Table of Contents – (spoilers)
In the dungeon under the jail tower of Spitzer, Father Spencer Morrenthall was interrogating its former jailer, Billy. He had just asked the man to tell him what he knew about the Outfit.
“The Outfit, Father?” Billy stammered.
“Yes. The Outfit. The criminal organization that controls the teamsters. The Outfit. You do know of them, don’t you?”
“Well… yeah. I suppose I heard about them. But they don’t got nothing to do with me. What about them, Father?”
“Do you have any dealings with them?”
“No, Father. Not that I know of, at any rate,” Billy answered.
Father Morrenthall nodded as his active Detect Lies spell told him that Billy was being truthful.
“And what about the Sheriff? Does he have any dealings with the Outfit that you know of?” Father Morrenthall asked.
Billy thought about this for a bit. “I’m not really sure, Father. I’m sorry. I just tend the jail here. I don’t really know who he has dealings with. I’m sorry, Father,” Billy said, his voice quivering in despair.
“No, it is quite alright, Billy. You know what you know. I just ask that you be truthful about it.”
Father Morrenthall stood and had a quiet think for a while before he again spoke:
“Billy. How do things normally work here? This is your jail, yes? You live here.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Who is it that usually brings prisoners here?”
“Well, that’s soldiers, usually, Father.”
“Do any soldiers in particular come around more often? Who is it that you usually deal with in these matters?” asked Father Morrenthall.
“Well, Father. That’s usually Sergeant Euan.”
“Ah, yes. That makes sense,” Father Morrenthall nodded. He then turned to speak to Peep: “Sergeant Euan is Lieutenant Hamon’s man. Lieutenant Hamon is usually in charge of security matters here in town. Lieutenant Cooper has the fort.”
Peep nodded, but said nothing.
Father Morrenthall turned back to Billy:
“Now, once the prisoners are here and need to be interrogated and charged, who is it that does that?”
“That’s usually Sheriff Waters, Father. But, sometimes, if it’s a serious crime, we take them to the fort and the Baron does that,” Billy answered.
“Very good. And then you carry out the sentences. Hang them, brand them, or cut off their ears and the like. Yes?”
“Yes, Father. That’s my job.”
“I understand. Now, it is during some of these interrogations that you and Sheriff Waters engage in the sexual behavior we talked about earlier. Yes?”
“Yes, Father. I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was wrong!”
“I understand that. And you shall have your chance to repent of your sins, I assure you. But, before that, you must answer my questions,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Yes, Father. I’m sorry, Father.”
“Now, do you specifically remember any of the women that Sheriff Waters took upstairs? Their names? Who they were connected with? Any details that might help me find them?”
Billy thought long and hard about that.
“No, Father,” he finally answered. “I’m sorry. They was just nobodies, ye know? Hoors caught up in fights between men, mostly. Or vagrants. Ye know, bandit followers and the like. Not proper townspeople.”
“I understand. Do you remember the last woman Sheriff Waters took upstairs? How long ago was it?”
Again, Billy strained to wring anything useful from his brain. Again, he failed.
“No. I’m sorry, Father. I’m not good at time and stuff like that. I’m sorry, Father.”
“That’s alright, Billy. Now, I’m going to ask you a bit of a different kind of question. About the way things work here. There is a normal way of doing things. Yes? Prisoners are brought by soldiers, or the Sheriff and his deputies. They are locked up, perhaps interrogated, judged, and punished. That is the normal pattern, yes?”
“Yes, Father. That’s just how it is,” Billy answered quickly.
“Good. So, you have a good sense of how things normally go here. Now, I want you to think very carefully, Billy. Have there ever been things that happened that were not normal? For example: were there prisoners brought here who were treated differently than prisoners usually are? Did any unusual people visit any prisoners with the Sheriff, or any soldiers? Take your time and think about it,” Father Morrenthall said calmly.
Billy did just that. He thought for a good long while. Peep shuffled her feet impatiently as he did, but Father Morrenthall waited with a pleasant smile on his face the whole time. Finally, Billy spoke up:
“I guess so, Father. I mean, some time back, these ones ye have with ye here were brought in. And the girl, Miss Otilla of the Holy Flames, I mean, was brought down here. And then that ranger feller of yars, he came with the Sheriff and talked to them all while I cleaned up their killings. So that’s unusual, just as ye said, right?”
“Exactly so, Billy! Good! Now, have there been any other such unusual happenings?” Father Morrenthall asked.
Billy thought some more.
“Yeah, I guess so, Father. Nothing that unusual, really. But, sometimes, mind, when there’s teamsters getting themselves in trouble, one of their bosses comes around to talk to the Sheriff and gets them let go. Ye know, without any punishing. And we never rough them up much. So, that’s unusual right?”
Father Morrenthall nodded emphatically. Encouraged, and now quite eager to be of help, Billy went on excitedly:
“Yeah! That’s right, Father! Some months back, there was a killing, right? One of the teamster fellers stabbed up a sawmill worker over a hoor and killed him. He got drug in by Sergeant Euan. And I thought for sure that we was gonna string him up and stretch his neck come morning. But, instead, that teamster boss come around with Sheriff Waters and then they just let him go.”
“There we are, Billy! Very helpful, indeed! Jolly good work!”
“Thank you, Father!”
“Now, this teamster boss. Do you know his name?” Father Morrenthall asked.
“No, I’m sorry, Father,” Billy deflated. “I aint no good with names. But I am good with faces! I’d know him again in an instant if I was to see him.”
“Would you? What does he look like?”
“Well, he’s a real big feller. With a big gut. He’s got real bushy muttonchop whiskers with a good amount of grey in them. And he’s bald on top, mostly, and usually wears a wool cap with a peak. But when he gets hot, he wipes his face off with the cap and ye can see he’s bald. And he’s got this funny, longer tuft of hair out the front of his head, like some kinda island in all the baldness. And he’s got two gold teeth up top. That’s him, for sure, Father!”
“Well now, Billy. What a marvelous witness you have become. Good work. I am very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Father. So… does that mean that I can come back upstairs with ye?” Billy asked, trembling like a hopeful schoolboy.
“No. I am sorry, Billy. You are still under arrest for your sinful crimes. And you must answer for them. So you shall have to stay down here for the time being. But we shall make you as comfortable as we can until it is time for you to repent. Srecko, could you please lock Billy up in that cage over there? Thank you,” Father Morrenthall gestured to a big holding cage in a corner with a stout wooden bench.
“Oh. Okay,” Billy said glumly. “Well, thank ye, for yar kindness, Father. I wanna repent. I’ll do it, Father. I’ll repent so good! Ye’ll see!”
“That’s good. Now you go into your cage and be good. We shall bring you some food and water soon, and I’ll leave the light down here so that you shall not be in the dark. You have earned that much.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Once Srecko had locked Billy up in the cage, Father Morrenthall looked to Knuckle:
“Sergeant, please open up the trapdoor so that we can go upstairs. We are finished down here. For now.”
Once they were all back upstairs, Father Morrenthall moved over to the stove to peek over Pinch’s shoulder into his big cookpot.
“Well, dinner looks to be coming along nicely,” Father Morrenthall said happily, patting Pinch on the shoulder. “But, we have much more to do before then. Srecko,” Father Morrenthall turned his torturer’s way.
“Yes, Father,” Srecko said sullenly.
“Would you please go back to the church and get the burning Wheel? You may use the mule and cart to bring it here. Then, bring enough wood for a burning. You may get that from the stacks behind the church stables. Set all that up at the crossroads just out front here. Near the gibbet, but not so near that we burn it, too.”
“Yes, Father. Now?”
“Yes, please. Then, once that is all set up, return the mule and cart to the church. After that, you may come back here. I shall want you to move into the tower to take up duties as jailer. So take what time you need to go back to your cabin and collect your things. Your pony will be stabled here.”
“Oh! Okay, Father!” Srecko said, perking up at this news.
“Yes. Do a good job and you shall be rewarded. But remember what we talked about downstairs, and don’t go taking any liberties that will get you into trouble like Billy. Yes?”
“Yes, Father,” Srecko said.
“However, if tonight you wish to go downstairs to visit the prisoner, that would be okay. You may show him your anus stick and talk to him all you want. You may even tell him that you will use your stick on him. However, you are not to actually use the stick on him. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Father,” Srecko said.
“So what did I tell you about the anus stick? Tell me.”
“Ye told me that I can show it to the prisoner, and I can tell him that I’m gonna put it up his anus. But, I’m not allowed to actually do it. That’s right, aint it, Father?”
“Exactly right. Now please go to the church and get the burning Wheel.”
When Srecko was gone, Father Morrenthall rolled his head back and moved it around in a stretch as he released a long sigh. Then he looked to Choke, who was staring at him.
“Delegation, Lieutenant. Delegation is one of the keys to command. To that end: know your people. To be of use to us, to the faith, indeed, Srecko needs to be able to express himself a little in his job. And the fear his performance shall give the prisoner is just deserts indeed, I should think. Exactly the sort of torment he and his master inflicted on so many. He should feel something of it himself, before I allow him to repent of his sins.”
“Understood, Father.”
“Good. Now, we had a very productive session with the wretch. Very productive. He gave us some information that I think we shall be able to pursue immediately. So, I think I would like to do that now. Lieutenant, you and Miss Otilla shall accompany me. Sergeants: you hold the jail here. You may feed and water the prisoners in your time. Including Billy downstairs. Keep the door shut and barred. Let no one in but the Baron himself. Ah. But you may let Srecko in, of course, whenever he is done with his errands. Any questions?”
“Uhhhm,” Pinch said shifting awkwardly. “About Srecko, Father. Should we be keeping an eye on him when he’s downstairs with the prisoner? He’s not going to go ahead and… uh… anus stick the guy, is he?”
“No, Sergeant, that shouldn’t be necessary. Srecko is a sadist, and an odd duck. But he cleaves to my word like gospel. He shall not stray. Thank you for your preemptive thinking, though. It is good to be cautious. Okay then, shall we?” Father Morrenthall asked Choke and Peep, as he gestured to the door.
The three of them mounted up and rode out into the crossroads right in front of the tower. There, Father Morrenthall reined up as he looked around at the space with a speculative eye.
“So, Father. Are we gonna burn Billy here?” Peep asked.
“Oh indeed we are. He must repent of his sins. That will surely consume him in fire,” Father Morrenthall said matter-of-factly.
“Okay. That’s good. And don’t get me wrong, Father, I’m all for it. But he has been helping us out. That doesn’t get him off the hook?” asked Peep.
“No, Otilla. It does not. What it does is earn him some mercy in how I apply his cleansing. But he must be made an example of. You heard the Baron on the matter. The Baroness must be placated.”
“Okay. I get that. So, just so’s I understand the situation, Father. What if all he did was feel me up a bit. Would he still burn just because the Baroness wanted it?” Peep pushed.
Father Morrenthall frowned at her.
“What are you on about, child?” he asked her sharply. “This is what you wanted. You orchestrated the situation. But, to answer your question: no. I would not mete out any punishment that his sin did not warrant. But that is not the case. So he must burn. And in that, he shall serve as an example to the flock. These are performative measures we take. And politics always plays its role.”
“And what about Sheriff Waters?”
“The Baron wants him spared. And, so, I will do what I can to manage that. Assuming, of course, the man is redeemable,” Father Morrenthall said.
“And if he aint?”
“Then he shall burn, too. And the Baron shall have to bother himself finding a more suitable sheriff. Satisfied, Otilla? May we proceed with the business of the day?” Father Morrenthall asked, his previous irritation relaxing just a little.
“Yeah, for sure, Father!” Peep said, giving him a cheerful thumbs up. “So what’s the plan?”
“Well, we are going to find this teamster boss that Billy spoke of. Then we shall introduce ourselves to him and make sure we all understand each other.”
“Okay. Sounds good!”
“I am glad you approve, Otilla. Now, to be clear: We shall be doing our utmost to avoid a labor dispute at this time. So, I shall be doing all the talking. You and Lieutenant Bartholomew are there to back me up. Look menacing. Take stock of the heads to be taken if things go poorly. But no instigation. Clear?”
“Yes, Father. Understood,” Peep said.
Choke simply nodded.
The teamster depot in Spitzer was out of town just a little ways up the Spitz river on the road to Callic, located near the lumbermills that were the main source of freight. The depot was a large, two-storied wooden building with a warehouse on the first floor and an office on the second. The office had glass-paned windows affording a good view of the yard all around. On the second floor of the building, facing the Callic road, there was a wide, railed balcony with an exterior staircase. To the side of the depot building, there was a stockyard with attached stables and sheds for the horse, mule, and ox teams, and the large yard for the staging of the carts and wagons.
Father Morrenthall rode into the depot yard with Peep and Choke flanking him like bodyguards. Fully armored under his black robes, with his sword on his hip and shield hung on his saddle emblazoned with the symbol of his order, he cut an intimidating figure.
It was mid-afternoon, and the yard was a bit quiet. Next to the stockyard, a few men were working to replace an axle on a heavy wagon. Besides that, no other work was being done.
As Father Morrenthall rode through the yard towards the depot building, four men came out onto the depot’s second floor balcony. When Father Morrenthall, Peep, and Choke reined up just under them, they saw that two of the men were the Sheriff’s deputies. The other two men were clearly teamsters. The bigger of the two was just as Billy had described the teamster boss who had visited the jail to get the teamster murderer released: a large-framed fat man with greying muttonchop whiskers and a peaked wool cap.
“Good day to you, sirs!” Father Morrenthall hailed them.
“Father,” the big teamster boss said.
“I don’t believe we have had the pleasure to be introduced, sir. I am Spencer Morrenthall, cleric of the Knights of the Holy Sword, and the newly appointed magistrate of Spitzer. What might your name be, sir?” Father Morrenthall called up to the boss.
“Wes. What can I do for ye, Father?”
“I would like a word with you, Wes. Is now a convenient time for you? Or, shall I return at a later time of your choosing?”
Wes glowered down at Father Morrenthall and his two goons, Peep and Choke, for a while before answering:
“I suppose now’s as good a time as any. D’ye wanna come on up?”
“Thank you, sir. We shall.”
Father Morrenthall, Peep, and Choke tethered their horses at a hitching post by the warehouse’s main door, just beside the two riding horses that surely belonged to the sheriff’s deputies. Then Father Morrenthall led the way up the stairs with Choke following close on his heels and Peep lingering in the rear with her shortbow in hand.
When Father Morrenthall was up on the balcony, Wes turned to the two deputies:
“Okay then, boys. Thanks for stopping by. You tell Waters not to worry: I’m on it.”
“Alright. Will do, Wes,” the elder deputy said with poorly feigned calm. He and the other deputy tipped their hats to Father Morrenthall before heading down the stairs and riding off.
Ignoring Wes and his man, Father Morrenthall stood at the balcony railing to watch the deputies. Instead of turning left at the Callic road to return to town, they went right in the direction of the Elk and Quiver tavern, a known haunt of bandit and mercenary types.
Wes glared hard at Choke during this awkward pause, doing his best to stare him down. Choke stared back, dead calm, with his hand on the hilt of his dagger.
“So! Wes!” Father Morrenthall said cheerfully. “May I suppose that our good sheriff’s deputies have filled you in on all the latest of our community’s developments?”
“Well, I doubt it. But they told me however much the sheriff knows, I reckon. Why don’t ye step into my office and ye can tell me whatever it is that you want me to know. Father? Magistrate? What is it I should be calling ye now?”
“Father is fine, if you feel at all religiously infused about it. Sir will suffice if you’d rather interact with me in more secular terms. Be that as it may, I am here to talk to you on magisterial matters.”
“Well then, sir. Why don’t ye step into my office and we can get that over with?” Wes said, gesturing to the open door nearby.
Wes’ office occupied about a third of the building’s footprint and all of its second floor. As with Murray’s office at Double Horseshoes Freight, Wes’ office looked down on the warehouse space on the first floor and had a staircase down to it. The office was comfortably cluttered and had a good number of chairs to choose from. To the side of Wes’ big desk was a large weapon rack housing three good-quality crossbows and an assortment of melee weapons.
Wes took a seat behind his desk.
“Have a seat,” he said to Father Morrenthall. “D’ye mind if my man stays? I’d like to have a witness on my side of things.”
“Of course I do not mind, sir. But who says we are on opposing sides? We have not even begun to establish our relationship. I do hope we can work productively together going forward,” Father Morrenthall said mildly as he took a seat.
Choke and Peep both remained standing. Choke stayed just back and to the side of Morrenthall, his hard gaze still on Wes. With her shortbow still in hand, Peep moved over a little so that she could keep an eye on the warehouse downstairs.
Obviously extremely tense, Wes’ man took up a position near the weapon rack.
“I don’t know why I might think we’re opponents, sir,” Wes said. “Might have something to do with the company yar keeping. Nice sword, boy. Wherever did ye get that?” Wes said to Choke pointing at Lieutenant Dixon’s fine cavalry sword on his hip.
“From Baron Hart, when he presented it to me along with my commission as lieutenant in the Royal Bitina Army,” Choke said with a cold smile.
“Well, okay then. What happened to its previous owner?” Wes asked Choke.
Father Morrenthall raised his hand to interpose: “I think, sir, that really is none of your concern at the moment. Shall we focus on the matters at hand?”
“Yeah. Sure. Let’s do that. Would ye like anything to drink, sir?” Wes asked Father Morrenthall.
“No, thank you. So, Wes: may I call you Wes?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Thank you. Now, Wes, as magistrate of Spitzer, I have been given a mandate by Baron Hart to clean up the corruption that has been allowed to fester here. However, I am ashamed to say that I have been quite remiss in keeping myself apprised of such mundane matters in town here. My focus until now has been religious, and I find myself somewhat adrift at the moment, without a proper notion of where to start. So, I do hope you will pardon me if I rely on you to give me some information that surely must seem quite basic to you. Whatever help you can give me would be most appreciated.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll do what I can,” Wes said.
“Thank you, Wes. Now, first of all, are you the lead teamster here in town? Are you the boss here?”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve been running things for a few years here.”
“Ah. A few years, you say. And yet I have never once seen you in church,” Father Morrenthall stared at Wes deadpan for a few beats after he said this, before breaking into a cold smile. “I jest, of course. Your soul’s trajectory is entirely your own business.”
“Alright then,” Wes said tersely.
“Now, Wes, it seems to me that you have been quite helpful to Sheriff Waters in his duties. I hope I can similarly rely on you.”
“How is that?” Wes asked.
“Well, apparently, you have been known to coordinate with him on matters of law and order. I don’t have that wrong, do I?” Father Morrenthall asked.
“Coordinate is probably overstating it, sir. When my boys get in trouble, it’s my job to try to help them out as best as I can. That’s all,” Wes said, taking off his wool cap so that he could rub the sweat from his face with it. His tuft of hair amidst his baldness was as much an island as Billy had said it was.
“Understood. And I am sure Sheriff Waters appreciated whatever help you were able to give him in return. A good working relationship. Such is critical in jobs like ours. However, from now on, of course, Sheriff Waters shall be confining himself to the formal duties of his position: that is, collecting the Baron’s rents. I am now the one to talk to in regards to matters of law and order in Spitzer. I do hope that we can develop an equally productive relationship.”
“Sure,” Wes said, looking increasingly tense.
“So, to that end, Wesley— by the way, do you mind if I call you Wesley?” Father Morrenthall asked.
“What? No. I mean, yeah, I do. My name’s Wes. Just, Wes.”
“My apologies. Wes. Short and to the point. Just as you are, I am sure.”
“Okay… yeah. What was it you wanted now, exactly?” Wes asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a pained expression.
“You see? Just as I said: short and to the point. And I quite appreciate that, I assure you. So I shall get to the point to spare you having to get any shorter. So, Wes, what can you tell me about the Outfit?” Father Morrenthall asked pleasantly.
“Huh?” Wes blinked.
“The Outfit. The criminal group infesting the teamsters that you must surely be complicit with, at a minimum. What can you tell me about them?”
“I have no idea what yar talking about,” Wes said, his face and bearing now set hard as he glared at Father Morrenthall.
“Well, that is a lie,” Father Morrenthall smiled back.
“Are ye calling me a liar?”
“You have just lied to me. I am simply stating a fact. I cast no aspersions as to your wider character. After all, you are not obliged to tell me the truth. Not at present, anyway.”
“Okay, Father. I think I’m done talking to ye,” Wes said. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Wes began to lean forward in his chair, as though he was about to stand up. Father Morrenthall disrupted this as he clapped his hands together sharply with a wide smile.
“Adversaries it is, then!” Father Morrenthall said. “So be it. That is good. I much prefer to have things out in the open, whenever possible.”
“Listen, Father, I’m not saying I wanna be yar enemy. I’m just not gonna talk to ye when yar coming at me like this is just a friendly chat before starting an interrogation with detecting lies and all that. I aint some rube that yar just gonna run over.”
“I understand that completely, Wes. And adversaries need not be enemies. Further, I do apologize if I gave the impression that I am in any way friendly to you. So, if we are to be adversaries, which we obviously must be, please allow me to clearly state my position in regards to you and the organizations you represent. Yes?” Father Morrenthall said, mildly.
“Yeah. Sure thing, Father,” Wes said.
“Now do understand that as I speak to you, I take you to be someone deeply involved with the Outfit. If I am wrong, you may make your case to convince me. But there is no need to waste your breath, or our valuable time, on lies. Suffice to say, if you are not a prime mover within the Outfit, I am quite sure that you know who is. If that is the case, you may serve as messenger in this. Yes?”
(stare)
“Good. I am glad we understand each other,” Father Morrenthall said with a pleasant smile. “Now, moving forward, first and foremost, my concern is rooting out the corruption in the armed forces. I shall be moving hard on this. For the time being, I do not require anything from you, the teamsters at large, or the Outfit. I am happy enough to coexist. If you stay out of my way and leave the military and its personnel be, then you shall find me a pleasant neighbor.
“With things as they are now, the Baron, and, indeed, the kingdom, require your teamsters to move the freight. Commerce must flow. This I understand. So I assure you that, for my part, I shall not be instigating anything with your organizations that might lead to some sort of labor stoppage. We all must do our best to get along in these difficult times. Don’t you agree, Wes?”
“Yeah. I do. Getting along would be best,” Wes agreed. He seemed quite earnest.
“Excellent. Now, to that end, I will remind you of what I just said. I need the military and its personnel left alone. And in case you somehow missed the connection: Lieutenant Bartholomew and his two brothers are now military men. Officially. Do you understand what I am saying to you? This nonsense between them and the Outfit ends now. Is that clear?”
“It is to me, Father. But ye need to understand, I’m not—”
“You are not the man who can end it,” Father Morrenthall interrupted. “I do understand that. But I need you to take this message to everyone who needs to hear it. The times are about to change. When the floodgates of evil are opened, everything will change. You teamsters, your men, shall no longer be necessary to move the freight. Commerce will be disrupted, and not by our hand. And all you men will be called upon to serve in a different capacity: as soldiers. And at that time, I shall be one of the men organizing this. And I tell you now: that at that time I will take the opportunity to settle accounts with all those men whom I have found to be unhelpful. You do not want to disappoint me, is what I am saying, Wes. Do not test me. A day of reckoning is at hand, and all accounts shall be settled, one way or another. Clear?”
“Yeah. I’ll pass yar message along.”
“Good. And when you do, please add one more thing. I know that Murray of Double Horseshoes Freight is the man in all of this. I know where he is. And I remind all of you that I am a Knight of the Holy Sword. Do you understand what that means, Wes?”
“No. I don’t suppose I do, fully.”
“It means that the head of my order sits in Ban Altas at the right hand of the Archbishop himself. It means that the very sword of Stron Himself serves as our order’s altar in our head chapel in Ban Altas. We have members everywhere in Stroniandom, but our best and brightest are here, in the Kingdom of Bitina, fighting the polytheists at the Alquinian frontier. Our Abbot of Strana, who divides his time between Strana and the frontier, has the ear of the Bishop of Bitina, and the King, but does not answer to them. On my visit to Strana, I gave my abbot my report. He has heard the name, Murray, of Double Horseshoes Freight. For my Abbot, every stone can be turned over.”
Father Morrenthall paused now, staring at Wes levelly. Finally, he asked him:
“Do you think I am lying to you now, Wes?”
“No. I don’t, Father,” Wes rasped.
“Good. The nonsense ends. Let that be known to all that matter on your side of things. Will you do that for me, Wes?”
“Yes, Father. I will.”
“Good.”
Father Morrenthall stood up sharply and stepped up to Wes’ desk. When Wes stood up, Father Morrenthall presented him his hand. The two men locked eyes as they shook hands firmly. Wes only just managed it.
“We have an understanding, then. So, with that, I will bid you a good day, sir,” Father Morrenthall said, before turning on his heel and leaving Wes’ office.
Choke nodded to Wes and followed. Peep left last, and lingered at the doorway. She met Wes’ eye and smirked at him:
“The boys are in the military. Me? I aint. I’m an irregular scout! Sometimes, I do my own thing. Sleep tight!”
Then, Peep followed Father Morrenthall and Choke out the door and down the stairs to their horses.
Muse Vassal 