Lady of Perdition by Barbara Hambly

Author:Barbara Hambly [Barbara Hambly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2019-07-21T16:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

‘White man.’ A ruffianly Norte named Maddox dropped out of his saddle as the rest of the party drew near.

Creed said, ‘Shit. I’d’a swore there been no Comanche closer than Elbow Creek since last year.’

January, too, dismounted. Behind him, and for the benefit of their bodyguards, Hannibal called out authoritatively, ‘Did Dr Kerr train you to identify – er – disjecta membra like that, Ben?’

‘Yes, sir.’

With a white man’s blessing, the cowhands were prepared to let January investigate. He wrapped a bandana around his fingers, picked the horrid thing up. The wrist had been chopped through with an ax or a heavy knife, and by the look of the flesh, had remained half-attached to the arm until the coyote had torn it loose. Even this early in the year, the maggots and larvae in the wound looked healthy and plump. Little bastards grow up fast. Pupae, too: pale, glistening little ovals in the sour meat. The fingers flopped limp.

No calluses, no sunburn, no hair. Ink-stains on the index and middle fingers, and the edge of the hand. Clean nails, unbroken and tended. No scars, no wounds on the palm or heel, such as a man might get if he defended himself in desperation against edged steel.

He carried it to Creed first. (No harm laying it on with a trowel.) ‘Does this look like the hand of anyone you know, sir?’

The cowhand drew back with a noise of disgust, then thought about it a moment and asked, ‘You mean like scars or marks?’

‘Yes, sir.’ He kept his voice carefully diffident. You’re so wise and important, I’m asking you first. ‘I know it’s not something a man usually notices—’

‘No, no, you’re right, Ben.’ He bent – carefully keeping his distance – and studied more closely the intricate miracle of engineering and flesh. How can something that practical, that well-designed – powerful and delicate, capable of wielding a pen or guiding a horse, of constructing the intricate machinery of a gun or a watch – or of comforting a child with a touch on her cheek – just grow, like bananas on a tree?

The sandy-haired man shook his head. ‘Don’t look like it belongs to anybody I seen.’

‘Did you see where the coyote came from, sir?’ January had already spotted the area, but knew better than to lead the way, and again Creed looked gratified at being consulted.

‘There.’ Jalisco rose in his stirrups and pointed. ‘He first came out by that oak. Witch Cave Canyon – there’s caves, all the way back along the stream.’

January wrapped the hand in his bandana, and tucked it into his saddlebag. Hannibal said, ‘Best if we spread out,’ and, though January knew he wanted nothing but to return to the hacienda and sleep, dismounted. They both knew that none of the Nortes would stand to let a black man take the lead in the investigation.

‘Lope – Maddox,’ Jalisco added, ‘best you keep an eye around us, though it looks to me that hand is a few days dead.

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