THE SHADOW OVER VINLAND sample: “The Fastest Pass to Plattlock”

Henson’s corpse already stank. Kettrick had the pack mule with the blanket-wrapped body trailing behind his horse on twenty feet of rope, but every time the wind shifted he caught a whiff of the dead man. Henson hadn’t smelled great when alive, and two days of traveling in the sun hadn’t been kind to him.

Kettrick’s horse Ranger continued its steady plod, pulling against the resistance of the worn-out mule. They were well along the main street of the tiny town before Kettrick saw its name on the sign over the post office: “Yellow Bluffs.” He didn’t know how far he was from Plattlock, but Yellow Bluffs was better than sleeping on the ground again with nothing but a stinking murderer to keep him company.

The boy at the livery stable stood by respectfully as Ket­trick unfolded himself from Ranger’s back at the stable door, then wound up the rope to bring the mule closer. It was a sorry animal, old and worn, but it was the best Kettrick had been able to get for what he was willing to pay in St. An­selm, where he had gunned Henson down.

The stable boy’s eyes widened when the mule got close; the rope Kettrick had looped around the corpse to hold the blanket in place made it very clear what was inside the blanket.

“That’s a—” the boy stammered, “that’s a—”

“That’s a real-live dead man,” Kettrick said, “and he’s worth five hundred dollars to me. I don’t expect you to manhandle him, but I do want to put him someplace se­cure.”

The boy gulped and nodded. “We’ve got a room with a lock in back.”

“Then that’s where he’ll go.”

Kettrick unlooped some rope and slung Henson’s dead weight over his shoulder. He breathed through his mouth, his teeth clenched to keep out the stable flies that had al­ready discovered the corpse. The mule shook itself and drooped its head.

“Lead on,” he grunted.

Kettrick secured the body, and paid the stable boy for the care of his animals and for locked storage. After he had ta­ken a couple of deep cleansing breaths in the fresh air out­side, he entered the restaurant and hotel next door to the stable. It was definitely a restaurant more than a saloon, and that was fine with Kettrick. He picked the cheapest thing on the menu, a bowl of beans with onions.

The waiter brought him a glass of water to drink while he waited. Right behind him was another man, an older man wearing a vest, with spectacles perched on his nose.

“Mind if I sit down, mister?” he said.

Kettrick took a drink before answering. It was only water, but it was sweet and cool from a well, not silt-filled like the streams Kettrick had filled his waterskins from for the past two days.

“Be my guest,” he said.

The man lowered himself into the chair opposite Kettrick. “Actually, you’re my guest,” he said. “I’m Milton Moore, owner of this establishment, as well as the livery stable next door.” His voice was low and unrushed, deliberately non­threatening. “You gave the Johnson boy the surprise of his week with your… baggage. I don’t mean to pry, but if any­thing’s to be stored on my premises…”

Kettrick nodded. “That’s reasonable,” he said, and reached inside his jacket for the folded-up paper there. He unfolded and smoothed it out on the tablecloth.

The bold words “Wanted! Dead or Alive” filled the top of the paper, and at the bottom “$500” was printed in the same size. The space in between was dominated by a line drawing of a mean-faced man, black-bearded and scarred. Under that was the man’s name, “Donald ‘Dee’ Henson,” a declaration that he had murdered and mutilated at least eight women in more than one state, and a promise that the reward was available from the courthouse in Plattlock upon delivery of the fugitive.

Moore read the poster, then looked at Kettrick sharply. “That’s Dee Henson out in the stable?”

Kettrick nodded.

Moore studied the poster, as if expecting more details to present themselves. “‘Dead or alive.’ I suppose he didn’t leave the decision in your hands, Mister…?”

“Kettrick,” he said, and offered one of his freshly washed hands. “And no. Truth is, men wanted dead or alive are hard to bring in alive.”

“I’ll wager.” Moore took one last look at the poster, then folded it once and handed it back to Kettrick. “Well. I sup­pose every law-abiding citizen should thank you, Mr. Ket­trick, although I’m sure you’ll appreciate the reward more. We have a sheriff’s deputy here in town. I’ll let him know about the body in my stable, and he might want to check things on his own.”

“No objection here,” Kettrick said. “And as long as I have your ear…” He replaced the poster in his pocket, and in the same motion drew out a map. He unfolded half of it, then refolded it to show a tighter area. He scanned it until he could see “Yellow Bluffs” in tiny letters.

“So this is where we are,” he said, marking it with a finger. “And it looks to me that Plattlock is almost due west of here.” He drew a line across with his fingertip. “So what’s the quickest way to get to Plattlock?”

“That’s due west as the crow flies,” Moore answered, “but the crow doesn’t have to deal with those mountains be­tween here and Plattlock. I find that the road to the north here is the best route.” He tapped the spot on the map.

Kettrick had noted the mountains on his way into town, mountains that right now had the lowering sun hanging just above them outside the west-facing windows of the res­taurant. He examined the distance on the map from Yellow Bluffs to the line for the road, then back down to Plattlock. “That looks like, what, four or five days’ travel?”

“Four if you travel well,” Moore agreed.

“That’s more time than I want to spend in the company of a dead man,” Kettrick said. “Is there a pass anywhere closer?”

…

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