Six Guns Straight From Hell - Tales Of Horror And Dark Fantasy From The Weird Weird West (22 page)

Before the t'ien kou reached Jeng-Wei, Crow rolled to his feet, his clothes hanging in bloody tatters, and he reached for his eagle-butted Colt pistol as he remembered the words that she had spoken to him in the Leaning Horseshoe Stable: “It is a thing that is pure evil and it cannot be slain by earthly weapons.”

But what of an earthly weapon that was blessed by the celestial power of a living prophet? Jeng-Wei pulled herself on top of the rail, clinging to the rigging, but ready to hurl herself into the water if it would buy her just a moment of respite from the t'ien kou. Her dark hair floated like a halo about her, but terror was written on her heavenly features.

Crow fired his blessed Colt and the .45 caliber slugs tore through the thick skin of the t'ien kou. Black blood spilled out and it howled, scrabbled to a halt, and then twisted around to focus its baleful glare upon the cause of its pain. Crow took a breath, held it and aimed. He squeezed the trigger twice and extinguished one of those great glaring orbs. It lurched toward Crow, fangs snapping, and then it fell at his feet and dark ichor washed across the Indian's bare feet.

The dark gun smoke drifted slowly and Crow passed through it, still holding the blessed weapon. All along he had possessed the means to defeat the demonic fiend. If only had understood earlier, he might have escaped the scathing claws that had trampled him underfoot. He moved past the fallen t'ien kou and helped Jeng-Wei down from her perch. As he did, she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

The sensation was akin to none that Crow had ever experienced before, but he had no time to ponder the kiss for her limbs seemed to dissolve beneath his grip, the flesh becoming insubstantial. He looked up and saw that she was fading into the night, becoming a ghost through which he could see the pale moon beyond.

“
By slaying the t'ien kou you have freed me from the sorcereries binding me to it,” said Jeng Wei. She read the confused expression on Crow's face. “Surely, you knew that I was something more than merely mortal?”

“
You knew my name before I gave it to you,” said Crow. “But I didn't know if you were a lure sent by my enemies or if you possessed some powers beyond my understanding.”

“
I am of the Hsien, the immortal race that sucks the wind and drinks the dew. I mount on clouds and vapor and rove beyond the seven seas. It was my purity that was bound to the evil of the t'ien kou and kept us both locked in mortal form and subject to its depredations and pain, though neither of us could be truly slain by a weapon that did not possess some supernal power.”

“
The Hsien?” voiced Crow. “You said that was your surname...”

“
The Hsein are known as the feathered folk, young mortal.”

“
But you have no feathers.” Then even as Crow spoke he saw great wings unfurling from between her shoulders, and her skin shone like the frost reflecting the morning sun's rays, her robe fluttered as pennants in the wind and she sailed into the sky.

“
Farewell, Crow. Seek your hunted man among the mines of the far terraces; he is still alive but not well. And seek true love in the chill wastelands of the North.”

“
And what of your professions of love?” called Crow.

“
I thought to make the best of my mortal form,” replied Jeng-Wei, her words carried on the mists. “But now I am freed, and no earthbound man can claim a hsien as a mate. I go where the breeze and misty vapors take me. Look for me only in your dreams.” Then she was gone from Crow's vision and hearing.

Stunned, he wandered past the horrible form of slain t'sien kou and recovered his rifle. Mechanically, he began reloading the gun, counting out ten bullets, and another for the barrel. A shot exploded from a pistol in the mist, casting splinters from the great mast, and Crow sighed. By his estimation there were seven tong fighters left. It was going to be a long night.

In doing research for this tale I discovered what a wicked and dangerous place gold rush era San Francisco was reputed to be. Originally it was a maze of tents, slab shacks and shanties and a few actual buildings that exploded into existence over night. Criminals of every stripe thronged to San Francisco and everything about it was designed to remove the hapless sailor or gold hunter from his money—by means fair or foul. Many different criminal elements vied for a piece of the pie, and there was no shortage of criminals.

Convicts from the penal colonies in New South Wales and the island of Tasmania, then known as Van Diemen's Land, swarmed to California and took up residence in a part of San Francisco that became known as Sydney Town. This part of the city was so feared that the police didn't dare enter it and the inhabitants were left to practice their criminal ways with impunity. If one of their number did happen to be arrested for theft or murder they usually didn't stay in prison for long, for a friend would pay off a city official and his release would be arranged.

Finally, the more upstanding residents of San Francisco had their fill and they formed a Vigilance Committee—a concerned group of citizens that took the law into their own hands and made sure that criminals and murderers were punished. This usually meant that they ended up swinging from the gallows. This Vigilance Committee so terrified the residents of Sydney town that they left in droves—looking for greener pastures to practice their criminal skills.

In a place teeming with such mischief trouble was bound to find Lone Crow...

Joel Jenkins lives in the heron-haunted hills of the Great Northwest with his lovely wife and numerous children. He is the author of the sword and sci-fi Dire Planet series, the noir horror novel
Devil Take the Hindmost,
the dark fantasy Tales from the City of Bathos novels, the thriller Nuclear Suitcase, and the children's book The Pirates of Mirror Land. He is not nearly as good with a tomahawk as Lone Crow.

The Enterprising Necromancer

by

Henrik Ramsager

It was half past eight in the morning, and Elijah Potbury was already hard at work in his office. His was a fairly new establishment located directly opposite the town’s oldest and most well-respected bordello. Business had been good for him lately – so much so that he was giving serious consideration to taking on an assistant to handle the more mundane tasks. Business had also been so good that he could ill afford having missed the previous two weeks while bed-ridden with an illness.

Mr. Potbury had a taste for fine clothes and fine living and, for the last year, the money to indulge these tastes. This morning found him dressed in a four-fingered silk tie, a homespun shirt and a vest lined with a black-wool back. Affixed to his arm was a silk arm garter.

Just as the clock on the wall struck the half hour, Mr. Potbury heard someone step through the gap in the railing outside his office door. A rustling of petticoat folds on the plank sidewalk came to his ears.

Whoever the female caller was hesitated a moment before proceeding. With her mind apparently now made up, the caller gave a subtle knock to the doorframe.

“
Door’s open,” said Mr. Potbury in a welcoming tone.

At this, an attractive young woman strolled into the office, bringing with her the scent of the latest Paris perfume brought in by stage just three days before.

“
Ah, Miss Abigail,” said Mr. Potbury, his eyes alighting for a moment on the contours of her well-designed figure as he rose to greet her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, and so soon.”

With a flourish of the hand, Miss Abigail folded her lace parasol and smiled a becoming smile.

“
The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Potbury,” she said, as aware as Mr. Potbury that the advantage in pleasure was, in reality, strictly his.

Miss Abigail extended her hand to the eager lips of the proprietor, who bent forward as he took her hand.

“
Oh!” exclaimed Miss Abigail. “Your skin is as cold as ice today, Mr. Potbury. Perhaps you still suffer from that illness of yours.”

“
Not at all,” corrected Mr. Potbury. “I’m completely over that now. This coldness is something else – merely the result of poor circulation on a cold morning.”

“
I’m certainly relieved to hear you’re over your affliction, Mr. Potbury. Why, it was just last week I heard talk of your not lasting through the weekend – and yet here you are.”

“
Tut,” smiled Mr. Potbury. “It’ll take more than a little fever to make me cash in my chips. If I could survive five months on the Oregon Trail as a nameless young boll weevil, I’m sure I can survive a mild affliction such as that.

“
Now – what can I do for you, Miss Abigail?” he said, showing her to a chair facing his desk. He then strode to the other side and retook his own seat opposite his visitor.

“
Well, Mr. Potbury; I’ve come about a delicate matter of some urgency which I think will require your attention. In fact,” continued Miss Abigail, on the verge of tears as she applied a handkerchief to the corner of her eye, “I don’t see how
anyone
else but you can assist me.”

“
Miss Abigail,” said Mr. Potbury with great sympathy, “it concerns me greatly to see you so distressed. Please believe me when I say I’m willing to do anything and everything in my power to help you with whatever your need may be.”

“
More than a business proprietor in good standing, you are a true friend in times of need,” declared Miss Abigail, whose heart seemed to be greatly touched by the businessman’s show of support.

“
I’m all ears, Miss Abigail,” said Mr. Potbury as he put a hand to his chin and assumed a look of attentiveness.

Miss Abigail took in a deep breath. “First of all, Mr. Potbury, I’ll have you know that my intention is to disclose the full, unvarnished truth in this matter.”

Recognizing a cue when he was handed one, Mr. Potbury put in, “Miss Abigail, I can assure you of my complete confidentiality.”

“
Sir, I am greatly comforted already. So I’ll cut to the heart of the matter. As I believe you know, the other night my older sister, who’d been feeling very poorly for a number of days, suddenly took a turn for the worse and passed away peacefully in her bed.”

“
Oh, Miss Abigail, allow me to express my deepest condolences at your loss.”

“
You are kindness itself, Mr. Potbury. Thank you. Now to the matter which –
oh!
” exclaimed Miss Abigail, who had looked toward the window to be sure that they were alone and suddenly saw a face there.

“
What the devil you think you’re doing! Get away there, boy! Get away there now!” roared Mr. Potbury, who had picked up a poker from his potbelly stove and was rattling it sharply up, down and side to side within the now-empty open window frame. As the young voyeur ran quickly away past the outhouse and out of sight, Mr. Potbury closed the window tight and drew the curtains. After this, he took the added precaution of closing the door.

“
I’m awfully sorry, Miss Abigail,” said the proprietor as he took his seat again. “Don’t mind him. I presume he can’t help himself when there’s a pretty lady in here to look at.”

“
You really do flatter me, sir, and I thank you for the compliment,” replied Miss Abigail with a radiant smile.

“
Please do continue,” said Mr. Potbury with an encouraging gesture of his hand.

“
Well, as I was saying, my sister, who, I think everyone will attest to, was of a disagreeable temper besides looking like an overloaded burro, passed away a couple nights ago. And what I require – that is, what I need... ” Miss Abigail’s voice trailed off.

“
Dear lady, say no more. You need me to raise your sister. Am I right?”

“
Oh, Mr. Potbury; if it could be done, I really should be most obliged.”

“
I see no reason why it can’t be done, provided all the requirements are met,” responded Mr. Potbury. “And let me just say how noble and devoted it is of you to take this measure to be reunited with your dearly departed sister.”

Miss Abigail did not immediately return Mr. Potbury’s smile. “Mr. Potbury,” she began, “truth be told, there is another element to this. My motives are perhaps not entirely altruistic. There is the very important matter of a missing strong-box.”

“
A missing strong-box?”

“
Yes; and it is imperative that I locate it, as it contains certain valuable and prized family heirlooms. After my sister’s untimely death, I searched high and low for it in our shared house but to no avail.”

“
And your sister would know where it is?” inquired Mr. Potbury.

“
Precisely, Mr. Potbury; and I need her to tell me its location. You see, in the days preceding her death, she–perhaps in a state of delirium--must have removed it from its normal hiding place known to us both and secured it elsewhere. I only learned of this after her death.”

“
Say no more, Miss Abigail. I understand and I’ll do what I can.”

“
You’re a true gentleman, Mr. Potbury.”

“
Where is the body of your sister now?”

“
As we speak, my sister is in the care of Mr. Peabody at his undertaker’s parlor down the street. She’s been on ice almost since the time of death.”

“
Fine. That’s just fine,” said Mr. Potbury, who started to record the details on a fresh order form. “So there’ll be no need for an exhumation. Now: did you say that she passed away two nights ago?”

“
Actually, it’s nearer four nights ago now.”

Mr. Potbury stopped writing and looked up. “Four nights, you say? Hmm.”

“
Well, two–four–five nights. What can that matter?” asked Miss Abigail, who was beginning to become concerned by the serious look on Mr. Potbury’s face. “I’m sure it doesn’t matter to her – least of all her,” added Miss Abigail with a nervous laugh.

“
Miss Abigail, are you aware that my standing recommendation for all clients is that the body be dead for no more than forty-eight hours?”

“
Mr. Potbury, I appeal to you – I implore you! As I said, she’s been on ice for days now. Surely that counts for something,” argued Miss Abigail, who was quickly losing control of her emotions.

“
Miss Abigail, please don’t take on so,” urged Mr. Potbury, trying to sound less businesslike and more like a consoling friend. “I said I would do everything in my power to help you, and I meant it. I am willing to take on this task, but I wish to advise you that there are no guarantees. If I revive your sister at this late date, there is every possibility that she will not quite be herself again. She might be permanently slow in the mind.”

“
Oh, Mr. Potbury, that is precisely how I prefer her,” said Miss Abigail with renewed hope.

“
I am greatly pleased to hear that,” said the proprietor. “Let us proceed again with the required formalities.”

One by one Mr. Potbury went over the checklist of questions with Miss Abigail, who was able to provide a satisfactory answer to each of them.

One thing at the end seemed to trouble Miss Abigail.

“
Mr. Potbury,” she began. “I don’t recall your addressing the question of duration.”

“
Duration? Ah, forgive me; I thought you already knew. Normally the renewed ‘lifespan’ of a deceased person will be two to three years. In the case of my deluxe service, ten to twelve years is the optimum range. In any event, the first year is guaranteed.”

“
Two to three years, you say? Why, I had no idea it could be so long,” said Miss Abigail, thinking it over. “Mr. Potbury, I’ll be frank and say to you that all I really need is a few days with her. A week should be more than enough. Anything longer than that, and we’ll just start throwing things at each other.”

“
I’m afraid that it doesn’t work that way,” replied Mr Potbury. “I can’t go against the laws of nature. There is a natural time period for the renewal of life that has to be respected.”

“
Oh,” said Miss Abigail, disappointed but undeterred.

When the contract was ready and only her signature remained, Miss Abigail, said, “One other thing, Mr Potbury. There were, at the time of my sister’s death, some rather vicious and preposterous allegations made against me by some of my relations and neighbors. The allegations related to the assertion that my sister must have been given poison or something in her meals over a period of days and that I was to blame. Naturally, I don’t think that my sister would believe these completely unsubstantiated allegations, but if she were to, this would perhaps keep me from my rightful claim to the strong-box. So I have a real fear that these people of ill intent might corrupt my sister against me.”

“
Hmm. Here is what I propose,” offered Mr. Potbury. “As soon as I’ve raised your sister and she can stand on her feet, I’ll walk her over to your house and deliver her there. You don’t have to concern yourself about any people along the way putting foolish notions into her head, because she’ll still be in a daze and won’t know Adam from Eve or a cat from tumbleweed. When I’ve delivered her to you, you just take her inside and set her down in her favorite chair or put her to bed. Within a few days, I’m confident you’ll get the answers you’ve been looking for–provided, of course, that she hasn’t suffered any lingering damage in the head, as I already alluded to. You can expect me sometime this evening.”

“
From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, Mr. Potbury. I’ll be at home all evening waiting for you. Oh–and if for any reason I’m not at home, would you please just set her down on the back porch out of sight of the neighbors.”

“
Just leave the matter entirely in my hands, Miss Abigail, and I think that the results you seek will be attained. I have every confidence the matter will be resolved to your satisfaction. I truly do.”

As Mr. Potbury saw Miss Abigail out the door, a newly arrived client stood waiting patiently outside the door. Also, standing about ten paces directly behind him in the street was a younger man with a vacant, unblinking expression. The younger man stood awkwardly on his feet, with his arms hanging down loose and heavy. Somehow he looked like a rag doll figure or puppet held up by strings that was liable to collapse to the ground at any moment.