Table of Contents – (spoilers)
“Ah, Otilla! Come in!” Father Morrenthall said with a smile as she opened his office door with Mariola behind her. “And you too, miss. Please, shut the door and have a seat.”
“Thanks, Father” Peep said as she and Mariola did so.
“My, don’t you look a peasant lad! Quite the subterfuge,” Father Morrenthall said to Peep before turning to Mariola: “And who would you be, miss?”
“I am Mariola, Father,” Mariola said meekly, with her head bowed and hands clasped in her lap.
“And who are you meant to be? The lad’s mother, I suppose?”
“Yes, Father. In our story I am Beth, mother to Trapper Junior here. We’re in town looking for my husband, run off with another woman. That’s the story anyways, Father.”
“Seems a good one. Now, Mariola, I’ve seen you about the church here for a few days, praying with Otilla’s worshipers. You don’t seem quite as fervent as the rest of them.”
Having said this, Father Morrenthall stared sharply at Mariola. She continued to stare at her hands. After a long pause, he said:
“Look at me, woman.”
Mariola met his eye as best she could. Father Morrenthall’s bearing softened somewhat as she did.
“Why are you here?” he asked her.
“Because I have nowhere else to go. And no one, now. And with all that I’ve been through, Miss Otilla seemed like someone who could show me the way forward.”
“And what have you been through, child?” Father Morrenthall asked.
Mariola hesitated as she sought for the words to express this for the very first time. In this moment, Peep raised her hand as she leaned forwards in her chair to interject:
“I’m sorry, Father, but do we gotta do this right now? I know ye like to get to the bottom of everyone, but things are on the go with what I’m doing, and if we don’t get a move on, we might miss our chance today.”
Father Morrenthall frowned at Peep before nodding. “I see. I do not want to disrupt your task, Otilla. Thank you for reminding me. So, just the minimal basics, then. Mariola,” he turned back to the trembling woman, “do you know why Otilla has you pretending to be her mother?”
“Yes, Father. It’s so the people in town will accept her as a boy so that she can go around freely in that costume.”
“Indeed. And do you know why she wants to do this?”
“No, Father. She hasn’t told me a thing about that.”
“Good. Very well, I would like a quick word with Otilla privately for a moment. Would you mind taking my dinner tray back to the kitchen? Then you may come back and wait outside the door. Thank you.”
Father Morrenthall stood up to hand his dinner tray over to Mariola, who took it and left his office, shutting the door behind her.
“Are you quite sure that involving this woman is necessary, Otilla?” Father Morrenthall asked Peep sharply.
“Well, yeah, Father. We aint out in the bush, right? How am I gonna skulk around town after that fella without everyone spotting me? I mean, I was just standing out there in front of everyone with ye lighting Billy up. The only move I have is doing it as a boy, but it’s still too risky by myself. This way, everyone out there is focusing on her and will get used to seeing me around as a boy. And she’s good at it. She did great.”
“Well, I suppose you know best. She does seem bright and capable. Do be careful, though. I don’t like the sheep of our flock knowing too much of this business.”
“I hear that, Father. But I made her and the other two swear to Stron to keep their mouths shut,” Peep said.
“The other two? Who might that be now?” Father Morrenthall snapped.
“Well, Father, the aunt of the boy I got these clothes off of. And the boy. I had to get the clothes from someplace, right? And these were too perfect,” Peep said, smoothing down her tunic and tugging on her cap proudly.
“Very well,” Father Morrenthall sighed. “We shall just have to hope for the best. No more people included, though. I don’t care how devoted they are to you. People such as your followers can only ever be as they are, and that is usually far less than suitable for anything but the simplest of tasks. Now, about your request to use the door in this wing to come and go: I think that is an excellent idea. We shall leave it unbarred and you may have a key. Here you are,” Father Morrenthall rose to hand a key to Peep.
“As well, it is probably best that you do not come and go in costume through the main church where anyone may observe you. Yes? The cloakroom is across from my private chamber, right next to the armory. You may use it to change between your costumes, and to keep whatever you need there.”
“Thanks, Father. But, costumes? I only got the boy one.”
“As natural as it may feel for you, your wolf cloaked bandit queen getup is surely one as well. Not that I am criticizing; it is marvelously suitable. I think that is all for now, Otilla. However, if you could make some time to meet with me and Lieutenant Pekot tomorrow after breakfast, I would most appreciate it.”
“No problem, Father!”
“Very good. Dismissed.”
Peep and Mariola hurried to The Red Ox Tavern on Fort Road. It had not yet been an hour since Peep had watched Wes and his man go inside, but Peep seethed in anxiety as they closed in on it, worried that her mark had already departed.
It was full dark now, and Fort Road was lit by the lanterns set out front of its few drinking establishments. There was some foot traffic, mostly men heading back home from having just a drink or two. A number of these men attempted to chat up Mariola, but she was able to get around them without being waylaid.
The Red Ox was a smaller and finer establishment than most others in town. A good deal more attention had been paid to its woodwork, and the two lanterns flanking its wide door were proper glass. As they neared the tavern, Peep grabbed Mariola by her skirt to have a quick huddle with her:
“Okay, I wanna have a look in there to see if my man is still here. But I don’t wanna be going in there myself, and I don’t wanna be peeking in the window without a distraction. So, I want ye to go in there and run the, ‘where’s Trapper?’ story with the barkeep. Just as quick as ye can. Don’t linger. Okay?”
“Yes. I can do it,” Mariola said with a determination meant to convince herself as much as Peep.
Puffed up in full purpose, just as she had been that morning in the whorehouses, Mariola stomped on into The Red Ox with her fists balled up at her hips like she was ready to start swinging at the slightest provocation. Peep gave her a second to get everyone’s attention before peeking through an open window from outside.
The Red Ox was as pleasant inside as it was out. Its woodwork was all finely carved, as was its furniture. Plenty of candles gave the place a warm atmosphere, and a number of patrons were enjoying what looked to be good food. Peep smiled as she immediately spotted Wes and his man sitting at a table by themselves nursing their ales.
Mariola launched into her story at the barkeeper despite his clear desire not to hear it. She carried on in her determined fashion, and the portly man’s shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to her will. As Mariola was winding down, with the barkeeper now talking over her, telling her that he had no idea of where her man might be, a number of the men began inviting her to sit down with them for a meal. Then, attracted by this unusually boisterous atmosphere, a woman who seemed to be the barkeep’s wife came out of the kitchen and jostled Mariola towards the door. A joke or two from the men kicked up some laughter to send Mariola on her way into the night.
“Assholes!” Mariola scowled back at the tavern matron, who was standing in the door of her establishment glaring at her.
“Oh, ye don’t know the half of it, Mom,” Peep said quietly, giving Mariola a friendly bump to get her moving back the way they had come.
“All right! What’s all this then?” said a loud man’s voice behind them in the street.
Mariola startled and Peep ducked behind her skirts. Peeking around Mariola’s hip, Peep recognized the sergeant that Knuckle had been talking to earlier. He had one spearman with him.
“Nothing to bother yarself with, sir,” the tavern matron said to the sergeant before turning to shout at Mariola: “She’s moving on like she’s been told, now isn’t she!”
“Yes she is, ma’am. Go back inside and attend to yar business. Thank ye,” the sergeant said as the woman begrudgingly did so.
“So, what is the story, ma’am?” the sergeant said to Mariola, his tone neutral.
Mariola once again launched into her sad tale. The sergeant bought into it right away, but as soon as he had, it was clear he had no interest in wasting his time listening to any more of it.
“Okay, then,” he interrupted, “yar husband run off. What was his name again? Trapper, ye said? Right. And what’s yar name?”
“Beth, sir. This is Trapper Junior,” Mariola said, patting Peep on the head, who was still hugging her hips as she hid behind her skirts.
“Right. Well, I saw ye this morning with the church bunch at the burning. Then, this afternoon, I marked ye going up and down the bad street. A good woman such as yarself ought not to be around this part of town, least of all after dark. I can’t have ye out here doing this. Least of all with yar boy.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But I have to find him! He’s all we have!”
“I understand. But this is not the way. All yar gonna find out here is some nasty trouble for yarself. What ye need to do is talk to Father Morrenthall at that church of yars. Get him to bring up yar plight at next Mass. Get the good Stronians of the community looking out for ye. Cast a wider net, yeah?”
“That’s… that’s a very good idea, sir,” Mariola said, blinking in some surprise at the sergeant’s earnest helpfulness.
“Right. And I’ll tell ye what: I’ll spread the word with my boys to be on the lookout for yar man. Trapper, his name was, yeah? What does he look like?”
Mariola went on to describe her supposed husband in detail. While she was doing this, Wes and his man came out of The Red Ox. They did not move on, however. Instead, they took a few steps to the side and stopped to watch the ongoing scene. The sergeant glanced over at them in irritation, which he masked with obvious tension when he saw who it was. When Mariola had finished her description, the sergeant spoke to her in a kind voice:
“Right. Well, ma’am, I will tell all my men to be on the lookout. And you will ask Father Morrenthall to put the word out to the community. And if none of that works, then I’m sure the Father will know what to do next. I don’t want to see ye out here again. Do ye understand me, ma’am?”
“Yes, sir. Thank ye for yar kindness, sir.”
“Not at all, ma’am. And now: you boy,” the sergeant reached around Mariola’s hip to give Peep’s shoulder a nudge. “Tomorrow morning, I want ye to go to the general store on Main Street. Tell the man there that Sergeant Neil says to give ye a peppermint stick on my tab. Can ye do that for me son?”
“Yes, sir. Thank ye, sir,” Peep said, with her face still pressed into Mariola’s rump.
“Alright. Good lad. Now, ma’am, I’m gonna have my man here walk ye back to the church.”
“Thank ye sir, but that’s really not—” Mariola started.
“No. I insist,” Sergeant Neil interrupted. He then turned to his man: “Ye’ll see to it, yeah?”
“Yes, sir,” the spearman said smartly.
It was then that Wes moved to interfere. He stepped forward with a big friendly smile.
“Actually, Sergeant, ye don’t need to pull yar man off his duty here to do that. I’m more than happy to walk the lass back to the church. It’s basically on my way home.”
“Well, thank you, sir. But you really shouldn’t bother yarself. It’s a quiet night, and my man will be back in no time. We’ll see to her,” Sergeant Neil said, with just a trace edge to his voice.
“Sergeant Neil, ye said it was. Yar new here, aint ye,” Wes said, stepping up to him to extend his big hand. “I’m Wes. Boss over at the freight yard.”
Wes and Sergeant Neil shook hands.
“Good to meet ye, Wes. And I know who ye are. I’m just new to patrolling town here. I’m up at the fort, usually, when not out on proper patrols.”
“Huh. No shit. Where’s Sergeant Euan, then? He’s the guy I’m used to dealing with,” Wes asked, easing into a casual posture with his right hand on the head of the battleaxe on his hip.
“Sergeant Euan is Lieutenant Hamon’s man. Lieutenant Hamon has been recalled to the fort. I’m with Lieutenant Cooper, who has now been charged with security in town.”
“Oh, is that so? How long is this gonna be for?”
“I couldn’t tell ye, sir,” Sergeant Neil said sharply.
“Ye couldn’t, huh? Won’t, is more like it. That’s okay. I just want us all to get along. I guess with ye being new, and all, ye don’t know how things work down here in town. We might have to work things out between us,” Wes said with a feral smile.
“Yes, we just might, sir. And I know very well how things have been working here in town. But I think ye’ll find, sir, that the times are about to change around here. Or didn’t ye notice Father Morrenthall’s cleansing of the jailer this morning?”
Wes took a moment to think about this. Then he hawked and spat into the gutter before responding:
“I did notice that. And if ye think that jailer was shit to anyone that matters around here, ye’ve got yar head a bit too far up the Father’s ass for yar own good. And if ye know how things work here in town, then I guess ye know real good how things work up at the fort. So ye’ll know that there aint many places around where my word can’t make its mark. Forts are dangerous places, right? People can slip and fall off the battlements. Or into latrines. And right now ye might be new to me, but come morning’s light I’m gonna have a real good measure of ye. Count on that. So, ye tread real careful now, Sergeant Neil.”
Wes glared hard at Sergeant Neil until he had stared him down. Only then did he continue, his voice still calm and measured:
“So now I’m gonna be walking this fine lady back to the church. And you and yar man are gonna continue patrolling the strip here like the good soldiers ye are. And that’s that,” Wes said with hard finality. Then he turned to Mariola and offered her his elbow: “Ma’am, it would be my pleasure to escort you and yar boy to the church. Don’t ye worry; aint a person in town that would dare to bother ye if yar with me.”
“Thank ye, sir,” Mariola said, now properly nervous. She took his arm.
“Please call me, Wes, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Wes. I am Beth.”
“Well, it’s my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Beth. And what’s your lad’s name?” Wes asked.
“Trapper. Trapper Junior.”
“Just the spitting image of his father, I am sure,” Wes said with a very pleasant smile to Mariola as he reached around her to pat Peep on the head.
Sergeant Neil, who had been seething off to the side, finally made an attempt to reinstate some of his dignity, if not his authority:
“Alright then, Wes. You take her to the church, now. And understand that I’ll be checking in with Father Morrenthall in the morning to make sure she arrived there safe and sound!”
Wes laughed.
“Do ye think, Sergeant Neil, that telling me to do something I’ve just told ye I’m gonna do somehow makes it seem like yar in control here? And yar talking to me like I’m some kinda rogue. What do ye think I’m up to here? I’m just a concerned community leader doing right. That’s all.”
“Well get on with it, then!” snapped Sergeant Neil, barely controlling his anger.
As he turned his back on Sergeant Neil, Wes laughed again. His laugh was a deep, rolling effusion, pleasing to the ear. It was the easy laugh of a man in full control of himself and his world. It was the laugh of a victor.
Wes walked Mariola and Peep up Fort Road to its tower intersection with Main Street. His man followed close behind. Main Street was shut up tight and there were no lanterns lit. Even so, there was more than enough moonlight to make their way. Wes had been content to walk in silence up Fort Road, but as they rounded the tower he spoke up:
“So, Beth, I couldn’t help but overhear yar sad story. Yar man ran off on ye, did he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call me Wes.”
“Thank ye, Wes.”
“Now, Beth, I am sure that Sergeant Neil and Father Morrenthall will be more than happy to put the call out for yar man. But, I am sorry to say: the good folk of Spitzer probably aint the sort that would know much about yar situation. Ye understand what I’m saying, don’t ye?”
“I do, Wes. But now Sergeant Neil isn’t gonna let me go out and search myself! What am I supposed to do?” Mariola said, allowing her very real tension to spill over into her voice.
“Well, don’t ye worry, Beth,” Wes said, giving her hand in the crook of his elbow a pat. “That is something I may be able to help ye with. I am ashamed to say that as a teamster boss, I have to bump up against people on the, uh… shall we say, shady side of life. Not the kind of people ye wanna be associating with yarself, that’s for sure. The sergeant wasn’t wrong about that. So, if ye want, I could put the word out myself and see what people on that side of things have to say about it. If yar man ran off with a working girl, or has been sniffing around pestering one, they’d surely know about it. And if I’m the one doing the asking, they’ll spill it.”
“Oh, could ye do that for us, Wes? I would be so grateful for any help! But, I’m sorry, we don’t have any money! I couldn’t possibly repay ye,” Mariola said, her voice trembling more than ever as she sensed the very real peril behind Wes’ offer.
“I wouldn’t need ye to, Beth. Like I said: I’m just a community leader determined to do right. What’s the point of having power in this world, if ye can’t help someone in need. Right?”
They had now walked about halfway up Main Street to the church, and were near the Sheriff’s Office, which was still shut up tight. The street was deserted, with all its buildings shuttered. Wes stopped walking and took Mariola’s hand to turn her to face him. In the moonlight, their expressions were muted, but there was no hiding his wide smile.
“Now, before ye go to the church, Beth, I want ye to think about something. I’ll ask around about yar man for ye. Ye have my word on that, so ye don’t have to worry on that account. Just pop by the freight depot the day after tomorrow before quitting time and I’ll tell ye whatever I find out. No problems there. But, I gotta tell ye, I don’t like yar chances of finding yar man. If he’s tried to run off with a working girl, then what he’s really doing, by the thinking of the men that run those kinda women, is stealing someone’s property. Sorry to say it, but that’s how those men are. Those girls are property. No better than a horse. And this girl must be real special to have a man run off and leave a woman like you. So that means she is valuable property. Very valuable. D’ye understand what I’m saying, Beth?”
“I… I think so, Wes.”
“Good. Yar man ran off on ye and tried to steal a working girl here in town. And he aint been seen since. That means one of two things. One is that he ran off with her and got away. They ran so far and so good that no one found them. So how is it that ye expect to succeed when the men that figure they own that girl couldn’t manage?”
“I don’t know, Wes. But I have to try, don’t I?”
Wes shrugged. “I don’t know. Do ye? Anyways, I don’t think that’s what happened. I think it’s the other thing. Yar man is a trapper, ye said, right? He woulda already spent all of his money on the girl getting hooked, right? So how far is a man like yar husband, without any coin, gonna be able to run with a pretty working girl? Girls like that aint about getting lost in the bush. D’ye see what I’m getting at Beth?” Wes asked, his voice now very gentle.
“I… I don’t know. What?”
“Ye see exactly what I’m saying, Beth. Ye just don’t want to accept it. And I don’t wanna say anything that’ll upset yar boy right now. Right? But think about it for a second. This kinda thing aint that unusual for them that sell women. The punters buy into the act and catch feelings. Then they try to run off with the girl. Happens all the time. And these girls never do run off. Why d’ye think that might be, Beth?”
“But… but…” Mariola stammered.
“Yar man didn’t come home, tail between his legs, busted up from whatever talking to he was given. Right? That means he was stubborn about it, more than likely. It means that he caught a real bad case of feelings. The worst kind. Terminal, like. D’ye understand now? That’s the way these things go. It’s just the way of it.”
“But… no! He’s…”
“I understand, lass. I know it’s hard. Ye need some time to sit with it. So, I’ll take ye back to the church. And tomorrow I’ll ask around after him. And maybe I’m wrong! Maybe we’ll round him right up, give him a good talking to, and have him back in yar loving arms before sundown tomorrow. Maybe that’s how this plays out.”
Wes paused for a long moment to let Mariola think this over before he continued:
“But ye need to think real hard about what happens to you and yar boy if it don’t play out that way. What are ye gonna do if it’s the other thing? Yar a smart woman. I can see that. Yar just stubborn. Like yar husband. And ye aint letting go of a thing that aint good for ye. Like yar husband.”
Wes paused again. When he again spoke, his voice was less gentle and soothing than it had been. He spoke now as though talking to a man, reasonable and measured, making a business proposal:
“Look, Beth: Yar a smart woman. Have a quiet think about what I’ve said, and yar gonna see how this is gonna go. So I’m gonna walk ye back to the church now. And ye’ll take tomorrow to think this all over real careful. And then, day after tomorrow, ye come and see me. And I’ll tell ye whatever it is I’ve found out about yar man. And then, more than likely, yar gonna have to make a hard decision.
“Now, ye can go the route of a proper woman. Have Father Morrenthall wrangle ye up a man to marry. Yar a beautiful woman. Strong. With a son old enough to work. He’ll get ye married off to a good, Stronian man in no time. And who will that man be? Some shitheel who has the Father’s favor just because he’s willing to sit still every week and listen to him drone on about sin and duty. A nobody. And then ye’ll be a nobody’s wife here in town, popping out baby after baby.
“Now, I could be wrong, Beth, but I don’t think that sorta life is gonna suit ye. Yar used to being free, out in the bush. Praying to the moon on the sly so’s ye don’t get blown out having babies every couple a years. The life of a townie wife aint for ye.
“So, alls I ask, Beth, is that ye think about maybe going another way. If, of course, we aint able to wrangle up yar husband for ye. And I aint gonna insult yar intelligence by bullshitting ye. Like I said: yar a beautiful woman. Smart. Tough. Strong. There are plenty of men that I know who could use a woman like you in their life. Men that aren’t a shitheel. Strong men. Powerful men. And not the kind of men that are looking for a wife. They don’t need to be telling a woman what to do with herself when they aint with her. Or what god to pray to if she don’t want no more kids.”
Wes paused for a long moment, staring at Mariola as she trembled before him.
“Okay. That’s enough about all that,” he finally said. “Ye’ve heard me. Take tomorrow and think it all over. Ye’ll see the sense I’m making. A nice warm place to live. Good food and drink in yar belly. Fine clothes on yar back. And some coins in yar purse to boot. And, as to yar lad, I can give him a job at the freight yard. He’s old enough to be useful. Get him started off in life on the right track. Let’s have a look at ye, lad.”
Wes reached out and grabbed Peep’s chin to push her face up towards him. In the dim light of the moon, he looked down at her face, puzzled by the rising alarm in his gut. Peep smiled up at him and made her move in the very instant he recognized her.
With her left hand, Peep got a firm grip on Wes’ pinky and ring fingers curled under her chin. She yanked them down and away from her as she stepped back from Wes and Mariola, breaking the fingers as she hyperextended the wrist. Then, with her razor-sharp bootknife in her right, Peep slashed the inside of Wes’ forearm from the crotch of his elbow all the way down to his wrist. It was a deep cut that would kill within minutes from exsanguination.
Wes yelled in shock and pain as Peep let go of his hand and slipped to the right to avoid the thick squirt of blood from the severed brachial artery inside his elbow. Peep kept tight with him and slashed the back of his knee, cutting its tendons and dropping him to the hard-packed dirt of Main Street.
Wes’ man had been standing a little away from them to watch his boss work. When Wes yelled, the man assumed that the lad, Trapper Junior, had bitten his hand, and turned his face away to stifle a laugh. As Wes fell, Mariola was able to react quicker than his man. Mariola pulled her buck knife and lunged at the man, slashing him across the face. The man recoiled as he flailed defensively, managing to protect his vitals at the expense of his arms as Mariola kept slashing away at him wildly.
It took Peep a couple of seconds to loop around both Mariola and the man to get at him from the side. By the time she did, Peep had her buck knife in her right with the small boot knife in her left. She stabbed the man low in the back with the buck knife. He writhed and stumbled to fall in the dirt between the two women. Together, they fell upon him and stabbed him again and again.
In a much calmer state than her compatriot, Peep pulled up before Mariola. She left the larger woman to her knife frenzy, and had a quick look up and down the street. As before, it was deserted. When Mariola had finished stabbing the man, Peep gave her just a second to take a couple of deep breaths before barking at her:
“To the church. Go! In through the kitchen door and straight into my room. Now!”
Mariola hesitated just a second before obeying. She got up and, with her knife still in hand, gathered her skirts up around her thighs and ran for the church as fast as she could.
Peep took her time to wipe off her boot knife on the dead man at her feet before sheathing it. Then she closed on Wes with her buck knife in hand.
The big man was still alive, and doing his best to escape. However, with slashed knee tendons and his right arm pumping his life’s blood out in the dirt, it was hopeless for him. He had managed to pull his battleaxe, but his right arm was as useless as his leg. He was panting in deep, rasping gasps as he half crawled and half hobbled on his knees, attempting to use the axe like a crutch. He had made it only a few meters up the road. Behind him he had left a horrific blood trail, standing out black in the moonlight against the light brown of the street’s dirt.
As Peep closed on him, Wes flopped down on his ass and waved his battleaxe in his left hand between them in the best defensive gesture he could manage. Peep stopped closing with about two meters between them, and crouched low in a defensive stance, watching him carefully.
“Fuck you, ye fuckin cunt!” Wes said with all his rage. Then the blood loss caused him to swoon, his head lolling as he fell back. “Fuck you,” he managed again, as he tried to raise up his axe again.
“Yeah, sorry, Wes. But we need ye to not be alive anymore,” Peep said calmly.
Peep made a quick feint to her right, causing Wes to flail wildly that way. Then she feinted to her left. With this, Wes swooned again and flopped back. Peep was on him in an instant. She stomped on his shoulder to push him face down into the bloody mud around him, and cut his throat to finish him. Then Peep kept at him with her buck knife, taking a minute to decapitate him. She picked up the head up by the longer hair at its back, taking a moment to admire Wes’ trademark male-pattern baldness with the island tuft of hair up at the front.
It was dead quiet on Main Street. Peep stood over Wes’ corpse, his head in hand, and waited for a little while, looking around to make sure she was alone. Then she jogged over to the Sheriff’s office and set Wes’ head down right in front of the door on the boardwalk, looking out into the street.
The grotesque spectacle set, Peep washed her buck knife and her hands off in the nearby horse trough. Of course, the rest of her was still a horrible, bloody mess. She dried her knife off on her tunic as best she could and sheathed it again in the small in her back. Then, Peep slipped off down an alley to go and finish her night’s work.
Muse Vassal 