Read Online The Rainy Season by James P. Blaylock - Free Book Online
Authors: James P. Blaylock
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inexplicable shift in the motion of the well water, an instant in which the wind died and the water itself stood still. He looked into the moonlit depths, and there came into his mind the idea that for the past few moments he had been watching something in a mirror, but that now he could see
through
the mirror, and the moonlight shone from out of a starry sky that lay somewhere beneath the water itself. Just then the moon became one with the silver oval of the still-sinking spoon, and until it sank away utterly and disappeared, he was certain that what he saw was not the reflection of the moon at all, but the pale face of a child, its eyes closed in sleep or in death.
Vieja Canyon
1884
12
THE WIND GUSTED through the oaks along the narrow road into Vieja Canyon. At two in the morning, the night was dark and cold, the sky cloudy. Colin had begun to regret confiding in Father Santos at the mission. Offering to recover the crystal obligated him to recover it, and right now he felt the weight of that obligation, mainly as fear. But, as the saying went, it was too late to turn back, and he walked along toward the Solas ranch house at a quick, careful pace. His borrowed horse and buggy were tied up at the crossroads a mile below, and it was a mile more to the ranch, which would be I deserted, the Solas family having gone out visiting. If his source of information was correct, they wouldn’t return until the day after tomorrow, and by that time the crystal—if in fact he would find it in the house at all—would be safe at the mission. If he couldn’t find the crystal, then perhaps he would have to live with the failure.
He had been to the Solas ranch twice before, when he had first met Alejandro, and he had spent the night there both times. He could easily picture the interior of the main house—the rooms on both floors, the broad stairs, the French windows letting out onto the sleeping porches.
The roadside oaks dwindled, and the land opened up. There was a pasture to the right, the winter grass blowing in waves like a black ocean, and on the left, the ranch house itself, sheltered by sycamores on the west and south sides. There were no lamps lit, no sign of movement. The bunkhouse and barn lay several hundred yards beyond the main house, but they were also dark. Colin walked straight up the graveled path to the wooden porch, where he took off his boots and set them together by the stairs. The house wouldn’t be empty; there would be servants inside, long asleep. He walked up onto the porch, slipping past uncurtained windows, listening to the silence.
Alejandro’s rooms lay on the west side of the house, isolated, open to the porch through a half-dozen long windows. He tried the windows one by one, but all were latched, probably against the winter weather. There was a single door, though, that led, as he recalled, into a long hallway. He stood listening outside this door for a moment, then grasped the knob and turned. The door whispered open, revealing a deep darkness. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, and then stood still for a moment, listening. A clock ticked somewhere within, and almost as soon as he became aware of the ticking, the clock chimed the half hour. Two-thirty now: nearly three hours of darkness left to him, but only an hour or so of safety before men would be stirring, looking after the stock. And he would have to be back down the road out of the canyon before the first light. He couldn’t afford to be seen by anyone.
He followed the hallway to the first door he came to, which he opened, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. He took a candle from his pants pocket, fixed it into a pewter holder, lit the candle, and held it overhead, casting a flickering glow all around him. He was in Alejandro’s bedchamber. It was an austerely decorated room: dark wood paneling, heavily carved furniture in the Spanish style, a bureau, a bed, and two large chests that stood side by side on the floor.
through
the mirror, and the moonlight shone from out of a starry sky that lay somewhere beneath the water itself. Just then the moon became one with the silver oval of the still-sinking spoon, and until it sank away utterly and disappeared, he was certain that what he saw was not the reflection of the moon at all, but the pale face of a child, its eyes closed in sleep or in death.
Vieja Canyon
1884
12
THE WIND GUSTED through the oaks along the narrow road into Vieja Canyon. At two in the morning, the night was dark and cold, the sky cloudy. Colin had begun to regret confiding in Father Santos at the mission. Offering to recover the crystal obligated him to recover it, and right now he felt the weight of that obligation, mainly as fear. But, as the saying went, it was too late to turn back, and he walked along toward the Solas ranch house at a quick, careful pace. His borrowed horse and buggy were tied up at the crossroads a mile below, and it was a mile more to the ranch, which would be I deserted, the Solas family having gone out visiting. If his source of information was correct, they wouldn’t return until the day after tomorrow, and by that time the crystal—if in fact he would find it in the house at all—would be safe at the mission. If he couldn’t find the crystal, then perhaps he would have to live with the failure.
He had been to the Solas ranch twice before, when he had first met Alejandro, and he had spent the night there both times. He could easily picture the interior of the main house—the rooms on both floors, the broad stairs, the French windows letting out onto the sleeping porches.
The roadside oaks dwindled, and the land opened up. There was a pasture to the right, the winter grass blowing in waves like a black ocean, and on the left, the ranch house itself, sheltered by sycamores on the west and south sides. There were no lamps lit, no sign of movement. The bunkhouse and barn lay several hundred yards beyond the main house, but they were also dark. Colin walked straight up the graveled path to the wooden porch, where he took off his boots and set them together by the stairs. The house wouldn’t be empty; there would be servants inside, long asleep. He walked up onto the porch, slipping past uncurtained windows, listening to the silence.
Alejandro’s rooms lay on the west side of the house, isolated, open to the porch through a half-dozen long windows. He tried the windows one by one, but all were latched, probably against the winter weather. There was a single door, though, that led, as he recalled, into a long hallway. He stood listening outside this door for a moment, then grasped the knob and turned. The door whispered open, revealing a deep darkness. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, and then stood still for a moment, listening. A clock ticked somewhere within, and almost as soon as he became aware of the ticking, the clock chimed the half hour. Two-thirty now: nearly three hours of darkness left to him, but only an hour or so of safety before men would be stirring, looking after the stock. And he would have to be back down the road out of the canyon before the first light. He couldn’t afford to be seen by anyone.
He followed the hallway to the first door he came to, which he opened, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. He took a candle from his pants pocket, fixed it into a pewter holder, lit the candle, and held it overhead, casting a flickering glow all around him. He was in Alejandro’s bedchamber. It was an austerely decorated room: dark wood paneling, heavily carved furniture in the Spanish style, a bureau, a bed, and two large chests that stood side by side on the floor.
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