Elf PosseGeorge S. Walker
3000 words The Ladies Society for the Aid and Comfort of Fae had knitted wool gloves for the elves. They were thinking of poor little elf hands and frigid American winters. They didn’t consider that elves were allergic to cold iron and would use the gloves to protect their hands from the forged steel of Colt revolvers. After the elves robbed the bank, Sheriff Cody had trouble rounding up a posse. All the men in town avoided him. When he cornered Hank by the train station, the man replied, “Them pointy-eared devils know the upside, downside, and inside of the forest. They’ll pick us off like milk cows in front of a barn.” “The bank’s offering a reward,” said the sheriff. “You’d get a share.” “To buy a tombstone! And then the little varmints would dig me up to get my gold teeth.” The sheriff considered that a possibility, but… “You can afford gold teeth?” “Well, no. But that’s what I told Miss Clara at the saloon, so don’t you go telling her different.” As the men scattered, a middle-aged woman wearing spectacles and a blue gingham bonnet approached: Miss Matilda, the schoolmarm. “I want to join the posse,” she said. The sheriff doffed his hat and squinted at her. “Do you even got a gun, ma’am?” “Do I even have a gun,” Matilda corrected him. “No, but I assume that as sheriff, you have a plethora of weaponry.” The sheriff didn’t know what kind of a gun a plethora was. But if she was asking him to loan her one, she’d have to settle for a Colt. “Do you know much about shootin’?” “I know a great deal about elves.” “Now, Miss Matilda, a posse is man’s work. We ride hard, we shoot hard, and the varmints shoot back.” “Elves aren’t varmints.” She seemed sure of herself. “If robbing a bank don’t make ’em varmints, I dunno what does!” “When do we ride out?” asked Matilda. He hadn’t recruited anyone for the posse, and it didn’t look like he was likely to. The robbery had happened in the morning, and it was already late afternoon. He couldn’t send word to the federal marshal until tomorrow’s train. The elves were getting away. Despite his misgivings, he said, “How soon can you be ready?” *** An hour later, Matilda rode up on a little gray donkey with a man’s saddle. The donkey’s hooves kicked up puffs of dust in the road. Matilda still wore her bonnet and now wore a matching apron over work breeches. “She ain’t even got a horse,” the sheriff muttered to himself. When she dismounted, he handed her a Colt revolver and a gun belt. She raised the belt in both hands as if she were hanging up laundry. “You gotta draw the gun out of the holster to shoot,” he explained. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not an ignoramus.” But instead of strapping the belt on over her apron, she turned and put it in the donkey’s saddlebag. The sheriff sighed. He fished a deputy star out of his pocket and handed it to her. “You ain’t really a deputy. Don’t get no fancy ideas.” Matilda turned the star over in her hand. “Cold iron. Elves hate that.” “Was you expecting silver?” “Actually, I was expecting a lantern.” “I ain’t spending the night in the forest with them varmints.” “Do you know much about elves, Sheriff?” “They rob banks.” Matilda rolled her eyes. “They live underhill. Once we find them, it may be dark below.” “How come you know so much about elves?” “I’m writing a book about them.” “Why?” he said. “No one would read it.” Her lips pursed like tasting vinegar. “And what do you read about, Sheriff? Armed desperados?” He shook his head. “Tales of the sea and sailing ships.” “Exactly! Something that you’ve never seen. Some people have never seen an elf.” “Them’s the lucky ones,” muttered the sheriff. “Do you know which way the robbers went?” asked Matilda. “West toward the forest.” She nodded. “That’s where the elves live underhill.” He tied an oil lantern to his saddlebag and mounted his black roan. When he prodded it with his heels, he heard the clop of the little donkey’s hooves following. He shook his head. This posse was going to make him the laughingstock of the town. “How many elves?” she called. “Four of the pointy-eared devils stole two horses. Two puny elves riding each horse. The saddlebags musta weighed more than the elves.” “Loaded only with gold,” said Matilda. “Am I correct?” “They didn’t keep none of the silver or copper coins. And no banknotes. Ain’t the brightest bank robbers.” “Elves are alchemists,” said Matilda. “They can spin magic out of gold. Silver and copper are worthless base metals.” “They was clumsy leaving. They scattered the rest on the ground outside the bank. The townsfolk fell over themselves pickin’ it up.” Wagon trails led out of town in all directions toward fields of hay and grain. Except toward the virgin forest to the west. As the trees loomed before him, the sheriff dismounted and crouched down to inspect the ground. It was lucky for him that the elves had stolen the horses because the hoof prints were easy to spot between the weeds. He stood and pointed toward where the forest rose onto a hill. “You said they live under a hill like gophers.” “Not gophers! Elves construct halls and palaces in the realm below.” “I been inside mines, Miss Matilda. They ain’t no palaces down there.” The schoolmarm gave an exasperated sigh.“They enter through an enchanted well, not a mine entrance.” She might be good at bossing children in obedient rows, but she knew nothing about tunnel. He mounted up again and led the way, following a trail of trampled underbrush. Matilda had said the elves lived underground, but he kept his eyes peeled for an ambush. They were nearly to the hill when he saw something moving. He reined to a halt and reached for his pistol. But between the trees stood a dappled gray horse, nibbling at the underbrush. There were no elves on its back. It had a saddle but no saddlebags. “That’s Jake’s horse.” Matilda raised the spectacles on her nose. “I see the other horse.” She pointed. It took him a while to spot it where she was pointing. “Sharp eyes.” “From years of watching children,” she said. “The elves freed the horses. If they gone under, like you say, where’s the tunnel?” “I told you, Sheriff. They enter via an enchanted well.” He looked around skeptically. “I don’t see no wishing well.” “It won’t appear to our eyes until moonlight,” she said. “In the dark? And then what? We fish for elves with a bucket?” “There won’t be any water. A staircase will spiral down the inside of the well.” Since the elves had abandoned the horses and carried off the saddlebags, the entrance must be close. He dismounted and looked at the ground. There were hoof prints but no prints of little elf feet. He left his horse and walked up the hill. There was a snort behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Matilda dismounting from her donkey. His next step was into empty air. He gasped as he fell into a large hole, arms flailing. His feet struck something, but he was already off balance. He tumbled down a pitch-black stairway, hitting every step. He couldn’t grab hold of anything and curled into a ball, protecting his head with his arms. He landed on a cold floor, dizzy and bruised. The top of the well wasn’t visible. He felt for his hat, but couldn’t find it on the smooth stone. When he finally caught his breath, he let out a stream of curses. Matilda’s voice came from above. “Sheriff, where did you go?” He groaned. He felt gingerly for broken bones before getting slowly to his feet. “Down here.” “You should have waited for your deputy,” she called. “Isn’t that what a posse’s for?” A posse’s for men with horses and six-shooters. “Watch your step.” He was in enough pain already without Matilda tumbling down on top of him. “Oh, here’s the well! Excellent exploratory work, Sheriff. Did you take the lantern down with you?” “Look on my horse,” he muttered. “You left it on your horse? Why that’s downright–” She seemed to catch herself mid-sentence. “–courageous. Elves can see perfectly in the dark. And they have the pistols they used to rob the bank.” The sheriff swallowed. “There are stairs,” he said. “Can’t see ’em, but I’ll climb back up.” “Whatever for? You just walked all the way down. That’s where the robbers are. I’ll just fetch the lantern and join you.” She began humming to herself. He could feel the elves around him in the dark. Or thought he could. He wanted to get the hell out of there. But if the townsfolk learned he’d turned tail when the schoolmarm hadn’t, he’d never live it down. Matilda called, “I can’t find your matches.” “Tobacco pouch.” She tut-tutted. “Disgusting habit.” A minute later, he heard footsteps on the stairs above. He still couldn’t see Matilda. Whatever enchantment hid the well from his sight hid her as well. It wasn’t until he heard her footsteps on stairs near his head that the flame of the oil lantern appeared out of nowhere. It lit her face peering down. “I wonder why they haven’t shot you,” she said. The bank had posted different rewards, depending on whether he recovered the gold or the robbers. Dead or alive made no difference. But with the miserable posse he’d recruited, there was a good chance he was the one who’d end up dead. By the light of the lantern, he looked around. He spotted his hat and put it on, then drew his pistol. A stone hallway led from the bottom of the well into the hill. No elves in sight. No trail of gold coins. He turned to look at Matilda and suddenly realized... “Where the hell’s your gun?” “In my saddlebag.” “How the hell you gonna shoot elves when your donkey’s got your pistol?” “I had to carry your lantern.” That sounded suspicious. “You knew about the stairway,” he accused. “Has you been down here before?” “Have I?” she corrected him. “No. Elves mentioned it at the Ladies Society for the Aid and Comfort of Fae.” “Seems like you ladies give too damn much comfort to the elves.” “I warned the ladies that it could end badly.” “Did you warn them the elves was gonna rob the bank?” “You’re stalling, Sheriff. Are you afraid?” He gritted his teeth. “Gimme my lantern.” He took it and started into the hallway, limping. Every muscle was sore. On the stone walls, tiny reflections glittered like gold at the level of his waist. Maybe this was a mine after all. His boots echoed in the distance, so the elves must know he was coming. “I suspect they’re avoiding us,” said Matilda. “They probably sense the cold iron of our badges.” That put him a little at ease. “Once we get the gold back, if we still don’t see no elves, we head back to town.” “They’ve probably used all the gold for alchemy.” “If that’s what they spent it on, they got bamboozled. All the alcohol in the saloon is chicken feed compared to what they stole from the bank.” “Alchemy, not alcohol! Weren’t you listening to me earlier?” “Not every word,” he muttered. He led the way in the passage until they came to a fork of stone hallways branching in all directions, including up and down. “I told you this was a gopher hill.” Matilda crouched down to examine the tiny glitters on the walls. “Gophers don’t use signposts. These are runes. Each one means something.” Lowering himself to elf height, he saw that the reflections resembled carved letters on a tombstone. Except they weren’t letters of the alphabet. “We’d have to lasso an elf to read ’em.” “As it happens,” Matilda said smugly, “the elves and I undertook to instruct each other.” “So you’re the one who learned them to write the hold-up note!” She gave a small cough. “That was an unintended consequence.” “What do your signposts say?” “Here’s a rune that means tinker. Or maybe blacksmith. This one means looking glass.” “Those ain’t sounding like ‘This way to Kansas City,’” he muttered. “This one means nursery – Oh, baby elves! This one means poison. Perhaps it’s where they stashed the town’s cold iron revolvers. This one means treasure.” “That’s it!” he exclaimed. Matilda shook her head. “Their concept of treasure is different. Oh, look here. The rune for alchemy. They’d have taken the gold this way.” She traced her fingers along the wall until she found another rune like it. Humming to herself, she followed the runes into one of the hallways. He tailed after her. “Do you think maybe they got extra?” “Extra what?” He cleared his throat. “If this here’s where they keep their gold, maybe... wedding rings? Lockets? Watches? Gold teeth?” “Elves don’t burgle people’s houses, Sheriff.” “They robbed a bank!” “Perhaps the sheer quantity of gold in the vault became irresistible. Like iron to a lodestone. But surely you’re not thinking of doing the same.” “This sheriff job don’t pay much,” he grumbled. “If it weren’t for bounty posters, I’d have no money for whiskey.” “If you were paid as little as a schoolteacher, you’d have no money for whiskey at all.” “I reckon that’s why you need the reward money.” “Not for whiskey! Hay and oats for Sarah, my donkey.” The hallway led to a chamber as deep and dark as a cave. If elves were waiting in ambush, they weren’t making a sound: no footsteps, no click of a pistol cocking, no whispers. The sheriff held his breath, hearing only his pounding heart in his ears. Any moment, they’d start shooting. “Hello!” called Matilda. “Some folks from town stop-ping by!” The sheriff nearly had an apoplectic fit. “That ain’t how we do things in a posse,” he hissed. “I see no call to be impolite.” “They’re bank robbers!” He raised the lantern. No eyes glowed in the darkness. Did elf eyes do that, like coyotes? “Well, come along,” said Matilda. She strode forward. If she insisted on being first at an ambush party, he wasn’t going to cut in line. “Bring the lantern!” she called over her shoulder. There were no glittering runes on the walls of the chamber. The lantern’s flame revealed that the floor within wasn’t flat stone. An elaborate construction stood on it. “It’s a map.” Matilda sounded entranced. “Oh, I’ll write about this in my book!” She stepped around, careful not to disturb it with her shoes. “This is the forest where we entered. And there’s our town. They’ve modeled every building.” She pointed. “My one-room schoolhouse. And the boarding house where I live.” He lowered the lantern to shine on the town. “What the hell’s it for?” “Well, I’ll have to figure it out so I can put it in my book. My readers will want to know.” The sheriff found the jail on the map, the saloon, and the train station. “They forgot the train tracks,” he said. “More likely fear than forgetfulness,” said Matilda. “They told me that a chain of cold steel is far more repulsive than the sum of its parts. Have you noticed how they never go near the railway?” He raised the lantern and turned around. “Forget the map. We’re here for the gold.” But though he searched the entire chamber, all he found were the empty saddlebags. “Evidently, we’re too late,” she said. “They used it all for alchemy.” “But how? Were they gonna disappear the town like they did the well?” “Why would they do that? They seemed quite pleasant at the Society meetings.” “They robbed the bank, Miss Matilda!” “I wonder where they are now.” She peered out into the hallway. “We done spent enough time in this gopher warren. The gold’s gone and so’s the elves. It’s time for this posse to skedaddle.” “I’m still puzzled why they made such a detailed model of the town. All they needed for the bank robbery was a simple map. Have you read about Voodoo, Sheriff?” “Is that one of them fancy drinks in the saloon?” “No! You make a doll or a model, and whatever you do to the doll happens to the person.” He looked at the model of the town. “Don’t see no dolls.” Matilda was in no hurry to leave. He finally took her by the elbow to lead her out. They backtracked through the hallways until they reached the stairway that led out of the well. He hadn’t seen a single elf. But then, the lantern barely revealed the steps as they climbed, either. When they reached the top, sunlight was filtering through the trees. His horse and Matilda’s donkey were nibbling plants. He turned to look back at the well but saw only forest. The well was gone. “I should join posses more often,” said Matilda. “This has been most educational.” “That ain’t the point,” he muttered. “The reward was the point, and we ain’t gonna get none of it.” As they rode back into town, a crowd was gathered at the train station. The sheriff spotted Hank and asked what was going on. “The railway’s gone, Sheriff!” Hank pointed west, toward the edge of town. “What?” “The tracks sank into the ground like it was quicksand. Then elves scampered across the bare earth, heading north.” “Oh,” said Matilda. He turned to her. “You know something else about elves?” “When the elves spoke to the Society, they mentioned a colony in the far north. They wanted to journey there, but the railway runs east and west. The cold iron was too powerful for them to cross.” He looked where the steel tracks had sunk into the ground. “The bankers ain’t gonna be happy about this, neither.” “I think my book will sell nicely,” said Matilda. |
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George S. Walker
George S. Walker's stories have appeared in Amazing Stories, Abyss & Apex, Andromeda Spaceways, Electric Spec, The Colored Lens, Penumbric, and elsewhere. Anthologies containing his work include Mothership: Tales from Afrofuturism & Beyond, and The Third Science Fiction Megapack. His website is sites.google.com/site/georgeswalker/.
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