The Rise of Ransom City (20 page)

The giant Knoll grunted once then went silent. There was a huge weight and pressure at my back like the sky itself had turned to stone and fallen right on me. It forced me down suddenly so that I swallowed water. The lake was cold at first and then suddenly it was warm.

Afterwards there was nothing left of Knoll or of Mr. Carver, not even dust.. Parts of the Apparatus could be found embedded in trees for hundreds of yards around, or lying on the streets of White Rock. The trees themselves in the immediate vicinity were gone. At the perimeter of the devastation the trees still stood were stripped bare of bark and leaves down to their green-white bone. The banner that read the harry ransom white rock illuminations floated out into the middle of the lake until I could no longer make it out. I asked Miss Harper if she had seen what it looked like when the Process went wild and she said that she had caught a glimpse before she turned away to hide behind a tree, but she could not describe it.

I said that I would write about the three times I changed history. You might say that was the first— I mean the time when I saved the lives of John Creedmoor and the woman who I still cannot think of as anything other than Miss Elizabeth Harper. Or you might say it was what happened next.

We walked up to the town together. She was supporting me rather more than I was supporting her. I was crying and also laughing and I kept saying, “Think nothing of it.” She said that she was sorry about Mr. Carver and I said, “There’s a lot you don’t know, Miss Harper.”

The wolves by the way fled in confusion and panic as soon as Knoll died.

Snow had started to fall again and the fires had gone out. I do not know exactly what hour of the night it was.

Miss Harper was sun-burned on the left side of her face, and her hair on that side was somewhat charred. I think that her eyes were less blue and more violet than they had been before the Apparatus exploded. I said nothing to her about either of these things.

The street was blocked by the rubble of the Grand Hotel. The big red grand sign stuck up from the heap of bricks and timbers and beneath it were the remains of the wagon and of Mariette, the horse. I said my farewells as we circled the rubble.

We found John Creedmoor at the Bank, lying on the floor in his own blood and a mess of scattered notes and deeds and titles and scattered letters. I saw my own undelivered letter to my sister Jess under his boot. We prized loose his swollen hand from the floor and Miss Harper helped him to his feet. He was bloody and shaking and he could not stand without help.

The two of them had one of their whispered conversations, of which I heard only parts. Creedmoor did not answer any of my questions.

I should confess that most of what I have written here about his conversations with Knoll was guesswork.

The remaining townsfolk gathered around us. They took down the Nun from the fence and were able to save her. The Nun was too weak to do anything but babble and then sleep, and so, with the Mayor dead, the townsfolk had no clear leader. They might have fled like the wolves if they had anywhere to go. It broke my heart to see them, but I was also very much aware that the wagon was gone, and the horses were gone, and the Apparatus was gone, and it was winter and I was ruined.

I looked at the people of White Rock and I felt a surge of hope inside me. It caused me to open my mouth.

“People of White Rock,” I said. “You should know the truth.”

“Harry,” Miss Harper said, and John Creedmoor said, “Shut him up.” I smiled at them both and made a gesture with my hand, by which I meant,
Don’t worry, I have a plan, you will thank me later.

“People of White Rock,” I said, “listen.”

John Creedmoor looked for his gun, but finding himself unarmed was unable to stop me.

The truth is I do not remember exactly what I said, but I do remember what the newspapers said that I said, afterwards. It was something like this.

The Juniper City Morning Herald,
—— 1891
STRANGE NEWS FROM THE OPALS— THE “MIRACLE” AT WHITE ROCK

There is strange news from the Opals, where last winter the little town of White Rock, home to the White Rock Lumber Company, suffered the tragic loss of Mayor R. Binion, Mr. and Mrs. William F. Davy, Esq., Mr. Sam Sattel of the Bank of the Opals, and a number of other locally prominent citizens, in the course of a bank-robbery conducted by persons unknown. Witnesses to the tragedy now report that the massacre was the work of one man, most likely an Agent of that power that we shall not name here. The perpetrator’s name is unknown, though the fellow is said to have been ten feet tall and, in the words of Mr. James F. Walsh, formerly of No. 19 Main Street, “hairy all over, like he was a —— —— bear.” Moreover, the perpetrator is deceased, and not at the hands of any man of White Rock. Rather, the Agent fell victim to what Miss Phelps, formerly of the Bank of the Opals, described as “some kind of —— —— awful weapon like nothin’ I ever seen before.” The weapon is said to be the property of a Mr. John Creedmoor— perhaps the notorious Creedmoor, whose exploits were well known to this newspaper ten years ago— and of a Miss Elizabeth Allerson, and a Professor Harry Ransom.

Mr. Tom Phelan, formerly the proprietor of the Grand Hotel, describes the incident thus:

“They come to town and I thought as how they was running from somethin’, but every body comes to town these days is running from somethin’ what with the War an’ all. I minded my own business, until that —— —— monster come into town after ’em and starts shootin’ and beatin’ on the Mayor and carryin’ on— all confusion an’ consternation— all blood an’ thunder an’ —— —— wolves— an’ used ta keep a gun behind o’ the bar but there ain’t no man in White Rock can stand agin’ an Agent o’ the you-know-what. An’ then jus’ when I thought as how we was all as good as dead anyhow there was this great —— light an’ the monster was gone. It was that Ransom fellow. He had a machine with ’im an’ it was all glass and wire an’ I don’t know what-all an’ it burned that big son of a bitch right up.”

Witnesses say that there was a pillar of white light, which the pious Miss Phelps describes as “like a door openin’ onto the Silver City its own self.” This may be the idle talk of simple rustics, but it is a matter on which many voices agree. Travelers from up and down the Opals and whoever was awake that night as far away as Birnam in the western foothills and Troche in the east say that they saw a pillar of white light flaring over the mountains. This vision has passed already into local folklore as the “Miracle” of White Rock. It is also said that for days after the incident White Rock experienced an unseasonable warmth and an inexplicable absence of shadows and wind, that the survivors of the tragedy glimpsed strange and foreign vistas through windows or half-open doorways, and that small rocks and twigs were seen to levitate and spin of their own accord, and that strangers were seen around town, silent and remote and “ghost-like.” What remains of the town is now under the authority of the Line and no further word of these peculiarities emerges. After the incident Professor Harry Ransom delivered a speech, which Miss Phelps recalled thus:

“He said who he was an’ who the rest of ’em was. There was old John Creedmoor, who was a gun-hand lookin’ to do good with ’is declinin’ years, an’ there was Miss Liz Allerson, who was a doctor from the old country. An’ he made a speech about the you-know-what an’ the Line an’ how they was the enemies of all good people. An’ he said he was sorry about the Mayor an’ all the rest and about all that’d burnt to the ground but that was just how the War was, and how it was goin’ to go on forever unless somebody stopped it, because the Powers that make the world the way it is are mad. An’ he said that him and the woman an’ that bad-lookin’ old man had had enough, an’ it was time to do somethin’, an’ that was how come they’d gone out West and brought back this secret weapon that was so damn good it could, never mind jus’ killin’ an Agent o’ the you-know-what, it could do for the demon what rode ’im, and it could knock an Engine o’ the Line isself off its tracks. An’ they was gonna, too.”

“He said they was goin’ east,” recalls Mr. Phelan. “On account of a bigger ’n’ better somethin’s hidden out east— under the World’s Walls, he said— and he spoke all about Folk magic an’ magic signs and words that could do who-knows-what an’ about that ol’ Red Republic from back when I was a boy and about how in the future there’d be peace and plenty and a whole lot of other stuff. He talked about the G—— and about the Engines and all that kind of thing but my ears was ringin’ from all the bullets and blood and smoke an’ that light so I don’t know what-all he said. He was a strange fellow, that’s all I know.”

“He said they had to make it where they were goin’,” Mr. Walsh recalls. “Or it was all for nothin’. An’ they’d never make it without we helped ’em, meaning we had to give ’em horses and water and food and a new wagon and guns and new clothes and money for the road and incidental expenses and so on. He said it was a great cause an’ a miracle and our shot at greatness an’ so on. An’ maybe he was tellin’ the truth or somethin’ like the truth an’ maybe he wasn’t but either way we’d had one —— —— of a night. We took a vote and those as wanted to help ’em was square outnumbered by those as wanted to stone ’em out of town and never speak of it agin. So we did. An’ me, I packed up what wasn’t burnt and got out mysel’ three day later, and that’s how come I weren’t there when the Linesmen shown up.”

We were not fifteen minutes’ walk back down the road together and I was still smarting from my bruises when John Creedmoor turned to me and shoved me against a tree, dislodging a light fall of snow.

“I should kill you,” he said, “Damn it I should just—”

He had only one good hand and his leg was hurt and he wobbled but I still did not think I could fight him.

I said, “But—”

“We had little enough chance of success before and now when word gets out— and word
will
get out— the people of White Rock will not hold their tongues forever— damn it in the old days I’d have shot ’em all myself—
when
word gets out then every idiot in every town from here to the World’s Walls will be on the lookout for us to gossip or catch us for a reward or worse try to fucking help us. This is no game, this is not a story-book, this is not theater, this is
war,
Ransom. I should kill you. Damn it, I think I
will
kill you.”

He let go of me, and drew his gun.

Miss Harper put a hand on his arm and persuaded him to change his mind.

“Thank you,” I said.

“He’s right, Harry.”

I said, “But—” again.

“Don’t follow us,” she said. “Good luck with your Apparatus and Mr. Baxter and all of that, and I’m sorry about what happened to Carver, I really am, and I’m sorry we ever dragged you into our affairs. But it’s better for all of us if we each go our ways and— well, just, good luck, Harry.”

I was for once lost for words.

I watched them walk away.

I would not see either of them again for a very long time.

The rest of that night was very long and cold and that’s all I intend to say on the matter.

Well. So that was the first part of my story. After I finished it I wrapped two of the three copies in parcel-paper and entrusted them both to young Dick Beck. He has taken them into town, with instructions to mail one copy to my friend the famous journalist Mr. Elmer Merrial Carson, and to leave the other copy in a prominent place, such as a pulpit or doctor’s office or saloon bar. The mails these days cannot be trusted and who knows whether Mr. Carson will get it or he won’t but if he does I hope it will answer certain questions.* Dick is also taking the usual open invitation to Ransom City. He took a pistol and a knife. The roads are dangerous here. Same as everywhere else these days. Meanwhile I am tinkering with the typewriter and with the Apparatus.

We are camped by a river. I don’t know what the locals call it but I have started to think of it as Adela’s River, because it is fast and bright and musical like the piano. We have been here for the better part of a week, mostly waiting for Dick Beck’s return. The quartermaster of our expedition is a deserter from the Line by the name of Rapp, who is hard at work planning and ordering and who without whom we would surely be doomed right from the start, but I am no good at that kind of work so here I am.