Halls of Montezuma Page 2

  Case just stood there, his mouth open.

  “Now don’t stand there like a simple man,” she scolded again, “help this man to O’Rourke’s where he can get proper aid.” She pocketed the bible into a deep pouch inside her coat.

  “What?” Case was astounded. Mary came up to him, arms on hips, and she gave him an expression that was far from friendly. “Did ye not hear me, young man? D’ye think I could carry such a man, or maybe ask my children?”

  Case looked at the four who were trying to keep straight faces. “Ah, uh…” he really didn’t know what so say.

  “And ye’re hurt too, I suppose?”

  “Ah, yes ma’am, but it will be fine, rest assured.”

  The woman frowned severely, then nodded curtly. “Good. Can’t abide whining men. Just like babies, so they are. Ye’re no baby, Lonnergan, are ye not?”

  “No ma’am,” Case went over to the moaning man and pulled him up with his one good arm. The man, wild eyed at thinking he was about to get a matching mouth, tried to squirm away. Bad move.

  “Now stop struggling, ye silly man!” the woman wagged a severe looking finger in the man’s face. “We’re off to O’Rourke’s where I’ll see to ye’re wound, but we can’t do that if ye make a fuss, can we now?”

  The man, eyeing the finger as though it was a twelve pounder cannon, meekly acquiesced, and was dragged along unwillingly by an unwilling Case. The remaining man sat up and, clutching his chest, staggered to his feet and lumbered off the street before the next group of immigrants passed by.

  Case watched them go. Too bad Mary McGuire had the touch of a forgiving Christian in her or else he’d’ve hurt them a little. The unfortunate he was pulling along was still losing blood and his breathing was becoming louder as he sucked in air through his open mouth.

  The children were staring at Case with wonder or shock. The seventeen year old was Ann, Bridget was about fifteen and the other girl, perhaps nine, was Elizabeth. The boy, aged somewhere in between Bridget and Elizabeth, was called Patrick. Mary looked at the bleeding man. “And ye, my lost soul, what is ye’re name?”

  “Mmmmpff mmmm mmmmm,” he replied through his hand. Case wasn’t sure whether he was answering her or telling her to fuck off.

  Mary wasn’t taking that as a reply either. She stood in front of the two men so they had to stop. “Now don’t go talking through ye’re hand. What is ye’re name?”

  “Joe Hartley, ma’am,” he said thickly before clamping his hand back over his bloody face.

  “Now that wasn’t too difficult was it?” Mary smiled and resumed leading the sorry band along the street, observed by a collection of curious people, towards a sad looking wooden building that appeared to be in imminent danger of succumbing to the effects of gravity. Case looked at it dubiously but pulled an unwilling Hartley on, his shoulder beginning to throb terribly which didn’t improve his temper.

  The door was open. They went up a flight of rickety wooden steps, and pushed past a few derelicts sitting miserably and listlessly on the edges. The children huddled together for comfort, staring in wonder at Case as he heaved Hartley into a large chamber. Glass windows, covered in dust, grime and cobwebs, offered poor illumination to the room and ahead stood a sagging wooden table where dozens of people sat mending clothes and washing them in round tubs.

  A busty middle-aged woman appeared and stared at the arrivals, in particular the two men. A look of distaste crossed her face at the sight of Hartley dripping blood onto the filthy floorboards. “And what are you wanting here?” she demanded.

  “We’ve just been saved by Mr. Lonnergan here,” Mary replied loudly. “This unfortunate is Mr. Hartley who requires medical care, Mrs. O’Rourke.”

  “What is the matter with him?” Mrs. O’Rourke pointed at Hartley who had been deposited by Case into a nearby empty but dangerously leaning chair.

  “An altercation in which Mr. Hartley here came off second best. He is however in need of medical help which is why I brought him here.”

  “We don’t give help to thieves and scoundrels here!”

  “Did the Lord turn away sinners?” Mary retorted, outraged, “does the good book not say ‘Turn the other cheek’?”

  Mrs. O’Rourke scowled. “Do you know what he is? I do! He’s an associate of that dreadful Jim Whitby and his henchmen. Muggers, thieves and parasites all. He’s one of Whitby’s hired muscle.”

  “Oh, away with ye! Mr. Lonnergan here laid out three of them without trying. He has been hurt himself but we’ll take care of that. All we need is lodging and food for one more night and we’ll make our way on the morrow.”

  Mrs. O’Rourke eyed Case with interest. “Well he’d best not be here after that. Whitby and his cronies have a way of making life uncomfortable for those who cross them. Oh, I forgot to ask last night, but could you kindly donate something for your keep?”

  “I thought lodging was free for two nights,” Mary said in surprise.

  “Oh it is! But we always ask for donations towards a new roof. Honestly we cannot maintain this place without kind donations. The winters are cruel. So cruel. And the poor children suffer much.”

  Case grimaced and looked away. The old battleaxe probably had hundreds stashed away somewhere. He found Ann McGuire a more appealing sight, her slender figure under her clothes more imagined than seen, but her pale skin and auburn hair caught his attention as did her bright shining blue eyes. She had a small upturned nose and a smile that, as he once heard someone say, would make a bishop kick a hole through a stained glass window.

  Ann caught his look and her eyes went down to the floor, a blush staining her face. Case smiled and decided he’d best look elsewhere before her mother saw it or he’d be in deep trouble. She was however busy talking to Mrs. O’Rourke and they were already organizing treatment for the miserable Hartley. He was dragged away by a couple of senior girls to a side room where bandages and other basic medical items could be seen lying on a bench. This, Case guessed, was what stood for a dispensary.

  “And now, Mr. Lonnergan,” Mary McGuire stated, “what of ye? The shoulder, is it not?”

  “Uh, yes, Ma’am. Bruising and the like, I believe.” He certainly didn’t want anyone learning of his remarkable healing abilities. It might raise a few eyebrows and excite suspicions. Best it stay hidden, for his own sake.

  “Well let me be the judge of that! Off with yer coat, man.”

  Case protested but it was like trying to hold back the tide. Mrs. O’Rourke got the children to sit while their mother tugged at Case’s coat, eliciting a hiss of pain from him. “Oh, now quiet with ye! Ye men are all alike. Ask ye to give birth and we’d all be extinct.” Mary McGuire’s tongue could be extremely acidic, Case decided. What of her husband? He’d not seen anyone at all around, and guessed the man was no longer living. A fairly common thing what with tough living conditions and sickness. Maybe that’s why the family was here in America. The coat was off and the shirt underneath unbuttoned.

  “Oh, mother of God!” Mary’s comment brought everyone round. Case sat there, on the rickety chair, knowing full well what had caused the outburst. The shirt was halfway down both arms, exposing his torso, chest and back. Almost every square inch was covered in scars. Long jagged ones, short neat ones. Hardly any though with stitching. These were scars of wounds that had healed themselves.

  Case remembered how he had got some of them. The big one in the center of his chest, for example, was where the Teotec priest Tezmec had ripped his heart out from his chest using an obsidian knife. Case had survived that one and been proclaimed a god for recovering. That was so long ago yet the one he remembered most. He’d been whipped, stabbed, slashed, shot, impaled, crushed and burned.

  He sat there looking up at the crowd of people gaping in horror, wonder and fascination at the multitude of marks on his skin. “Back to work, back to work!” Mrs. O’Rourke urged the down-and-outs. She shooed them back to their places before turning back to Case. “Best treat you in another room, Mr.
Lonnergan. Over there would be best, away from these nosey people!” she indicated a second side room.

  “Ann, come assist me,” Mary commanded her eldest daughter. Ann came across slowly, her face reddening. Mary saw her face and tutted. “Oh now, Ann, it’s only a series of old cuts. I’m sure Mr. Lonnergan will tell us how he came to own such a collection if he’s so inclined. And he won’t bite ye.”

  Case grinned and sat down on another chair, equally badly maintained and uncomfortable, while the two women looked at his shoulder. It had bruised up nicely and was badly dented by the club’s blow. “It’s a wonder the bone isn’t crushed,” Mary exclaimed. “Ye’re a lucky man, Mr. Lonnergan!”

  “Doubly lucky, Mrs. McGuire, to be treated by two lovely ladies.”

  “Oh now, Mr. Lonnergan, let’s have less of the blarney! Flattery won’t get ye anywhere with me. And as for Ann here, keep ye’re eyes off her. She’s not for the likes of ye.”

  Ann colored again, stealing a look at Case who winked. Mary slapped his good arm. “Mr. Lonnergan! If I suspected ye of having honest intentions then I’d not worry, but something about ye makes me think ye’re trouble, so ye are.”

  “Trouble, Mrs. McGuire?” He winced in pain as iodine was liberally applied on gauze to his wound.

  “Aye! Oh not in an evil way, such as the likes of that devil Whitby, but ye’re the sort trouble follows around, I’m thinking. My daughters are not to fall foul of men who are trouble in any way.”

  Case smiled wryly. “I think trouble will rear its ugly head in this neighborhood often enough, ma’am.”

  Ann began rolling a bandage round his shoulder. Her eyes kept on straying to his scars and she couldn’t help blushing repeatedly. Something about this man excited her in ways she hadn’t felt before. His body was a mass of muscles and scars, and his masculinity intimidated her, making her feel weak and made her body tremble slightly. Her hands shook as they rolled the bandage round his upper arm and shoulder and he watched her closely as she performed the task.

  Mary McGuire was putting away the iodine and small bowl that served as a mini basin so she missed the unspoken interplay between the two. Then she turned and by that time Case was looking out through the doorway to where Hartley was standing near the three children. He was looking at Case, his face half hidden under cotton and bandages, and his eyes couldn’t conceal hatred.

  Case knew he had a problem.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Case couldn’t sleep that night; his mind was haunted by bad memories. The dead always troubled him when he was unsettled, and he knew it was pointless trying to sleep. That would come in its own good time. He knew what the trouble was and got up, picking up his coat from the end of the dormitory bed and shrugging his large frame into it.

  Hartley was supposed to be three beds down but it was empty. Cursing under his breath and mindful not to awaken the other ten or so in the room, he made his way down the creaking corridor to the staircase. The dripping pipes and taps of the washroom could be heard as he made his way down to the ground floor. The outer door was ajar and it was clear Hartley had scarpered.

  Damn him! Case reckoned it was about to hit the fan. The trusting goodness of Mary McGuire could well have put them in serious trouble. If Whitby was anything like he’d heard from O’Rourke, that scrawny bastard would soon act to get revenge for being bested. And it was Case who was in the firing line. He flexed his shoulder and found that the movement was much easier. Some good could come out of this damned Curse at times, and he knew he’d have to use both arms fairly soon; if experience had taught him right.

  He peered out into the street. Nothing moved, but the dim lighting to left and right hardly gave illumination to see by and someone could be sneaking up a few hundred yards away and not be seen. He heard a far off dog bark, and someone coughed from a doorway a few dozen yards off to the right where a couple of down and outs lay amongst the trash, but nothing else intruded on his senses. There wasn’t really any law enforcement here on the streets; the explosion in population made policing next to impossible and it was rare that a night went by, or so Case had been told, that a murder didn’t happen.

  Small wonder then, he mused, that scum like Whitby prospered. Best he was out of this place and somewhere else he could settle down to for a while; better too for the McGuires. With no man at the head of that family, they were potential prey to the wolves of the night.

  A noise behind him made him turn away from the quiet street and he saw a figure standing in the hallway, a lit candle in her hand. “A bit late for you to be about, Miss Ann,” he said softly.

  “Come inside,” she replied, her voice hardly audible. “There’s nothing out there of interest.” Case shut the door and allowed her to lead him to one of the small side rooms. A warped table resting on three of its four legs stood in the middle with a stool and a badly stained chair arranged around it. “How is your shoulder?” she asked, sitting on the stool.

  “Oh, okay thanks,” he grinned, flexing it. “You did a good job. Couldn’t you sleep either?”

  Ann nodded. “I’d like to thank ye for what ye did today, saving us from that awful man.”

  Case sat in the chair gingerly, thinking it would collapse in on itself any moment. It held, much to his surprise. “I don’t like the filth of the street taking advantage of those who don’t deserve it,” he replied. “And you and your family seemed in need of assistance. I should have broken that scum’s neck.”

  “Oh now don’t be saying such things!” she scolded. “The Lord has the power to give and take life, it shouldn’t be down to the likes of you.”

  Case laughed softly, then stopped as he saw the expression on the girl’s face. The candlelight sent shadows across her thin face, flickering with the eddies in the air. “No offence, Miss Ann. It’s just that I’ve seen death and killing far too often to hold that to be true. Man has the ultimate authority on earth to kill or save, no matter how much God or whoever wishes.” He saw briefly in his mind’s eye the Roman crowd baying for blood and the Roman emperor bowing to public pressure, turning the thumb to the dreaded death signal.

  “Such blasphemy!” Ann gasped, shocked. “Pray the good Lord doesn’t punish ye for such words!”

  “No worries there, Miss. I suspect he’s damned me for my actions already.”

  The girl nodded, her face serious. “That I can believe, so I can. What is a godless soul like ye doing here anyway?”

  Case sighed and leaned back, stopping suddenly, his face alarmed, as the chair creaked ominously. Ann grinned. Case smiled sheepishly and sat up carefully. “Damned chair, ought to be thrown out. As to what I’m doing here, miss, well I was in southern Africa until recently but I tired of things there and decided to make a clean start. No better place to do that I think than here in America.”

  “A well traveled man, so I’m thinking,” Ann commented. Case nodded. Ann regarded him for a long moment. “Mother thought we’d have a much better life over here too, especially after da passed away.”

  Case looked at her at the mention of her father. She looked wistful, sad. “Was that recently, Miss Ann?” She nodded, looking down at the tabletop. Case sighed. “Then your mother is right. A new place, a new life. Perhaps it’s for the best.”

  Ann nodded again, not looking up. It was too dark to see her face but Case was sure tears were falling down it. He made a decision and was in the process of standing up when there came a crash of breaking glass from the front of the building and suddenly light filled the main room. Case shot upright, the chair falling backwards and Ann twisted round in fright.

  Light flickered through the doorway and Case was through into the next room in seconds. An oil lamp had been thrown through a window, smashing against a table. It had spilled burning oil out over a large area, setting the table alight. A second lamp crashed through another window to burst open against the far wall. “Get your mother and sisters and all!” Case snapped to Ann, “they’re trying to burn the place down!”

>   He ran to the front door and hauled it open. He caught sight of figures running off down the street to the right, laughing, then turned back to see Ann running up the staircase shouting in horror. Case looked round for anything that could put the blaze out but there was nothing. The whole place was filling with smoke and he put his hand to his mouth and made for the stairs, now half seen in the smoke.

  Voices were beginning to fill the landing as more woke, and screams began as they realized what was going on. Ann reappeared, carrying her little sister, the others close behind. “Get out into the street,” Case snapped, “those who did this have run off.”

  He stepped aside as the family ran past, Mary McGuire at the back, her eyes wide with shock. She still had the bible, clutched tightly in her hands, and Case guessed she must have been reading before she had gone to sleep. Others were filling the landing and Case shouted at them to get down the stairs quick and outside. Coughs were now spreading as smoke found lungs and Case’s eyes were watering. He shut them and ran along the corridor, stumbling, banging on those doors still shut.

  The roar of the fire could now be heard and the light inside the building grew as the flames spread. It was going up fast and before long those still upstairs were running back along the corridor, shouting the stairs were ablaze and impassable. The corridor ended in a wall of planks and wadding so Case wrenched open the last door on the right into a small room with a bed, side table and small cupboard. Lying on the bed were two people, staring in amazement at the intrusion. “Get up you idiots!” Case roared, heading for the window that overlooked the street. “Can’t you smell smoke?”

  The window wouldn’t budge. It was jammed solid. The two elderly people on the bed struggled off the bed, babbling in some mid-European dialect. Case didn’t really care two coins about the language but some corner of his mind barked Polish into his brain. Others were streaming into the room, fear in their voices growing as they realized there was no visible exit. The fire was spreading rapidly along the building. The roof was alight and it wouldn’t be long before the building collapsed.