How the Stars did Fall Page 3

  Chapter Four

  The hours passed and Faraday’s injured thigh gave him no respite, the throbbing pain increasing, the sharp ache coinciding with the gait of the horse as it carried on past the flat fields surrounding Tuttle’s estate and entered into the rocky terrain of the coast, passing by clusters of trees like immobile families, their foliage verdant and lush. Faraday stopped the horse when he saw a few shrubs bearing little red berries. These he approached with relish, and he plucked them one by one and ate them. He found a shallow stream of darkened water, probably the contaminated effluvium of some mountain mining operation, and drank from that stream, and once he had his fill he led the horse over by the reins and guided its head to the same water. The sun now shone with less fierceness and each step forward diminished it further, until the sky took on a gray countenance and the land leveled off and a new wind blew in from the sea.

  Reaching the beach, the horse slowed, fatigue setting in. Faraday set its course to the north and it plodded on, kicking up sand with each stride. In the dim light of the evening, Faraday could still scan around him for signs of human habitation. One sign would have been everything to him at that point, for the pain had increased and he knew he could not keep riding in the dark. The horse would not want to and even if he could persuade it for a while it could end up walking into a ditch and breaking a leg. His eyes closed, Faraday listened to the steady lapping of the waves, like the constant ticks of a cosmic clock. He realized that he wanted to sleep. To let his consciousness check out for a time. To delay. He would deal with his leg and his traitorous brother later. And he did sleep, in short bursts, the length of which he could not easily measure. But every time he slept something jolted him awake. The movement of the horse, the pain. Eventually he awoke to complete darkness, the moon only a sliver above him, the crescent offering just enough light that he could tell where the sand ended and the ocean began.

  Then it appeared to him. Five, maybe six, points of orange light some distance ahead, floating above the waters. This vision renewed Faraday’s energy and he tightened his grip on the reins and urged the horse to go faster, to ride towards the lights. The horse, as if sensing its master’s urgency, increased its pace. As he got closer, Faraday saw that the lights did not float but were carried. Men holding torches huddled together on a wharf like the remnant of some ancient tribe, watching as one among them pulled something out of the sea. Faraday rode all the way up to that wharf and got down from the horse and stood holding his leg, the rags covering his wound crimson and cold, the smell of iron hanging around him like a cloud, his brow slick with sweat, the pain coming and going, enough to make him think of nothing else. All of this Faraday endured as he stood waiting. Then the lights began to move again and the men walked the span of the wharf, one tall and portly man ahead of the group. That one had in his hands a rope and hanging from it was a most curious machine. It looked like a barrel, but holes had been carved out on the sides and there were wires wrapping around it like veins.

  The men were boisterous and laughing, clapping each other on the backs, as if they had accomplished something of significance together at the end of that wharf. The portly man kept looking back at the others and was not the first to notice Faraday nearly bleeding out on the sand. One of the other men caught sight of him first.

  “Doctor Tennyson,” the man said, speaking to the portly one. “There is an injured man ahead.”

  Immediately, Tennyson handed the contraption to another and took hold of Faraday by the arm.

  “Gentlemen, we must help this man,” he said.

  “Let’s carry him inside. I’ve got an empty room,” one of the men said.

  Together those two men carried Faraday about half a mile to an inn. The room was simple, fit for servants rather than guests. The doctor examined Faraday. He brought out a leather satchel and from it produced a forceps and a scalpel, and the innkeeper took a little pan from his kitchen and placed it down next to the bed. Faraday still lay there in a haze and he heard the men speaking as if from a great distance. And he waited for some kind of anesthetic, opium or otherwise, to come out of that bag, but none came. The doctor took the forceps and penetrated the wound and the pain was so great Faraday lost consciousness.

  When he awoke the next day, his shirt was soaked through by his own sweat, and his leg still throbbed but the wound was covered with new and clean bandages. He got up and walked over to the door on one leg, opening the door, and a barrage of sunlight afflicted him. He put his hands up to shield his eyes until they could acclimate. It must have been midday. And with the light came sounds of conversation and the clacking of silverware. The inn was empty save for one circular table on which sat Tennyson and five or six other men Faraday did not recognize. Each man had in front of him a mug of beer and plates with sausage and bread and beans.

  “Good morning, sir,” Tennyson said, greeting Faraday.

  “Morning. I want to thank you, Doctor. For helping me. Name’s Faraday.” They shook hands.

  “Tennyson’s my name. And I did what men of my calling ought to do. No more than that. This man is Corliss. He is the owner of this inn and the one who gave you a bed to sleep on.”

  “Well, I thank you, too, sir. I’m afraid I have no banknotes or gold on me at the moment, but if you gentlemen give me a bill for your services then I would surely pay as soon as I am able.”

  “Nonsense, man,” Corliss said. “Your gold is of no use here. Look inside the box.”

  Just then Faraday noticed the strange contraption he had seen the night before was sitting in the center of the table, upright, the holes on its sides like open eyes. Faraday peeked inside one of the holes and saw glittering in the sunlight a pan holding little bits of shiny gold. Flakes as brilliant and pure as the day they were forged in the distant corners of the cosmos.

  “Is that—” Faraday began but Corliss finished his question with the answer.

  “Gold. Yes, it is. Our good Doctor Tennyson is an inventor. And he has invented a machine to extract gold from the ocean. Is it not amazing? So you see: what good is your gold to people who can pluck the stuff up from the sea like weeds? We won’t have to work ever again, man,” Corliss said.

  And Corliss pulled out a chair for Faraday and asked that drink and food be brought to him as well. The assemblage marveled at the contraption in front of them and each man spoke to the other of what he would do with his own share of the bountiful riches that awaited them. One spoke of buying a field and cattle and living off the land. Another of taking his earnings and returning to Connecticut and maybe even boarding a ship and going off to Europe and from there riding a train straight into Russia and further into China and India and seeing the East and all its wonders. But even as they spoke and dreamt together Tennyson cleared his throat and settled them down.

  “Gentlemen, I understand your enthusiasm. I truly do. However, as you can see, one accumulator can only bring up a tiny portion of the wealth that the ocean contains. If we are to profit, we must expand. And that means funds. Each accumulator costs some one hundred dollars to assemble, and whichever of you spare enough for one accumulator I will count as investors and equal participants in the venture, and you will be owed a portion of the profits in perpetuity.”

  Corliss raised himself from the table first, and he took hold of Tennyson’s hands and shook them violently.

  “You know I’m in,” Corliss said.

  The others took a few moments to consider the proposition, but seeing the eagerness of their elder convinced them and they shook Tennyson’s hand too and promised that they would invest in the fledgling venture. So Tennyson brought out a thick bundle of parchment and on the letterhead in big letters was written ELECTROLYTIC MARINE SALTS COMPANY and each man that had pledged his support came round and signed one of the pages. Then they dispersed, each going to the place where they held their money, leaving Faraday alone with Doctor Tennyson.

  “Is it true what that man said?” Faraday asked.

  “It is
. Pity you haven’t any funds on your person. It is a tremendous opportunity laid before you.”

  “Aye, a true pity. What town is this?”

  “You are in Menifee.”

  “Ah…”

  “You are familiar with the name?”

  “Saw it on a map once.”

  “And may I inquire as to how it is you were shot in the leg?”

  “You may inquire but I will offer no answers.”

  “Of course. Your business is your own.”

  “I am awful grateful, though, and will pay you as soon as I am able.”

  Now those men began to return to the inn one by one, bearing one hundred dollars each, some in bank notes, others in gold coins. Once they all were there, they presented the notes and the bullion to Tennyson like offerings, their manners rough and provincial. With an apron on, Tennyson took the coins and weighed them like some master mason. Satisfied, he sat down and signed his own parchment, cutting out duplicates and handing one to each investor. Guarantees. And while Tennyson collected that bounty, Faraday had an idea.

  “Perhaps you would take my horse as an investment. I must admit your operation does intrigue me.”

  “The horse you rode in on? It ain’t worth more than twenty dollars. Besides, you got a bill of sale for it? Some folks thought it looked like it didn’t belong to you, originally.”

  “I rode that horse out of my father’s farm. I don’t need to carry any papers for it. It’s my horse.”

  “Well, it ain’t enough. Besides, I got a horse already.”

  The last to receive his promissory note was Corliss. The innkeeper took the paper, folded it twice and stuffed it into one of his pockets.

  “Stay for supper,” he said to Tennyson. “We ought to celebrate. And you should get a good night’s rest before riding out.”

  “I am flattered by the offer, my friend. But the sooner I move on, the sooner we all get paid. Now I will say one thing, and this goes for all of you.” Tennyson raised his voice now and every man in the inn looked to him to hear what he was about to say. “This venture of ours is not in the interest of the money powers of the world. The landed minority. Don’t tell anyone about the accumulator. Keep it to yourself, for men will try to denigrate and destroy this machine if they can. Even government men. They will tell you it is a hoax and that you’re fools but they will do this out of fear, for the power of this machine renders their positions insecure. Now I must leave, but you will hear from me within two weeks. At the very least, I will write to Mr. Corliss.”

  Then he tipped his hat and went around the room shaking each man’s hand and repeating in different words what he had just said as if to reinforce those ideas to each mind individually. And he piled up the money and gold and poured it all into a single bag and took it with him outside, where his horse was stabled. The money he hid inside his horse’s saddlebags, then he went back into the inn, retrieved the gold accumulator and stowed it inside a chest, locking it and picking it up and placing it atop a cart he had attached to his horse. Then Tennyson mounted the horse and spread open his coat, exposing the butt of his revolver, which poked up out of his belt like a warning. All of the men in the inn had come out to see him off, Faraday among them, and they waved at Tennyson as he rode out and Tennyson waved back.

  The horse struggled to carry the man’s girth and the chest, and Faraday watched and thought. What other treasures did this man hide? How had he come upon such alchemy? Such magic? Now Faraday found himself in a crossroads: he stood there with a stolen horse and a gun but no bullets and no more than three dollars to his name. He had spent almost all of his reserves acquiring the things he’d needed to rob Tuttle—the horses, the carts on which to carry the gold, the supplies and lodging during his travels. All of that had left him alone and many hundreds of miles from his father’s farm. It did not take Faraday long to decide what to do. He would follow Tennyson and when the opportunity was right he would fall on the doctor and take the gold and the machine. Faraday was not a thief, he thought to himself, but he would do what had to be done to save himself and his family.

  Faraday took his horse from where it had been stabled and walked with it to the grocer. There he bought some dried meat and a couple of cans of beans and a used canteen, which he filled with fresh water. Then he rode out after Tennyson, as fast as he could with his injury still stinging, until he caught sight of the man’s slow-moving horse about a mile ahead on the road. Faraday managed that distance, keeping as far away as he could while not losing the man. At times, when there were no forks in the road, he would even fall back and lose sight of Tennyson for five or ten minutes. He kept this rhythm up for four or five hours, until Tennyson left the road. It was only the start of the evening, the sun still shining above, so Faraday considered Tennyson’s move suspicious—as if he were testing to see if the man riding behind him would stop as well or keep riding. Faraday thought about riding right ahead, pretending he was not following Tennyson, but what if the doctor recognized him, and rode up to inquire about his business? Then he would lose all element of surprise. So instead Faraday stopped and hid behind an agglomeration of stones, peeking now and again in Tennyson’s direction. He saw the doctor ride on behind a hill. Faraday waited some more, then rode towards that hill until he could see what lay hidden by it. When he saw Tennyson dismounting near a stream, Faraday turned back.

  Night came. Tennyson lit a fire and Faraday would now and again creep forward to catch sight of the flames, making sure the doctor was still there. After a while, he thought Tennyson had fallen asleep so he kept watching the man, waiting for a movement or a sound that indicated otherwise, but none came. Convinced of the evidence, Faraday walked to the opposite side of the hill, pulling the horse by the reins, and bivouacked there. He allowed himself to sleep, but only managed a few short bursts of rest, for he feared Tennyson might ambush him or some coyote or other animal might approach in the night, with no fire to keep them away. Sometime before dawn he awoke, startled, and did not sleep again.

  His watch was long and it was directed not at Tennyson but at the sky above. Faraday pondered many things as the stars hung above him. The luminous city of God. His thoughts traveled to his father’s farm, where his family waited for him, hoping, and they traveled to his brother, wherever he might be. What doctrine sets brother against brother, son against father? Daniel is lost. As he studied the visible cosmos, Faraday felt as though the machine, the gold accumulator, was not so strange—that the machine of the universe, made up as it was of spinning bodies and vacuums, was stranger still. But he concluded that whether the machine was real or a fake mattered little to Tennyson’s objectives or to his own. The only question remaining was how he would take it. He could drop a boulder on the man’s head. But he was not a murderer. So before the sun came up, Faraday had resolved to continue following Tennyson and figure some other way. He believed the fates would conspire in his favor.

  Just as the sky began to gray, a light rain fell over the land and grew into a heavy rain, waking Faraday’s horse. He mounted up and waited. It took only a couple of minutes for Tennyson to appear from behind the hill, urging his horse towards the road. Faraday waited awhile longer and then followed. The rain turned the road to mud, and that slowed the horses down but it also allowed Faraday to sit back, out of sight of Tennyson, and follow Tennyson’s tracks without arousing suspicion. The tracks took him directly to another town.

  Its name was Lakeview and the road cut through the center of it. The rain had chased all of its inhabitants inside, and as Faraday rode past the buildings there was no one to witness his passing. He rode with a keen eye for Tennyson’s horse and found it at the edge of the town, where it had been very hastily stabled in front of a saloon. Faraday kept riding. He rode straight out of the town and then west towards the lake that gave the town its name.

  Was Tennyson just passing through? Or would he stop here and offer the men of Lakeview the same opportunity he had afforded those of Menifee? If the machine coul
d extract gold from the sea, then it should be able to do the same from this lake, Faraday thought.

  For now, Faraday knew he had to be patient. He could not enter the town and risk being seen by the doctor. He could not afford to pay for lodging anyway. So he camped out next to a cluster of trees near the lake and waited. If Tennyson came out, he would see his horse and the load it carried and he would follow. If not, he would discover where the doctor was staying and find some way to relieve him of his gold. In the meantime, Faraday nibbled on some crackers he had bought in Menifee before leaving. He had gone nearly a full day without eating and his desire was to eat every ounce of food he had in his pack, but instead he had three crackers and that was it. There was no telling how long it would take before he had some gold to his name again and he intended to make his supplies last for as long as he could.

  The day came and went and no rider pulling a chest came out of the city, whether by north or south—much less one of Tennyson’s size. And with the onset of night, Faraday knew no one would be coming out anymore. At least not until tomorrow. So after much struggling to keep awake, Faraday took up some kindling from the branches of the trees around him and made a fire, then cooked himself a warm meal of beans and allowed himself to ease into sleep.

  Faraday’s sleep was restless and more than once he found himself awake and staring at the fire. Stoking it. He took a swig of water from his canteen. A great owl glided above him, landing on one of the trees he had taken for cover. It stood there, eyes wide and yellow, hoo-hooing at the clouds. Then he saw something out near the lake. Only a silhouette. A massive figure planting a lit torch into the ground. Then it waddled into the water like some upright turtle, its arms thick and round as logs, its legs like two columns of sheet metal. And Faraday could see the head. An orb made of glass, reflecting the light of the torch like a beacon. It disappeared beneath the water, close to the wharf, and Faraday kept watching, waiting for it to reappear. It soon did, rising from the waters like some alien visitation. It took the torch from the ground and dipped it into what must have been a bucket filled with water, for the light was immediately snuffed out, and whatever that thing was, Faraday could no longer see it, cloaked by the darkness.