“Press it against anything the Strange have touched, and you’ll know which way that Strange has gone,” Alun Madder said. “The fork will be of little help with what you do when you find them.”
Cedar pulled the fork away from the box. “Then we’re settled?”
Alun chuckled. “We are most unsettled. That fork is a rarity. It cups a proper price, not just a palm of coin.”
“How proper?” Cedar asked.
Alun stared at the ceiling as if chasing math through the shadows. “The coins you tossed at my feet are a little lean for such a fine instrument. You’ll find no other to match it.” He looked back down at Cedar. “No other in this world.”
“Name your price, Madder,” Cedar said. “Before the day burns down.”
“The coins and a favor.”
Cedar shook his head. “I won’t be holding to you for two favors. The coins alone.”
Alun snatched the tuning fork out of his hand, fast as a thief. “Then our discussion is done.”
“And what do you think will keep me from killing you here and now?” Cedar raised the gun, aimed it at Alun’s head.
Cadoc rambled over to stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother. He tipped his head at Cedar like he was waiting for the joke.
Alun puffed on his pipe. “What will keep you from killing me is that you have come to us today, out of all the days and years you’ve been in this town. You need this fork. And likely you’ll need other devices at our disposal to deal with the Strange. You are not a stupid man, Mr. Hunt. There’s that about you that makes me curious. I’d judge you for university learning. There’s not a man of this town who’d take the time to nod at your grave, yet you are going to great lengths to find a wee boy of no relation to you. Don’t reckon such a man kills another in cold blood, standing on the stones of his hearth.”
Cedar lowered his gun. “Might not in broad daylight. Night might be a different matter.” He rolled his shoulder. His temper was strung too tight across his nerves. Being in the Madders’ presence, in the presence of things like the tuning fork, got his hackles up and made it hard to think straight this close to the moon. “I came for the fork.”
“Yours. For coin. And a favor—on the same terms as the last favor: nothing that would harm the weak, women, or children.”
“To be collected within the year,” Cedar added.
Alun nodded. “I’ll agree to that term for this favor only.”
Arguing with the mountain itself would have taken less time. “Done.” Cedar held out his hand.
Alun and Cadoc Madder leaned forward and once again shook his hand simultaneously. When Cedar pulled his hand away, the tuning fork was in his grasp.
“It can hang at your neck,” Cadoc said as Alun turned to one of the line of cupboards along the wall of the room, pulling out a brown bottle, a wedge of cheese, and a loaf of bread. “Nearer your heart, the better and the truer it will lead you to the Strange.”
Cedar removed his hat and slipped the fork over his neck. He tucked it down beneath his coat, on the outside of his undershirt. The Madders might think it would be best against his skin, but he wouldn’t wear a device that near his bones.
“You do believe in the Strange, then?” he asked quietly, putting his hat back on.
Cadoc shrugged one heavy shoulder. “Wish that I couldn’t.” He paused, looked at Cedar like he was peering right through him. “You’ll wish you didn’t one of these days too, Mr. Hunt.”
Alun set the food on the table, and handed Cadoc and Cedar a cup.
“A toast,” he said. “To the finding, the killing, and the keeping. Luck to you in your search for the blacksmith’s boy. May strong gods favor you.”
“Strong gods,” Cadoc echoed.
The brothers drank. Both watched him from over the tops of their cups. Cedar sniffed his drink. Moonshine. He swigged it back in one shot. It plowed a hot path down between his ribs to his stomach, and left the taste of pine sap in his mouth.
“I’ve had enough of gods, strong and Strange,” Cedar said. “But I thank you anyway. Afternoon, Madders.” He stood from the table and started across the chamber. “If you’d open the door, I’ll be on my way.”
Just as the words left his mouth, the door to the chamber opened. Cedar glanced back at the brothers to see if they had somehow devised a way to trip the lock from a distance.
“Ho, there, those within,” Bryn, the middle brother, called out. “Is there room for two more?”
Cedar did not want to involve himself any more than he had to with the Madders’ business. Seemed that each time he crossed paths with them, it cost him more than he wanted to give. Meetings with the Madder brothers were best done two ways: quickly and infrequently.
He did not expect to see Mrs. Jeb Lindson walking out of the shine of day into the deeper lamplight of the room.
She wore the same dress as this morning, but had put on a silk bonnet that made her brown eyes wide and warm, and cast her lips in a soft shade of pink. She’d been riding, that was clear, and the wind had tugged some of her fine blond hair out from under her bonnet, so that it fell in a gold curl against her cheek. He found himself entertaining the thought of what her hair would look like unbound, spilling around her bare shoulders—yellow as sunlight and soft as silk. Then wondering if her skin, white as moonlight, would be softer still, beneath his hands.
Mrs. Lindson folded her fingers over the bag on her wrist and gave him a calm look. He glanced away while adjusting his hat, buying up time to brush off the thoughts and heat that she stirred up in him.
She was lovely; that was plain sure. And every time he set eyes on her, he was reminded of feelings he never thought he’d own again. Feelings he’d only ever known with his wife.
“Hello, Mr. Hunt,” she said. That calm greeting of hers held a dark fury, a desperation.
“Ma’am.” Cedar stopped fiddling with his hat and schooled his features. The brim had brushed against the goggles still fitted on his head and made his forehead itch.
“Have you reconsidered my offer?” she asked. Her words caught deep in her throat, as if wedging between sorrows before finding their way out.
Cedar said nothing. He’d given her his answer. It wouldn’t change. He couldn’t entertain so much as the idea of looking for her man’s killer until he gave the lost boy a chance to be found alive first. “I’m sorry. No, ma’am.”
Mae Lindson dropped her gaze. “I see.” When she looked back up at him, he could tell the woman had made a decision. There was death in her eyes. “Then I wish you the best, Mr. Hunt.”
Sounded like she wished him the best grave, or the best hanging rope.
“Didn’t know this was going to be a proper social,” Alun said, “or I would have washed up a few more cups.”
“I’ll be on my way,” Cedar said.
“Now, now, we wouldn’t think of it, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “Come sit with us a spell longer. I’m sure Mrs. Lindson would enjoy the company.”
Mae didn’t look to him, but Cedar suddenly realized the situation from her angle. She was alone, possibly unarmed, and in the home of three men who had locks that could seal a person away in the mountain until the world wound down.
And even though the day burned on, and little Elbert’s time grew shorter and shorter, he wasn’t possessed of the kind of morals to leave a woman alone with the miners.
He tugged Wil’s watch out of his waistcoat and glanced at the time. There was still a good seven hours of daylight ahead of him. He’d be able to cover a fair bit of ground before the moon came up. And if the silver fork led him lucky, he might yet find the boy.
He tucked the watch back into his vest pocket.
The Madder brothers had gone awful quiet. Alun and Cadoc stared at him like he’d just turned into a rattlesnake.
The brothers took a step toward him and Mae Lindson. Bryn Madder, still standing at the mouth of the chamber, spun the big brass captain’s wheel and sent the door rolling on its hidden tracks.