Chapter 16
Father Kilkenny was checking his precious cargo when the news came.
The item was stored in a dark ironwood box, having displaced his personal valuables as soon as the Father had taken possession of it. After making certain no-one was near, he slowly knelt by his bed and slid this box out from behind the tattered leather suitcase he’d once moved in with. Gently, he placed the box on his bed and brushed his hand along its surface – a sweet, smooth and varnished affair with no ornamentation – and whispered a prayer to quieten what lay inside. Only his Bible had ever been treated with more reverence.
Though there was no outward response, Father Kilkenny felt his prayer had been heard and so opened the box carefully. Inside was the Word, this powerful artefact that could do great good or great evil. For now, thankfully, it could do nothing.
The Father checked it for any signs of metamorphosis and could feel it looking back at him, a bright, unblinking eye. White as an angel’s wing, the Word was a gem and a seed both. Tendrils snaked off from its central, multi-faceted hub and wormed along the box’s velvet interior, seeking an exit to grow into. It put the Father in mind of a spider squatting at the centre of a living web. The Word smelled strongly of shoe polish, of all things, so strong that he could taste it. And every few seconds it would absorb the light round it, turning his room dark, as though the sun had sunk behind storm clouds. When this darkness fell Father Kilkenny swore he heard whispering in a language he was glad he didn’t know.
It was no different to before, which the Father took as a good sign.
This was what he was protecting as fervently as his flock, what those damned harriers were willing to kill for. Or, rather, those who were employing them. Just looking at the Word filled him with a renewed sense of purpose; anything this important to the demons of the Badlands must be kept from them.
And it could only have been the Lord’s will that led the Father to becoming its guardian. Less than a handful of people in the Badlands would have even known what a Word was, let alone how to quell it as he had; even he’d only recognised it because of a brief description in the ‘Assorted Scrolls of Rome’. And surely no-one else would have taken that girl into their protection and not misused what she carried.
The Father closed the box and crossed himself. That poor, poor girl. She had arrived at the witching hour and was so weak that he wouldn’t have heard her knocking if he hadn’t been cleaning his pews at the time. After a brief check to see who or what had come calling – he had been careful even then of what the Badlands might send against him – he had given her sanctuary. She’d been a tired and wretched thing with her story and her begging. A long journey and the horrors she had witnessed had taken a vicious toll on her slight frame and she had shivered constantly as she talked.
But somehow she’d had this Word with her. From what she’d said, it was one of the most powerful ones ever made. And that made its protection almost as important as that of every soul in Crucifix.
Almost.
Then someone knocked on his door. It was a hurried knock. Maybe even panicked. Father Kilkenny slid the Word back under his bed.
“Just one second!” he called.
He pushed his suitcase back in front of it and stood to examine how well he’d hidden his cargo. When he was confident that it was out of sight, he answered the door.
It was Mary, his fainting parishioner. Her tired but still pretty face was as white as… well, as that Word, and her lower lip trembled as she said “Father, some people have ridden into town. Strangers. They look like real hard-cases”
The Father swallowed. It could be the harriers, here early. Though they would have probably run in guns blazing and he heard no shooting…
“One of them…” Mary stopped, looked around and then leant in and whispered “One of them is the Wanted Man.”
“Are you sure?” He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice.
Thankfully this didn’t offend Mary. She might just have been relieved that someone else found the situation ludicrous. “I am. I’m no fool, despite what people think; he has Noose, the gun that only kills demons. He wore it as he rode in with two… associates. I’ve never seen a gun so fancy. It has to be him.”
The Father considered that flimsy evidence. It still felt more likely that the harriers were up to something; after all, no-one in Crucifix had seen their faces.
But he said “Alright, don’t worry, I’ll handle this.”
Mary started to chew her lip. “He’s right out on main street, Father.”
Father Kilkenny straightened his back, cricked his neck from one side to the other and mentally prepared himself to hurt someone. “Well then, how about we go and have a word with him?” he asked.
Mary gave him a small smile and her tense body relaxed.
He left the chapel with Mary following behind like a little sister and found the whole town watching three strangers walk down Crucifix’s main street, mostly from the relative safety of their houses. They were curious, his flock; strangers rolling into town would be news even during good times. And given the troubles recently, this ‘Wanted Man’ and his two female companions were lucky they hadn’t been lynched.
It was surprising to see two women with the so-called Wanted Man. That heartened Father Kilkenny straight away; though he hadn’t seen the harriers, he’d heard their voices and none had been female. One of the strangers was young, in her twenties at most. She looked as prim and proper as a lady can after travelling through the Badlands. But the gun across her back was powerful and expensive so not for show. The other was an Indian warrior with savage eyes and spells and runes around her body that Father Kilkenny recognised right away.
Hard-cases seemed about right. The Father stepped out of his chapel, his fingers flexing. Mary stayed inside, almost cowering. He couldn’t blame her.
He stared at ‘the Wanted Man’. Maybe six feet tall, he dressed like a traveller; trail pack, worn boots and decent clothes. A wide-brimmed hat rested on his head but it was tilted back, presumably so as to not be menacing. His face was travel-worn, poorly-shaven and hard as rock. Whoever he was, he was a fighter; slight scars speckled his neck and cheek and one of his ears was missing some flesh.
What mattered was the bigger of the two guns on his hip; if anything looked like it deserved the name ‘Noose’, it was that thing. Custom-made, the gun was practically a cannon with so many densely-packed runes and spells on its body that it would crush any demons it bludgeoned, let alone shot. And they were ‘good’ spells too, many of the same runes that the Father used. Not that this was conclusive evidence of who he was; you could never trust anything that came from the Badlands.
“Howdy Father,” the man said.
“Howdy,” Father Kilkenny replied without warmth.
They stared at each other for a moment, the lonely sounds of a hollowed-out town all that passed between them. The Father got to take a measure of this man then; his eyes did not waiver, his attention did not falter, so he did not mind the silence or the scrutiny. That, at least, spoke for something.
It was he who broke the silence. “We’re looking for someone taken by a cult a few days ago.”
The sheer serendipity of the situation almost stunned him into showing his hand; Father Kilkenny had to stop himself blurting out “The Virgin Mary?” But he had enough presence of mind to suck air through his teeth and say “Who might that be?”
“Penelope Chalmers,” the young lady cut in. “Daughter of Senator Chalmers.”
The ‘Wanted Man’ hardened on hearing the girl’s name, worry for her overcoming his poker face. “She had an army escort through the Badlands but it was ambushed. We think it happened around here because Shadows Fade,” he gestured to the Indian woman with his thumb, “fought something nearby that had used their bodies. We were hoping you folks might know something.”
Father Kilkenny cleared his throat. He had to tread carefully here. “Are you from the Solution?” he asked.
“We are.”
“Are you the Wanted Man?”
“I am.”
“Prove it.”
“Beg pardon?”
Father Kilkenny wanted to clear his throat again but that would show weakness; there was an opportunity to be had here if he played his cards right. “I asked you to prove who you are; many people claim to be the Wanted Man but only one can prove it. So prove it. You could be a cultist or a harrier for all I know.”
The man looked him up and down. Father Kilkenny felt like a rabbit under the eyes of a hawk.
“Alright,” the man said. Then he walked over and rolled up the leg of his jeans. “Here.”
And there it was on his calf; the Wanted Man’s tattoo. At least, it looked a good deal like the tattoo the Father had heard of. But any talented artist could produce a copy that looked right from a distance. Ignoring his complaining back, he got to the dusty ground and examined the tattoo closely; it was a depiction of the Wanted Man himself standing with spears cutting through him, like the Lance on Longinus. The art work was stunning too, impossible to have been drawn onto a man unless he’d been dead at the time. If it were a forgery, it was a damn good one.
The Father was still checking for signs of it being fake when the tattoo looked up at him in defiance for a moment, visibly shifting position to do so. No man could forge that.
“It is you,” Father Kilkenny whispered, crossing himself.
“Yeah,” the Wanted Man confirmed.
He offered the Father a rough hand and helped him to his feet.
Father Kilkenny stepped back and dusted himself off, buying some time. The Lord had sent the Wanted Man to look after Crucifix, he was sure of it; who could protect a town on its last legs better than the Wanted Man himself? He thought he was here on another mission though. And maybe he ultimately was. But the Father needed to convince him to stay, to fight.
“Penelope Chalmers?” the young girl asked, interrupting his train of thought.
That was a topic he didn’t want to get onto just yet. “Pardon me, I’ve not introduced myself. I’m Father Kieran Kilkenny. And you are?”
“Please to meet you, Father,” the girl said somewhat disingenuously. “My name is Eleanor Naismith.” She did curtsey though.
“Daughter of William B. Naismith?” he asked.
“That would be me.”
His stunned expression must’ve asked why she was here for him because she continued “I’m here because I have a keen interest in the Badlands. More accurately, in carrying on what my father has started. And there is no better way to start such a career than by coming on a mission with, and being protected by, the Wanted Man. Also Penelope is a close friend of mine and I wish to see her returned safely.”
“Fair enough, I guess” the Father said. Then he turned to the Wanted Man. “Surely you don’t call yourself the Wanted Man?”
“No. Dust.”
“Short for Dustin?”
Dust shrugged.
Good. They were building a bit of a rapport. That would make it harder for them to dismiss Crucifix’s need. “And you said your other friend’s name was Shadows Fade?”
Dust nodded. He was not a talker when he didn’t need to be.
Father Kilkenny knew a little Comanche from an old drinking buddy so he tried it out. “Greetings, Shadows Fade. My name is Father Kilkenny.”
The warrior smiled. “Greetings Father. Your Comanche is terrible.”
Eleanor giggled at this. Shadows Fade shrugged and maintained her smile.
Dust hadn’t reacted at all. “You don’t understand her?” the Father asked.
“Nope.”
“That must be awkward.”
“Penelope Chalmers?” Dust asked this time.
Father Kilkenny turned and looked at his chapel. From the front, only the battered door showed that they had been having trouble; the rest of its face remained unmolested and the roof looked pristine. But the state of the town, whose people hide away in their homes in the middle of the day, made their troubles clear.
“You been having troubles, Father?” Dust asked.
He hadn’t been trying to change the topic, had just been moved to look back at his chapel, but it did the job. On reflection, it was a pretty unsubtle hint.
“We have. To be sure, grave troubles indeed.”
“I doubt they’ll be as grave as what Penelope Chalmers is going through,” said Eleanor. “She is a gentle Christian girl in the clutch of a cult of That Which Sins. The good Lord only knows what they will be doing to her.”
Father Kilkenny turned on her. “No worse than what might happen to my flock tonight.”
Dust eyed Father Kilkenny again, assessing and reassessing him. The intensity of his gaze put Father Kilkenny in mind of St. Peter at the Gates of Heaven. “You know something,” he said.
Father Kilkenny gasped. Did Dust have the power to read him? Or was the Father just so tired that he hadn’t been able to hide it?
“Tell us!” Eleanor cried.
There was no sense in trying to play it cool now. Perhaps the Lord was punishing him for trying to manipulate them rather than being honest. So he out and said “Not unless you help to protect my town.”
“A girl’s life is at stake!” she replied. “You can’t risk her life like this!”
“So is this town! The life of a whole town is at stake, Miss Naistmith.” He took a step forward and pointed a finger skyward, angry. It wasn’t her he was angry with but she was as good a target as any. “The people of Crucifix may not have the connections this Penelope Chalmers has but there are more of them. They are good people – honest, God-fearing people – and it is my job to protect them. You three are here because you need to find this girl? Well, I happen to know where she is. But I’ll only help you if you protect Crucifix, my flock, by finally seeing off the harriers who have been blighting us for too long!”
The girl blinked, shocked. Father Kilkenny realised he’d been shouting. He took a step back and straightened his uniform.
“Why are you so angry?” Shadows Fade asked.
“That,” Eleanor said in English, “is an exceptionally good question.”
Dust frowned. “What is?”
“Why the Father, a man of God, is so prone to the sin of wrath.”
The derision in her voice shamed him. She was right though; he had given in to sin once more. He crossed himself and said “Forgive me,” both to them and the Lord. By way of explanation he added. “It’s been a trying time for all of us.”
“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” Dust said. “Though Naismith didn’t deserve the brunt of that.”
“I am sorry, Miss Naismith,” the Father said. “I have no excuse.”
“What was the answer?” Shadows Fade asked.
“Weakness,” Eleanor replied.
The Father blushed. He couldn’t argue with that.
Shadows Fade frowned. “Whose? Yours?”
“What? No! His!”
“But he’s not weak. Look at him, he’s filled with fire and strength.”
Eleanor turned on Shadows Fade. “Then why must I be the weak one?”
Dust talked over them. “What do harriers have against a town like Crucifix?”
“See the spells on his chapel? He can’t be weak,” Shadows Fade said to Eleanor, who harrumphed in response.
Father Kilkenny suddenly had an insight into Dust’s last couple of days. “It’s… not something to speak of out here. You never know who or what might be listening. I’ll tell you inside. But just you, Dust.”
Eleanor’s head whipped round. “Why just him?”
Father Kilkenny swallowed. “Because, and I mean no offence by this, he’s the only one I can trust out of the three of you.”
Her nostrils flared, her bottom lip jutted slightly and her eyes narrowed. Father Kilkenny could see her whole life mapped out in that expression, the pamper and the excess and the luxury and the wilfulness. “How dare you! Did you not hear who I-”
“Hush, please,” Dust said softly. “Let’s not push him; the Father knows what he’s been facing. We should trust whatever security steps he wishes to take.”
“Wait, does that mean you are going to do what he asks?” she said, scowling.
He looked back at the Father. “For now.”
“But it will be a waste of time! What about Penelope?!”
The Wanted Man didn’t react to her atrocious tone. He must have the patience of a saint. His pattern of speech changed as he tried to assuage Eleanor. “It could take us days to find her; we do not have even a hit of her trail and would have to find where she was ambushed to attempt to pick it up. Aiding the Father, and so this town, could help us find Penelope much faster. His information will save us at least a day, even if we spend the night here. Isn’t that right, Father?”
That sounded like a question but it was a warning that he’d best not be wasting the Wanted Man’s time. Father Kilkenny nodded. “Oh yes, to be sure. I can lead you to where they are keeping her. It’s only half a day’s walk from here.”
The Father became aware that his flock had started paying him very close attention. Maybe it was his English guilt talking but he saw their faith in him wither as they stared from kitchen windows or holes in their houses. What else could he have done, he wanted to ask? With no telegraph and them being his highest priority, he couldn’t have made a difference to this Penelope girl.
“What’s happening?” Shadows Fade asked, interrupting his shame.
Eleanor sighed. “Apparently we are going to protect this… band,” she replied.
“Oh. Good,” said Shadows Fade.
“Shall we go inside?” Dust asked, talking over them again. He extended a hand out to the Father’s chapel.
“Of course,” Father Kilkenny said.
At this, Mary let out a small yelp and ran from the chapel. All four of them watched her jog to her house, which she almost dove into.
The Naismith girl wasn’t quite finished though. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Dust.”
Dust stopped. “I do. Please trust me. Go stable the horses and stay with Shadows Fade. This won’t take long.”
Slowly, she crossed her arms. Dust didn’t react, just headed inside.
“Jimmy’s saloon will have somewhere to put your horses,” the Father said. “Tell him I sent you and he’ll do what he can, though he’ll hardly have any hay for them.”
The Naismith girl eyed him for a moment before turning to do as she was asked. Shadows Fade followed a moment later, leaving Dust and the Father to their conversation.