Table of Contents – (spoilers)
The next morning, the squad rose early along with Gabe and Rodolf. Once again, the night had passed uneventfully.
They had a hearty breakfast and then sat around behind the church in the yard waiting for the sun to fully rise. They spent the time cleaning and maintaining their gear: sharpening and honing blades, oiling and greasing metal and leather, and fussing over arrow flights.
“We’re gonna need a fletcher,” Peep said as she counted her diminished supply of heavy shortbow arrows. “Gabe: ye know somebody that’s worth a shit at that?”
“That I do, there’s several around Bristlenook. One of them, Gotthilf, we’re friendly enough with,” Gabe answered.
“Gotthilf? What the hell kind of crusty-ass name is that?”
“It’s old Gerant. From the barbarian wilds to the west of the Great Mother River. There are several Gotthilfs written of in the Holy Book,” Choke answered.
“Well, okay, then. So, what time are we getting this show on the road?” Peep asked.
“I do not know. Soon is best, I suppose,” Choke answered. “I would rather catch Barrelmender when he has finished breakfast. But we risk the chance of him going fishing if we leave it too long.”
Gabe raised his hand. “Well, sir, I think we should just go. From what I’ve seen of him, there’s no real telling when he’s going to be up or down. He keeps pretty irregular hours, is what I mean, sir.”
“Well that’s good to know, although hardly surprising. Thank you, Gabe. And, by the way, so long as you are using honorifics, the term, brother, is sufficient. Thank you.”
“Okay, brother.”
“Say, Gabe,” Peep said. “As far as ye know, what does Barrelmender usually get up to?”
“I… I don’t know, Miss Otilla,” Gabe said, looking quite nervous.
“Well take a guess.”
“Well, I suppose he’s often to be seen wandering around the crick with his fishing rod. Sometimes he fishes. I know he drinks a lot. Favors Bill’s potato wine. He shouts at trees when he’s been getting into that. I reckon that’s about it.”
“He shouts at trees?” Pinch asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“What does he shout at them?” Peep asked.
“Is this relevant?” Choke asked.
“Yeah, it could be. Getting an idea of what’s going on in this guy’s head couldn’t hurt, yes?” Peep said.
“Okay, then,” Choke said with a deep sigh, and waved for Gabe to proceed.
“Well, I don’t rightly know, brother, Miss Otilla,” Gabe answered. “Mostly, it seems like he’s talking to them like they’re people he knew before. Or sermonizing to them.”
“But to the trees? You must mean that he’s talking to himself in the trees,” Pinch said.
“No, sir. Or, maybe sometimes that’s what’s going on. But I saw him once, watched him for the better part of an hour, yelling at a tree real specific, like. Kicking it. Thrashing it with his staff. He called it, ‘an indolent wretch.’”
“Indolent? Not insolent?” Pinch asked, looking more amused than he had since his horse was killed.
“Yeah, indolent. I know what insolent means, since my mom likes calling us that. Her father, Grandpa, he was in the army, after all. So, it struck me as funny, because it sure weren’t that word. It was, ‘indolent.’ I’m sure of that. I even asked around, but no one knows what that means,” Gabe said.
“It means the lazy. He was calling the tree a lazy good-for-nothing, basically.” Choke said. “So, he berates trees for their indolence. That’s wonderful.”
“Yeah, he’s just talking about himself,” Peep said.
“No, Miss Otilla! He was yelling right at that tree! I can show ye all the chunks he took outta the bark with his staff!” Gabe said earnestly.
“Yeah, I get that. But, if ye haven’t noticed, when people who really don’t have their shit together insult other people, they tend to say shit that best describes themselves. Usually, sloppy bitches like this are talking about themselves without even realizing it. Pay attention to people, ye’ll see I’m right, lad,” Peep said.
“Could we please refrain from describing Brother Barrelmender as a sloppy bitch?” Choke said, looking deeply pained.
“I didn’t say he was a sloppy bitch. I said, he’s like other sloppy bitches I have known,” Peep said.
“Even so. Please. No. Just stop,” Choke said.
“Okay. Sure. But, anyways, yeah, I think we should just head to his place and hope for the best. If he aint there, we track him down. I don’t suppose he ranges too far,” Peep said.
“No, I don’t reckon he does, Miss Otilla,” Gabe said.
“So what do we do if we find this guy and he’s too fuckin drunk to do anything?” Knuckle asked.
“Well, then we wait for him to sober up. Whad’ye think, Knucklehead?” Peep answered.
Choke looked as though something occurred to him just then, but he shook his head and did not speak on it.
“Let’s move, then,” Choke said. “Knuckle, give Rodolf your cloak. Sir,” he said to Rodolf, “I think you should cover yourself again, so as to protect your identity.”
“Well, I appreciate the thought, sir, but I don’t suppose it’s any use,” Rodolf said miserably. “Everybody around is gonna know all about this within an hour or two anyways. Word like this travels fast.”
“Well, as you like, then. Come along,” Choke said.
They mounted up and rode in the same order they had the night before down the village lane to the south gate above the Crotch. Peep and Pinch rode abreast out in front. Choke followed just a few horse-lengths behind. Then came Gabe and Rodolf, with Knuckle taking up the rear. Peep and Pinch both had their bows in hand, and Choke was armed with his light lance and kiteshield. Knuckle rode barehanded with his greatsword on his back and longbow in its open case on his saddle, strung and ready to use.
As with the night before, there were no soldiers posted at the south gate, which was still shut and barred just as they had left it. Peep took a moment to go up to the top of the palisade to have a look around.
The village’s fortifications could barely be called such. The palisade was formed of raw logs set into the ground and lashed together. Their tops were cut off, mostly to points at a height of about three and a half meters. However, there was no walkway for defenders around the palisade’s circumference. Both gates, the north and south, had a pair of steep, rough-hewn log stairs to either side of them. These led to a narrow, unrailed walkway over the gate, that had about enough room for three men to stand and look out over the wall.
Doing just that, Peep poked her head up over the palisade. About two-hundred meters downstream, next to the recently widened Bristle Creek, the teamster freight yard was already hard at it. Everything seemed normal.
They unbarred the gate and rode on through, simply shutting it behind them. From the Crotch, it was just a few minutes’ ride up the Bristle Creek to Barrelmender and Shasta’s place. Along the way, Peep fell in next to Rodolf.
“Hey, Rodolf,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“So, yar really gonna hold fast to not telling us anything more about them bandits that tried to kill us? Look at the heap of shit they landed ye in here, and yar gonna go on protecting them,” Peep said, her tone friendly despite her words.
“Ma’am,” Rodolf said, his voice quivering. “Please! I told ye—”
“I know. I know. They’re kinfolk to ye,” Peep interrupted. “But look, man; be reasonable. The least ye could do is let us know how many more of them might be out there. What have ye heard on that? I mean, how many more bad boys could be hiding in these hollers around here? Is that everyone from around here? Or was it mostly fuckers from farther afield? Ye don’t have to tell me details on yar kin, but come on, man!”
“Peep,” Choke said, his tone a plea for her to desist.
“No, Choke! Fuck that! This guy and his whole fuckin family oughta be kissing our asses that we didn’t string up the lot of them! So, come on, Rodolf! How many more of yar fuckin kinfolk d’ye reckon are gonna be popping up to try their luck with us? Who d’ye got left around here that are worth a shit?”
“Ma’am, I reckon that the ones ye killed are just about everyone around here that are into that sort of thing. They was mostly local, or not from too far away, anyways. But there can’t be too many left that are gonna wanna try. Especially not after what ye done to the first bunch, right?”
“Okay, then, so we cleaned out the bad boys. Good to know. Thank ye, Rodolf! Yar one of the good ones!” Peep grinned as she eased her horse away from the trembling peasant.
When they arrived at Barrelmender and Shasta’s fine little cottage, Shasta and the two children were busy watering their garden with buckets from the creek. The kids ran over and hopped about chattering as the squad dismounted at the front gate.
“Well, if it isn’t our errant soldiers, come with young Gabe and Rodolf!” Shasta called as she ambled over to them. “And so the fog parts and clarity is reached. I take it that Rodolf here knows something about that nasty ruckus near his place the day before yesterday.”
“That he does, ma’am,” Pinch said.
“What did I tell ye about calling me that? Ye know my name,” Shasta said with a grin as she leaned on her side of the low stone wall around her property.
“Is Brother Barrelmender in, Shasta?” Choke asked.
“No. I’m afraid not. He’s off on another of his overnight fishing trips. He’ll usually find his way back for a late lunch, though. As he did the first time ye came. Yar welcome to wait for him. Ye can help me water the garden. Damned if it aint been the sunniest spring I can remember in some time. No rain for weeks!”
“We need to speak to him as soon as possible. So, thank you for the invitation, Shasta, but I think we will try to find him,” Choke said.
“Really,” Shasta said, giving Choke a serious look. “Yar gonna go and wake him up bright and early outta whatever bush he’s passed out under? I don’t advise that. Better to wait here.”
“I am sorry, Shasta. I am done waiting for him to do his duty. We will see him this morning,” Choke said with a hard note of finality in his voice.
“Well, suit yarself, then. Don’t say I didn’t want ye. But leave me Rodolf. He can help us with some proper chores that need some real muscle.”
“I don’t think that is wise, Shasta. Rodolf is to bear witness to—” Choke began, before Shasta interrupted him.
“I have figured out exactly what he’s doing here, thank ye very much, young Bartholomew. I didn’t fall off the turnip cart just yesterday. He’ll be safe and sound here with me. Won’t ye, Rodolf?” Shasta smiled at the miserable peasant.
“Shasta, the evidence Rodolf has to give concerns Lieutenant Dixon. It may not be safe for him, or for you with him here. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I do! And I’ll have ye know I’ll spare no worry for what that hoor-pestering, sorry excuse for a tin soldier might get up to. He don’t have the brass to come here and try any real dark deeds, I can tell ye that! No!” Shasta pre-interrupted Choke as he opened his mouth to rebut. “Ye got Rodolf here fair and square, yar with the Brother, and the Brother is the Church and the magistrate in this place. None but the worst of bandits would trifle with that, and our pisspot lieutenant aint that!”
“Some of those pulling his strings are,” Pinch said.
“That may be. But, d’ye think they’d be dumb enough to harm the legal custodian of the parish and her family? No. That would suggest that they valued the lieutenant enough to bring that kind of shame and attention down upon their organization in order to protect him, and I can’t countenance that! That one aint worth much more than a rusted pail-full of cow shit, and all that has had dealings with him woulda learned it by now.”
Everyone except Rodolf had a good chuckle at this. Shasta continued:
“No. Ye go get the Brother riled up, if that’s what yar bound and determined to do. I’ll put this one to work while ye do. Because, the chores that need doing aside, once ye get into it with the Brother, there’ll be words exchanged that we don’t need the likes of this one overhearing. I’ll keep him here for ye, safe and sound. Rodolf, yar with me. The rest of ye, get. Get! Go on about yar business!”
With there seemingly being no other choice, the squad left Rodolf with Shasta and went off in search of Barrelmender. Gabe was quite useful in this, having a good notion of the places that he preferred to frequent.
Brother Cornelius Barrelmender, the erstwhile hero of the Brothers of the Holy Stone, veteran of the Theodranus heresy in Mulloon county and the undead uprising of the Forsaken Blight, was passed out next to a lovely little fishing hole a few hundred meters from Shasta’s cottage. His fishing rod was by his side with a dead trout on its line near his face. An empty ceramic jug was nearby.
The location was a good one for both trout fishing and solitary boozing. In Bristle Hollow between the villages of Bristlehump and Bristlenook, the Bristle Creek meandered in oxbows through scrubby forest. There were cottages and properties here and there, but the land was unsuitable for agriculture, so it was largely undeveloped. The cart track that served as road between the villages stayed mostly in the center of the hollow, fording the oxbowing creek again and again.
Barrelmender’s drunken fishing hole was in the tight corner of one of these many oxbows. The surrounding woods and thickets were rather dense, although there were walking trails that the squad could ride single file. When they found Barrelmender, Gabe was tasked with watering their horses in the creek while the Pekot four stook around the monk.
“Nice fish. Too bad it wasn’t cleaned. It’s probably gone off,” Pinch said of the dead fish on Barrelmender’s line.
“Surely a metaphor for something in this quagmire,” Choke said. He then clapped his hands loudly. “Brother! Wake up! We have need of you. Brother!” Choke shouted down at Barrelmender.
Barrelmender did not stir.
It occurred to all of them simultaneously that he might be dead. Choke knelt down and checked that he was breathing. Finding him alive, Choke rolled Barrelmender onto his back and shook his shoulders gently as he again shouted:
“Brother! Wake up! Brother!”
Still, Barrelmender lay as though a corpse.
Choke shook him more violently now, actually bouncing his head off the little gravel beach once or twice as he continued to shout. This elicited something of a groan from Barrelmender, but nothing more.
“Ye know, this is actually impressive,” Peep said, looking from the spectacle of Choke and Barrelmender to the ceramic jug that she nudged with the scuffed toe of her boot.
“If by that you mean that it is making a strong impression on me, then you are right!” Choke snapped at her.
Peep ignored the salt as she continued on her train of thought:
“No. I mean, that’s a lot of fuckin booze there. He got this drunk on all that and there aint a bit of puke around. And, he’s in the habit of doing this. And he aint dead? Not to mention that it aint that warm at night yet. Here he is, sleeping on the crickside, out in the dew, again and again, and he don’t freeze to death or come down with no illness, neither. That’s impressive. This is a tough motherfucker right here.”
“I am sure you are right. I am sure he was a glorious warrior of the Faith in his prime. And look what he does with Stron’s gifts,” Choke said in disgust as he stood up.
“So, I suppose we have to wait for him to sober up, like Shasta said,” Pinch said.
Choke shook his head. “No. We sober him up. Now. Peep, you can do that.”
“What, ye want me to slap him around?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. The healing in your brands. It can sober him up,” Choke said.
“What? They can? How d’ye know that?” Peep said, looking down at her Wheel brands.
“I figured it out. When you healed Pinch, the first time you ever healed, when he took the monstrous spider bite to the neck outside the tower: you healed the poison as well as the puncture wounds. The venom was neutralized by the healing.”
“Yeah, so? What’s that got to do with booze?”
“Well, alcohol is poison. Do you remember the next day? You asked Father Nate if he could do something for your hangover. He said yes, but he thought he shouldn’t. And you challenged him that he must do so for himself, at times. And he admitted that to be so.”
“Yeah. So?” Peep said.
“Well, the spell he would have used is neutralize poison. That spell eliminates the acute effects of alcohol and other inebriants. So, mushrooms and the like. This is probably the same spell-like-effect that Stron has put into your brands,” Choke finished.
“Really,” Peep said, looking down at her brands, this time with a smile. “Are ye sure?”
“Not one-hundred percent. But there’s only one way to find out,” Choke gestured down to Barrelmender.
“Yeah. Okay. Fuck it. Sober Barrelmender, here we come. Are we all ready for this?” Peep asked, like a fairground magician before their grand finale. She raised her hands high above her and wiggled her fingers. Then she crouched down over Barrelmender and put both her palms down on his chest.
“Stron, please heal this drunkard of his drunkenness, so that he might manage to be some kind of use to you again, and some of us lowly mortals, too. Thank ye, Stron.”
As with the other times Peep had used her brands to heal, she felt the soothing blue glow of divine healing move from her palms into her patient. She gave a sigh of pleasure as it did.
“Oh yeah. That did something, alright,” she said as she stood up and stepped away from Barrelmender.
The squad, now joined by Gabe, stood around Barrelmender in a ring, staring down at him intently.
“He don’t look no different,” Knuckle said quietly.
“Yes he does,” Choke said. “Praise Stron.”
Choke was correct. Whereas before, Barrelmender had been as though in a coma, now his posture and breathing had shifted to that of a deep, restful sleep. It was a subtle difference, but a noticeable one.
“Okay, then,” Peep said. Then she clapped her hands loudly, just as Choke had. “Wake up, Brother! Up and at em! It’s time to go to work! Wake up!” she shouted down at him with a wide grin lighting up her face.
Barrelmender thrashed wildly and screamed in alarm as he awoke. In his flailing, he came to his feet with his fishing rod in hand, held out in front of him as though it were a weapon. His eyes wild with terror, Barrelmender screamed again as he whirled this way and that to face the squad as ambushing foes. This tangled him up in the silk fishing line and he stumbled and fell down with his dead fish swinging about his legs. He screamed and grabbed the trout to throw it away, but it bounced back on the line and hit him in the face. This prompted another howl from Barrelmender. However, the tone of this cry shifted a little from frenzied panic to rage, signaling an emergence from the night terror.
“Brother! Please calm yourself! You are safe! Brother Barrelmender! You are safe!” Choke shouted down at the flailing monk.
“Aaahhhhhhhhhhhhh! What have you done!” Barrelmender bellowed in fury. “Release me! Release me, I say!”
Peep was the first to react. She hopped to Barrelmender’s side with her buck knife drawn and deftly cut him out of the entangling fishing line.
“How dare you!” Barrelmender shouted, sitting up as he swung a powerful backhanded fist at Peep’s face.
Peep was just able to roll her shoulder and duck to take a glancing blow. She collapsed and curled up into a ball to roll away from Barrelmender. When Peep failed to rise immediately, Choke thought for a horrible instant that Barrelmender had hit her with some manner of attack spell. This turned out not to be the case, which became obvious as Peep lay on her back and hooted in laughter with her arms and legs waving above her like an overturned turtle.
With this, the tension broke in the observers and they all began to laugh as well. Peep, Pinch, and Knuckle laughed hysterically; the sort of laughter that leaves one wondering if they have injured their ribs. Gabe was able to control himself enough to reel back to his post to attend to his horses while he worked on containing himself privately. Choke squatted down and took a moment before composing himself.
Barrelmender, for his part, suffered this indignity silently. With shaking hands, he disentangled himself from the fishing line and lobbed the dead fish into the creek. Then he sat in the pebbles and massaged his temples.
“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Barrelmender finally said as the laughter settled down.
As before, Barrelmender’s voice was powerful and pleasing. He spoke quietly enough, but there was no dismissing the authority and character of the speaker, or the deep anger that roiled beneath.
“Yeah. We sobered ye up,” Peep said, brushing herself off as she finally got to her feet.
“How?” Barrelmender asked.
“With Stron’s gifts in my hands. Fire and healing, both. D’ye wanna see them now, Brother?” Peep asked earnestly, holding her hands out towards Barrelmender with the palms facing herself.
“No! Please. No,” Barrelmender said, his voice cracking as he held his own hand up to shield himself from the sight of hers.
“I apologize, Brother, for this rude awakening,” Choke said. “Otilla acted upon my orders. I felt I had no choice. We have need of you. This community has need of you.”
“That is of no consequence to me,” Barrelmender said, his voice again level and measured.
“No? What is?” Peep asked.
“Pardon me?” Barrelmender asked sharply, glaring up at Peep.
“What is of consequence to you?” Peep asked.
“Who are you to ask me that?”
“Ye know that. And ye don’t have the balls to even look at the reasons why.”
Barrelmender contemplated this response for a long moment, gazing deep into Peep’s eyes as he did. Finally, he slumped.
“You are correct. I have earned your contempt. And now you must leave me. Leave this place,” Barrelmender waved his hand towards the squad dismissively.
“No,” Choke said.
“Pardon me?”
“We will not leave, Brother. The people here have need of us. Have need of you. There is work to be done. If you will not do it, then we shall.”
“You will. Really,” Barrelmender sneered.
“Yes. Lieutenant Dixon has been actively colluding with the gang of teamster criminals known as the Outfit. We have proof of this. The peasant farmer, Rodolf, of the first farm up Cowslip Hollow from Tully’s brothel can attest to this. We have him ready to testify to you of it. Your housekeeper and the church’s custodian, Shasta, is presently minding him at her cottage,” Choke said.
“My housekeeper and custodian,” Barrelmender snorted.
“Yes, Brother. That is the story. Now, I ask you directly, Brother: will you hear Rodolf’s evidence and provide us a legit writ on Lieutenant Dixon? And will you swear me in as your apparitor here in Bristlehump, with my three fellows as deputies?”
Barrelmender looked levelly at Choke. “No. I will not. You do as you will in this project of yours, but leave me be.”
“Is this your final word, sir?” Choke asked, stepping hard on the word, “sir,” to emphasize Barrelmender’s change of status in his eyes.
Barrelmender caught the significance and acknowledged it with a curt nod.
“It is. Leave me be,” he said.
Choke nodded and began to turn away from the spectacle of Barrelmender in his damp black robes, sitting on the bank of a creek, smelling like dead trout. Peep, however, had another notion.
“Hey! Cornelius! Guess what?” she exclaimed.
Even despite his deep depression and apathy, the informality of Peep’s address of him raised Barrelmender’s ire. He glared up at her.
“What?”
Peep did not answer with a word. Rather, she raised her right hand high and stepped in to slap Barrelmender’s cheek with an open palm that had all her strength and weight behind it. The report of the blow was shockingly loud at the quiet creekside.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Barrelmender, his face driven down by the blow, stared at the pebbles at his feet with his eyes wide. Choke, Pinch, and Knuckle all stood frozen. In that moment, the smell of scorched skin rose in the air and all could see the mark Peep had tattooed Barrelmender with. There, in the center of his left cheek, was the perfect, burned brand of the Wheel of Stron in Peep’s palm.
As the moment of shock receded, Peep was the first to act. She crouched low and thrust her left palm down in front of Barrelmender’s face.
“There it is!” she yelled at him. “Ye want another? Wake the fuck up!”
Peep stepped back from Barrelmender as he again raised his eyes to hers. However, there was no arrogance or pride in his bearing now. He sat before her shattered; a man now completely broken.
“You… I… You… Stron,” Barrelmender babbled. Then he found something more of himself to hold onto. It was not good.
“Oh, Stron, what have I become!” Barrelmender sobbed as he collapsed.
They stood and watched Barrelmender weep. It took a long time. Eventually, though, as they always must, the tears stopped. And when they did, Peep was ready for him.
“It’s time for ye to get yar shit together, man,” she said, her voice calm and friendly.
Wiping his face off onto his robes, Barrelmender sat up and nodded.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked Peep.
“Just what Bartholomew asked. That’s all for today,” she answered.
Barrelmender nodded again. He dragged himself to his feet and stumbled over to some bushes to retrieve his staff. As he did, they were reminded that this man stood almost as tall as Knuckle, and while lean, was clearly very strong. Barrelmender leaned on his staff and stared at the creek for a while. Then, from beneath his robes, he pulled out the holy symbol hung around his neck. He patted down the black iron Wheel into place above his solar plexus. Then he nodded resolutely.
“I shall walk to the church and pray. Bring Rodolf to me there,” Barrelmender said.
Once again, his voice was strong and pleasing. This time, however, there was a change of tone. Vulnerability was on board now. This man now cared, at least a little, and in his caring, he once again knew fear.
Barrelmender strode off through the creek, heading straight for Bristlehump, leaving the fishing rod and jug where they lay. Then, the squad was alone at the creekside. Choke and the others stared at Peep wordlessly, their faces still slack with shock.
“Well, there we go! That fixed him!” Peep said happily, clapping her hands to rub her palms together. “That went pretty good. Let’s go get Rodolf!”
Muse Vassal 