They continued to gather the earthly remains of George Sleath, the only thing the poor trapper had to his name in the end, down to the last white fragment. Mr. Leeds did most of the work by virtue of his swiftness and ability to hold several bones in his large mouth at once. When they were done, they emptied the gathered contents of their sacks into a wooden coffin.
Matthew activated his gaeite candle.
A Dyeus hunter whistled, and his loyal dog came to his side, as he did, as he would, as he would do forever.
The Zacare Operation
In the silvery-white light of the olprt radiance, the black silhouette of a young man in a miner’s cap appeared. The light on the end of his cap was black, for it was part of who he was, and all parts of a ghost were rendered as a silhouette inside olprt radiance.
He looked around, and his gaze fell on the red pond.
“So, this is Arizona…” the words bubbled out of his broken neck along with silt-filled water.
“Yes. Welcome to America, Alan.” Matthew greeted his old friend.
“Are all the ponds in Arizona red?”
The group shared a laugh, and after what they had gone to, it felt very good to laugh.
“Well, Alan, we have a black pond back in Epping.” Joseph said. “And far to the south in Tekeli-Li’s kingdom, there are white ponds everywhere. God apparently likes the colors of chess, because he placed a red pond here in Arizona to round out the set.”
Mr. Reeves approached Alan. “So you’re the Knocker of Huskar Pit? I’m honored to meet you, sir. I’ve heard all about the miners you’ve rescued over the years. Why, just back in February you crossed the ocean to save all those boys in Illinois, in Diamond Mind. You saved hundreds.”
“There are no oceans or borders where I live, far below the cities.” the Knocker said. “I listen for danger through the rocks. I go where there is danger and I do what I can. I do what any man would do, had they my unfettered range.”
“I’d like to shake your hand, if I can.” Mr. Reeves said.
Alan shook his arm. Ectoplasmic dirt fell from his body. The dirt was as much a part of him as his neck wound and miner cap. “Even as I am, you would shake my hand, sir?”
“Shoot! My skin’s about as dark as yours! A little grunge is nothing!”
“I thank you for the sentiment, sir, but I cannot touch people. I am not that kind of ghost. I can touch only the substances that buried me--water and rock and dirt. You would touch my dirt, but not my hand.” The Knocker turned to Matthew. “I hope you don’t need me to do something to the pond, Dr. Ernst. I don’t think I can change the color of water, just its shape.”
“We don’t need you to do anything to the pond, Alan.” Matthew answered. “Believe it or not, the pond is just the way it needs to be. What we need you to do is make a grave and a headstone for the poor manes that now sleeps in that pond.”
The Knocker peered closely into the pond.
“You must have done him a good turn, Dr. Ernst. He’s smiling.” the Knocker said.
“He’s finally getting to rest after a long, long search.” Matthew said.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The Knocker pointed to a spot next to the pond. The ground suddenly caved in, leaving a perfectly square grave. “Is this good?” he asked.
“Perfect.” Matthew said.
Mr. Reeves whistled. “You say you can only touch earth and water. Well, my friend, you got a good and mighty grip from what I can see!”
“Thank you.” the Knocker said. He pointed again and a rock emerged at the end of the grave. The Knocker vanished, and reappeared by the rock. He touched it with his fingers, now black from soot instead of olprt radiance, and the rock began to change. Portions of its mass sloughed off and pooled at the bottom forming a solid puddle.
“He’s melting it!” Mr. Reeves exclaimed.
“Not really.” Matthew said. “It’s still solid, it just moves at his command. It’s like a very controlled, extremely graceful rockslide, but with only one rock. A pebbleslide, if you would.”
“Call it what you like, Dr. Ernst, it looks like he’s melting it like a big icicle to me.” Mr. Reeves said.
The Knocker removed his hands. The rock had formed into a simple, but stately, cross.
“Good job, Alan.” Matthew said.
“Shall I write something on it?” the Knocker asked.
“He can do that?” Mr. Reeves asked.
“Oh yes.” Matthew smiled. “Alan has precision as well as power.”
“His name was George Sleath.” Martin said. “We don’t know when he was born, nor when he died. I suppose you can write “19th Century.””
“That should work.” Joseph said. “I feel like there should be a sentence or two after. Any ideas, gentleman?”
Martin closed his eyes. “”With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.” That’s from Isaiah. Isaiah 12:3.”
“You got the whole Bible memories or something?” Mr. Reeves asked.
Martin grinned. “And the Torah, and the Quran, and the Mahabharata.”
“Don’t get a big head.” Joseph said. “Libraries do what you do, and libraries don’t give you lip whenever you try to get an answer out of them.”
“I think that verse is a fine thing to put on his headstone.” Matthew said. “Go ahead and write it, Alan.”
The Knocker touched the cross with his fingertip and the smooth surface retracted to form letters.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to see something like this again in my entire life.” Mr. Reeves said. “Excuse me? Alan?”
The Knocker turned. “Yes, Mr. Reeves?”
“I got a favor to ask you. When I die, could you make my headstone and grave?”
“I would be honored to make the grave of the greatest American lawman.” the Knocker answered. “ Who wouldn’t be?”
“I have an idea for a Bible passage you could use, Mr. Reeves.” Martin said.
“Naw, keep it to yourself, Dr. Glass. I don’t mind talking about my grave, but talking about my epitaph feels like a bridge too far. It doesn’t seem right for a man to know his own epitaph.”
When the Knocker finished, he stood back and allowed the others to appraise his work.
GEORGE SLEATHER
19th CENTURY
WITH JOY YOU WILL DRAW WATER
FROM THE WELLS OF SALVATION
“An excellent job, Alan.” Matthew said.
“It’s very pretty.” Joseph said. “The grave, the headstone, the sun setting in the back, that wide, beautiful sky…Mr. Reeves, Mr. Leeds, you have a very beautiful country.”
“Thank you, Dr. Morton.” Mr. Reeves said.
“Your country is big and wide and filled with strangeness.”
“There’s great ugliness here, but also great beauty, as you said.”
“And sunsets as big as the universe.” Joseph said.
“Those are quite nice, aren’t they?”
“In Blackwall, Mr. Reeves, the sun doesn’t set. It just goes behind buildings. But this, this is a sunset.”
Mr. Leeds, with one hand, carried the coffin to the grave and placed it inside.
They said a few words over the coffin--words that asked God to forgive his sins, words that expressed sympathy for his painful demise, and words that extolled any psychopomp that might one day take an interest in guiding his soul through the deep Astral to be patient with him and to take him to a place with cool, deep waters.
They had only a little to say, for they had only known George for a ew moments, but if George Slather could have heard them through his blissful slumber, he would have wept with joy to know that people said something over his body.
When they had said their peace, the Knocker gestured, and the earth filled itself, swallowing the coffin of George Slather and leaving behind a grave so perfectly filled that it appeared as if the earth was never upturned.
A note of surprise fluted in Mr. Leeds’ throat. The four men and the Knocker turned to where he was looking to see the ghost of the camel stroll up to the red pond, dip its long neck, and sip from the water.
“Look at that.” Joseph said. “The poor thing had to endure the man’s wrath. Now he gets to partake of the man’s peace. There is justice in the universe.”
“Is that a camel?” Alan asked. “America has camels?”
Matthew smiled. “There’s a very interesting story behind all this. Alan, behind the camel, behind the pond, and behind poor George Sleath. There’s a saloon not too far from here, Martin says they sell a remarkable pepper sauce. Let’s go there with Whisper, and I’ll share with you some of the strange history of the strangest continent in the world. Alan, have you ever heard of the United States Camel Corp?”