Part One Of One
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This evening we open upon one of the many passing incidents in the history of Thomas Blackhall's westward journey across the wild lands of North America.
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026 - Known Unknowns: A Blackhall Tale, Part 1 of 1
[music] Welcome to Flashpulp episode 26. Tonight's story, known unknowns. A black hotel, part one of one. [music] This episode is brought to you by Flashpulp on iTunes. Enjoy our free podcast, and stop maxing out your credit cards on reruns of The Office on Louis Gossett, Jr. Flix. Subscribe via the M-Program search or find the link at skinner.ff. The trio faced each other, the creek puddling at their knees. The eldest, Michael Voss, stood near the Westmost Bank, a hatchet and his fist. The youngest, René Girard, stood ahead of the grassy overhang of the East Bank, his right hand, white knuckled around a hunting knife. Further up the flows did Thomas Blackhall, his Baker rifle, maintaining the space between the two. "René, I cannot believe you'd cheat me. Four months with our backs aching while we built the dam and shoot. It was always fifty-fifty, our first strike and you're holding out on me. I was to introduce you to my sister." "You're a fine one to talk? You spent more than half that time sleeping off your drunk while I was moving rocks and sawing timbers." René, red face, kept his knife low as of preparing for his partner to leap the distance between them. "How is it you already know the value of your gold?" Thomas asked Michael. "I rode hard from town when I saw René at the saloon, and you were still napping off your celebratory spirits when I arrived. I've met the lillessayer, with his neat collars and sharp cuffs, and he doesn't strike me as the kind of fellow to maintain a brace of pigeons to exchange notes with whiskey-eyed prospectors. Unless you conferred with BB Plain's silver and gold man in a dream, you should not yet know the value of the nugget I saw René flashing about." "Master Blackhall, why exactly are you here? I believe you startled us both when you suddenly appeared upstream. The iron head of Michael's hatchet dipped as he talked. "I'm here for the same reason I've been here twice before, that monstrous junk pile you call a dam. Now answer the question." The older man's eyes swiveled between his red-faced partner and the lowered baker rifle. His hatchet fell fully to his side. "I planted the nugget." Michael shrugged. René took a step back, his face filling with confusion. "Why would you do such a thing?" "All those nights you told me about that rich old gal you've got eating out of your hand back home." "I also told you my cousin was bit by the Lugaroo." "Ah, oh, werewolf. And that my mother is regularly visited by the spirit of St. George. Yet I do not see you riding into town on Sundays nor loading silver shot. Idiot, I could not have bought the mine out from you if you'd lent me the money. What you do not know is that if I ever show my face back and grow apane, they'll cut me up and sell the meat to the farmers on Drombaptiste's day just to get some of their coin back." "Fine, well, now you have the truth of the matter, so give me back my money. Give you back your money. You just tried to fool me into buying this barren trickle," René sucked his lower lip, letting it go with a pop. "Well, what you don't know is, I don't have a sister," boss muttered. René exhaled and continued, "Sides, I'll regave you your share." I recall once again interjected, this time speaking quickly. As I've said, I met Beebe playing Zassar in passing while I was in the mayor's office. He struck me as a knowledgeable man of his field with a fair ham. His eyes were still leveled at Michael, an eyebrow raised. It wasn't cheap to buy a nugget that size, I told Hans the German I'd pay him the second half when I got my share back. Uncle tapped his hatchet against his leg as he explained his predicament. René groaned. "I know what you think, Michael, but I gave you all that was left. Hans took the rest over cards at Melbo's Tower. Both men were now eyeing the waters of the creek rather than face each other. Thomas did not let the pause last more than a few seconds. There's nothing left here for either of you, and what neither of you know is, I'm on my way back from having lit a ten-minute fuse at your dam. As I've told you both repeatedly, the inhabitants of Beebe playing on La Petit Riviera are not particularly pleased with finding themselves suddenly at Beebe playing on La Petit Creek. Now, the mayor has insisted. My suggestion is that you both stand aside, or prepare to swim. With that, black all strode from the stream, disappearing into the trees." Flashpulp is presented by http colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. The audio and text formats of Flashpulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. the same.