Table of Contents – (spoilers)
In the church of Spitzer, the central town of Spaggot Barony, Father Spencer Morrenthall, cleric of the militant Stronian order, the Knights of the Holy Sword, prepared to take up his new duties as Spitzer’s magistrate. The document of his position had been filed, and his torturer had been sent for, so his preparations now were mental, as he planned his moves in his mission to root out the corruption in the barony.
Out in the church yard, the Pekot Bunch were discussing their change of fortunes as they waited for the church’s custodian, Mrs Dunn, to serve lunch. Choke had just been commissioned as a lieutenant in the King’s army by the Baron Hart, and had the option of taking on Knuckle and Pinch as his sergeants. Peep was to come on as an irregular scout.
“So, what? We’re in the fuckin army now?” Knuckle griped.
“Well, I am. I’ll not compel you to join against your will. If you have a better idea of what to do with yourself, then you can go on and do it,” Choke snapped.
“That’s not what I meant! I’m with ye, Choke. Ye know that. But the army? Fuck! I thought the whole reason we came out here to help Barrelmender was so’s we could avoid having to join up!”
“Well, joining up as recruits with Sir Garret is not the same thing as being brought in as an officer and sergeants by a lord,” Pinch said.
“Yeah. I guess,” Knuckle conceded. “How much does it pay?”
“How should I know?” Choke yelled. “More than the nothing that you’re getting paid now!”
“Yeah, but we aint getting bossed around by assholes now!” Knuckle came back at him.
“Sergeants are the assholes who do the bossing, mostly. It could be a lot worse,” Pinch said.
“Yeah, and it could be a lot fuckin better, too,” Knuckle returned.
“I am sorry this is not what you wanted! I am sorry!” Choke exploded. “The facts are this: I am now a lieutenant in the army! My commander is Captain Edison! If the two of you decide to come along with me, you are my sergeants! That’s it!”
With this, Choke stomped off into the stables to brush down Nike, his warhorse.
“Fuck. What’s up his ass? I was just saying,” Knuckle said when he was gone.
“He’s just raw because the Father made him feel like he’s letting down the whole religion by joining the lowly army of Bitina. He’ll get over it,” Peep said.
“So we’re in the fuckin army now,” Knuckle said morosely.
“Speak for yarselves, fucker. I’m an irregular scout!” Peep said happily.
“Well, ye got that right,” Pinch smirked.
“Yeah, fuck you. Like yar the model of an army sergeant, Pinch. This is gonna be hilarious, the four of us trying to fit in over there at the fort!” Peep laughed.
“Oh fuck…” Knuckle moaned.
“Fuck it. Let’s smoke a bowl. I’ve been dying to get into that dank weed I got from Father Thickmeat Thad the vag wrangler,” Peep said.
The three of them smoked up just in time for Mrs Dunn’s lunch, which was a wholesome, hearty feed as usual. Father Morrenthall did not join them in the kitchen, instead taking his meal in his office, as usual. They were almost through the meal, when a figure startled them by suddenly appearing at the open kitchen door.
Mrs Dunn, who was cleaning up her kitchen bench, yelped when she saw him. She closed her eyes and breathed harshly through her nose while she collected herself.
The man was obviously some manner of bushrat: normal height but burly, and furry like a bear. He was wearing a grubby deerskin tunic with his dirt-encrusted bare legs and feet sticking out. He had a hunting bow and quiver over his shoulder and a buck knife and hand axe on his belt. In the man’s hand was a large, leather satchel with proper handles that actually looked like it once had been proper luggage. Now it was as filthy as the man holding it. Even standing outside as he was, the sour stink coming off the creature was blistering.
“Ah, there you are, Srecko,” Mrs Dunn finally managed. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Do you want something to eat?”
“Uhhhhhhhnnm,” Srecko said in an affirmative grunt.
“Well, go sit at the bench by the stables and I’ll bring you out a plate,” Mrs Dunn said.
Srecko stared wordlessly at Mrs Dunn for several beats longer than was remotely acceptable. Then he turned and left.
“Okay… who’s that?” Peep said.
“That’s Srecko. He assists Father Morrenthall in helping the wicked repent of their sins,” Mrs Dunn said. She then took a while to dig an old wooden bowl out of the back of one of her cupboards. This she filled with food with all the care one might give to slopping for a pig.
When Mrs Dunn took Srecko his lunch outside, Peep went to peek out the door and watch her hand the bowl over.
“Well, that guy gives me the fuckin creeps. I hope he doesn’t fuck our horses while he’s out there,” Peep said as she returned to the table.
When they had eaten, Mrs Dunn took a quick measurement of Choke’s shoulders for his epaulettes before retreating to her chamber to get to work on them. Then it was just another few minutes before Father Morrenthall joined them in the kitchen.
“You have secured your documents, Lieutenant?” Father Morrenthall asked Choke, referring to the official documents penned that morning by the Baron’s steward, Father Gerban: the first his commission as lieutenant, the second affirming his position of magistrate’s apparitor of Bristlehump, and, the third, a death warrant for Sneed and all who would aid and abet him.
“Yes, Father. They are with my Holy Book,” Choke answered.
“Good. Now, this afternoon we are first going to pay a visit to the Sheriff to inform him of our new positions. Then we shall go to the jail tower to arrest his jailer, Billy, and put him to the question. Now, I do not know how familiar you all are with this sort of thing, so pardon me if what I tell you now seems obvious. This is my investigation. You are my muscle. When it comes time to arrest someone, Bartholomew and Theodas shall restrain them. If he resists with weapons, do your best to take him alive. To this end, serious leg and arm wounds are fine. I can heal those. Just do not chop them right off. Understood?” Father Morrenthall asked Choke and Knuckle, who both nodded. He then turned to Peep and Pinch:
“As lighter troops, when things kick off, I want you watching our backs. Bows at the ready. Anyone attempting to interfere with a lawful arrest can be put down, but do use your discretion. If, for example, a man’s wife or children become belligerent in their distress, lethal force is not warranted. Yes?”
“Yes, Father,” Peep said as Pinch nodded away beside her.
“Good. Now, when we are on such a law enforcement mission, I do not want any of you speaking. I do the talking. Speak only when I tell you to, or if you notice something critical in regards to security. Your role is to intimidate and subdue. Then, once we have a subject in custody in the dungeon, you may retire upstairs if you so wish. I understand that sort of work is hard for some to take part in or to witness, and I will not hold it against any of you who do not wish to engage in it. However, I do ask that if you feel at all squeamish about this, that you retire before the interrogation commences. I do not want anyone leaving midway through. Join from start to finish, or not at all. It is your choice. Yes?”
“Yes, Father,” they said.
“Any questions?” he asked.
“Yeah, just one, Father,” Peep said, raising her hand. “That Srecko guy out at the stables; he’s the one that’s gonna be doing the actual hands-on torturing, right?”
“Yes, that is correct, Otilla. That is his role. Putting a sadist such as him to good use in this sort of regrettably vital work is to the good. Those such as him otherwise turn to banditry, or worse, to satisfy their depraved compulsions.”
“Okay, thanks, Father. Got it. But what I also meant was: if we stay in the dungeon during the interogation, we’re not gonna have to be the ones to do the actual torturing, right?”
“Ah. Yes, that is right, Otilla. Does this displease you? We’re you hoping to mete out some vengeance of your own beyond our lawful exercise?” Father Morrenthall looked at her sharply.
“What? No, Father. I aint into that kinda thing. If I was gonna do that, I’d a just cut his throat a good while ago. But I’ll be happy to hang out and watch yar knuckle-dragger do his thing,” Peep said.
“Well, that is a relief, I am sure,” Father Morrenthall said dryly. “Be that as it may, however, I do not expect we shall require much of that sort of thing for this Billy wretch. His kind are inevitably cowards, and know all too well from their own experience that resistance only prolongs and worsens the agony. He shall break almost immediately, I am sure.”
“Sounds good, Father. And then what happens to him?” Peep asked.
“Then, tomorrow morning, I expect, I shall cleanse him with Stron’s holy fire in a public execution.”
“So he burns,” Peep said, obviously quite pleased.
“Yes. But this is no mere burning. This is a ritual of cleansing with Stron’s Holy Fire. For cleansing fire to work, the subject must freely submit to it. Such as Nikolas did when repenting of his crime and sin of adultery,” Father Morrenthall gestured towards Pinch with a smile.
“So… wait, Father, just so’s I understand this. If Billy doesn’t say that he’s sinful and that he repents and asks for forgiveness, then the fire doesn’t work?” Peep asked, confused as she looked down at the Wheel brands in her palms.
“That is just so, Otilla. Stron’s cleansing fire must be accepted willingly by the penitent. Else it is simply his punishing fire, such as you wield, Otilla.”
“Well, that oughta work,” Peep said.
“If by that you mean that it shall kill him, Otilla, then you are indeed correct. However, for his soul to be cleansed of its sin before its judgement, he must ask for the cleansing fire. And, let me just say, that in my opinion, receiving the cleansing fire is much better than the punishing. Death by cleansing fire is generally much quicker.”
“Generally, Father?” Peep asked.
“Yes. Generally speaking, with most priests, death by cleansing fire is faster than death by punishing fire. That is, if there is enough sin in the subject to be fully consumed. The sin burns from within, after all,” Father Morrenthall explained patiently.
“So, what yar saying, Father, is that how fast the death by punishing fire is depends on the priest. Right? So it depends on how ye choose to burn them up.”
“Just so, Otilla. You are a quick study! Indeed. I, for one, feel it is important to set an example for the flock with those that obstinately refuse to earnestly repent,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Right. Got it, Father. Now, if ye don’t mind, about this cleansing fire…”
“Not at all, Otilla. I am happy to answer whatever questions you might have,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Thank you, Father. So, this must mean that cleansing fire and punishing fire are different spells, right? What kind of fire is it that I have in Stron’s Wheels here?” Peep asked, holding her palms out.
“Good question, Otilla. Excellent! They are indeed different spells. The fire you wield is the punishing variety. Not dissimilar from the spell that arcane casters call, Flaming Hands. The spell, Cleansing Fire, is one specific to we clerics of Stron. It must be willingly accepted by the repentant.”
“And if they don’t willingly accept it, Father?”
“Then the spell does not function. Nothing happens.”
“Interesting. And what happens if ye use Cleansing Fire on someone that doesn’t have any sin in them?” Peep asked.
“Well, you experienced this yourself, Otilla, during your baptism. In your baptism, all your sin was cleansed, and so the fire did not harm you. And so it goes with a priest’s absolution during confession.”
“Right. So, as the priest, you can choose whether or not to absolve someone with fire or without,” Peep said.
“Just so. It is my discretion. Any other questions?” Father Morrenthall asked the squad at large.
They all shook their heads. Pinch did so rather sullenly.
“Good. Then let us prepare for our visit to the sheriff. Mounted and fully equipped for combat, I think. Bartholomew: if you could help me into my armor, I would be obliged to you.”
***
Sheriff Waters was at his leisure outside his office, leaning back in a chair on the boardwalk with his boots up on a hitching post. He stood up smartly as Father Morrenthall rode up to him with the squad spread out behind him.
Father Morrenthall looked splendid, with longsword on his hip and his crisp, black robes overtop of his chainmail. He had his helmet on with its visor raised. Behind him, the squad were all kitted up for battle, with Choke now in just his chainmail, like Knuckle. However, Dixon’s fine longsword on his hip starkly set Choke apart from his fellows.
Peep, despite the warmth of the day, had opted to ride with the back wolfhead of her cloak up, which hid her features in shadow. In her left hand was her overpowered shortbow. In her right, she twirled an arrow between her fingers.
Behind all of them, the torturer, Srecko, lurked on his little bush pony, with his leather case of tools cradled on the saddle in front of him.
“Sheriff Waters. A good day to you, sir,” Father Morrenthall said as he reined up.
“And to you, Father,” Waters said stiffly as his two deputies came out of the office to stand on the boardwalk.
“You seem almost as though you were expecting me. May I suppose you know why I am here?” Father Morrenthall asked mildly.
Sheriff Waters cast a worried glance first at Srecko, and then towards his own men.
“No, Father. I haven’t heard anything. I mean, besides that you met with the Baron and his steward in Fort Spitzer this morning.”
“Well, then, I suppose security in the fort is not quite as porous as I had feared. Good. So then, Sheriff, I shall be the first to tell you the good news. A happy day for you, sir!” Father Morrenthall said with genuine good cheer.
“Father?” Sheriff Waters asked.
“The burden of your responsibilities has been greatly lightened today, Sheriff. You need not take on the role of magistrate anymore. With things heating up around here, the Baron has seen fit to delegate those responsibilities officially.”
“Father? Magistrate? Where? Here?” Sheriff Waters babbled.
“Yes, Sheriff. The position of magistrate of Spitzer, so long vacant, has been officially filled. Which, I am sure, must come as a great relief to you, since it seems to me that you were quite overburdened by taking on much of that role yourself. In an unofficial capacity, of course,” Father Morrenthall smiled maliciously down at the Sheriff from his warhorse.
“There is a magistrate of Spitzer?” Sheriff Waters blinked.
“Indeed, yes. Do try to keep up, Sheriff. It shall be ever so tiresome if you insist on repeating everything I say several times. You seem quite shocked. Surely you did not think somehow that you were the magistrate here, did you?” Father Morrenthall laughed. “Oh, my dear man, no. I am sure the Baron quite appreciates the help you were able to afford him in your capacity as sheriff. But that shall no longer be necessary.”
“Who is supposed to be the magistrate?” Sheriff Waters snapped, his ire finally rising through his shock.
“Why, I am the magistrate, Sheriff. Who else?” Father Morrenthall said.
“I… You. You’ve been made the magistrate, Father?” Sheriff Waters blanched as he looked from Father Morrenthall over to Srecko and back to the priest again.
“Indeed, yes. And my first official duty is to inform you of such, Sheriff.”
“Well… uhhh… This is official, Father?” Waters asked.
“Indeed, yes.”
“Okay. Well, uhhm, can I see the document of that?”
“No. That is filed away safely in the church. Do you assume I am lying to you, Sheriff?” Father Morrenthall asked.
“No. It’s just that… No.”
“Good. If you want to make certain, though, you can always go on up to the fort and have a word with Father Gerban. He can fill you in on all the particulars, I am sure. So, you now have been duly informed of my position. I suppose I should also pass along the news that young Bartholomew here has been commissioned by Baron Hart as a lieutenant under his command, with his two fellows to be his sergeants. He is to be given a platoon of thirty men to garrison Bristlehump properly. Just so that you know.”
“He’s a lieutenant? In the army?” Sheriff Waters glared hard at Choke.
“Indeed. Yes.”
“And Otilla of the Holy Fire, Father? Is she in the army now as well?”
“No, Sheriff. She is not. With her special status as a Holy Vessel, she is to be something of a free agent. I believe that it is her decision to come along with Lieutenant Bartholomew, to be brought on as an irregular scout. I think this is a fine idea. It should afford her the freedom to do Stron’s work without too many restrictions. As the spirit of the Holy Fire guides her, of course,” Father Morrenthall said pleasantly.
“Yeah, of course,” Sheriff Waters muttered in horror.
“So, with this, I do believe we are nearly done here, Sheriff. I shall just take possession of the keys for the jail tower and be on my way. Thank you.”
“Keys? The jail tower?”
“My, we are quite the mimic today, aren’t we Sheriff? Yes, the jail tower’s keys, if you please. As magistrate I shall now take over there,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Right. Yeah. The keys.” Sheriff Waters gestured to his nearest deputy to go and get them. “I’ll come along with you then, Father, and help. Anything you need. My people will—”
“Thank you so much for the offer, Sheriff,” Father Morrenthall interrupted, “but I think I prefer to handle my duties myself, with my own people’s assistance. However, tomorrow I should like to talk with you about the state of things here in Spitzer. How does just after lunch sound to you?”
“Tomorrow? After lunch?”
“Yes. You can give me your report on whatever you think I ought to know. That would be most welcome. Thank you,” Father Morrenthall said. Then as the deputy came back out of the office with an iron ring with several big keys, he nodded politely as he accepted them. “Thank you, deputy. And now, with that, I shall be off to the tower to commence my duties. Thank you so much, Sheriff Waters. A good day to you, sir.”
“Uhhh, yeah. Good day to you too, Father,” Sheriff Waters managed as Father Morrenthall set his horse off towards the tower with Choke and the others following close behind.
Muse Vassal 