Dust --Chapter 5 PG-13
Posted: Thu Apr 23, 2009 7:22 pm
Usual disclaimers…I don’t own Josef. All the plot and the other characters, though, are mine.
Sorry it’s been so long since the update…I got distracted with a couple of one-shots. And have no fears, ch. 6 is already well along.
Dust
Chapter 5
The stagecoach stopped with a lurch and a jangle of harness as the last light of day was fading. Sally awoke with a start.
In the darkness, she could see the pale form of Miss Beaumont, still propped in a corner like a large, lifeless doll. Sally thought vaguely that she should be horrified, but she knew the dead woman was no threat to her. She herself was crammed into the corner farthest from the body. She suffered a split second of surprise about that, then, without a glance downward, remembered why.
To make more room for the man resting his head in her lap.
Josef had been awake for some time, and he realized at once when Mrs. Watkins had surfaced from her slumbers. He’d been enjoying the faint noise of the blood rushing through her veins as she dozed over him, the delicious double thud of her heartbeat coupled with the faster flutter of the second quickened heart within her. It was restful, this contact with humanity, and he’d always found it so, over the long years of night since his turning. And even with the infusion of blood from poor, lost Iris, he’d needed rest. Time for the blood to do its work, to heal the damage of the sun and the wounds he’d sustained. But the time for resting was over, and it would be time, soon enough, for action.
He sat up, stretching his neck first to one side, then the other. Before she could react, or refuse him, he took the human woman’s hand. “Mrs. Watkins,” he said. She gave a slight pull against his fingers, but he retained her hand easily. “Sally—“
“Mr. Constantine, please. This is—“
“I think we’re past the time for formality here.” He paused. “What’s going to happen shortly—I need you to stay down. There’s likely to be bullets flying, and—and blood being spilled. I will protect you, as I can, but you can help me by getting out of the way.”
Sally wondered if this was the time to tell him about the derringer hanging heavy in her skirt pocket, but stayed silent. She simply nodded.
Then he quirked a smile at her—an utterly charming smile—and lifted her hand to his lips, to drop a light kiss on the back of her knuckles.
She’d read about such things, but never seen it before. She felt like blushing. Her hands were rough, hard with work even at seventeen, and nothing like the white softness he was used to, like the hands of Miss Beaumont.
As though he knew what she was thinking, he said, “Sally, your hands show your character. Never be ashamed of what you are. You’ll sleep better.”
“I’m—I’m just a farm girl.”
“Perhaps. But a farm girl who is strong and quick-witted. And gracious enough to help ease a stranger.”
She was emboldened to smile back. “Mr. Constantine, I think you’re right. We’re hardly strangers now.”
He nodded his approval. “Good girl,” he said, releasing her hand. “Remember what I said. And be ready.”
But when the door was flung open, and a rough voice ordered them out into the firelit dusk, Josef frowned and realized all bets were off.
He’d been expecting a camp, maybe an isolated ranch house. The same few men with perhaps a couple more for reinforcement. But when Josef stepped out, straightening his cramped limbs, he saw with dismay that they were within the boundaries of a large encampment, possibly thirty tents pitched around a central adobe structure. And around a dozen or more campfires, at least a hundred men were consuming an evening meal, or taking their ease. What the hell was going on here?
Roberts and Weston were holding guns on him, while Cassidy and McCarty began unhitching the horses. He looked around him with studied nonchalance, until Roberts snarled to get his attention. “The women, too.”
“Mrs. Watkins,” Josef said, turning back to the stagecoach door, “allow me to assist you.”
He felt the warm rough hand in his at once. Trusting his foolish promise to protect her.
Sally tried to stay behind Mr. Constantine as much as she could, but it was impossible to miss the mass of men surrounding them. The broad shoulders of the man standing in front of her were the only walls she had. And she wondered why they’d been brought here—wherever here was. Even a stupid farm girl could see it would have been easier, cleaner, to have shot them both and left their bodies to rot in the dust. Maybe they had a financial use for Mr. Constantine, but the only use they could have for her—she didn’t want to think about it. She prayed Mr. Constantine could make good on his promise to protect her, and suppressed the urge to lay a hand on his back to reassure herself.
“What about the other one?” Roberts demanded. “She still out? It won’t make any difference.”
Josef scowled. “She’s dead. Does that make a difference?”
“Huh.” Roberts shrugged. “Shoulda left her behind. Well, we can toss the body on garbage heap.”
“You will not.” Josef stiffened, his height suddenly becoming more imposing, somehow, more threatening in the face of the firepower trained on him. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked, his tone brooking no denial.
“Why do you think it’s not me?” Roberts replied.
Josef said nothing, waiting.
Roberts stared at him, the color of his face deepening.
“I don’t deal with underlings,” Josef commented, the contempt clear in his voice. He knew he probably shouldn’t be baiting this idiot, but it seemed the only way to get what he wanted.
Roberts answered with another snarl. “I oughta shoot you now, gambler.”
Josef looked bored. “You’ve had orders not to kill me. If you could shoot me, you’d do it, not bluster and threaten.”
The bandit was inarticulate with rage, and the rest of his group studiously pretended they’d not heard a word of the exchange. Eventually, he choked out, “Fine. You want to meet the Colonel, you’ll meet the Colonel. You’ll regret it. Hold out your hands.”
Josef kept his face straight as Weston stepped up to secure his wrists with a leather strap, a piece of an old rein. The binding was meant to be cruelly tight, and Weston had no compunction in pulling the strap as firmly as he could. When he was done, Josef flexed his wrists slightly to test the bonds.
“You’re not gonna be breaking that,” Weston commented.
Josef refrained from reply.
As Roberts motioned him forward with a wave of his gun, Sally fell in behind Josef to follow, but Weston’s rifle barrel came down, a barrier between them. He shook his head at her.
“Not you. Just him.”
Josef twisted around to glare at Weston. “She stays with me.”
Roberts laughed. “You don’t get a say here, gambler.”
The vampire ignored him, fixing Weston with his eyes. “That woman is under my protection. You watch over her, or you answer to me. Clear?”
Slade thought about it. Somehow, even bound, this man radiated confidence. Danger. He had an uneasy feeling that Constantine would keep his word. He swallowed, and nodded. “She’ll be safe here.”
In turn, Josef looked at Sally. She was standing ramrod straight, her bonnet and the short cape making her look severe as a nun. He could sense that she was afraid, but not about to show it. Brave girl. She crinkled her eyes at him, never dreaming he could see her in the gloom. “Mrs. Watkins, I’ll be back. Soon, I hope. I’m sure Mr. Weston will see to you. I expect you’re hungry.”
Roberts prodded him with his rifle. “Enough stalling. You want to see the Colonel, we go now.”
Josef gave him an utterly bland smile. “After you.”
The rifle twitched in Roberts’ hands. Josef took it as information, that Roberts restrained his desires to smash the butt of the gun across his prisoner’s face. He wondered briefly if Roberts ever actually fired that weapon of his, or if it was chiefly used as a blunt instrument.
He used the walk through the camp to see whatever he could. There were some habits, he thought, that stuck even from his mortal days, and he’d been a boy the first time he’d been in an armed encampment. The fires each had anywhere from eight to a dozen men lounging around, drinking coffee, eating what appeared to be a singularly unpalatable evening meal. Josef had hoped he was dealing with no more than common bandits, and he’d been prepared to come out swinging. Four or five thugs were no problem; they wouldn’t even have been much of a challenge. But he questioned his ability to extract himself—burdened by a pregnant woman—from this camp without some assistance, and some luck. Josef stumbled deliberately, as though unsteady on his feet, as though his sight was hampered by darkness and the fitful flare of the campfires.
No surprise, they were headed for the one permanent structure in view, but instead of entering the small adobe compound, Roberts used a poke of his gun to direct Josef toward a sizable canvas tent that glowed from within with the light of several oil lamps. The man standing sentry outside the tent was young, meticulously cleanshaven, and alert but relaxed, the smoke trickling up from a meerschaum pipe clenched between his teeth. He looked up, surprised.
“What’s this?”
“My prisoner wants to see the Colonel.” Roberts’ grin at the statement was almost feral; Josef could hear it in his tone without needing to see the expression.
“I heard you brought in prisoners. The Colonel’s not going to be pleased.”
Roberts pushed back his hat, scratching at his hair. “Yeah, I know. But—“
“Don’t tell me, tell the Colonel.” The young man turned abruptly and went to the flap of the tent.
Josef focused on the spill of light from the tent, listening. The low murmur of voices told him little, however, except that proper military courtesy was being observed. It confirmed his observation that whatever it was that was afoot here, it was not simple banditry. He supposed it could be some sort of commercial warfare, but he doubted it more and more with every passing moment.
After only a few words, the aide—aide seemed the only appropriate term—reappeared and summoned them inside. He noticed that Roberts took a deep breath, and spiked a stink of fear as they took the final steps out of the darkness.
Link to Chapter 6
Sorry it’s been so long since the update…I got distracted with a couple of one-shots. And have no fears, ch. 6 is already well along.
Dust
Chapter 5
The stagecoach stopped with a lurch and a jangle of harness as the last light of day was fading. Sally awoke with a start.
In the darkness, she could see the pale form of Miss Beaumont, still propped in a corner like a large, lifeless doll. Sally thought vaguely that she should be horrified, but she knew the dead woman was no threat to her. She herself was crammed into the corner farthest from the body. She suffered a split second of surprise about that, then, without a glance downward, remembered why.
To make more room for the man resting his head in her lap.
Josef had been awake for some time, and he realized at once when Mrs. Watkins had surfaced from her slumbers. He’d been enjoying the faint noise of the blood rushing through her veins as she dozed over him, the delicious double thud of her heartbeat coupled with the faster flutter of the second quickened heart within her. It was restful, this contact with humanity, and he’d always found it so, over the long years of night since his turning. And even with the infusion of blood from poor, lost Iris, he’d needed rest. Time for the blood to do its work, to heal the damage of the sun and the wounds he’d sustained. But the time for resting was over, and it would be time, soon enough, for action.
He sat up, stretching his neck first to one side, then the other. Before she could react, or refuse him, he took the human woman’s hand. “Mrs. Watkins,” he said. She gave a slight pull against his fingers, but he retained her hand easily. “Sally—“
“Mr. Constantine, please. This is—“
“I think we’re past the time for formality here.” He paused. “What’s going to happen shortly—I need you to stay down. There’s likely to be bullets flying, and—and blood being spilled. I will protect you, as I can, but you can help me by getting out of the way.”
Sally wondered if this was the time to tell him about the derringer hanging heavy in her skirt pocket, but stayed silent. She simply nodded.
Then he quirked a smile at her—an utterly charming smile—and lifted her hand to his lips, to drop a light kiss on the back of her knuckles.
She’d read about such things, but never seen it before. She felt like blushing. Her hands were rough, hard with work even at seventeen, and nothing like the white softness he was used to, like the hands of Miss Beaumont.
As though he knew what she was thinking, he said, “Sally, your hands show your character. Never be ashamed of what you are. You’ll sleep better.”
“I’m—I’m just a farm girl.”
“Perhaps. But a farm girl who is strong and quick-witted. And gracious enough to help ease a stranger.”
She was emboldened to smile back. “Mr. Constantine, I think you’re right. We’re hardly strangers now.”
He nodded his approval. “Good girl,” he said, releasing her hand. “Remember what I said. And be ready.”
But when the door was flung open, and a rough voice ordered them out into the firelit dusk, Josef frowned and realized all bets were off.
He’d been expecting a camp, maybe an isolated ranch house. The same few men with perhaps a couple more for reinforcement. But when Josef stepped out, straightening his cramped limbs, he saw with dismay that they were within the boundaries of a large encampment, possibly thirty tents pitched around a central adobe structure. And around a dozen or more campfires, at least a hundred men were consuming an evening meal, or taking their ease. What the hell was going on here?
Roberts and Weston were holding guns on him, while Cassidy and McCarty began unhitching the horses. He looked around him with studied nonchalance, until Roberts snarled to get his attention. “The women, too.”
“Mrs. Watkins,” Josef said, turning back to the stagecoach door, “allow me to assist you.”
He felt the warm rough hand in his at once. Trusting his foolish promise to protect her.
Sally tried to stay behind Mr. Constantine as much as she could, but it was impossible to miss the mass of men surrounding them. The broad shoulders of the man standing in front of her were the only walls she had. And she wondered why they’d been brought here—wherever here was. Even a stupid farm girl could see it would have been easier, cleaner, to have shot them both and left their bodies to rot in the dust. Maybe they had a financial use for Mr. Constantine, but the only use they could have for her—she didn’t want to think about it. She prayed Mr. Constantine could make good on his promise to protect her, and suppressed the urge to lay a hand on his back to reassure herself.
“What about the other one?” Roberts demanded. “She still out? It won’t make any difference.”
Josef scowled. “She’s dead. Does that make a difference?”
“Huh.” Roberts shrugged. “Shoulda left her behind. Well, we can toss the body on garbage heap.”
“You will not.” Josef stiffened, his height suddenly becoming more imposing, somehow, more threatening in the face of the firepower trained on him. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked, his tone brooking no denial.
“Why do you think it’s not me?” Roberts replied.
Josef said nothing, waiting.
Roberts stared at him, the color of his face deepening.
“I don’t deal with underlings,” Josef commented, the contempt clear in his voice. He knew he probably shouldn’t be baiting this idiot, but it seemed the only way to get what he wanted.
Roberts answered with another snarl. “I oughta shoot you now, gambler.”
Josef looked bored. “You’ve had orders not to kill me. If you could shoot me, you’d do it, not bluster and threaten.”
The bandit was inarticulate with rage, and the rest of his group studiously pretended they’d not heard a word of the exchange. Eventually, he choked out, “Fine. You want to meet the Colonel, you’ll meet the Colonel. You’ll regret it. Hold out your hands.”
Josef kept his face straight as Weston stepped up to secure his wrists with a leather strap, a piece of an old rein. The binding was meant to be cruelly tight, and Weston had no compunction in pulling the strap as firmly as he could. When he was done, Josef flexed his wrists slightly to test the bonds.
“You’re not gonna be breaking that,” Weston commented.
Josef refrained from reply.
As Roberts motioned him forward with a wave of his gun, Sally fell in behind Josef to follow, but Weston’s rifle barrel came down, a barrier between them. He shook his head at her.
“Not you. Just him.”
Josef twisted around to glare at Weston. “She stays with me.”
Roberts laughed. “You don’t get a say here, gambler.”
The vampire ignored him, fixing Weston with his eyes. “That woman is under my protection. You watch over her, or you answer to me. Clear?”
Slade thought about it. Somehow, even bound, this man radiated confidence. Danger. He had an uneasy feeling that Constantine would keep his word. He swallowed, and nodded. “She’ll be safe here.”
In turn, Josef looked at Sally. She was standing ramrod straight, her bonnet and the short cape making her look severe as a nun. He could sense that she was afraid, but not about to show it. Brave girl. She crinkled her eyes at him, never dreaming he could see her in the gloom. “Mrs. Watkins, I’ll be back. Soon, I hope. I’m sure Mr. Weston will see to you. I expect you’re hungry.”
Roberts prodded him with his rifle. “Enough stalling. You want to see the Colonel, we go now.”
Josef gave him an utterly bland smile. “After you.”
The rifle twitched in Roberts’ hands. Josef took it as information, that Roberts restrained his desires to smash the butt of the gun across his prisoner’s face. He wondered briefly if Roberts ever actually fired that weapon of his, or if it was chiefly used as a blunt instrument.
He used the walk through the camp to see whatever he could. There were some habits, he thought, that stuck even from his mortal days, and he’d been a boy the first time he’d been in an armed encampment. The fires each had anywhere from eight to a dozen men lounging around, drinking coffee, eating what appeared to be a singularly unpalatable evening meal. Josef had hoped he was dealing with no more than common bandits, and he’d been prepared to come out swinging. Four or five thugs were no problem; they wouldn’t even have been much of a challenge. But he questioned his ability to extract himself—burdened by a pregnant woman—from this camp without some assistance, and some luck. Josef stumbled deliberately, as though unsteady on his feet, as though his sight was hampered by darkness and the fitful flare of the campfires.
No surprise, they were headed for the one permanent structure in view, but instead of entering the small adobe compound, Roberts used a poke of his gun to direct Josef toward a sizable canvas tent that glowed from within with the light of several oil lamps. The man standing sentry outside the tent was young, meticulously cleanshaven, and alert but relaxed, the smoke trickling up from a meerschaum pipe clenched between his teeth. He looked up, surprised.
“What’s this?”
“My prisoner wants to see the Colonel.” Roberts’ grin at the statement was almost feral; Josef could hear it in his tone without needing to see the expression.
“I heard you brought in prisoners. The Colonel’s not going to be pleased.”
Roberts pushed back his hat, scratching at his hair. “Yeah, I know. But—“
“Don’t tell me, tell the Colonel.” The young man turned abruptly and went to the flap of the tent.
Josef focused on the spill of light from the tent, listening. The low murmur of voices told him little, however, except that proper military courtesy was being observed. It confirmed his observation that whatever it was that was afoot here, it was not simple banditry. He supposed it could be some sort of commercial warfare, but he doubted it more and more with every passing moment.
After only a few words, the aide—aide seemed the only appropriate term—reappeared and summoned them inside. He noticed that Roberts took a deep breath, and spiked a stink of fear as they took the final steps out of the darkness.
Link to Chapter 6
but I'm not saying a word. It would be too...inhuman. 
He really knows how to put people in their place! Very intrigued about the colonel??!! I love, love, love this story and can't wait for the next update... 
