White Devil Mountain (3 page)

“Are you tired?” D asked, turning his eyes to the silvery chain of peaks. “If so, I can take you off right here. You can go wherever you like.”

“Hold it right there. Neither you nor I can do anything of the sort.”

“We’ve never tried. How about it?”

“I’ll pass. For the time being, anyway.”

The blueness over the rustic route deepened as the gorgeous silhouette rode down it—and the pair’s conversation died out.

Presently, the cyborg horse came to the busiest part of the village.

“As I recall, they’re supposed to make a kind of salsa booze in this village. Let’s go have a drink,” the hoarse voice suggested.

“Resist the urge.”

“No can do! Let me drink some of that salsa booze. I could down twenty or thirty gallons of the stuff. I’ll take on all comers!” The hoarse voice became an angry shout that seemed likely to reach the edge of the village and beyond. “I’ll pay ten thousand dalas to any man that can outdrink me. Lose, and you won’t owe me any money. But the offer’s only open to men with wives, or those with daughters over seventeen!”

D was just about to lash his steed with the reins when the doors to the saloon on his right opened and figures bundled in heavy overcoats streamed out, blocking the cyborg horse from going any farther.

“I’ll take you up on that!”

“Me, too!”

“No, I’m first!”

It was as plain as the noses on their ruddy faces that all these farmers were already well into their cups. They ranged from those who looked to still be in their teens all the way up to a hunched-over bald man who had to be over a hundred.

“Okay, my friend, step into the saloon,” one of them said. “We’re glad to have you.”

“Very well. I’m only too glad to accept your challenges,” said the hoarse voice.

“Kinda a husky voice you’ve got there—but you’ve got nerve, and I like that! The village graveyard has a corner where they bury everyone who drinks himself to death.”

–

It was about twenty minutes later that Lilia, having collected her cyborg horse, galloped up to the saloon.

“What’s going on here?”

A number of the villagers were stacked in a mound in front of the bat-wing doors. As Lilia furrowed her brow, another one tottered through the doors and took his place at the top of the pile before her very eyes.

“What is this?”

She was sure something was wrong. Swiftly dismounting, she went over to the man who’d just collapsed, and then she heard laughter from inside the saloon. It was hoarse.

“It’s him!” she said.

Spinning on her toe, Lilia pushed her way through the swinging doors. Though she’d smelled it from outside the saloon, the fierce stink of alcohol now assailed her nose. That alone would’ve been enough to leave a child with alcohol poisoning. The saloon could hold perhaps thirty people total. But it looked as if twice that number were crowded in front of the tiny counter.

Nudging some of the farmers who lay strewn across the floor with the tip of her boot, she said, “What’s with these guys?” Kicking one of them in the side to roll him over, Lilia grabbed four of the villagers who were crowded around the counter by the scruff of the neck, jerking them out of the way before pressing forward.

“Okay, pretty boy, now it’s time for you to throw down with yours truly!” said a giant of a man seated on one of the center stools, his right hand lifting a whiskey glass.

The figure to his left said, “You country bumpkins and your big talk!” The caustic remark came from a hoarse-voiced D. “You think because you’re one of the hardest-drinking fellas in the godforsaken sticks of the Frontier you can beat me? Dream on!”

His left hand indicated the men on the floor. The motion was jerky, as if somewhat forced.

The giant was easily angered. “Now you’ve gone and said it! Hey, Bob! This glass takes too damned long. Bring us some beer mugs!”

A cheer went up. The villagers must’ve been expecting big things from their local hero.

The mugs were set up in front of them. They were filled to the brim with salsa booze—a kind of alcohol that was said to be ten times as potent as absinthe. Both raised their mugs. The rule was that they’d drain them simultaneously.

“Well, prost!”

The man’s mug tilted, and its contents swiftly began to disappear. The giant’s Adam’s apple bobbed frantically. “Whew!” he roared, and he was just about to set his mug down when a din erupted, more gasps than cheers. D had already set his empty mug down.

“Pretty boy here—” The giant stopped, somewhat tongue-tied. “Hey, let’s have another round, Bob!”

“Sorry, Baska, we’re all out.”

“Whaaaat?”

“Think about it: We’ve emptied five kegs in twenty minutes’ time. But what worries me more than how I’m gonna open for business tomorrow is these guys lying all over the place.”

“Okay,” the giant said, clambering off the stool. Raising both hands and taking a boxing stance, he said, “We’ll settle it with these, pretty boy. A man’s gotta prove himself with his fists, not his cups.”

III

“Sure,” the hoarse voice replied magnanimously. And then it hiccupped.

“Are you drunk? Your face is paler than a damned moon gourd. The god of alcohol can’t help you now. I’ll send you to the ground with just one shot to the gut. Anyway, your voice don’t match your face at all, mister.”

“True enough.”

“Oh, he speaks!”

The giant’s eyes went wide, but he rolled up his sleeves. The pose he took looked like something he’d taught himself.

“What’s with that goofy fighting stance? You really are a bumpkin, aren’t you—ouuuuf!”

D’s left hand squeezed into a fist, crushing out the insult, but that didn’t stem the giant’s anger. Hauling back with his right hand, he bellowed, “You son of a bitch!”

His fist arced out, plowing through the air.

“Huh?” he cried in astonishment after the punch that should’ve caught D right in the ear met only empty space. He was about to spin completely around, but he stopped himself halfway and returned to his stance. That was actually rather remarkable—his whole body was like a spring. And then the man let out another cry of surprise. By the time he’d resumed his stance, D was standing right in front of him. Dark eyes of impossible depth reflected the giant’s ruddy face. Their depth probably frightened the man.

Usually, the giant would get in a few shots in rapid succession while drawing his opponent in for a hook and then a body blow—but he forgot all about his winning combination and just took a swing. Still, the man couldn’t find a hole in his opponent’s defenses, which would’ve been easy if he’d been up against an ordinary human.

A hard slap reverberated. The man’s fist had stopped in midair. D’s left hand was wrapped around it.

Cries of surprise rang out in the room. They only whipped the giant into a frenzy. Letting out an unintelligible cry, he struck to the left. Before his blow could connect, the giant was sailing through the air. Easily flying over the heads of the oohing patrons, he landed at the other end of the room, right in front of a door that led to the back. The saloon quaked.

“Not bad at all,” Lilia said, her eyes agleam. “Slammed him headfirst, eh? He won’t be—” Her amused tone broke off there. “Apparently he will be okay after that.”

Rubbing a neck as thick as a log, the giant used his other hand to lift his upper body from the floor. The way D had thrown him, it wouldn’t have been surprising if his neck had been broken. He was like toughness in a pair of pants. Giving just one shake of his head, the giant used his hand to easily lift himself from the floor. And the bumpkin wasn’t even shaking when he resumed his stance.

“Caught me off-guard. Shouldn’t underestimate you just ’cause you’re a pretty boy. Okay, time for the real deal.” His drunkenness must’ve left him completely, because his face had a look of what some might term integrity as it twitched with murderous intent.

“Oh, he means business,” Lilia said, a daring smile skimming across her lips. She was starting to enjoy this.

The floor creaked. The giant had gone into motion. His unbelievably light footwork put looks of amazement into the eyes of the villagers that testified they’d never seen it before. He’d never had a need to show anyone until now.

“Have at you!”

Leaving only his words behind him, the giant glided to the right.

Lilia’s eyes bulged in their sockets. The deadly battle resumed. And this time, it was for real. It wouldn’t stop until blood had been spilled.

Just then, from the door to the back room a voice called out, “That’ll be all for now, Baska. We’ve got an urgent patient!”

It was a cultured female voice. Everyone turned to look, and the giant—Baska—grimaced with regret.

Standing in the doorway was a middle-aged woman in a long white coat. The face framed by her graying hair was surprisingly youthful and brimming with rationality. A decade earlier, she wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere without turning the head of every man.

“Mr. Shova’s boy has a stomachache. The symptoms sound like appendicitis. Go get the wagon ready.”

She sounded like a boss giving orders to an employee.

Baska turned and said, “Hey, Doc, hate to tell you this, but I ain’t your freaking slave. No need to be talking to me like that in front of all these folks.”

“And you can make all the bones you like about that after you’ve paid me back that five thousand dalas. Just how is it that a man whose gambling drove off his wife and kids, a man who had mobsters going after him for the money he borrowed, is living safe and sound now?”