Table of Contents – (spoilers)
The night passed uneventfully, although it continued to rain steadily. While Choke had been correct in thinking that Reece and Osgar would not choose to desert in a rain storm in the middle of the wilderness, Peep had things to report in that regard.
“Yeah, they’re a couple of skunks, them two,” she said to Choke and Pinch privately in the early morning. Knuckle was with the men, shouting them into morning form before breakfast.
“How was Lenny?” Choke asked.
“He seemed okay. Seen worse. Putting on a good show of it, anyways. He barked at the two for hanging out together at the paddock too much,” said Peep, giving Choke and Pinch both a significant look.
“Reece and Osgar were loitering at the paddock? With our horses?” Choke asked sharply.
“Yeah, well that’s where the horses are, aint it? Like I said, they’re skunks, them two. Up to no good. They’re scheming. I can smell it on them. And there’s a couple of other things. When Lenny told them off for loitering together at the paddock, Reece talked some shit back. Sounded threatening. It was hard to make it out, what with the rain and all, and me not wanting to get too close and blow it, but it did seem to me Reece threatened him a bit. Which is how his type does. He pushed up on you and Knuckle at the start, didn’t he?” Peep asked.
“He did. We was working himself up to calling me a jink, I suspect, and just about raised up on Knuckle when I had him club him down for it.”
“Well, he’s got some sand, then. And he’s a piece of shit. And he’s got that Osgar fucker with him. Guy looks strong. Bet yar last silver they’ve both killed men before. So, just the sort we want working with us, if we can swing turning them around,” Peep said.
“And how do we do that, Peep?” Pinch asked.
“Fucked if I know. Catch Reece at some shit, show a bit of mercy and hope that takes. If it don’t, then he’s gotta go. Also, I’m pretty sure them two were talking about gold.”
“Gold? Like money?” Pinch asked.
“Well, I don’t think they’re the types to be wishing on jewelry for their lady loves, Pinch. So, yeah, I’d guess it was money. And, again, I couldn’t make shit out, really. But I did hear the word gold a couple of times, I’m pretty sure. And I don’t imagine that shit-heels like that got much in the way of prospects for getting their hands on gold coin. Not unless…” Peep drifted off significantly.
“Not unless they’ve been thinking about what Choke told them about the Outfit bounty on our heads,” Pinch said, giving Choke a playful backhand.
“Ye told them about that, ye crazy fuck?” Peep laughed.
“It’s not as though they hadn’t already heard all about it. And I was making the point that we have killed everyone that has tried to claim it,” Choke said.
“Yeah, well, every dumb fuck that shook a pair of dice figures he’s gonna be the one to beat the odds. Gold has a funny way of making men crazy,” Peep said.
“But not women?” Pinch quipped.
“What the fuck do I know about them?” Peep laughed, giving him a cuff.
“Okay. That was it last night? Nothing else to report?” Choke asked.
“Nah, that’s it, Lieutenant,” Peep said, giving choke a near-perfect salute.
“All right, then. I think we let Lenny’s squad be as is, for at least one more night? Will you be alright to shadow them for another one, Peep?” Choke asked.
“Yeah, it’ll be okay.”
“Good. Then let’s see how they deal with being in town for a night. That might change things. Then we can discuss what to do next,” Choke said.
After sharing a quick breakfast, Choke and the Pekot Bunch said their goodbyes to Balan and his boys, Dusty and Garet. Then the soldiers and the teamsters went their separate ways.
The march to Bristlehump was much the same as it had been the day before. It continued to rain and the Bristle Creek was wild and muddy next to the road. Coming that way in the rain the day before, the big lumber wagons had put deep, muddy ruts in the road that were now flooded like little swamps. These were easy enough to avoid, for the most part, but some soldiers and followers stumbled into them, much to the amusement of their fellows.
As soldiers, Pekot’s Bushrats seemed to be coming along. They managed to keep quiet and look the part, at least. Peep’s squad of slingers were spread out amongst them, as she had ordered, and were busy picking up suitable rocks for ammunition where they could find them.
Once again, they stopped for a brief lunch at midday. This time there was next to no conversation. The weather was pressing on them, and they had been soaked for over a day now. Everyone was miserable.
However, with just another four hours’ march, they were able to reach Bristlehump without incident. It was not quite evening, and the village looked just the same, set on the hill between the Cowslip and Bristle Creeks with its south gate right at their confluence, known by locals as the Crotch. The village was contained within a rough wooden palisade on the hill that raised up to a forested ridgeline to the north. The church’s spire and the military watchtower were the tallest structures in the village.
Just off the Spitzer road, as it was known here, on the south side of the creek, the teamsters in the lumber and freight yard were finishing up their day’s work of prepping logs to be loaded onto wagons. It was upon the road between the creek and the yard that Lieutenant Dixon had been killed by archers when the Pekot Squad had left Bristlehump with him as their prisoner.
The squad had so far avoided going into the teamster’s yard, but this time Choke, at the head of the column, rode right on into it. There were multiple shrill bursts of whistles from the teamsters at work as he did.
At the back of the yard was the freight office, next to the stockyards and wagon sheds. The Bristlehump freight office was much smaller than the Spitzer one; basically little more than a one-story log cabin. With almost all the freight being outgoing lumber, there was no need for more than that.
Choke rode straight for the office, and Bob, the Spitzer teamster boss, strode on out of it in a rain slick to meet him. The big man’s eyes flared wide as he saw who it was leading the platoon of soldiers, but he managed to cover his shock well enough. Choke raised his hand to signal the column’s halt when he was a few meters from Bob. Peep rode on up from the rear to join the conversation. As she did, three more men followed Bob from the office, one with an undrawn crossbow held loose down by his side. Several more men came ambling towards the soldiers from the wagon sheds. Most of them held hammers and other hand tools.
“Well, now!” Bob exclaimed loud enough for the whole yard to hear, “I guess this goes to show not to put any stock in soldier’s gossip! It’s good to see ye weren’t killed like we heard, Brother Bartholomew! And I suppose a change in title is in order. Would that be a lieutenant’s chain yar sporting now?”
“That it is, Bob. I am the new commander of Bristlehump’s garrison!” Choke said, pitching his voice to the whole yard as well.
“Well, congratulations, boy! I’m glad to see we got some proper soldiers coming here now. It’s been feeling a little bit thin on that front the last while,” Bob said, taking a few steps towards Choke and dropping his voice to a conversational level. “So, yar to be the new kingdom man in town, huh? A freshly minted lieutenant. My, oh my! Ye do move quick, don’t ye? It seems like it hasn’t even been a week since ye got our last one offed right out there on the road in front of us.”
“Oh, is that what I did?” Choke said. “You don’t happen to know who it was that did the shooting, do you?”
“Me? No. I know better than that. So, Lieutenant, seeing as yar the man around here now, d’ye wanna to step into my office and have a drink? We need to have a word or two about all that needs sorting out between the likes of us. Ye know, about patrolling the road, and yar boys’ freight needs, and other such matters.”
“Thank you for the offer, Bob. You are right: we have much to discuss. But it has been a long, wet march from Spitzer. Our people are tired and in need of shelter and rest. How about if I come to see you tomorrow morning?” Choke asked.
“That suits me just fine. Until tomorrow morning, then, Lieutenant. Miss Otilla,” Bob said, tipping the wide brim of his hat towards her.
“Thank you, Bob,” Choke said, tapping his lance to his helmet in salute. Then he signaled for Pinch to call for the column to march on.
Just above the Crotch, they had to ford the Cowslip Creek to get to the south gate. Normally it was no more than twenty centimeters deep there. While the Cowslip was not nearly as wild as the Bristle Creek, the prospect of wading through the fast, muddy waters was frightening for many of Peep’s followers. Choke took note of this and had Pinch begin assigning soldiers to escort the womenfolk across. Then he, Peep, and Knuckle helped the children up onto their horses with them to make the crossing.
Pinch got on with his assignment, but seemed distracted about it, pausing now and again to stare at the angry creek water with a haunted look. Knuckle was the first one to pick up on what was bothering him:
“Hey Pinch!” he called over at him. “If any of these kids go in the drink, don’t go charging into the crick after them! We don’t got that miserable prick, Thorn, to pull ye out this time!”
“Fuck you, Knuckle! Asshole!” Pinch yelled back.
Knuckle let his belly laugh roll as those not in the know kept their peace and pondered the potential of the incident.
With everyone settled, the platoon and Peep’s followers all made it across Cowslip creek without trouble. From the creekside, it was only a few meters to the south gate. To Choke’s surprise, there was actually a soldier manning it. The gate was open, and the man was standing out of the rain as best he could in the open portal with the walkway above. As Choke led the rest towards him, the man squared up.
“Uhhhhhh… Who goes there?” he asked with serious worry in his voice.
Choke now recognized the man as one of the few soldiers who had been left in Bristlehump. He had no doubt that the man recognized him and the rest of the Pekot Squad. The man seemed either stunned by this turn of events, or else was a proper cretin.
“Lieutenant Pekot, commanding the new garrison for Bristlehump. I am now your commanding officer.”
“Yeah… okay. Sir. I suppose that’s so,” the man responded.
“It is. I am glad to see you on guard duty. Good man. How many of you are there now, here in Bristlehump?” Choke asked.
“Sir? How many what?”
“Soldiers. You know what? Never mind.” Choke asked, now reassessing the man’s slack, open mouth and torpid stare. “Is Barrelmender at the church?”
“Who?”
“Brother Barrelmender! The priest here in town. Okay, never mind. Thank you, soldier. As you were.”
Choke led on through town and into the main square. It being about dinner time, they attracted a good following of cackling villagers of all ages. It seemed discovering that the killer jink monk was still alive, and further to that, was now transformed into an officer of the kingdom, was a grand surprise. People generally did not seem either overjoyed or dismayed by the realization, but were greatly excited by it all the same. It was as though it were some kind of natural phenomenon, like an eclipse, that, while a spectacle, did not have any real significance in their own lives.
As the main square began filling up with people, Choke turned to Peep:
“I suppose your followers will be staying in the church. At least for tonight, until we can find a more suitable situation for them. Inform them, and I’ll go in and talk to Barrelmender.”
Choke grabbed his saddlebags and handed his reins off to Pinch before dismounting to head up the church steps. As he was about to reach them, Brother Barrelmender came looming out of the church.
The cleric of the Brothers of the Holy Stone seemed in good condition; all things considered. He was upright and square on his tall, lanky frame, walking out of his church with an irritated purpose, set to discover what this racket outside might be. The tall, stout walking stick in his hand was clearly a potential weapon, rather than any necessary support for him. Brother Barrelmender scowled at the soldiers and rabble in the square, before first noticing Peep on her mount, and then Choke walking right up to him.
“Brother Barrelmender. We have returned,” Choke said.
“I can see that. You have missed Sunday Mass today.”
“I… I apologize for it, Brother. We were on the road coming here all day,” Choke stammered.
“I suppose everyone has their excuses. And you are now my military commander, it seems. What have you here for me? A full platoon?”
“Yes, Brother.”
“And do you have my brandy?” Brother Barrelmender asked sharply.
“No, Brother. I apologize. In our hasty departure from here, and all the trouble that followed, I quite forgot that you requested it. I did bring you your soldiers, though.”
“Yes,” Barrelmender said wearily. “I’d have preferred brandy. And what are these?” he scowled at Peep’s followers, who were now coming up the church steps towards him, herded by Mariola.
“Otilla of the Holy Fire, Brother. They are her followers. They have chosen to follow her, to devote themselves to the Church. And to her,” Choke said.
“And what am I meant to do about them?” Brother Barrelmender snapped. He prodded one of them away from him with the end of his staff as they stumbled by.
“Father Morrenthall thought ye could keep them in the church here!” Peep called out from below, still on horseback. “He thought you, or yar housekeeper, could find something for them to do, enough to warrant keeping them fed.”
“Oh, did he? Well you make sure to thank him for that the next time you see him!” Brother Barrelmender shouted back, jabbing the end of his staff Peep’s way.
“Sure thing, Brother! Always happy to oblige a man of God!” Peep said, giving Barrelmender a cheeky grin.
“Speaking of Father Morrenthall, I have a letter for you from him. May we step inside where it is dry so that I can retrieve it?” Choke asked.
“Yes, yes. Fine.”
Barrelmender went back into the church, leaving Choke to follow him. Choke turned back and called to Peep:
“I’ll just be a minute! Have the men secure the church, front and back!”
“Yes, sir!” Peep barked back.
Choke hurried to catch up to Brother Barrelmender, who was ignoring Peep’s followers as he strode through the church pews, heading to the back. In the church’s kitchen, Barrelmender lit a lamp from the cook stove with a wood shaving.
“I have only gruel for myself here. I can’t be feeding that lot out of here!” he snapped, waving his staff errantly in the general direction of the church’s front.
Choke saw that there was indeed a small cook pot of gruel on the stove. Its contents looked terrible.
“Yes, Brother. Here is the letter,” Choke produced the letter from the bottom of one of his saddlebags. He had carefully wrapped the letter in a linen cloth treated with bee’s wax, along with his officer’s ledger, Holy Book, and the book Father Morrenthall had given him: The Epistles of Saint Boetheus to Arthmail of Pudd.
“Thank you. Always a treat to receive correspondence. Especially from a proper Stronian such as Father Morrenthall,” Brother Barrelmender said, puffing himself up just a bit pompously. “I hope he is well.”
“He is, Brother. He has been made the Baron’s magistrate of Spitzer.
“Good for him. So, tell me, Lieutenant… what is your name meant to be now, anyway?” Brother Barrelmender said with a deep scowl.
“Lieutenant Bartholomew Pekot, Brother.”
“Ah. I suppose that works. So, tell me, Lieutenant Pekot: am I still magistrate of Bristlehump?”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Really,” Barrelmender sighed. “And you are still my apparitor?”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Well, I suppose you should have a seat, then,” Barrelmender said, sitting down himself. “So, do tell me, how is it that I have managed to retain the illustrious position of magistrate of Bristlehump? Did you not give Baron Hart a proper report?”
“Well, Brother, we gave Father Morrenthall our report, as well as the writ of your evidence against Lieutenant Dixon. It was Father Morrenthall that presented it all to the Baron.”
“I see. And I suppose he was less than forthcoming,” Brother Barrelmender said.
“That could be one way to put it. I am sure he would prefer to think that he was strategic in his approach, with a mind for the greater good moving forward on all fronts,” said Choke.
“Oh, are we getting glib now that we have risen up in the world, Lieutenant? I think I understand well enough the situation. This place,” Brother Barrelmender stabbed his index finger down on the kitchen table with impressive force, “does not warrant proper oversight. There is nothing of value here to be risked. So they let me continue overseeing it. And they send you to help me.”
Choke met Barrelmender’s eye square, unfazed by the insult:
“You forget something, Brother. They have sent Otilla of the Holy Fire here as well. Because she has told them that she sees something in you. She has a feeling about you.”
“A feeling.”
“Yes, Brother,” Choke said. “She will not abandon you. And so here we came. To help you.”
At this, Brother Barrelmender flushed as emotion rose up to overtake him. He blinked rapidly in a facial spasm and turned his face away. Choke could once again see the horrifying marks the undead fighter had been given: along with the human bite scars on his cheek, there was the companion white handprint on his neck, in a choking grip, standing out now in white pallor against the surrounding pink skin.
“So what are we to do, then?” Brother Barrelmender asked once he had regained his composure.
“Our duty, Brother. We shall do our best and pray that it shall be enough,” Choke said with conviction.
“I have done my best before, you know,” Barrelmender said, his eyes drifting off into a thousand-yard stare. “And it wasn’t enough. Not even close. And do you know what happened then, Lieutenant?”
“No, Brother.”
“Something worse even than death. I would gladly have died. But even that solace was denied me. And do you not think that I, too, prayed that my best would be enough? That I would be able to lead my men to victory? Or, if not that, then at least to a glorious defeat? Do you think I did not pray for that?” Brother Barrelmender asked, his voice almost a whisper as it quivered with terrifying intensity.
“I am sure that you did, Brother.”
“And, yet, these prayers were not to be answered. Another fate for us. For some, that is how it goes, Lieutenant.”
“I am sure that is so, Brother. Even so, I will pray and do my best.”
“Alright then. Fool. I shall come along with you on this farce. You should go now. We shall have ample time to talk over all the pointless trivialities of our duties in the endless hours to come. I have a letter to read. I do hope Father Morrenthall was benevolent enough not to be kind to me.”
Brother Barrelmender picked up his letter from Father Morrenthall off the able, and stared at it with barely contained horror in his eyes.
“Yes, Brother,” Choke said, rising from the table. “Just one question in regards to the trivialities, if I may.”
“Yes, yes,” Brother Barrelmender dropped the letter to wave his hand about in irritation.
“There was a soldier guarding the south gate when we entered town. May I assume you have taken command of those soldiers remaining here?” Choke asked.
“Yes. I have managed that much.”
“If I may, Brother: how many soldiers are there?”
“Five. There were seven when you left with Dixon, but now there are five,” Barrelmender answered.
“There were seven? I could have sworn that there were more than that,” Choke said out loud to himself.
“I am capable of counting to seven man!” Brother Barrelmender roared, slamming his fist down on the table.
“Yes, Brother. My apologies. I had just thought it was fewer than that, is all. I meant no disrespect.”
“Well, the mind does play tricks. Is that all?”
“You said there were seven before, but now only five. Did the other two run off?” Choke asked.
“No. Not really,” Barrelmender said.
Choke waited for more from him. Barrelmender had again picked up the letter from Father Morrenthall and was staring at its seal.
“Do you mind telling me what happened, Brother?” Choke eventually asked.
“In regards to what?” Barrelmender asked mildly, looking up from the seal.
“The two soldiers who are no longer with us.”
“Ah. Them. Yes. Well, it is funny that you should put it that way, Lieutenant. One of them killed the other and ran off,” Barrelmender said calmly.
“When was that, Brother?”
“A few days ago. How long have you been gone? It has not been that many days, has it? Yet it seems a long age ago. Since I’ve been curtailing my drinking, I find the days interminably long. Endless drudgery. But I am rather sure that I have only held two Sunday Masses since you left, including the one today. Is that correct?”
“Yes, brother. We left late at night on Friday night and arrived in Spitzer Saturday before last. So we have been gone about eight days.”
“Just so. Yes. Well, it was a few days ago. The one rubbish heap of a soldier killed the other. I pressed the ones that were left and got the story. After you lot killed everyone at the brothel and burned it down, there was a power vacuum within that strata of our society here. The wretches took to arguing over the whores, apparently, and the one killed the other. Then he absconded into the woods with some of the women, presumably to set up shop with them. That is all I know about it. My investigative capabilities are somewhat diminished these days. Along with everything else.”
“No, Brother, that is excellent information. Thank you.”
“Oh, have I been a good doggy? Do I get a treat?” Brother Barrelmender said sharply. He then laughed at Choke’s mortified expression. The laugh was not right. Eventually it stopped and Barrelmender stared at Choke with dead eyes.
“Ahm. I don’t suppose you know the murder’s name, do you Brother?” Choke asked.
“Yes I do.”
“Could you tell me it?” Choke asked, after a long pause.
“It is Henri. What a perfect moniker for an aspirational pimp, don’t you think? I thought it was wonderful, so there is no way I could forget it. Henri. Initially, the most enterprising of the scum left to me for administering this festering boil of a community. Now, a worthy nemesis in my present state, I am sure. But, alas, I could not even arise to the occasion of bringing him down. After all, I had my sermon for eight to prepare. And my gruel to cook,” Brother Barrelmender waved morosely at the gruel pot still burning on the stove.
“Ahhh… yes. I had noticed that,” Choke said. “Has… your housekeeper not been coming around?”
“The slattern that I debased myself with, you mean? In the same wretched, filthy boat as Dixon and Henri and all the other fornicators, and that pig is the one I allow to unravel me.”
“Yes, her. She’s not been coming around?” Choke pressed on gamely.
“She took it poorly when I chose to relocate here. She came here to serve me lunch and recriminations for a few days until I thrashed her and threw her out into the gutter where she belongs. Since then she has had the good sense not to come around.”
“Well that’s… something, then. Alright, then, Brother, we’ll leave you. I hope Otilla’s followers in the church don’t disturb you. We will see to it that they are fed. You needn’t worry yourself about them.”
“I am not worried in the slightest. Scum, the lot of them.”
“Good, then. Alright, Brother, have a good night. Maybe we’ll talk again tomorrow”
Brother Barrelmender did not respond to this, so Choke left him sitting at his kitchen table, once more staring at Father Morrenthall’s seal as though it confined the very fires of Hell beneath it.
Muse Vassal 