Table of Contents – (spoilers)
Not fifteen minutes after Father Morrenthall had lit Billy’s heart on fire, he and the Pekot squad rode up to the sheriff’s office on Main Street. As they tethered their horses to the hitching posts outside, they could hear Sheriff Waters inside his office yelling:
“No, you fucking cretin, it is not going to be okay! He is coming after me next! On behalf of that pipsqueak, god-touched cunt of a bandit hoor! I’m next! Don’t you fucking get that?”
Father Morrenthall touched the side of his nose at Choke and Peep with a mischievous smile and crept across the boardwalk as quietly as he could in full chainmail and riding boots. He then squared up to stomp through the sheriff’s open door.
“I do hope we are not interrupting anything, Sheriff,” Father Morrenthall said pleasantly as he strode into the middle of the room. Choke, Peep, and Knuckle followed close on his heels and spread out aggressively behind him.
Sheriff Waters was standing next to his desk, his face flushed, with an open brandy bottle in hand. The deputy he had been screaming at was standing morosely next to the cook stove. In his shock, Sheriff Waters dropped his brandy bottle and grabbed the hilt of the longsword on his hip. His eyes were wild, and for a second it seemed like he might attack. However, as Peep drew and notched an arrow, and Choke began to draw his longsword, Sheriff Waters remembered himself. He raised his palms and stepped backwards in a position of surrender. Then, he remembered himself even further and dropped his hands to his hips to puff up his chest. Between him and Father Morrenthall, the bottle rolled to a stop with brandy gurgling out onto the floor.
“Good morning, Sheriff. Is this a bad time?” Father Morrenthall asked.
To Father Morrenthall’s left, Peep stood at the ready with her arrow still notched. To his right, Choke slid his sword back into its scabbard, but stayed at the ready with his hand on its hilt. Knuckle moved behind them around the perimeter of the room to take up position near the deputy, ready to club him down with his jailer’s cudgel.
“Ah! What?” Sheriff Waters said. Then he belched: a nasty sounding effusion that sounded more liquid than gas. “Excuse me. I am not myself,” he eventually managed.
“Indeed? I hadn’t noticed a difference,” Father Morrenthall smiled pleasantly. “Now, I do apologize, Sheriff, but I could not help but overhear what you were saying to your man just now. I must wonder: why is it that you assume that you are my next target? What have you been up to? Surely you must know that those that have done their duty properly have nothing to fear from me.”
“Ahhhhhh…” Sheriff Waters sighed.
“Yes, perhaps it is best not to say anything just now. I appreciate your discretion, Sheriff,” Father Morrenthall tapped his nose in his conspiratorial gesture as he glanced the deputy’s way. “Perhaps it is best that you come to my office at the church for a private word. As I am sure you were planning to do anyway.”
Father Morrenthall and Sheriff Waters stared at each other for a long moment.
“Yes?” Father Morrenthall finally asked.
“What?” Sheriff Waters returned.
“Let us go to my office at the church for a private word.”
“Oh! Right! Yes, Father!” Sheriff Waters said, too loudly, as he shook his head and began to rally himself somewhat. “When would be best for you? I think I am free… uhhhh… let me think…”
“I expect you are free now, Sheriff,” Father Morrenthall cut in. “Let’s go together. Now.”
“Now, Father? But—”
“I really do think it would be best,” Father Morrenthall interrupted. Then he turned to gesture towards the door. “Come along now. We can walk there together. A breath of fresh air would do you good, I think.”
Sheriff Waters stared at Father Morrenthall as though he was going to refuse.
“I insist, Sheriff. I will not take no for an answer. We have put this off for far too long,” Father Morrenthall said with a menacing edge.
With this change in tone, it finally seemed that Sheriff Waters was able to get his feet underneath him:
“You may be the magistrate in Spitzer, Father, but I am the Sheriff of Spaggot. I answer to the Baron alone.”
“That is true, Sheriff. So do not take my invitation as an order. Rather, understand that it is heartfelt advice that I give to you now. You need to think about how your gravitas in this community might be affected by me dragging you to the church down Main Street by your ear. Further, ask yourself if you are in a position, right this moment, to stop me from doing just that.”
Father Morrenthall stared at the Sheriff for another long moment after this one.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Sheriff Waters finally said.
“Wouldn’t I? There is only one way to find out, Sheriff. It is your move to make. But why make it? Surely you recognize that this interview is inevitable. Why put it off? Come along; let’s get this over with so that we can all move along with our important duties. Yes?”
Father Morrenthall again gestured towards the door. Sheriff Waters grimaced before nodding grimly.
“Fine then. But I’ll be riding there, thank you very much,” Waters said.
“Suit yourself. After you, Sheriff,” Father Morrenthall said, stepping right out of the sheriff’s way.
Sheriff Waters strode past them all and out onto the boardwalk, to go around the side of the building where his and the deputies’ horses were tethered. Father Morrenthall nodded for Peep and Choke to head out next. He followed them out, leaving Knuckle to watch the deputy.
Knuckle waited for a second. He smiled at the deputy and stepped over to pick up the Sheriff’s dropped brandy bottle. Knuckle took a deep swig and passed the bottle to the deputy. The man hesitated just a second before grabbing it to partake himself. Knuckle chuckled and gave the deputy a friendly thump on the shoulder. Then he went outside and mounted up.
They rode the short distance to the church with Sheriff Waters in silence. At the front of the church, Father Morrenthall gestured to the hitching posts.
“You may leave your horse here and go through the front, Sheriff. We shall meet you inside from around back.”
At the stables, Choke spoke up as they were putting their horses away:
“Will you be speaking with Sheriff Waters alone, Father? Where would you like us?”
“With me, of course. Just as you have been. From the moment he enters my office, consider him detained. Sergeant Theodas, I would like you to station yourself at the door, inside with us, standing on guard. Bolt the door when the rest of us have taken our seats. With authority. I want it loud. And keep your cudgel unlimbered just as you have been. You’ve been looking precisely the part. Keep it up.”
Knuckle swelled with pride at the praise. Father Morrenthall then addressed Peep and Choke:
“Our prisoner he may be, but it is up to me to enlighten Sheriff Waters as to this. And remember what I said earlier: none of you are to assault him unless I direct you to. Of course, if he gets violent, do what you must. But do not kill him. And do not speak unless I indicate for you to do otherwise. This shall be no less an interrogation than Billy’s was. I shall just be using different carrots and sticks, is all. Understood? Any questions?”
There were none, so they all went through the kitchen door to collect the Sheriff in the church. Father Morrenthall led the way down the left transverse to his stout, iron-bound, hardwood office door, with Sheriff Waters right behind. Choke gestured for Knuckle to follow on the Sheriff’s heels. Then he and Peep took up the rear.
In his office, Father Morrenthall moved around behind his desk.
“Have a seat, Sheriff,” he gestured to one of the chairs in front. When Sheriff Waters had taken his seat, Father Morrenthall gestured to the chairs to either side of him: “Lieutenant Pekot. Miss Otilla. Please be seated.”
Sheriff Waters scowled and seemed about to speak up indignantly at this invitation, but Knuckle disrupted that by slamming the door and smacking the iron bolt home with a loud clack. Sheriff Waters startled at this and half rose out of his chair with his hand dropping to his sword’s hilt as he turned around towards Knuckle.
“Relax, Sheriff,” Father Morrenthall said. “Please take your seat.”
Sheriff Waters scowled at Knuckle, who had closed half the distance between them with one stride when he had turned and raised up. There was the creak of the leather cudgel strap around Knuckle’s wrist as he twisted his grip on the weapon.
“Take your seat, Sheriff,” Father Morrenthall said, his tone a clear warning. “Do not worry about Sergeant Theodas; he knows exactly what he is about. Don’t you, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Father,” Knuckle said, giving the cudgel strap another good creak.
“Indeed. So, relax and take your seat, Sheriff. And then Sergeant Theodas shall relax and take up his post by the door,” Father Morrenthall said mildly.
Sheriff Waters looked back towards Father Morrenthall and finally dropped back down into his seat, making a point of fussing about to reposition his sword as he did. Knuckle backed up to the door and stood square in front of the bolt, his eyes never once leaving the back of the Sheriff’s head.
“I thought this was meant to be an interview,” Sheriff Waters snapped.
“Just so,” Father Morrenthall said mildly.
“Well, it is feeling like quite a bit more than that, Father Morrenthall. Need I remind you that I am the Sheriff of Spaggot Barony? You do not rank me! I am here just as a courtesy to you!” the Sheriff near shouted.
“No, you need not remind me of that, Sheriff. I remain well aware. And you are indeed correct: you presently are the Sheriff of Spaggot Barony. At least for now. What your status shall be by the end of this meeting remains to be seen,” Father Morrenthall leaned back in his chair to steeple his fingers underneath his menacing smirk.
This gave the sheriff pause. Eventually, though, he was compelled to fill the torturous silence that Father Morrenthall had no inclination to end.
“Now look here! You may be the Magistrate of Spitzer, but I have been appointed the Sheriff of this barony by Baron Hart himself! None but him may revoke my position!”
Father Morrenthall smiled at the Sheriff for a while longer before he broke eye contact to lean forward and busy himself readying his parchment, quills, and ink in front of him. He finally began to speak as he did:
“Under normal circumstances you would, of course, be correct Mr Waters. However, as you know, these are not normal circumstances. I have been given special authority by the Baron Hart to root out all corruption and malfeasance in his barony. To that end, I have the right to do with you as I see fit. Is that clear?”
Father Morrenthall had not been looking the Sheriff’s way as he spoke, instead putting his focus on arranging his writing implements just so. However, with his last question, Father Morrenthall directed all of his significant attention on Sheriff Waters.
Sheriff Waters gaped back at him like a fish out of water.
“Now, Mr Waters, I am assuming that yesterday morning, after I informed you of my appointment as Magistrate of Spitzer, that you went up to the fort to seek out an audience with the Baron to confirm it. How did that meeting go for you? I suspect you were informed that he was not receiving visitors, wherever he may have been. And having been told that, were you then able to get in to see Father Gerban?” Father Morrenthall asked, referencing the Baron’s steward.
Sheriff Waters flinched.
“No? Oh, how very unfortunate for you. Not even he would see you. Oh my, how very alone you must feel,” Father Morrenthall clucked his tongue.
Sheriff Waters took a long moment with this. Finally, he settled on his course of action and visibly firmed up. Sitting up straight in his chair, with his hand on his sword’s hilt, he addressed Father Morrenthall with all the authority he could muster:
“Magistrate Morrenthall. This is insanity. I am the Sheriff of Spaggot appointed by the Baron Hart. I do not recognize your authority to detain or question me. I demand to see the Baron!”
With this, Sheriff Waters stood up to glare down at Father Morrenthall.
Looking profoundly amused, Father Morrenthall leaned back in his chair with a quill in hand, spinning idly between his fingers.
“Well done, Mr Waters! Quite a gruff show you put on! Demands upon me, no less! Well, if you think you can escape this room, I welcome you to try. Myself, I do not think we shall have much trouble disarming and restraining you. Following that, I think we shall have to continue our conversation downstairs.”
Father Morrenthall paused at this, relishing the look of confusion and fear that flashed across Sheriff Waters’ face.
“Yes, Mr Waters. Downstairs. We do have one here, you know. Multiple levels of it, in fact. Mostly, it is the usual dreary catacombs, but we do have a perfectly serviceable dungeon as well. Not so unlike yours under the tower. However, having made use of yours to have my conversation with Billy, I have to say it was a little basic for my tastes. So, if it comes to that, I think I shall prefer to use my own to put you to the question. It is so very quiet down there. So very private. Sometimes, it feels as though the very earth itself has swallowed you up. Which it very well might, in your case.”
Father Morrenthall and Sheriff Waters stared at each other in silence for a while more. It soon seemed as though Sheriff Waters had seized up again, so it was Father Morrenthall that finally spoke:
“So… what shall it be, Mr Waters? Do you think I bluff? Will you now pay to find out? Or, shall you stop all this nonsense posturing and sit down to talk with me reasonably? Once again: it is your move, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Waters gaped at Father Morrenthall for just a little more before collapsing into his chair to bury his face in his hands.
“There, there, Sheriff,” Father Morrenthall said gently, leaning forward to put his quill down on its stand next to his inkwell. “It is not as bad as all that. There is a way forward for you here that ends with you still the Sheriff of Spaggot, redeemed in soul and purpose. Now, let us see if we cannot find our way to that happy result together, shall we?”
Muse Vassal 