CONSTRUCT, Chapter Four

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CHAPTER FOUR

Colton followed Bales across the small town to the remains of the burned-out building. The pace was faster than Colton would have liked. Avoiding excess attention was paramount, and enough was directed at them just for being outsiders. They cut down an alleyway between two low buildings, emerging across the street from where the rubble was being tended to by an old man in the boots and breeches of a farmer. Colton stepped up his pace and caught Bales by the shoulder.
        “Let me handle this,” he said. Bales gave him an exasperated look. “You’re too wound up. Just hover around the side and do your thing. I’ll go talk to the old man.”
        “Weh’ thanker vereh much, sur.” Ah, Bales’s sarcasm. “I jes go ovur here an’ do’s as I’m told.”
        Colton tightened his grip, just enough to hurt. “Yes. You will. Or else we’ll end up in a repeat of Tam, and neither of us can afford that right now.”
        Colton could smell stale beer mixed with farls on Bales’s breath as he leaned in close. “Don’t forget who’s in charge here,” Bales said.
        Colton’s eyes narrowed and he set his jaw, a convincing look for his partner’s benefit even though he knew that Bales’s perceived authority was spurious. “Don’t you forget it was your mistake that required my presence in the first place. Let’s just go take a look so we can get out of this pit.”
        Bales backed off, and the two of them headed toward the smoldering ashes. The old man sifted the rubble with a shovel, dousing any still-glowing embers with water from a nearby bucket and prodding still-standing timbers to test their strength. The old man looked up from his work and leaned on his shovel, eyeing Colton and Bales as they approached.
        “Can I he’p you boys with suh’m?” the old man said.
        “Many thanks, sir,” Colton replied. “We came by to see the results.” His tone was amiable, with just the right note of somberness. “Rode into town last night just as this was dyin’ down. What happened?”
        The old man glanced at Bales as he strode around to the side of the building, then looked over his shoulder at the twisted pile of beams and shingles. “Dunno, really. Man that run this place’s name was Ferron. An alchemist, always work’n on suh’m.” He turned back to Colton. “Been set up here a few years now. Did repairs, little smithin’, worked on constructs if anyone had ‘em need workin’ on. Place jes started up a’blazin’ last night, not much warnin’.”
        Colton stepped forward, sifting the front of his boot through some of the ash on the street-side of the lot. “What a shame. Anyone hurt?”
        The old man nodded. “Found some bones back inna back, look like prolly Ferron’s.” He shook his head.
        Bales had worked his way toward the back and was kneeling just outside the perimeter. Colton could see his eyes were closed, but to a passerby he probably looked like he was staring at the building’s remains, trying to find something beneath. He’d have already begun, and Colton needed to give him a little time. “No one else, though?”
        “Not unless you count a construct o’ two.” Colton’s ears perked up. “Bits an’ parts of a couple of ‘em inner, prolly drop-offs.”
        “Drop-offs?” Colton asked.
        “Ain’t many folks round here got money o’ skills to have a construct.” The old man shifted his weight off of the shovel and turned, talking while he poked, and peered over his shoulder to where Bales had knelt. “Most o’ Ferron’s construct repairin’ business came from merchants. They drop broke ‘uns off here on one way, an’ pick ‘em up onna way back. Drop offs. What’s he doin’?” He turned back to Colton, pointing his thumb back at Bales.
        “Bound to be some upset merchants coming back through your town soon,” Colton deflected. Bales was dead still. How long would this take? “Do you know how many were in there?”
        “Can’t say fer sure yet. ‘Least two, best I kin tell. Lots o’ piles o’ parts and stuff back in there, but the fire was so hot as to melt the metal, so’s nothin’ much left, now. Don’t really know how that happens, unless Ferron’s gettin’ inta some alchemy he shouldn’t.”
        Colton pressed his palms to his back just above his hips and arched, stretching out soreness. “I’ve seen a few fires do that. Usually takes a little something extra, but it’s not uncommon.”
        The old man was staring at Bales. “Uncommon ‘round here, it is.” He turned back. “What’s he doin’?”
        Colton leaned and looked at his partner, who had just opened his eyes and was beginning to stand up. “I don’t know, honestly. He has a weird fascination with fire, and he likes to study remains like this.” He leaned toward the old man, friendly, and lowered his voice. “You ask me, it’s a little off, but do you mind if he roots around a little? I never know what he sees in these things, but I have to ride with him for at least another few days and I’ll hear about it the whole way if he doesn’t get the chance.”
        “Ain’t no hair off my feet. Let him root all he wants.”
        “Thank you much, sir.” He clapped an amiable hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I do appreciate it.”
        “Ya find anything valuable, it comes to me for takin’ to the sheriff. Just ‘member that, a’ight?”
        Colton nodded and skirted around the old man. Bales looked up at him and shook his head. Colton nodded and tilted a hand toward the ruins, and Bales stepped into the middle of the rubble, around piles of unrecognizable remains, then leaned down and scooped up a handful of ashes. With his hand to his nose he inhaled, then let the ashes sift between his open fingers.
        “Anything?” Colton asked as he approached.
        “Nothing, as expected.” Bales made to look like he was searching the rubble, but was looking past it out into the grassland. “Nothing for at least fifty miles in all directions. Nothing got out.”
        “I hope you’re right.”
        “Have I ever been wrong?”
        Colton shrugged, looking around in the room where he stood. He guessed this was the front area of the shop, where customers would come to do business. Along the opposite wall was a blackened heap of half-melted metal. In the shape, Colton could make out what used to be a hand and part of a face.
        Bales had made his way toward the back of the shop, where there was more wood and timbers, enough to prevent much digging. As Colton joined him, he pointed into the pile. Jutting out from beneath the black latticework he spied a skull turned on its side facing away from them. The bones of an arm reached out into the room, searching for something it would never find. Bales directed Colton’s gaze to the rear corner past the body, where he saw another melted form slumped against what might have been a bookcase, jutting up from a hardened pool of metallic slag. “Good enough?” Bales’s eagerness set Colton’s teeth together.
        “Good enough,” he agreed.
        Bales turned without a word and tromped out of the ashes back toward his horse.