The Devilstone Registry Chapter 2: The Tale of Matty the Mute (2/10ish)
TITLE: The Devilstone Registry
Pairing: Kradam, probably others
Rating: R for future violence, PG-13+ for future Sexuality
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, and since it takes place in like 1875 it obviously didn't happen. If one of the idols tells me they don't want to be in fiction I will change their character name to Lars and call it a day.
AN: This is extremely AU, set in an alternate historical time period. The basics, this is the wild west, but in the mid 1800's a meteor crashed into Devil's Tower, leading to the discovery of Devilstone, a material with truly stunning properties that led to all sorts of interesting inventions and the foundation of a new field of Study, "Abstract Science." Unfortunately, it also heralded awakening of all strange creatures and opened the door to paranormal activities. Some call it a punishment from God, some call it an Opportunity, some keep their mouths shut and run the other way. People keep up with these stories by reading a mysterious publication called the "Weird West Weekly," which reports these events, along with the more mundane exploits of the gunslingers that keep the peace. TY for your feedback, it keeps me going at a much quicker pace.
TL;DR: OLD WEST BUT WITH STEAMPUNKY MAD SCIENTISTS AND HORROR SHOW CREATURES.
Beta-love to
bamberrific
Prior Chapters:
Chapter One: Head of the Trail
Prologue:
Dr. Lambert awoke with a start. Had he been asleep? He checked his window. The morning seemed to have come awake with the same jolt he had. Already the light was streaming in his window, honey-gold in its brilliance. Adam smiled at the sight of an elk stalking through his front yard, horns glistening with the dew of the early hour. If only there were a way to harvest the natural condensation, he thought, the makings of an experiment taking root in the back of his mind.
If only it were the only thought that resided there. Adam moved away from the window and pulled on his clothing over a fresh pair of smalls. Other men wore the ubiquitous garment like a second skin, keeping it on until it crumbled off. Not so for doctor Adam Lambert, who pulled on a new set every day. The rest of his outfit consisted of brown high-waisted trousers, suspendered over a linen dress shirt. He topped the whole ensemble with a starched lab coat.
Adam sighed as he checked his visage in the vanity mirror over his bedside table. His natural hair color was beginning to grow out. In his sophomore year at university, a freak lab accident had left his hair a stunning color; jet black over the natural ginger. He decided he liked the effect, and so recreated the conditions of the experiment a few times monthly. He moved to the bathroom and filled the basin, washing his face before applying his skin tonic. He had found that powdered Devilstone, mixed with a few other key ingredients, covered his freckles nicely without looking like he was wearing a woman's make up. An added bonus; he rarely burned in the sun after applying the mixture. Perhaps that warranted further investigation. Adam filed that thought away for future consideration.
If he lingered longer than normal in front of the mirror, he supposed it was due to the new face in his home. Kristopher Allen, the legendary gunslinger, had been in his house for less than a week, but already Adam was soothed by his presence. No one had so much as rode by after the news of his departure from Texas had hit the Weird West Weekly. Adam found that he could already sleep more soundly. It had a negative impact on the amount of time he had to work, but the days were spent in pleasant company.
He grinned to himself when he thought of his surprise; a welcome gift he had sent for after reading in the Weekly that Kris had smashed his guitar, having used it as an impromptu weapon against a randy ranch-hand that had made unwelcome advances on a woman that happened to be passing by on Kris's long journey north. The box should be arriving today - the package only had to travel as far as Deadwood, and he had sent Scott to place the order on the day Kris had arrived.
Adam could hardly wait to see his face.
It was peculiar; the Weekly had made Kris out to be an unlikely hero, painting him as a man barely on the side of good. So far, Adam found him full of inherent goodness; the kind of character so many church-going men professed hollowly seemed to grow naturally inside the gunslinger. There was nothing of the fearsome fighter he had read about. Then again, Adam had yet to see him fight.
Perhaps the opportunity would soon present itself. Adam reached beneath his bed and removed a thick book. Perhaps it was time for an excursion.
***
The Tale
Kris could hardly believe his luck. He moved as if in a dream, padding down the long hallway towards the kitchen. If his shared bathroom was a technological marvel, the kitchen was nothing short of a miracle. Lil presided over a herd of devices that Kris could only guess the purpose of on a daily basis, cranking out such culinary concoctions, as Kris had never seen. She did this all before noon, since after noon Adam put her to work in the steel shop, welding together whatever scraps of metal struck his fancy.
This morning breakfast was pancakes drenched in syrup and wild berries. Kris kissed Lil on the cheek, which made her flush and smack him on the shoulder. It was strange that everyone called her Mama Lil, since she was essentially the same age. But she was so maternal the monniker felt comfortable and lived in.
After finishing breakfast, he headed out to the stable to help Scott with the horses. It was a job Kris enjoyed, and even better company. Kris had taken to Scott as much as he had Lil, and the mercurial master of the house himself. This morning, however, Kris found the stable empty but for his own horse. Scott had evidently taken the open wagon and team into town.
He kissed Conway on the nose and patted her flank. She already had her morning oats, so Kris was quick about brushing her down and turning her loose to run in the paddock. She looked well rested and happy. A quick glance in the mirror this morning had said as much about himself. Though Adam had expressed the need for a guard, Kris was hard pressed to imagine what danger could befall him in this idyllic setting. No, it was likely that Adam would notice the quiet soon and send him packing.
The thought was altogether unpleasant, but he was distracted from his unhappy thoughts by the sound of a horse-driven wagon bumping along the approach to the barn. Kris waved as he recognized Scott's floppy head of hair in the breeze.
"Hop in" Scott called, waving him over. "I've gotta drive this right up to the lab, it's a delivery."
"Is it dangerous?" Kris asked, wondering why on earth Adam would need him to be present for a delivery.
Scott just snorted. "I've stopped asking questions. It's easier just to go along."
Kris nodded, sticking out his lower lip a bit as he considered the advice. The wagon continued a little further up the path to the low, corrugated steel building that housed Dr. Lambert's laboratory. Adam was waiting expectantly at the doorway, sunlight filtering through the trees onto his dark hair and white lab coat. His hair was somewhat disheveled, and Kris had no doubt he had been in the midst of some great discovery. The item must be important; Adam didn't often take a break in the middle of the day.
"It's here!" Adam exclaimed as his eyes fell on the long crate in the back of the wagon. He clasped his hands together. "Kristopher, would you?"
Kris hopped down from his seat beside Scott and lifted the pine box. It wasn't as heavy as it appeared.
"Do ya' want it in the lab, Adam?"
"For now." Adam led him into the building, and Kris let his eyes sweep over the area for a likely place to set it down. The tables were crowded with experiments in various states of completion. One experiment had expanded beyond the borders of its table, and the materials were propped up on a series of sequentially smaller boxes until the last phase sat on the compacted earthen floor.
It was to this experiment Adam returned, leaving Kris to decide where to set the package. He settled on the very center of the floor, where light from a skylight filtered in, catching the floating ghosts of dust and various fumes upwards towards the vent.
"Be a dear and open it." Adam mumbled, measuring a vial of something and pouring it into a black liquid Kris didn't recognize. Kris searched the room again, and finding a pry bar, popped the lid open with minimal effort. Inside, beneath the sawdust packing, lay a guitar. Gingerly, he picked up the instrument. It was a beautiful specimen, far nicer than the one he had inadvertently destroyed on the ride north. The body of it was honey colored, with mother of pearl inlay in the shape of twisted vines. His reverie was interrupted by a small cough. Kris looked up to see Adam staring at him expectantly.
"Do you like it?" He asked in a soft voice, eyes locked on Kris.
"It's beautiful." Kris exhaled. "Is it for an experiment?"
Adam chuckled. "It's for you. A welcome gift. I thought it would make you feel more at home. I read about what happened to your last one."
Kris ran his hands along the neck of the guitar, at a loss for words. After a moment, he looked up at the Doctor, who was still watching him with an inscrutable expression on his face.
"I don't know what to say. Thank you. I'm amazed, Adam, really." He strode towards the other man and pulled him into a casual hug. Adam felt stiff beneath his arms, but relaxed a bit when Kris patted his back.
"If you wanted, you could play with the fellow at The Golden Calf, the piano player. I am sure he'd be glad to meet a fellow musician."
"I think I'd like that." Kris said, pulling back from the embrace. "What's his name?"
"Don't know. I've never spoken with him. I'm not often at the saloon. If you wanted to go, though, I'd ride with you. It could be an interesting way to spend the evening. If you'd like." Adam said stiffly, fumbling with a piece of equipment that looked fragile.
"That would be amazin' Adam. I'll go string her and practice up a bit. What do you say we leave after dinner? Would you be done by then?"
Adam beamed, his smile washing over Kris seemed to brighten the dim room. "I can make that work. I'll take Glamour into town. I've been neglecting her." Glamour was Adam's black mare, a temperamental beast if Kris had ever met one. Scott had warned him that only Adam could handle her, and though Kris had tried bribing her with some sugar cubes, she only flattened her ears at him. There was just no pleasing some people, or horses, Kris supposed.
***
The ride into town was uneventful. Kris had changed into his best brown tweeds and Adam had forsaken his white lab coat for a set of black trousers and a black shirt, suspendered of course. You could barely see him in the darkness atop his black mount; his skin seemed ghostly by contrast. Adam chatted merrily about his education and about the research grant he had received to study the properties in Devilstone and the creatures that were inhabiting the Badlands. Apparently the laboratory he had been working in had lost its funding due to a small accident. Adam's uncle, a retired prospector who had never married, had also recently passed away, leaving Adam as the sole inheritor of his fortune, so long as he did what he could to use his talent to better the plight of mankind. It was a charge that Adam had taken seriously.
Soon the relative silence of the trail dissolved into the chaos of the town at twilight. Kris could hear the tinkling of the piano outside the saloon, and felt the corners of his mouth tug up in a grin.
The doors swung open and the crowd fell silent. The patrons stared at the newcomers, but for once Kris didn't feel like the recipient of the hard glances. One man, a Devilsminer by the look of him, got up from his table and sneered.
"Thought I told you..."
He was interrupted by Mac, who clasped his hand on the man's shoulder in a gesture of warning. Kris felt his entire body stiffen. What did this...common piece of saloon trash have against Adam? Mac leveled the other man with a withering glare and a jerk of his head towards Kris. Kris heard his name..
"Krissy the Kid" slithering amongst the group, and the miner turned white and sat down, mumbling an apology.
Kris reached behind him, feeling for his guitar strap. The entire group gasped, sure he was about to draw his gun. Kris even heard the miner whimper in fear. He couldn't help but laugh as he swung the instrument around to the front. The crowd let out their breath and went back to their business as suddenly as they had stopped.
"Thought I could play a bit, if your piano player don't mind." Kris shot the man at the piano a questioning look. The man brightened and waved him over. Kris turned to Adam.
"Why don't you sit with me." Kris said, casting a wary look towards the assembled townsfolk. He didn't know what bone the miner had with Adam, but he was sure as hell not going to let anything happen to him on their first venture to town. Adam nodded gratefully and placed his hand on Kris's elbow as demurely as any maid.
"What do they call you?" Kris asked the piano man, who wore a white shirt and red suspenders. The suspenders matched the band on his straw hat. For some reason, the question drew a sad look from the player, until the barkeep called over.
"That's Matty the Mute. We call him that cause he can't say much. Well, nothing, to be honest."
"I'm sorry, man." Kris mumbled, placing a hand on Matty's shoulder. "How'd it happen?"
Matt placed a hand on his forehead, then pulled it away sharply as if it was hot. He then mimed pockmarks on his face and throat and pointed to his red suspenders.
"Scarlet Fever." Adam said, looking very far away. "When he was very young. The fever must have scabbed over his vocal chords, rendering them almost useless. The pain would have been too great for a child to suffer through, so he would have stopped trying to talk. After a while, the ability would have atrophied. It's a rare symptom, but known to happen out here, away from doctors that know what they are doing. Was that it?"
Matt looked amazed, and took Adam's hand. A single tear ran down his cheek as he nodded.
.
"I bet no one else knows that." Kris guessed, judging by Matty's reaction to Adam's diagnosis. "He probably wasn't even born here. It's a wonder they even know his name - though I bet he can write it."
Matt brightened, pointing at his sheet music, which had his name scrawled across the top. Kris bit his lip, but did his best to smile at the childish lettering. He guessed that Matt could write little else beside his name, which wasn't uncommon in the general population. Still, he would have hoped someone would have bothered to teach him, seeing as his other forms of communication were so limited.
"What should we play?" Kris asked Adam, not wanting to make Matt feel worse. He thumbed through the songs, reading the titles. Each title had a picture drawn by it - Kris assumed it was how Matt told them apart. Matt yanked one of his sheets out excitedly and thrust it towards Kris.
"Jim Wilson." Kris grinned. "That alright, Adam?" Adam nodded and smiled encouragingly at Matt, who banged the opening chord so hard Adam jumped.
Kris strummed along and opened his mouth to sing the lyrics, when to his surprise a voice from behind them cut through the din of the saloon.
Kris looked up and was surprised to see Fightin' Mac belting out the tune, beer in his hand. The men around him joined in on the chorus. He had a fantastic voice, higher than Kris would have expected given to the man's size. The energy from the group of men all singing together filled Kris with happiness - it reminded him of home, of growing up in Arkansas with his schoolmates. They played song after song, Mac obliging the hooting crowd with more singing.
He glanced over at Adam, and almost stopped strumming. The doctor was oblivious to the fun around him, and instead was staring sadly at Matty the Mute. It was a look Kris had seen before, when Adam was stuck on a problem he couldn't solve. It usually meant a night awake, listening to Adam pace the floorboards until dawn.
**
"Get up!"
Kris had been dreaming a strange dream about Adam in a blue dress when dream-Adam had begun shouting at him to get up. It didn't make any sense as neither of them had been lying down in the dream.
It was the shaking that had brought him to. Kris opened his eyes to see Adam leaning over him. His first thought is that there was some trouble, and reached for the gun he kept by his bed. Blindly groping, he stopped his search when Adam shoved a book in his hand.
"You'll need this."
Kris blinked a few times and squinted at the tome. It was titled "A Badlands Bestiary."
"What?" Kris said, sitting up and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that Adam could sit next to him. Adam grabbed the book back and flipped it open so that Kris could see.
There was a picture of a humanoid creature, but its limbs dangled from its shoulders to the ground, where long claws scratched at the dirt. Its mouth hung open, revealing a wide throat rimmed by pointy teeth.
"What is that?" Kris asked, though he could clearly read the name of the creature. It was labeled "Harpseechord."
"That's what we need. Well, actually, just her throat." Adam snapped the book closed. "So we'll leave this morning and hopefully make Scenic in two days. We can stay in town there, and hit the rainbow rocks by noon the next day." Adam stood up and tugged Kris to his feet. "Bring your guns, Kristopher."
"Hold on. We need a throat? A Harpseechord throat? Let me see that book again. What could you possibly-"
"It's for Matt. The piano player. No time for questions, Kristopher. Scott has Conway all saddled up."
And so they rode.
***
Adam was one of the strangest companions Kris had ever shared a trail with. It was common to huddle close for warmth once the sun sank, but Adam had been reluctant. It was only after Kris had assured him that he didn't mind the closeness that Adam slid next to him inside his bedroll, laying his own bedroll on top of them like a quilt.
"So are you going to explain this to me, or not?" Kris asked as Adam stared up at the starry sky.
"I never even shared a room at university. Not that I mind, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable." Adam didn't even blink, as his eyes seemed to trace the constellations.
"Not that." Kris said, chuckling low in his throat. "This business about Matty."
"Oh." Adam said, and Kris swore he saw Adam's cheeks flush in the starlight. "That. Well, I explained how his vocal chords must have been damaged beyond the body's ability to heal them. So what we need is vocal chords with extraordinary healing capabilities. Humans don't regenerate that way; this monster does. If I combine it with a modulator, I should be able to create a device, which would, when implanted in his throat, act as a magnifier replace his natural ability to speak. At least that's the simple version. Not that you-"
Kris chuckled again, leaning his head against Adam's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, I know what you mean. The simple version is just fine. But Adam -"
"Yes." Adam's breath seemed to catch in his throat. He turned away from the stars to look at Kris.
"What if he doesn't want an implant? That might be dangerous. I mean, has anyone ever got a throat transplant from a Harpseechord before?"
Adam looked surprised, as if that wasn't the question he was anticipating. Once the surprise wore off, his expression of shock only grew. Kris very much doubted that Adam had considered the notion that Matt might not want to undergo the procedure.
"I can do this, Kris. I need you to believe in me. If you don't, Matt never will." The look on his face was so profoundly sad that Kris reached over to squeeze his hand.
"Of course I think you can do it. I don't know Matt very well though, I just wondered if he'd consent."
"Imagine never being able to talk. Never introducing yourself, never making any friends. Never being able to tell the one you love that you love them. It must be a lonely life. I....wouldn't want that for anyone. That's why I want to help him. It's the right thing to do."
"You're a better man than most, Adam Lambert." Kris said, and he believed it.
***
The Harpseechord fished its long fingers into the stream that wound through the rainbow rocks. It came up with a silvery trout, which it swallowed in one gulp, but not before scissoring off the tail in one snap of its powerful jaws.
"So, should I just shoot it, then?"
"No, that's a male. We need a female. The male's warble sounds at a level too low for humans to hear."
"How do we get a female, then?"
"Wait." Adam said, pulling Kris tightly against him as he crouched behind a cluster of rocks to small to really hide them both. He pointed with his free hand.
The male Harpsee spread its long arms wide and opened its mouth. The earth seemed to vibrate beneath them, sending small showers of pink and yellow pebbles tumbling into the canyon. After a few moments, three females skulked out from crevasses in the earth, their scales matching the color of the rocks that were their homes.
"That one is the youngest." Adam said, pointing out the smallish one on the left of the male. "He'll choose the largest one to breed with - she's probably whelped a few times, The Harpsees aren't intelligent, per se, but they conform to standard evolutionary theory."
"Evolutionary what?" Kris asked.
"The Origin of Species. What do they teach you down in Arkansas?"
"Not that."
"Survival of the fittest is one aspect of it. The male will pick the strongest looking female to bear his children."
"I suppose that makes sense." Kris reasoned, watching the group of Harpsee's carefully. The male finally nudged the largest female with one of his claws, and she sang out a note, a B flat, if Kris wasn't mistaken. It sounded like the voice of a human male. For the first time, Kris really believed that the plan had a chance of working.
As the happy couple departed, the smaller of the two Harpsees parted ways, ostensibly waiting for another earth-shaking mating call. Kris couldn't help but pity them.
At Adam's signal, Kris raised his shotgun, aimed carefully, and fired. The boom from the gun sent showers of rocks streaming down the canyon again. Kris heard angry warbles coming from various crevices. As the smoke and dust cleared, Adam shouted
"Cover me, Arkansas" and dashed from behind their cover towards the fallen Harpsee. Kris followed him, taking aim at the first Harpseechord that moved towards Adam. He hit it right between the eyes, and dropped his shotgun to pull his pistol from his belt just as Adam pulled a large knife from the pocket of his duster. He plunged it into the beast, green blood pooling from the wound and coating Adam's sleeves.
Three more Harpsees met their end before Adam had extracted the necessary component and tucked it safely away in a specimen box.
"Get back to the horses; there's too many of them."
Indeed, the swarm was overwhelming now. Kris didn't mount up until Adam was safely astride. Firing over his shoulder, he relied on the sound of Glamour's hoofs to direct him. After they crossed the Swooning Plain, Conway and Glamour slowed to a walk.
"That was close." Kris sighed, wiping his forehead with his bandanna and taking a long gulp of water from his canteen.
"Close nothing, Kristopher. I'd take you over a plague of Harpseechords any day. Maybe next week we can move on to something more worthy of your prowess, like Belltollers."
"I don't even know what that is, but I am pretty sure they'll be horrifying." Kris said. "But if it's for as good of a cause, I'm your man."
"I'll hold you to that." Adam replied, quirking his eyebrow as they rode towards the pink and yellow horizon.
***
EPITAPH
He makes the blind see and the mute sing "Clementine." No, good readers, I'm not talking about the Lord and Savior, I'm talking about Dr. Adam Lambert. Apparently, he and Krissy the Kid have been philanthropizing, because formerly mute local piano player Matthew Giraud can now be heard vocalizing. After the first successful vocal chord transplant, the patient's first words were to ask for Mr. Arkansas' signature. The gunslinger obliged as Matt shook the hand of his doctor, who braved an entire pod of vicious Harpseechords to gain the raw materials needed for the surgery.
Not only can the man speak, but his vocal stylings have recently been heard accompanying his piano playing at The Golden Calf. If you can believe that, you can believe the reports I heard of Krissy himself strumming and singing along. Take that one with a grain of salt, people. Unless I hear it with my own ears, it didn't happen.
Till next week dear readers!
The Snoop.
CLICK FOR CHAPTER THREE: THE FOUNDATION