy agreed.

“Here it is—middle of the day on a day when the whole city is buying weapons and one of the city’s biggest purveyors of weapons is closed. There’s only one thing that could make a man do that.”

“Only one thing,” the deputy agreed.

“And you know what that is?”

“Nope.”

“The man must be deathly ill. Why, he could be lying on the floor breathing his last with no one to rescue him. What should we do about that, Deputy?”

“Get a doctor?”

“No time! We must see to his safety!” Without another word (and with surprising agility for a man of his age and size) the sheriff kicked the door in, splintering the casing and shattering glass.

As they entered the sheriff drew his sword, and motioned for the deputy to do the same. This Deputy Arkin did, but the blade was quivering in his hand so badly that the deputy feared that he would drop it. He grasped the sword with both hands and followed the sheriff as he crept toward the back room. Ahead of them they could hear loud, male voices. “Nobody sells our weapons! You got that?” The only response was a muffled cry. The sheriff opened the door to the room slowly, but the men inside were so intent on their grizzly chore that neither of them saw the two law officers—and apparently—had not heard the “bang” of the outside door as it disintegrated. Inside they could see the shopkeeper tied to a chair, a rag stuck in his mouth and secured with a strip of cloth. Towering over him were two men, clean-shaven and well dressed. The white shirt of one of the men was spattered with the shopkeeper’s blood. As the shopkeeper looked up at the lawmen approaching from behind, the two strangers whirled and drew their swords. It was then that Sheriff Able displayed his most remarkable talent for swordsmanship, for the sword of one of the strangers had barely left its scabbard before Able leaped toward him swinging as he moved. The stranger’s sword fell to the floor, his hand still gripping the handle.

The stranger grasped his wrist and shrieked in pain. Now the sheriff moved on the second man, but this man barely glanced at his mutilated companion and then ran for a door in the back. The first man, still yelling and gripping his bloody wrist followed close behind. The sheriff walked cautiously to the back door, his sword leading the way. The door led to an alley, and the sheriff could see the two men jogging through the puddles from the rain the night before, splashing as they went, and leaving a trail of blood in the dirt.

“That first one won’t last long,” the sheriff remarked as he returned, and slid his sword back into his scabbard. Then, noticing the growing wet spot on the deputy’s trousers he remarked, “You gotta quit doing that every time someone draws a blade on ya. I don’t care if your mother is my sister, by the god’s I’ll fire you if it happens again!” Then, putting on a more fatherly tone he implored, “You might want to think of pursuing a less stressful occupation, Arkin.”

Deputy Arkin said nothing in reply. The beet-red hue of his face said it all.

The sheriff then untied the shopkeeper’s gag, but left him tied to the chair. He bent over close, “Who were your buddies?”

“Never seen either one of them before! They came in here to rob me. By the gods, I swear it!”

“Now, now, Lamech. Swearing’s an awful habit to get into. ‘Specially when the gods are involved. They might take offense to you lying by them. And if the stories are true that I heard my pappy tell, then they doooo have tempers. Downright vengeful lot. But me? I’m the forgiving sort. I wouldn’t hold a man’s lies against him, even if I did hear the conversation while I was standing in the next room with my deputy, here.”

Lamech’s face turned as red as the deputy’s. “Are you going to untie me or not?” he demanded.

“In time,” the sheriff answered. “But not until you give me some answers.”

“I have nothing to say to you! I demand that you release me this minute!”

“You are in no position to demand anything!” The sheriff was yelling now, a sight that deputy Arkin had rarely seen.

“How’s ‘bout instead of cutting the ropes I just cut off your hands so that you can slip out easier?” As he said this, the sheriff stuck the severed hand of the stranger in Lamech’s face. “How’d you like that?!!”

Lamech vomited, and began to weep. Behind him, Deputy Arkin did the same. “Please don’t hurt me!” Lamech said through the tears, “I’ll tell you what you want. But I really don’t know the men’s names. They call themselves, Sir Black, and Sir White. Strange names, I know, but I knew better than to question them.”

“The boy that was in here said that the weapons were an-nef, but Black and White sure don’t look like any an-nef that I’ve ever seen. Where’re they from?”

“I don’t know. Atlantis, I suppose. I only see them when the crates come in. I have to ride to a place south of Mavenport to meet them. I’m notified by pigeon when they arrive. Then I ship them to Mountain Shadows to a ‘Lord Green.’ Once Green receives them they pay me for the transportation. They pay very well.”

“Mavenport?” the sheriff inquired. “How do the weapons get to Mavenport? There’s only one road in that I’m aware of. Seems like an out-of-the-way place to use as a transit station.”

“They arrive by boat. A very large one. It anchors off-shore and then they send the crates in a smaller boat. They…”