Read Online Dangerous Magic by Sullivan Clarke - Free Book Online
Authors: Sullivan Clarke
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Then he frowned. "Someone's mistreated him. Who does he belong to?"
Hiram walked over and picked up the horse's right foreleg, matching the shoe he'd been pounding on the anvil to the animal's hoof. With a grunt of frustration he took it back to the anvil, picked it up with tongs and sunk it back into a pile of hot coals.
"Part of a team belonging to some preacher man that came in two days ago," the blacksmith replied, extricating the shoe from the red coals and pounding on it with renewed effort.
Despite the heat coming off the coals, Colin felt a chill go through him.
"Preacher man? What preacher man?"
"Don't really know," Hiram replied. "Not from around here. Came in on a carriage pulled by two black horses and went straight away to the Rev. Pratt's without so much as a 'how-do-you-do' to anyone."
He sank the shoe into a vat of cold water and steam rose in a hissing cloud.
The horse began to move around as Hiram approached it with the reformed shoe still clasped in his tongs. Colin grabbed the lead rope and whispered soothing words to the animal as Hiram leaned down to check the fit again.
"Perfect," he said over his shoulder, shooting a grin to Colin before beginning to nail the shoe in place.
"So what is he doing here?" asked Colin. "Is he preaching Sunday?"
"I don't think so," the blacksmith responded. "I don't think he's a preaching preacher, and if he is half the flock will be hiding under their pews before the first hymn is sung. I caught a look at him when hi and his driver came over with the horses. Scariest looking man I've ever seen. 'Bout as tall as you, only thinner with black hair and a the illest-looking face you ever saw."
"You mean he's sickly?" Colin pressed, feeling hopeful. Perhaps the cold damp weather would drive him away.
Hiram stood stretching his lower back before standing and putting the handle of his tongs back in his leather work apron.
"No, I mean ill as in mean looking. When he looks at you, it's like he's staring into your soul. Made me uneasy, it did, but don't go telling' anyone I said that. I don't want it getting' around that I insulted the preacher's guest."
Hiram walked to the horse's head and undid the lead rope and proceeded to walk the animal to a stall next to another holding its companion.
"At least when he does leave his horses will have a shoe. This team was driven so hard this fella threw his."
"So when is he leaving?" Colin tried to keep his voice casual.
Hiram shrugged. "I don't reckon I know," he said. "The only thing I do know is that they spent the better part of yesterday over to the Widow Bright's."
"The Widow Bright's?" Colin looked in the direction of the mill. What business would Rev. Pratt and a visiting preacher have with an old, addled woman. He looked back at the blacksmith.
"Are they still there?"
"Nope." Hiram chucked some hay into the stalls. "They left and went straight to the church. No one's seen them sense."
"Thanks," said Colin, picking up the skins. The rain had lightened and he decided to get to the tanners as quickly as possible and then find some excuse to check in on Lark again, despite whatever objections she may have. His suspicions were probably being overblown, he told himself. Hiram may have it wrong. The visitor may not be a preacher, but some sort of doctor sent to help an ailing widow who could barely remember her own name. But still, just in case...
He reached the tanner's ten minutes later and after the usual haggling over prices turned over the hides to him before going to pick up a few supplies. He made the short walk to the mill for a small sack of flour that he didn't need but purchased for two reasons. The gift of flour would give him an excuse to stop by Lark's and while the miller was bagging it Colin could keep an eye on Widow Bright's house. Moments later, when the miller came over to give him his purchase, he still had caught no sign of life from the house.
But Colin didn't want to question another person about
Hiram walked over and picked up the horse's right foreleg, matching the shoe he'd been pounding on the anvil to the animal's hoof. With a grunt of frustration he took it back to the anvil, picked it up with tongs and sunk it back into a pile of hot coals.
"Part of a team belonging to some preacher man that came in two days ago," the blacksmith replied, extricating the shoe from the red coals and pounding on it with renewed effort.
Despite the heat coming off the coals, Colin felt a chill go through him.
"Preacher man? What preacher man?"
"Don't really know," Hiram replied. "Not from around here. Came in on a carriage pulled by two black horses and went straight away to the Rev. Pratt's without so much as a 'how-do-you-do' to anyone."
He sank the shoe into a vat of cold water and steam rose in a hissing cloud.
The horse began to move around as Hiram approached it with the reformed shoe still clasped in his tongs. Colin grabbed the lead rope and whispered soothing words to the animal as Hiram leaned down to check the fit again.
"Perfect," he said over his shoulder, shooting a grin to Colin before beginning to nail the shoe in place.
"So what is he doing here?" asked Colin. "Is he preaching Sunday?"
"I don't think so," the blacksmith responded. "I don't think he's a preaching preacher, and if he is half the flock will be hiding under their pews before the first hymn is sung. I caught a look at him when hi and his driver came over with the horses. Scariest looking man I've ever seen. 'Bout as tall as you, only thinner with black hair and a the illest-looking face you ever saw."
"You mean he's sickly?" Colin pressed, feeling hopeful. Perhaps the cold damp weather would drive him away.
Hiram stood stretching his lower back before standing and putting the handle of his tongs back in his leather work apron.
"No, I mean ill as in mean looking. When he looks at you, it's like he's staring into your soul. Made me uneasy, it did, but don't go telling' anyone I said that. I don't want it getting' around that I insulted the preacher's guest."
Hiram walked to the horse's head and undid the lead rope and proceeded to walk the animal to a stall next to another holding its companion.
"At least when he does leave his horses will have a shoe. This team was driven so hard this fella threw his."
"So when is he leaving?" Colin tried to keep his voice casual.
Hiram shrugged. "I don't reckon I know," he said. "The only thing I do know is that they spent the better part of yesterday over to the Widow Bright's."
"The Widow Bright's?" Colin looked in the direction of the mill. What business would Rev. Pratt and a visiting preacher have with an old, addled woman. He looked back at the blacksmith.
"Are they still there?"
"Nope." Hiram chucked some hay into the stalls. "They left and went straight to the church. No one's seen them sense."
"Thanks," said Colin, picking up the skins. The rain had lightened and he decided to get to the tanners as quickly as possible and then find some excuse to check in on Lark again, despite whatever objections she may have. His suspicions were probably being overblown, he told himself. Hiram may have it wrong. The visitor may not be a preacher, but some sort of doctor sent to help an ailing widow who could barely remember her own name. But still, just in case...
He reached the tanner's ten minutes later and after the usual haggling over prices turned over the hides to him before going to pick up a few supplies. He made the short walk to the mill for a small sack of flour that he didn't need but purchased for two reasons. The gift of flour would give him an excuse to stop by Lark's and while the miller was bagging it Colin could keep an eye on Widow Bright's house. Moments later, when the miller came over to give him his purchase, he still had caught no sign of life from the house.
But Colin didn't want to question another person about
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