Table of Contents – (spoilers)
The next morning, Father Morrenthall, Otilla of the Holy Fire, and Bartholomew of Pekot rode up to the Spitzer fort for their meeting with the Baron Hart and his uncle, Father Gerban, priest of Altas and steward of Spaggot Barony. Father Morrenthall was dressed just as he had been for Mass, although he was now armed with his longsword at his side. Peep and Choke’s repaired armor had been delivered to the church that morning, so they were armed and armored as though on campaign. Choke had with him Lieutenant Dixon’s fine longsword, wrapped in burlap and stowed on his saddle.
At the fort, the gates were open with an honor guard to each side under the command of Lieutenant Cooper, who saluted the guests crisply before announcing their arrival in a booming voice. In the fort’s courtyard, the garrison were on parade and standing at attention, with Baron Hart on the steps of the wooden keep.
Father Morrenthall, Peep, and Choke dismounted and handed their reins off to the grooms who hurried to take them. Baron Hart issued them a formal welcome to his fort, which was graciously accepted by Father Morrenthall, before showing them into the keep and to his uncle’s large office just off the keep’s chapel.
Father Gerban was very elderly indeed. He was seated at his desk in a comfortable, padded leather chair, with a quilt up to his armpits tucking him in. With no windows for natural light, a shaded lamp with an iron sphere with the cleric spell, Continual Light, cast upon it provided enough illumination for Father Gerban’s immediate vicinity, if not all the rest of his office. The walls had a good number of shelves that seemed well stocked with books, along with the jars and bottles and equipment for the mixture of potions and medicines. Choke attempted to make out any titles amongst the books, but the office’s gloom made that impossible.
“Uncle, our guests have arrived,” Baron Hart said, as he gestured for them to sit at the chairs that had been arranged in front of the desk.
“Hmmm? Yes?” Father Gerban asked, blinking himself into a semblance of alertness. While looking in his eighties, at the least, his eyes were clear and he had all of his teeth.
“Father Morrenthall, Uncle. Here with Otilla of the Holy Fire and her Scythan from the Brothers of the Holy Stone. Come to meet with us, as I told you yesterday,” Baron Hart said, his voice patient.
“Ah. Yes. I recall, now. It takes me a moment or two to get my wits about me these days,” Father Gerban chuckled. “Well, then, have a seat. Much to be discussed, yes? But!” Father Gerban suddenly startled himself. “Otilla of the Holy Fire, you say! Well, well! Is that her is it?” He peered at Peep across his desk, who was just about to take her seat. “A holy vessel are you? Well then, better come on around so that I can have a proper look at you!”
Father Gerban waved his hand Peep’s way to gesture for her to come to him around his desk.
“Come along, girl! I haven’t much time left to me, thank Altas! Come on now!”
Peep shot Choke an amused look as she came around Father Gerban’s desk to stand next to his chair. The wizened priest peered up at her face with childlike curiosity.
“Well, you are a creature of the wilds, aren’t you! So let’s have a look at these brands of yours, then, shall we?” Father Gerban said cheerfully.
Peep held both her hands out, palms up, in front of her.
“Oh! Well now!” Father Gerban exclaimed, his eyes flaring wide. He reached out to grab both of Peep’s hands in his so that he could feel the brands with his thumbs. Then he held onto her as he sat with his eyes closed. Finally, he let her go.
“Well, now, that is a thing, isn’t it? Quite a thing. Thank you, miss. You may be seated,” Father Gerban waved her back towards her chair.
Peep nodded and took her seat. Father Gerban had a good think for a while, clearly in no mood to be interrupted, so his guests waited for him to proceed. Eventually, he did:
“Well, that isn’t Stron in there, now is it? Some other member of the Holy Host, surely.”
“Yes, Father Gerban. Surely so,” Father Morrenthall said. “It has been surmised that with the laughter that was heard at Otilla’s Holy Possession during her baptism, that it could possibly be Zenetash.”
“Ah. That one. Yes, perhaps. Certainly older than Stron. As old as the stones. And thirsty for blood and burning. These old ones have a way of finding suitable agents upon our prime material plane. So it went with Stron, I expect. It cannot bode well for this place that this agent of the Holy Host, whichever it might be, saw fit to empower an agent here amongst us. I am thankful that my time here is all but finished. I just hope that Altas, praise Him, has the mercy to take me to him before this apocalypse we have been dreaming of comes to claim me instead. But, no matter. It shall be as He wills it.”
“Pardon me, Father Gerban, but have you been receiving prophetic visions as well?” Father Morrenthall asked.
“Well of course I have, young man. Of course! It is coming as sure as can be. All this shall be swept away,” Father Gerban waved his hand dismissively around himself.
Baron Hart leaned forward. “Pardon me, Uncle, but you do not seem over concerned about this.”
“Well, why should I be, nephew? Why should I be? Death takes us all. We all shall be judged. Each and every soul. What difference to the faithful is the when of it? Or by what means? Are all these worldly trappings we build and maintain so valuable when compared to eternity? Don’t be silly! Of course I am not concerned. My race is near run. Embrace your duty, let go of that which you cannot control, and, when it is your time, go to our maker with your soul clean and ready. None here should fear judgement, should we?”
“Well said, Father Gerban. Well said. But as to those worldly trappings, I fear we must take matters in hand, lest we be remiss in putting up the best fight we can. And pardon my saying so, but there is much to be set in order here,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Well of course we all must do our duty. I am at your disposal. Please do proceed,” Father Gerban said good-naturedly.
“Thank you, Steward. Now, Baron, first of all: I am afraid we have rather ill-tidings to report to you from Bristlehump. It is bad there indeed,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Yes. Well, let’s get on with it,” Baron Hart said.
“Thank you, Baron,” Father Morrenthall said. He opened the leather document folder he had been carrying with him. “First of all, the official matters. This is a document signed by your magistrate of Bristlehump, Brother Cornelius Barrelmender, making Bartholomew here his lawful apparitor, and Otilla apparitor’s deputy, along with their other two fellows. It should be lawfully filed and registered here, if you please, Steward.”
Father Morrenthall rose to set the document down on Father Gerban’s desk, who nodded graciously in receipt.
“Now,” Father Morrenthall proceeded, “in pursuit of their duties in Bristlehump, Apparitor Bartholomew and his deputies uncovered extreme corruption within your forces. Specifically with Lieutenant Dixon. Now, before I proceed, I am sure both you, Baron and Steward, understand the situation concerning Bartholomew and his fellows with the teamsters’ criminal organization known as the Outfit.”
“Yes, all too well. We need not rehash that, I think,” Baron Hart said shortly.
“Thank you, Baron. To make this as brief as possible, in their first patrol of the area of Bristlehump, the Apparitor and his deputies were ambushed by a large contingent of bandits. They prevailed handily, of course. During the ambush, they noticed a nearby peasant woman coordinating activities with the bandits. They later returned to the farm to press her for information, and a peasant man there by the name of Rodolf agreed to give evidence. This is the writ of that evidence, as taken by your magistrate, Brother Barrelmender,” Father Morrenthall said, handing over Choke’s writ detailing Lieutenant Dixon’s involvement with the bandits under their leader, Burkhard.
Baron Hart took his time reading the document, his face grim. Then he handed it over to his uncle, who set to reading it with a happy, curious air, as though this all were nothing more than salacious entertainment for him.
“With this evidence in hand, Apparitor Bartholomew thought to challenge Lieutenant Dixon. However, events unfolded too quickly for this to occur. Following giving his evidence to Brother Barrelmender at the church, and having refused a protective escort, on his walk home the peasant Rodolf was assassinated by a hidden archer. There were no witnesses to his murder. The speculation is that the killer is the head of security for the freight yard, an Outfit man known as, Sneed. However, there is no proof of this. The next morning the apparitor made an appointment with Lieutenant Dixon for the following day, under the pretext of discussing the defense of the town. Then the apparitor and deputies met with an informant who had sought them out through an intermediary.”
Father Morrenthall paused here to allow the Baron to digest all this.
“An informant, you say? Who was it?” the Baron asked with a scowl.
“Someone well situated to know much of the corruption that was occurring in Bristlehump under Lieutenant Dixon. He told the apparitor, although not as formal evidence, it must be said, that Lieutenant Dixon had been thieving the King’s payroll meant for his soldiers. Apparently the lieutenant had significant debts with the Outfit and was being forced by them to skim the payroll. He and his subordinate conspirators ran off most of the soldiers he was meant to be commanding, essentially allowing them to desert. Then, these soldiers’ pay was never sent to Bristlehump from the fort here. I am sorry to say it, Baron, but it seems that someone here in the fort, probably your own quartermaster, has been actively stealing from the kingdom on behalf of the Outfit.”
“Impossible! Outrageous!” Baron Hart thundered, almost rising from his seat. “What proof have you of this? The word of some criminal informant? Outrageous!”
“It is outrageous, Baron. I agree. However, that does not mean it is not true,” Father Morrenthall said reasonably.
“I would know the identity of this informant! And I would have your apparitor speak for himself in this, since it is his evidence we are meant to be trusting here!” Baron Hart said sharply, glaring at Choke as he did.
“Certainly, Baron. Although he is not my apparitor. Be that as it may, Baron, do allow me to remind you that this is no interrogation. I heard Apparitor Bartholomew’s confession under a Zone of Truth spell he willingly submitted to, and questioned him thoroughly. There is no disputing the facts of this matter. So, with that in mind, Baron, please do proceed as you see fit,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Matters of fact, you say? And yet this informant’s information is mere hearsay, is it not?” Baron Hart said.
“Indeed that is so, Baron. But it fits the picture of proper evidence Apparitor Bartholomew gathered. Of which there is much more for you to hear, I must say. If you wish, I could relate that to you so that you can proceed fully aware of the situation. Or you may suit yourself in another course, Baron,” Father Morrenthall said mildly.
Baron Hart glared at Father Morrenthall, who looked back at him calmly. Finally Baron Hart swiveled his eyes Choke’s way:
“Who is this informant of yours?” he demanded.
“I will tell you, my lord,” Choke said. “But before I do, I must say that he shared this information with us at great personal risk, and was quite clear that he would not give formal evidence. We told him that we would do our best to keep him out of further troubles in this matter, my lord.”
“Oh you did, did you? Well this man is accusing one of my officers of corruption and thieving, so I do not give a two-penny fuck what you promised him. I will have his name now.”
“Yes, my lord. The informant is the teamster foreman, Bob, the boss of the freight yard in Bristlehump,” Choke said.
“And why is it that a man such as this suddenly decided to turn informant? What did you do to him?” Baron Hart asked, still glaring hard at Choke.
“We did nothing to him, my lord. He came to us of his own free will. The slaying of our witness, Rodolf, enraged him. So he took what action he could, my lord.”
“Oh, did he now. And what was it, exactly, that he told you, apparitor?” Baron Hart asked, his voice dripping with scorn as he spoke Choke’s title.
“My lord. He told us that before he was assigned to Bristlehump, Lieutenant Dixon had been corrupted by the Outfit over a debt. That in whatever incident had led to his court-marshal, strings had been pulled to keep him in the army, simply demoted in rank from captain to lieutenant. That the means by which he was repaying his debt was allowing the Outfit to skim your payroll. That the payroll box to Bristlehump from the fort was always short, with only a little extra coin for Lieutenant Dixon, his subordinates, and Bob the foreman. Further he informed us that the Outfit killer, Sneed, whom he had previously introduced to us as his chief of security, was a new arrival. That Sneed had ordered Bob to masquerade as his boss and had taken full control of Lieutenant Dixon. Bob also told us that it was Sneed that killed our witness Rodolf, although he offered us no proof of that. Finally, Bob refused to divulge the name of his Outfit boss here in Spitzer. That is all, my lord,” Bartholomew said crisply with a bow.
Baron Hart stared at Bartholomew for a long time. Finally, he said:
“All hearsay, is this not?”
“Yes, my lord. It is, my lord. But, like Father Morrenthall said, it fit well with other evidence we were gathering.”
“And what evidence would that be?”
“My lord. At no time in Bristlehump or its surrounding area did we ever see any more than ten soldiers. When we first arrived there, the palisade was unmanned. There were only three soldiers at the watchtower garrison. When we tracked down Lieutenant Dixon at a nearby brothel, I pressed him on this and asked how many soldiers he commanded. He said thirty, and that he had assigned them to bush posts. However, in our patrols we saw no evidence of this. Further, our local guide, a tenant of the church, confirmed to us that there had not been more than ten soldiers in Bristlehump for at least a year. My lord.”
Father Morrenthall leaned in and tapped the next document in the open folder in his lap.
“Let us not forget, Baron, that at this time the apparitor had solid evidence from the witness Rodolf that Lieutenant Dixon had conspired with the bandits that had attempted to kill him and his fellows for the bounty the Outfit has placed on their heads. A bounty that, I might add, Baron, has been increased to a total of ten gold since you gave their agent, Alan Mason, clemency in order to have him deliver the Outfit your order to cease and desist.”
“Yes, yes,” Baron Hart snapped, waving this away irritably, as though swatting at a fly.
“If you are satisfied with Apparitor Bartholomew’s earnestness, Baron, may I continue to relate to you the consolidated evidence? So that we may put this unpleasant business to rest with alacrity?” Father Morrenthall asked.
“Yes. Very well. Go on,” Baron Hart said sullenly.
“Thank you, Baron.” Father Morrenthall now began to clearly reference the document in his lap as he spoke, touching its finely printed text with his index finger from time to time for emphasis:
“Following their meeting with the informant, who has now been identified as Bob the teamster boss of Bristlehump, whose statement has not been included in this document of official evidence, by the way, the apparitor and his deputies did go to the village of Bristlenook on patrol. There, they had a threating exchange with Sneed and his three men in a local tavern. Following this, with Sneed and his men having gone a separate way, Otilla took it upon herself to sneak up upon a known haunt of Sneed and Lieutenant Dixon: a brothel by the name of Tully’s. There, Otilla was able to overhear this Sneed giving Lieutenant Dixon orders.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Baron Hart interrupted. “You followed this Sneed to the brothel?” he asked Peep.
“No, my lord,” Peep said, tugging her forelock as she did, in no way making the gesture seem cheeky, as she usually did.
Baron Hart stared at Peep, waiting for her to continue. She did not. Baron Hart hissed in irritation before saying:
“But yet you overheard him giving the lieutenant orders there. Explain yourself.”
“Well, my lord, we bumped into each other at the first tavern, right? And then he left the place first, we thought maybe to set up an ambush on us. But we didn’t run into that when we went back to town on bush trails. So I reckoned that with him and his boys being tuckered out from riding to Spitzer and back, Sneed probably wanted to kick back and relax with an ale before heading back to camp. But we messed that up for him, right? So, I thought it might be worth checking Tully’s to see if he was there. My lord,” Peep finished, tugging her forelock again.
“Now wait a minute, this Sneed had just travelled to Spitzer and back? This apparently just after having killed your witness. There was no mention of this so far,” Baron Hart said sharply.
“Well, that aint a crime, is it, my lord? Travelling to Spitzer, I mean. My lord. Ye’ve just been hearing the evidence, right? And ye seemed bothered by Bob’s story, what with it being hearsay, and all. So d’ye wanna hear evidence, or d’ye wanna hear the full story? My lord.” Peep said.
Baron Hart stared at Peep for a long moment, his face inscrutable. Finally, his eyes sharp upon Peep in an interested manner now, he said:
“I suppose I should hear your story, then. Proceed.”
“Right, my lord. Well, Sneed’s the one running the show for the Outfit in Bristlehump. And he was probably the one running the whole operation to kill us from Spitzer, too. Right from the start. The fucker is careful, and he likes to lay in the cut. So, he kills Rodolf, the witness, and sticks a big fishhook through his lips to send everyone a message, and then lights out for Spitzer. Obviously he’s gotta get word back to the Outfit that we’ve collected some evidence on Dixon. Then he turns around and comes right back. With Sneed gone, Bob seeks us out and spills his guts. Then we run into Sneed at the Bristlenook tavern and he plays it cute, like he’s just the freight yard security guy. So we’re stuck in this standoff situation, right? Neither of us can attack the other right out in the open, since that would be murder. So we gotta worry about him setting up an ambush on us, but we can’t really do anything to him until he makes a move, right? So I thought I should check out Tully’s and see if I couldn’t catch him with his pants down. So to speak, my lord,” Peep finished.
Baron Hart’s posture had relaxed as he listened to Peep, and he smiled at Peep’s finishing joke. Now, as he went on to question her, his bearing was as an officer debriefing a scout:
“What exactly were you hoping to find out?”
“Well, to be honest, my lord, I was hoping to get him alone so’s I could kill him. Pardon me saying so,” Peep said, glancing Father Morrenthall’s way. “I mean, we know he’s no good, and we know he’s after us, so if I can take him out without jamming us up on the legal side, I’m gonna do it. Right?”
“I see. But you didn’t get that chance, I take it. What did you overhear?” Baron Hart asked.
“Well, my lord, Sneed was on the front veranda, and I managed to creep up in the bushes just beside, around the corner of the building. I was just about take a shot when Lieutenant Dixon joined Sneed and I heard what I heard.”
“And what did you hear?”
“Plenty, my lord. Dixon was complaining that he was gonna get jammed up with us pressuring him. That the whole deal they had going was gonna be done. So Sneed tells him that’s fine by him, but that Dixon probably should take us out if he’s that worried about it. Sneed says that if he does that, his debt would probably be cleared. But even then, Sneed’s all cute about it, right? He still doesn’t come right out and say that he’s the one in charge. But then he goes on to say that if Dixon skips out on his debt, he’s gonna have his boy, Kerl, peel off Dixon’s face. Apparently that’s something Kerl does. He has a rep for that in those parts.”
“Indeed? What else did you hear?” Baron Hart asked, now clearly interested in Peep and her story.
“Well, then it got real juicy. Dixon says he can’t take us out with just his soldiers, that he needs more men. So then Sneed tells him to go get Tully, the hoor boss there, who comes out too. Sneed tells Tully to go get the ‘big man’ and tell him that Dixon is ready to make good. He should bring everyone there that night so they can work out how they’re gonna kill us. Then Sneed tells him he’s gonna fuck off to set up his next move on us, because he doesn’t have any faith in any of them. Finally, he tells Dixon that if he pulls it off, his debt is cleared. And that if he doesn’t, he’s gonna lose his face. Then he tells Tully to tell the Chisel the same. That’s it. My lord,” Peep finished.
Baron Hart thought this over for a while. He clearly had accepted the truth of the story when he proceeded:
“So you heard this Sneed coordinate the attack and order Dixon. As well, he specifically referenced the Chisel?”
“Yes, my lord,” Peep answered.
Father Morrenthall leaned forward to interject as he tapped his document. “This all is a matter of evidence, Baron. There can be no doubt of that, I assure you.”
“Yes, thank you, Father,” Baron Hart said. Then he turned back to Peep: “I suppose there is still more to this story. You may proceed.”
“Thanks, my lord. Well, now we know that Dixon and the Chisel and all their bad boys are gonna be at Tully’s plotting to kill us that night. So, I go tell the boys and we head there to deal with it. We kill everybody except Dixon, who we arrest, and I wind up burning down the joint with Stron’s fire,” Peep flashed her palms to the Baron, who nodded in some amusement at Peep’s blunt delivery of this critical news.
“Then, we ride back to the church on the bandits’ horses, with Dixon arrested, right? There’s alarm bells ringing and shit there, on account of the fire, and Barrelmender’s up and all bothered that it woke him up. The rest of the soldiers come to the square and Dixon tries to get them to unarrest him, but Barrelmender shuts that down and wails on Dixon for a bit with his staff. Then we split for Spitzer here, to take Dixon in to be arrested proper by all you fine people. But as we leave town, Dixon and Choke, I mean Bartholomew, get shot up with arrows and Dixon is killed. Gotta be Sneed that done it, but, once again, we didn’t see him do it, clever fuck that he is. And then we come here. My lord,” Peep finished.
“So Lieutenant Dixon is dead, you say,” Baron Hart said.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Killed by this Sneed scoundrel, I assume.”
“Well, yeah, my lord. Not that we can prove that, though. Didn’t see him. But who else, right?” Peep said, now completely relaxed.
“I suppose you know best,” Baron Hart said. He then leaned back in his chair and let his head roll back so that he could stare at the ceiling for a bit and have a think.
“I suppose I should read that document of evidence now, Father,” Baron Hart finally said.
Father Morrenthall nodded deeply and handed the document over.
“Is this the last of these?” Baron Hart asked.
“Yes, Baron. Although, I do think we have a little more to discuss and settle before we are done this day,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Of course, Father.”
Baron Hart read the document carefully before handing it over to his uncle. Then the Baron turned his attention back to Peep.
“So, Otilla, who exactly was it that you and your squad killed in the brothel that night?” he asked mildly.
“Well, my lord, we got Alan ‘the Chisel’ Mason. The hoormonger Tully and his two grown boys who were the Chisel’s sergeants, I suppose. All their goons. And Dixon’s sergeant. Wagner, his name was.”
“And you burned down the brothel.”
“Yes, my lord. But that was an accident. I used Stron’s fire to light up some of the men, and that lit up the roof on the joint. But, maybe that wasn’t an accident, right? I mean, it was Stron’s fire, and the place was a hoorhouse.”
“I see. Were any noncombatants harmed in the operation?”
“No, my lord. Not that we noticed, anyways. It was just the hoors and the joint’s errand boy, though. Pretty sure they all got out,” Peep answered, not looking particularly bothered about it either way.
“And your squad had no casualties.”
“That’s right, my lord,” Peep said.
Baron Hart exchanged a significant look with Father Morrenthall.
“It seems you know your business. You are earning quite the fearsome reputation as bandit killers in these parts, I am sure,” Baron Hart said.
“Yeah, I guess. Thank ye, my lord,” Peep said, tugging her forelock to him again.
“Brothers of the Holy Stone raised and trained, Baron. And Otilla with her pedigree, of course,” Father Morrenthall interjected.
“Yes, indeed. You were raised by one of Tom Rakham’s scouts, yes?” Baron Hart asked Peep.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good. I can hardly think of anyone more suitable for bandit hunting. Now, Otilla, this little scout of yours in hopes of murdering this Sneed, this is something you are prone to doing, yes?” Baron Hart asked, looking amused.
“I’m not sure what yar getting at, my lord.”
“I am told that here in town, you cut the throat of one of the Chisel’s men who was set up watching the church. Further, you eliminated one of his three-man scouting squads in Callic. You are prone to this sort of thing.”
“Yeah, I guess so, my lord. That’s scouting, aint it?” Peep asked.
“After a fashion, I suppose. Rather more something else, though. You tread a fine line. This Sneed, at the time of your scout, was the security chief of the freight yard. That could have gotten complicated and messy. Yes?”
“I guess so, my lord. Sorry.”
“I don’t mind it. Your reasoning for the whys of it was sound. In future, though, do continue to exercise good judgement and caution. And err on the side of not murdering.”
“Thank you, my lord. But about Sneed, since I heard him ordering Dixon to get the job done on us, he’s kill on sight now, right?”
“Yes, indeed he is. You shall have the warrant before your return to Bristlehump. Now, finally, Otilla: you are certain that Lieutenant Dixon was killed? He is dead. There is no doubt of it?”
“Yes, my lord. I was riding point and didn’t see it, but Bartholomew did. They targeted Dixon and pierced him up good. Then Bartholomew and his horse took arrows, but were able to ride on,” Peep said.
“Indeed?” Baron Hart said to Choke. “You look no worse for wear.”
“Yes, my lord. Otilla was able to heal me with her holy brands, my lord.”
“Ah. Yes. That gift. You are mightily blessed, praise Stron. But, just out of curiosity, no healing for Lieutenant Dixon?”
“No, my lord. He fell immediately. Surely killed, my lord,” Choke answered.
“So, Lieutenant Dixon is dead. No great loss, it seems,” Baron Hart said.
“Pardon me, my lord. But I do have his sword here with my horse. I believe that should be turned in to his commanding officer, should it not, my lord?” Choke asked.
“We shall see. Now, Bartholomew, what of Barrelmender? What do you make of him?”
“My lord?” Choke asked.
“He is my magistrate in Bristlehump. This whole catastrophe on his watch. He clearly is not worth a damn. But we are not exactly flush with candidates for his replacement. So, what do you make of him? Is he serviceable? Can he be redeemed?” Baron Hart asked.
“I believe so, my lord. I am willing to continue serving as his apparitor, at the very least, my lord,” Choke said.
“And you, Otilla?” Baron Hart asked.
“Barrelmender? Yeah, he’ll do, my lord. He’s shaping up,” Peep said.
“I suppose that is the best we can do. Now, Father Morrenthall, we have this unpleasantness with the Sheriff and his man to be resolved. I would have everything settled here today, so let us proceed, yes?”
“Yes, Baron. However, there is also the matter of the corruption of the King’s payroll to be investigated.”
Baron Hart sighed, but conceded the point with a wave of his hand.
“I suppose you have a notion for dealing with all this, Father. So let’s hear it.”
“Thank you, Baron. It seems clear to me that, at the very least, the story of this teamster leader, Bob, must be thoroughly and properly investigated. Immediately.”
“I agree. Apparitor Bartholomew shall arrest him and put him to the question with Barrelmender so that we can have some proper evidence to proceed with.”
“That would be one way to do it, Baron,” Father Morrenthall said agreeably. “However, are you prepared to deal with a labor shutdown in Spaggot?”
“A what now?”
“A labor shutdown, Baron. This Bob is a teamster boss. If he is arrested, all the teamsters in your barony will cease to work. Now, that can be dealt with, of course. And instigating such a thing so that we can make examples of the ringleaders may well be useful and good. But are you prepared to deal with all that right at this moment, Baron? We find ourselves awfully pressed on multiple fronts, after all. Perhaps there is another way, Baron.”
“Indeed? So, what do you suggest, Father?”
“I understand, Baron, that you are a hands-on leader who prefers to manage all matters within your domain personally. And I commend you for it. However, perhaps now is the time for delegation. If you were to appoint me your magistrate here in Spitzer, I am confident that I will be able to root out all the culprits and corruption, Baron,” Father Morrenthall said mildly.
“Ah. Yes, I see,” Baron Hart said, glancing his uncle’s way. Father Gerban nodded his agreement to the proposition.
“So, what would you need, Father?” Baron Hart asked Father Morrenthall.
“Just the authority to investigate properly. Wherever that might lead. I surely shall have to question your quartermaster here in the fort, as well as Sheriff Waters.”
“Questioning them, eh? And just how forcefully? Will they be of any use to us afterwards?”
“If they are worthy of redemption, then I expect they shall be. I am well experienced with this kind of thing, Baron. Rooting out heresy is not so different than doing so with baser crimes, after all,” Father Morrenthall smiled.
“Very well. Then let us lay all our cards down upon the table, yes?” Baron Hart said. “I will agree on giving you the power to investigate if we can agree on your targets. For example, if my quartermaster, Sergeant Orel, is found to be involved in this payroll scam, then, of course, he should be punished. However, if he repents his crime and names his co-conspirators, then I shall be giving him leniency at his court-martial. I would hate to throw away a useful man when rooting out these Outfit thugs is our primary objective. Yes, Father?”
“I quite agree, Baron.”
“Good. As to Sheriff Waters and his jailer. My wife, the Lady Hart, has been quite adamant that something be done about Miss Otilla’s accusations. So something must be done. However…” Baron Hart took a long pause to stare at Peep, “we must understand that this jailer is a torturer and executioner by trade. When I sentence a criminal to have his ears cut off and face branded, who do you think does this for me? I cannot say I am particularly bothered if the creature also violates his prisoners in more unsavory ways from time to time.”
Baron Hart again paused to stare at Peep, challenging her to dare to challenge him. When she did not, he continued:
“But, the Lady Hart has been quite insistent. So, an example must be made. And doing so publicly, so that all may understand and be warned, would be all to the good, I should think, Father. Yes?”
“I quite agree, Baron. I think this jailer would serve as a fine example than none can hold themselves above the laws of Altas or Stron, praise them. Least of all our sheriff,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Yes, least of all him. Question him privately as you will, Father. He is an intelligent man. He will surely understand that repentance and full cooperation will lead to forgiveness. And however frightened you need him to be first, I do expect you to make sure he understands that, Father. Whatever his failings might be, Waters is a good sheriff who has a keen understanding of Spaggot. Not easily replaced, is what I am saying. So, if some unsavory diddling of criminals and lining his pockets to look the other way for the Outfit is the worst of his crimes, then I think he can be redeemed.”
“I quite agree, Baron. Assuming he cooperates fully and helps us disentangle your industries from the Outfit’s clutches,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Yes. Assuming that, of course. I trust you can negotiate it, Father.”
“I shall do my very best, Baron. With Stron’s help, of course,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Of course, Father. So, with all this agreed upon, I hereby appoint you my magistrate here in Spitzer. Uncle, can you prepare the necessary document for Magistrate Morrenthall before he leaves today?” Baron Hart asked.
Father Gerban nodded and immediately set about penning said document.
“Will you have need of any men, Father?” Baron Hart asked Father Morrenthall.
“I think not, Baron. In the short term, I am perfectly satisfied to use Apparitor Bartholomew and his men, as well as Otilla. Then, I am quite confident that very shortly I shall have all the help I should need, Baron,” Father Morrenthall said with a deep nod.
“Very well, Father. Thank you,” the Baron said.
“Thank you, Baron,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Right!” Baron Hart clapped his hands down on his knees loudly. “Spitzer is settled, then. Happy hunting, Father.”
Baron Hart now turned to stare at Choke and Peep before saying:
“So! What are we to do about Bristlehump now, eh?”
Muse Vassal 