Deadwood: Crockett and Crane, #2

By Kyle Robert Shultz

It's not the people in this town you have to watch out for. It's the buildings.

 

Monster hunter and part-time centaur Todd Crane didn't ask to be sheriff of Deadwood. For one thing, he's never had an easy time staying on the right side of the law. For another, he's too busy trying to find a dangerous sorcerer who nearly destroyed the United States of Neverica.

 

But some men—and centaurs—have greatness thrust upon them. Not only is Todd the reluctant defender of the peace in Deadwood, he's the only one who can thwart the schemes of a powerful magical entity manipulating the town from the shadows. And when Todd's past comes back to haunt him, the stakes get a lot more personal for him and his friends.

 

Heroes will fall. Secrets will be revealed. Everything is about to change.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kyle Robert Shultz
• Release date: Jun 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9798215209424

Book preview

PROLOGUE

THE SILVAMORTIS

Somewhere in the Atlantean Ocean

1492 E.A. (Ever After)

The ship was hungry.

As he strode along the main deck of the Silvamortis, his cloven hooves clattering on the wooden planks, Gus sensed what was to come in every eerie creak of the ship’s boards and petulant twitch of its sails. So few sailors were left on this miserable, ill-fated voyage, and Gus was certain yet another would die before the evening sun sank below the horizon. He prayed he would not be chosen.

As the only faun on board, Gus sensed the evil in the ship more keenly than any of his crew-mates. He was naturally accustomed to communing with the entities which inhabited nature, particularly those that dwelt in trees. His own mother was a wood-nymph. But while such creatures could be capricious, even dangerous at times, he had never felt this degree of cruelty from one of them. The thing animating the ship was not a natural being; it had been manufactured by dark and forbidden magic. His father, who had helped to build the vessel for a greedy businessman in the Old World, had said as much—though it had not discouraged Gus from stowing away on the voyage and getting himself conscripted as a cabin boy for his pains.

Gus had wanted adventure—but not like this.

That enchanter who made this creature must either have been a madman or a fool. Gus felt a surge of panic—had he spoken out loud? Shuddering despite the intense heat, he reached down to adjust the cuffs of the breeches extending halfway down his shaggy goat legs. As he did, he cast a quick glance in both directions. No one was looking at him, so he assumed he had not yet been driven mad enough to talk to himself. The sun seared into his back through the many rips in his tattered shirt. When the Silvamortis first left port in Quixota, the sailors’ chief worry had been the fierce storms which were known to plague the Atlantean Ocean—not to mention sailing off the edge of the world. Now, two months later, these fears were little more than distant memories. It was no longer the storms that struck terror into their hearts, but the oppressive silence in the absence of wind to fill the sails, and the merciless sun beating down upon them from a cloudless sky. So far as the edge of the world was concerned, many of the sailors would have been glad to see it now. They would have been happy to plunge into oblivion, taking comfort in the knowledge that this evil boat would share their fate.

As Gus took in the gaunt, haggard faces of his shipmates, he felt a mixture of regret and resignation. Regret that he would be willing for another to die in his place, and resignation that such things as bravery and selflessness had long ago died in his heart.

Don’t lose yourself, son, his mother had cautioned when he confided in her that he was planning to go to sea. She had tried to dissuade him, but it was no use. You’re a kind man, Gus. A good man. And the sea is a harsh and unforgiving realm. The gray-haired woman had touched his face as tears streamed down her own. Hold on to your soul. Don’t become someone else.

Gus’s eyes fell on Nora the minotaur, who was checking some rigging at the other end of the deck—a pointless task, given that there was no wind to challenge the ropes. At the start of the voyage, Gus and Nora had struck up a friendship, thanks to the faun’s loneliness and the cow-woman’s jovial demeanor. Now, they barely spoke to each other, just sharing uneasy glances from time to time. You couldn’t have friends in a place like this, where life was so fragile, and compassion was a luxury.

I’m sorry, Mother, he thought.

The timid cough turned no heads at first, but when it echoed with a bit more urgency, Gus and a few other sailors turned to see what was the matter. The first mate was standing in the middle of the deck, fidgeting nervously. Ephraim Price had not begun the voyage as a cowardly man. His sharp tongue and brawny frame had quelled any attempts at rebellion in the early days. It had taken only a week of the horrors visited upon the crew by the Silvamortis to reduce him to a quivering husk of his former self. The…captain… he quavered, stumbling over the word, wishes to address the crew.

An involuntary shudder passed through all those who heard these words. No one wished to set eyes on the captain—or rather, what had once been the captain—again. But the consequences of ignoring the summons would be far worse.

The door to the main cabin swung open with a loud creak, and Captain Sandoval emerged from his chambers, his uneven, halting footfalls resounding across the deck. His movements were not those of a man, but a marionette—one controlled by a puppeteer with little care for the realism of his craft. The walking corpse’s skin was mottled with a dark, grainy texture, identical to that which made up the planks and masts of the ship. What human flesh remained was deathly pale. Given the rate at which the captain had been changing in recent days, the hideous curse would surely overwhelm his body within the week.

The captain’s mostly-wooden face twisted into a grotesque parody of a smile. And yet, despite its inhumanity, it still succeeded in communicating a gleeful cruelty.

Such good sailors, chirped the thing that was not Sandoval. Such fun toys. My very special favorites. The laugh which followed sounded like a saw screeching against wood. Then, an interminable moment of silence, as everyone waited in dread for whatever the Silvamortis would do next.

The thing adopted a stiff, straight posture, and its expression turned mock-serious, as if it were trying to entertain the crew with a comical impression of the captain. Does anyone have any concerns they would like to raise? The voice was too deep, too somber. A child playing at stern adulthood.

The question was a trap, of course. A trick of the Silvamortis to ensnare some unwitting fool. Most of the men kept their lips clamped tightly shut. A few murmured hasty disavowals of dissent. Anyone who dared to take the bait would certainly be punished.

But, Gus reasoned, somebody would still be chosen. He had seen this too many times before to be fooled into believing otherwise. Perhaps if he stayed quiet, he would have a slightly higher chance of surviving another day.

On the other hand, perhaps his soul wasn’t quite gone yet.

Actually, yes, I have a concern. His voice was soft and timid at first, but gained strength as something stirred within him. Courage, or insanity? Perhaps it didn’t matter.

The captain’s shriveled, leathery tongue tasted the air in a snakelike manner. His lifeless eyes opened wider, and the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. The Silvamortis had found its prey. Some of the sailors looked at Gus with relief, others with sorrow. Most would not meet his eyes at all. Nora stared fixedly at the deck, her bovine ears drooping.

Ssspeak, hissed the captain, with a rasping chuckle.

Gus drew in a deep breath. We need to turn back. As soon as this calm ends, we need to turn around and go back to port.

Sandoval laughed again, louder this time. That is funny, he said. It was a command rather than a statement.

Most of the sailors quickly broke into laughter of their own, forced and feeble. Gus noticed that Nora was keeping silent.

And why, said Sandoval, after a few more painful moments of manufactured mirth, should we do that, cabin boy? In mid-sentence, his humor turned to fury, and his grinning mouth rearranged into a hideous snarl.

Gus was astounded by his own lack of terror. It was as if the part of him that was capable of fear had simply dropped away and sunk into the depths, never to be seen again. On the whole, Gus considered, he preferred losing that to losing his soul.

There is no New World, he proclaimed, in a voice so fierce that he barely recognized it as his own. All those stories about it are lies. There’s just sea, and more sea, and then the end, falling forever into nothing. We sail toward death—or worse.

The captain nodded. Worse. Definitely worse. For you, at least.

Gus was about to say I don’t care, when a shout interrupted the confrontation.

Land ahoy!

It crept up on them out of nowhere, a dark band along the horizon. After all this time, it was surreal to see something fixed instead of endless, rippling waves. It was far too large to be some inconsequential island.

The New World, thought Gus. He felt a little sad that he would not live to see it properly.

As the crew burst into cheers, the captain’s serpentine smile returned. It seems you’ve been proven wrong, cabin boy, he sneered.

Gus said nothing. He stood still and waited for the Silvamortis to decide his fate.

His lack of emotion visibly infuriated the captain. Speak, plaything! You’re supposed to beg for your life. That’s how this works.

Gus gave the captain a small, humorless smile. I see no point in begging for something I have already lost. Do with me what you will.

The captain snapped forward and seized Gus by the throat. You are mine! You’ll do as I say!

Indeed, said Gus, his voice nearly choked into silence by the captain’s clutching wooden fingers. Indeed, I will—but not of my own accord. Consume me as you have my captain, make me a part of you, and compel me to beg all you like—if that will truly satisfy you.

The captain’s face distorted further, so much that cracks appeared in the wood on his cheeks and around his lips. It was as if the ship were struggling to express the full extent of its rage through this limited human vessel. Then Sandoval’s features suddenly went slack. My figurehead, he said, in a tone devoid of emotion, is missing. Broken off when we passed through those boulders shortly after leaving port. You remember, Gusss?

Gus remained quiet and refused to allow himself to think about what this change of subject might portend.

It has been missing for far too long, continued the Silvamortis. Every ship worth its salt needs a figurehead.

Gus’s hooves sank into the wood beneath him, as if he were descending into quicksand. As the ship began to swallow him up, he glanced again at his shipmates, his eyes finally settling on Nora. She was looking at him now, with tears in her eyes.

One by one, the other sailors all began to take their hats off.

Just before the wood closed around his head, Gus silently forgave them.

Only a few of the sailors were brave enough to actually go and look down at the bow of the ship. There, where a crudely-carved wooden mermaid had once hung, was an incredibly lifelike statue of a young faun, his face fixed in a sad, wistful expression. No one was sure whether he was alive or dead—and no one truly wished to know.

Sail on, my toys, said Sandoval, once again the jubilant little boy. The New World awaits. A place where I can look after you all—forever.

1

DON’T LET YOUR BABIES GROW UP TO BE SHERIFFS

IN WHICH TODD IS SUBJECTED TO MUSICAL TORTURE.

Deadwood, Charmantana Territory

1892 E.A.

Have you ever been awakened in the middle of the night by a dragon playing a guitar? Badly?

I don’t recommend it.

And no, I wasn’t dreaming. This is my life. Welcome to it, and have a great time. I’ll be sure to notify your next of kin if something unfortunate happens.

Trust me, it probably will.

The ear-splitting jumble of notes—it would have been a crime against music to call it a chord—sent me spinning out of bed and crashing to the floor. I lay there for a few seconds with my nose smushed painfully into the boards, listening with numb horror to Julio the dragon’s latest attempt at music.

Out of the noon, when siesta is soon, comes the horse-man known as Todd! He’s handsome but dim, and his hooves need a trim—

I threw a pillow at him, which mercifully brought the song to a close. For your information, I just took my centaur self to the farrier yesterday, I said, my words slurred by the last vestiges of sleep. What in tarnation do you think you’re doing, waking me up at this hour? It’s… I glanced around for a clock, then remembered I didn’t have one. I settled for the battered calendar on the wall. It’s August.

Indeed. Julio struck a jarring chord that earned him another pillow to the face. But even in the early hour of August, heroes cannot sleep. The currently-human-shaped dragon leaned the guitar against the wall and grinned down at me, his dark eyes filled with schoolboyish mischief.

I flopped back onto the bed and gave the ceiling a pleading look. "I’m sure I deserve something, but this can’t be it."

Who are you talking to?

"Never mind. How are you even awake, much less laughing and singing?"

Dragons only require a few hours of sleep once per month. Any other time, it is merely a luxury. I have been busy working on various inventions that will help us in our enforcement of the law.

I buried my face in the pillow. Please, not more inventions… Julio hadn’t gotten many opportunities to put his skill…or lack thereof…for building fusions of magic and technology to use until we’d come to the town of Deadwood. Before that, we’d been too busy running around and fighting monsters for him to indulge his hobby. Things were a lot more peaceful back then. Lately, Greta, the town’s dwarven farrier and the assistant to the local blacksmith, had been supplying him with scrap metal that he cobbled together into all kinds of dangerous creations.

What happened with the last one was not that big of a deal, said Julio. Everyone overreacted.

Oh, really? I raised my head and glared at him.

If you had just given my mechanical farrier a chance, you would not even have needed to pay Greta to take care of your hooves.

It tried to shave all my hair off. I reached up to feel my scalp. I’d managed to grow back my blond locks with the help of some potions, but my hair still didn’t look quite right. The only barber in town was an orc, though, so I was hesitant to ask for his help.

It was only a little confused!

I’m too tired to argue with you. I shut my eyes. If you’ve built another one of those monstrosities, then just send it to deal with the—I waved my hand indistinctly—thing. Whatever it is. G’night.

Would you like me to sing again?

I reached under my bed, grabbed a potion bottle I’d mixed up special for occasions like this, and tossed the contents at the guitar. With an explosion of feathers and a loud cackle, the instrument transformed into a chicken. The very confused bird clucked and waddled around for a few seconds before leaping to the windowsill and flapping out into the night.

Julio sulked. That is the third musical instrument of mine that you have changed into poultry this week.

I did them a favor, I yawned. I gave them wings so they can fly away from you. They’re happier this way. Now get outta here, spark-breath. The concert is over.

A moment later, I felt something crawling on my arm. Something with very cold, metallic feet. I yelped and jumped out of bed, shaking my arms wildly until the thing fell off onto the floor. What is that thing? I shouted. A metal lizard?

Julio picked up the creature. It is a dragon, he said reproachfully, stroking its back. Actually, his design was partly inspired by the salamanders from back in the Old World, but essentially, he is a dragon. The creature was about two feet long from nose to tail, and was made entirely of interlocking metal parts, with a red-hot glow emanating from between the fragments. It didn’t have any wings, thank goodness. It opened its mouth wide to hiss angrily at me, then nuzzled against Julio’s chest with a purr that sounded a little like the creak of a rusty hinge.

No. I kept my back pressed against the wall and watched the thing warily. "It’s not a dragon. You’re a dragon. What do you need to make a miniature mechanical version of yourself for?"

Can there ever be too much of me? Besides, this is not meant to be a copy of me; just a generally dragonish creature. Though I did infuse him with the Dragonflame, so I suppose there’s a little of me in him. So far, he’s been very useful for handing me tools and things. His eyes gleamed. But I was thinking that perhaps I could create an entire army of them, and then…

No, I said sternly. Absolutely not.

But Hector needs friends!

I raised an eyebrow. Hector? Seriously?

Yes, said Julio, as Hector coiled himself around his master’s upper arm and shoulder and apparently went to sleep. Now, come on. Get downstairs and get your freshly-shod hooves on. He took my centaur ring from the end table and dropped it into my hand. We have work to do.

Why? I demanded, as he went to the closet and started rummaging through my clothes.

Because, he said, marching back to me with a shirt flung over his arm, you are the sheriff. Remember? He pointed to my bare chest.

I glowered down at my sheriff’s badge. Not an ordinary tin one—I had one of those, but this was different. An angry red scar in the shape of a six-pointed star, with the word Deadwood in the center.

And I knew that if I didn’t fulfill my official sheriff-y duties, that scar would start burning like it was being seared into my flesh with a branding iron.

And I am the deputy, Julio added proudly, flicking the badge pinned to his shirt. He didn’t get the ugly, painful scar treatment.

I rubbed sleep from my eyes and pushed my arms through my shirt-sleeves. Is ‘deputy’ Quixotan for ‘almighty nuisance’?

Do not mock my culture, Neverican peasant.

You still haven’t explained why you woke me up. I strapped my bandolier of tiny potion bottles around my shoulder.

The bank is being robbed.

I squinted at him, hoping to find some sign that he was actually a bad dream and that I’d soon find myself back in bed. Again? Seriously?

Yes. He paused and gave me a significant look. It’s her, of course.

Again?

You keep saying that over and over. Who else would it be?

She just robbed it last week!

Julio threw up his hands. Do not kill the messenger. Especially when he is a dragon, because he will probably just eat you before you get a chance to kill him.

But—

She is fulfilling her role, Todd. You know how things work here. You are the Sheriff, and she is…the Calamity.

I exhaled through clenched teeth. Fine. Let’s get this over with.

You had better put some pants on as well. A smirk played at the corners of Julio’s mouth. Unless you wish the innkeeper to see you in your underclothing.

My face reddened. No! No, definitely not. I grabbed a pair of pants from the end of the bed and quick-marched into them. I took the stairs two at a time as I headed down after Julio.

The innkeeper was awake. I was pretty sure she needed as little sleep as Julio did. She was standing behind the front desk, clad in a dark-blue blouse with puffed sleeves, a long black cape, and a gray, divided skirt tailored for freedom of movement. Bird-like wings were folded across her back, glittering with iridescent green and blue feathers. There was also a smattering of tiny feathers around her eyes and cheekbones.

Irina Kazan was a siren. By that, I don’t mean that she was extremely attractive. She was, but that’s not the point. She was an actual siren, as in the magical species. The powers of these particular creatures are a little different from those of other races. The males don’t have any unique abilities aside from flight. Females, however, have the power to control males—not only male sirens, but the men of every other species as well. That’s kind of disturbing, in theory, but this power is not taken lightly in siren culture. Their women are taught from childhood how to keep a tight rein on their abilities, only using them when it’s truly necessary and never using them on men they