Tessa woke early, as she always did, pulled on some trousers, her boots and a work shirt. She kicked the door of the Johns to wake them, waiting until she heard muffled swearing indicating they were awake at least. There was just the 3 of them working the outpost, and a caravan had sent a runner ahead, informing them of incoming visitors. She downed a cup of lukewarm coffee and the last apple, and left a cup and some slightly stale bread out for the two. They were slow risers, but dependable once they were on their feet. She looked out at the outpost as she ate, trying not to focus on the mushy half of her breakfast. It was going to be a reasonable morning, still damp and muddy from the overnight rain but there was already some steam rising as the morning sun beamed down.
She set out on the usual chores, feeding the chickens and counting the bobbing heads. This far from the city it was common to lose livestock to the woods, even with the huge stake fences surrounding the 4 buildings that made up the outpost. The outpost was still too small to even have a proper name, but Tessa dreamed of a day when it would be profitable enough to attract investment from the merchant’s guild. Then she’d have more workers, people to do the stinking jobs she hated while she slept in and made sure the books added up. For now, she was satisfied that no chickens had been taken in the night, and there was a good few eggs to feed the incoming caravan. The rooster watched her side eyed as always, a mutual dislike flowing between it and Tessa.
She nodded approvingly as she saw the 2 Johns, still clutching their cups as they started their morning rounds. The older John raised a cup in salute as they checked the fence, looking for fresh gaps or damage. Tessa prayed to the nameless gods it would be all clear, they weren’t in financial trouble yet but if the caravan had to leave in a hurry they would be.
Unwillingly, like an old wound that hadn’t healed properly, an old memory rose up. She and the Johns had hidden in the small underground shelter, as something huge and unseen had blundered through the outpost. She remembered the panic when the alarm bells were sounded, the caravans fleeing as the younger John almost dove from the watch tower and pulled her into the shelter, shouting at her to abandon the ledgers and everything else. She had raged at him in the dark, swearing and kicking the walls with tears in her eyes. If the ledgers had been destroyed, the years of work would have been for nought and the outpost would have to be abandoned. She had stopped and fallen silent when the ground shook, or to be more accurate when she realized she was feeling the ground shaking. It had been there for a while, lurking on the edges of her senses, but then it had become too great to ignore. They had clung together in the dark as the walls shook, the metal frame of the shelter buckling briefly. They heard splintering wood, the panicked cries of the chickens suddenly cut off, more splintering wood and then mercifully the sound of great footsteps moving away, the ground settling.
They had stayed in the shelter for as long as they could, until the smell of the tiny covered hole acting as a privy could no longer be tolerated (she swore when they got some investment the first thing she would install was some of the plumbing she had read about, great pipes under the big city that would vanish the filth where she wouldn’t have to smell it or empty a pit herself) and they were forced out. All in all it could have been worse, the buildings were mostly untouched bar some scrapes that could be patched, and the fence has been breached in 2 places instead of totally destroyed. The chickens were a great loss, their hutch torn open and all but a single hen hiding under some blood stained straw gone.
Tessa shook her head to let the memory fall away. She has spent the week after the attack sleeping in the shelter, too terrified to sleep in the much warmer bedroom, and that was enough carry on she told herself. Today there were guests arriving, in need of food, a warm room and water that didn’t taste of metal canteens. The animals would need food and lodging, the workers beer and rest. She had much to do and too few hands to do it. She got to it, what else was there to do.
The caravan arrived just short of midday going by the clock in the main room, though Tessa would freely admit it was set to the best estimate she had. Another thing investment would bring, the city sending out the men with tiny clocks matched to Xrantha’s clock tower, setting clocks to match so receipts would be accurate and claims of freshness of deliveries be verified. For now it did for timekeeping and letting the caravans track how long they had stayed, and Tessa admired the beauty of the thing. It was one of the few things she had bought for appearance as well as functionality, a promise to herself that she would someday be prosperous enough to buy pretty things, not just working tools. She wiped some dust off the varnished wood and the metal face and hands, and turned to count the spaces at the table. The runner had given them a firm number, and she quickly counted that there was a space set at the long tables and a beer ready for each man, worker and guard. She grabbed a skirt off a hook on the back of the door, stepping into it and pulling it up over her trousers. She quickly checked she wasn’t too grimy in the mirror, adjusted her shirt and went out to meet the caravan.
It wasn’t their biggest stopping ever, but by no means the smallest. 4 wagons and a carriage in total, 2 wagons bearing tools and equipment, 1 wagon filled with working men still stained with unknowable grime and muck packed in and cramped, and 1 wagon for the caravan guards, all led by a carriage bearing a merchant noble, the title “Jerrickson Mining Co.” printed on the side of the black carriage in bronze letters. Tessa made sure the Johns were seeing to the wagons and animals, and went to greet the merchant noble. In her head she ran through the books of etiquette she had memorized, desperate to satisfy the merchant. Almost any merchant could make or break the outpost if they put the words in the right ears. She prayed he was a reasonable man.
The merchant leading the caravan stepped down from the carriage, an older man in clean but plain clothes, brown trousers fitted to his protruding belly and held up by suspenders with some travel-worn but comfortable looking boots and a red wool coat over a white shirt with the topmost button left undone, the collar slightly smudged with something red. He had not waited for the coachman to drop the steps, he instead kicked a lever by the door and the metal steps folded out, and he stepped into the mud with no hesitation. “A good sign”, Tessa thought to herself, “But you should have laid out some dry wood for a stepping you fool!” He lit up a cigar, producing a lighter from his plain red coat before he looked around, and gave a polite smile as he saw her approach.
“Good day sir, welcome to our outpost. I am Tessa, the proprietor, here to provide what we can.” She had practiced the sentence endlessly, making sure to speak in a clear voice with as little trace of accent as possible. She curtsied as she did, watching the man’s face as she did. “He only glanced at my bosom” she thought to herself and suppressed a grin “Another good sign.” It was an old trick of her mothers, letting her know who was likely to take grabs for her from behind and who could most likely be trusted to be polite. “Shall I prepare a room for you and your travelling companions’ sir?”
The man waved a hand dismissively, but his voice was soft and merely business like, not the openly insulting she had heard so many times before. “No thank you madam. We’re here for a short stop, just long enough to get the men fed and the animals watered. We have an appointment to keep.”
Tessa curtsied again, it never hurt to appear as servile as possible. “Very good sir, your runner informed us but best to check if plans had changed I feel. “ He nodded, and turned to take in the outpost properly, the cigar leaving a trail of smoke in the air as he turned his head. “Small place this, looks fairly new?” he said, with a flat voice betraying neither interest nor dislike.
“Just a few years sir, I founded it myself with some savings. Looked to be a good spot for it.”
“Just yourself eh? Well you’ve done well without, if I may be as rude to assume, no major investors.”
“Thank you sir, we hope to attract some once we’re properly established, but we keep along until then.” Tessa swore in her head. She should have said they were ready for investment, not still working. Her face betrayed nothing, but she felt a slight heat in her cheeks. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to your workers. “
If he had noticed anything he didn’t let on. He continued looking around, and waved with the cigar hand. “Off you go, I need them ready to go in 2 hours, if you can wrangle them back outside once they’ve eaten I’d be quite appreciative.” He made no motion to leave the vicinity of his carriage, and Tessa wasn’t going to push him.
“Of course sir.” She recognized that it wasn’t really a request.
She curtsied one last time with and headed off. The Johns were handling the animals, a few horses and a lone donkey looking out of place next to the larger animals. She nodded at them and they nodded back. She half-ran to where the workers were milling about and stepped onto the porch of the main guest hall. She cupped her hands and shouted over the chatter of the men “Alright boys we got cold beers ready and hot food shortly, I’ll just ask you all to wash the worst off your hands and faces on your way in!” She indicated to the open barrel beside her as she spoke, filled with rain water with some large old rags beside it. She’d have to scrub the benches after the men were finished but she could at least save some stains on the plates and cups.
She bustled off into the hall, and headed for the heat of the kitchen. She had a good number of eggs ready in a basket and swung a huge pan onto the stove top, cracking the eggs as rapidly as she could. The sausages she had left on the heat were done if slightly burned, but she felt the men wouldn’t care too much. With the pan full of eggs she grabbed the sausage pan and tipped them into a large basket lined with waxed paper, just in time for the Johns to knock on the kitchen door. They knew well enough not to come in after handling the animals.
“Animals have their meal and water Tess, the men are making short work of the beers. We’ll keep em wet?” asked the older John. Tessa blessed them in her head, they had finished the animals faster than she expected right when she needed the help.
“Aye John, but no more than 3 bottles a man said the runners note. Gimme a moment and I’ll have the eggs and sausages out, the bread and beans shortly after.” She carried on the work in the heat of the large stove, moving between the eggs and the bread oven. She ripped off the top of 2 large cans of beans, swearing at the way the handle always bent her fingernails.
When the food was ready she and the Johns had got to work dishing out servings for each man, she glanced at the room. Some of the men had downed their 3rd bottle in the time it had taken her to finish the food, and she was worried they may cause trouble once they were refused a 4th. But her worries were for nothing, she saw them reach for the water jugs scattered around the table once they noticed they’d finished the bottles. “Either well-disciplined or the guards aren’t just for protection” she thought to herself, and indeed the guards had scattered themselves around the room, so that no workers were in too large a group with no escort. They seemed to be laughing and talking with the men friendly enough, but Tessa knew better than to think about it too hard.
She had finished dishing out the food and answering calls for more water, back and forth from the kitchen for more bread until she announced the bread was finished and she could look around and take stock. The men had the hunger of working folk and the first served were almost finished their generous portions, looking satisfied as they mopped up the grease and leftovers with the heels of bread. Tessa was pleased with herself until she saw an extra man, sitting by himself away from the workers with no sign of drink nor food in front of him. “By the Gods nameless balls you’ve messed up Tessa!” she thought angrily to herself. Had the runner been wrong, had she miscounted? She had nothing ready to feed him and she’d need time to prepare bread and the like. She glanced up at the clock. The men had been there for an hour already, it wouldn’t reflect well on herself if she held up the caravan to feed another. Nothing to do but deal with the problem.
She approached the man. “My apologies sir, seems we were not given an accurate count and we didn’t have food prepared for you…” She trailed off as he looked up, trying to hide her shock. He was an old man, not a hair left that wasn’t grey or white, but it was the scarring that threw her off and made her stumble over her words. He looked up at her through a pair of eyeglasses sitting on an unblemished face, only the wrinkles at the side of his eyes betraying his age. His upturned head showing the patchwork of scars across his throat and stopping just under the chin, a single faint line continuing out of the mess and creeping up to just below his lip. Either side of his head was bald, a mess of badly healed scars that had rendered his ears nearly flat holes against his skull. The back of his head was scarred up to about halfway, the admittedly plentiful hair tied into a small ponytail poking out horizontally. The sleeves of his wrinkled shirt had been pulled up to the elbows, showing the mess of burn scars starting at his wrists and travelling up into the sleeves. He showed no care to her obvious shock, and sat calmly with a fountain pen in one hand, the book he had been writing in still open in front of him. She became aware he was speaking, and shook her head slightly, shifting back into her professional demeanour “My apologies sir, I didn’t catch that?”
He replaced the cap of the fountain pen and stored it in a pocket of his vest, closing the button over it. Tessa could see now the lines of pockets on the brown leather vest, each bulging with contents. “I said I most likely was not included in the caravan’s count. I travelled with them briefly but wasn’t part of their entourage.” He had an odd manner of speaking, each word was drawn out slightly too long and he spoke with no accent Tessa could recognise, flat and almost monotone. She quietly allowed herself a sigh of relief. It was quite common for caravans to pick up lone travellers temporarily, an extra hand or guard in exchange for the safety of numbers.
“Well sir, shall I bring you some food? It will take a while for the bread but we can have some eggs and beans out to you shortly? We’re out of sausages until the supply run comes in I’m afraid.”
“Thank you, I will wait until you’ve dealt with the caravan. I believe they’re due to leave soon? I would ask for some water if you don’t mind. We will have more to discuss when you’re more available” said the scarred man, again flat and monotone, showing no hints of any annoyance or any other feelings.
“Of course sir, right away.” She shuffled off, grateful to be away from the sight. He seemed fine but the scars were unnerving her. She thought he looked as though he’d been cooked most of the way, the skin healed over in a disgusting web of scar tissue. She returned to the working men, serving and refilling water and bringing out some plates of dry biscuits. They would do to fill any gaps in the men’s bellies, though they seemed perfectly happy to just sit in the warm and dry and talk. She dropped off the water to the lone man’s table, taking care to not betray any of her feelings this time. As she darted around the room fetching water and cleaning away plates, she sneaked glances at the man. He was engrossed in the book again, writing carefully and occasionally sipping water, paying no mind to her or the activity around him.
Before long it was time, and with 15 minutes shy of 2 hours she called out to the men, asking them to head outside as requested. They rose with no complaint, still chatting amongst themselves and giving her and the Johns thanking nods and waves as they headed out. She followed them out, and approached the merchants, still standing next to his carriage. She assumed he had moved at some point but he seemed to be in the same boot marks even. The Johns and some of the men started wrangling the horses, getting the caravan ready to move again.
The merchant waved his cigar at Tessa as she approached. “All fed and watered then lass?” he called.
“Indeed sir, bellies full and thirsts sated, no more than 3 beers to a man as requested by the runner.”
He nodded approvingly, and stretched out a hand to shake hers. She gripped it and felt the strength behind the squeeze, the roughness of the hand. “Must have been a working man himself” she thought to herself, “newly rich. No wonder he’s better than most.”
“I appreciate your serving us ma’am” he said, slipping into a voice more business-like than the greeting. He must have forgotten himself for a moment. “Your outpost is quite well situated for my business and some others. I admit I don’t have the capital to invest proper, but I believe I have the ear of some that may and may be interested, I shall be dropping some words in your favour.”
Tessa couldn’t conceal her smile. “Well we aim to please sir, and we’d welcome it greatly.” They settled the bill amicably, the coachman stepping out with a large leather satchel chained to his wrist, a heavy looking lock sitting open. He popped it open and Tessa saw the tidy compartments, filled with stacks of parchment or metal plates. “Would you prefer paper or plates ma’am?” said the coachman, sounding bored.
She didn’t trust the parchment money the merchant’s guild had been pushing lately, she had heard them tell of techniques that made them impossible to forge but to her it looked like any fool with a pen could make his own. “Plates if it suit sir, I’m always afraid if dropping the paper in the mud or the wind taking them.” The coachman showed no interest in her answer, but dutifully counted out the plates, heavy iron things the size of her palm with serial numbers and values printed on them, the merchant’s guilds logo of The Golden Scales embedded dead centre. These she trusted, the weight carried their importance. She shook the merchant’s hands again and he clambered up after snuffing his cigar out in a small brass box. The calls were given and the caravan headed out, the Johns swinging the large fence gates shut and barring them once they were clear. The silence cleared, and she could again hear the drifting noises of the nearby woods, the clucking of the chickens and the steps of the donkey, left alone in the animal stable. She handed off the plates to the Johns to put in the safe, and headed back to the hall. The books would keep until their last customer had been seen to.
He had moved from the wooden chair and table to one of the more comfortable armchairs next to the fire, his book out of sight and polishing something with a bit of cloth as she approached. “Shall we bring food for you sir?” She was ready this time and didn’t let anything show even as she slightly averted her gaze from the scars. He wrapped the item in the cloth and placed it in a vest pocket before he answered, a quick shine of brass all she could see.
“Yes, please.” Came the answer, still flat and monotone. “Bread eggs and beans if you still have them, no meat is required thank you. And a refill of water please.”
“Are you sure sir? We may still have some dried bacon in the pantry if you wish?”
“No meat thank you.” The reply was flat as ever but she knew not to offer more options.
“Right away sir.”
She returned to the kitchen and prepared a meal, sending a John out with the water after a warning not to stare or say anything about the scars. When she brought the meal out, he was back in the wooden chair with a table, looking out the window calmly with the table in front of him clear. He thanked her as she laid the plate down and got to it. She watched him as she cleaned after the workers, cutting the food into small pieces before popping each small bite into his mouth. “Poor thing probably can’t eat properly with his neck all burnt up” she thought to herself. She approached him as she saw him finish to collect the plate.
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“Hope it was to your liking sir. Can I get you anything else?”
“No more food or drink, thank you. I believe you have rooms available?”
She grimaced inwardly, she had been hoping he wasn’t staying. She didn’t want to spend overly long looking at him, and who knew what he’d leave behind on the sheets with those scars. Outwardly she was all smiles. “Of course sir, small but warm. If you have any bags we can keep them secure in the main office.”
He nodded at her answer. “Good. I’ll be staying at least 3 days, I’m expecting to meet someone but they may be delayed so I may need longer.” He grabbed a bag from under his chair, lifting it up by the strap left across one leg to save him bending down. Tessa saw the plates within as he opened it, different shades stained into the messy pile. The city states tended to add their own colour to their plates, he’s well-travelled she thought. “It’ll be 2 dollars a night sir, meals included. An extra dollar for your animal.” He grunted something which she couldn't take as pleasant, but counted out the plates needed and handed them over. “I’ll need some of my bags to hand please, in my room.” She called for one of the Johns, and he showed the traveller to the room across the muddy space, fetching a large satchel and a large trunk from the shed attached to the stable as she watched through the windows. The John walked him to the room, and headed back for the stable, emerging with 2 more trunks he carried to the office. She didn’t see him again that day, and assumed he was resting.
All in all he was a near perfect guest over the 3 days. He was an early riser and would take a walk around the perimeter of the outpost, doing 5 laps each morning. He spent most of the rest of the day sitting near the fire with the book in front of him, writing almost constantly. He spoke with her and the Johns politely enough, and wasn’t at all demanding. The most he asked for was more water and some extra candles. He seemed to stay up til all hours, she fell asleep the 3 days seeing the candle lit in the guest house window. They had 2 small caravans over the 3 days, a pair of wagons on the first day stopping for food and trio of traders bringing some welcome supplies. He stood on the porch of the guesthouse when the caravans arrived, his large trunk beside him as watched with a bored expression until they left and he went back to his routine.
The third day, she found him in his usual spot and asked him if he was staying on. He confirmed he was, and handed over the plates for an additional night, saying he hoped he wouldn’t be too much longer.
She had taken somewhat of an interest in his book, the one he was near constantly writing in, and when it was quiet and they were free (even on a day with no visitors there were so many chores to handle) her and the Johns would sit in the hall, talking with the man who had given his name as Benjamin Wakesfield. If he was annoyed by their presence he betrayed nothing, freely showing them his work and denying any offers to leave him be. “Perhaps he’s lonely” thought Tessa, “Can’t be too many would be friendly with him looking like that.” He showed them his work, a book of what he called medical science. He claimed to be part of a fellowship of like-minded individuals, doctors roaming the lands to catalogue new medicines and treatments.
“Ah so you’re associated with the temples then? Asked the younger John, his demeanour approving and happy.
“Not at all.” Came the monotone reply. “We work away from the temple, their methods are a tad too stifling to allow for proper progress.”
“But won’t the temples treat anybody?” asked the younger John in reply. “They got doctors and Speakers that’ll cure anyone, knew a fella had a bum leg sorted out in Xrantha. Why you need to go finding new bits and writin’ em down away from the temples?” This John was a devout follower of the Mourning One, Tessa knew. She knew the curl in his lips was him hiding some annoyance or anger, she hoped he wouldn’t say anything too rude.
“I take it you’re a follower of one of the temples yes? Not the first I’ve seen angered by my work. I assure you it won’t be a challenge to their monopoly and they’ll still be important, we share our knowledge with the temples as well after all. We seek to verify what knowledge is worth keeping and correct what is false, and then make it available to any who need it. I imagine your friend would have been happier had he not had to go all the way to Xrantha to be healed.”
She gripped her trousers under the table. He had spoken in the same flat and monotone voice, but she heard the casual disrespect in his words. The temples were the providers of healing, simultaneously places of study and healing as well as worship. To specifically set oneself apart from their work was… she hesitated to think of it as blasphemy. She could see the value of his work, but why not do it in the temple, or with the temples approval at least?
The John stood up, standing rapidly enough his chair scraped back. Tessa gritted her teeth and was about to smack his leg before he said anything overly rude, but he surprised her by taking a deep breath before he replied in a voice quietly tinted with anger.
“Temples say healing is only to be done in the temples or by the priests, else we invite all mad sorts in to have a poke. I can appreciate your work may have value sir, but I cannot approve of one would so blatantly set themselves apart from the holy works. I shall take my leave lest I say somethin’ make Miss Tessa think less of me.”
The traveller watched him leave, showing no signs of emotion on his face. He simply turned once he had left and went back to his book, comparing scattered notes and writing or copying into the big pages sandwiched between thick leather bindings.
“For what it’s worth sir” said the older John quietly, almost whispering as if he feared the other John would be listening in, “I greatly appreciate the herb mix you gave me, cleared up the stomach aches right away. Them stretches you showed me for the wrist are working wonders too, feeling a bit looser each day. Can’t be too much harm in work does small goodness like that.” He nodded, and headed out himself. “Scuse me, animals will be needing feeding and I best calm John down before he spooks em.”
The traveller gave him a small smile, the first Tessa had seen, and turned back to his work. She admired his writing for a short while, the pen flowing and making beautiful letters with speed as he filled page after page. Her own writing was competent but quite plain, barely removed from the practice workbooks she had learned from.
“Can I get you anything before dinner Mister Wakesfield?”
“Just some more water please.”
His expected visitors did not arrive on the 4th day, nor the 5th nor the 6th. He watched the caravans always, but never stepped off the porch to meet anyone. Otherwise he remained in the warm hall most of the day, the younger John pointedly being polite when forced by duty to speak but avoiding him when possible. She spoke with him on the 7th day, and saw him frowning as he counted the plates for another night’s stay. The bag had been diminished somewhat, and she saw he’d have enough for a few more nights, but he’d be stuck with nowhere to go unless he felt like sleeping under the stars and hunting his food all the way to the next city. There were precious few outposts or farmsteads would put up a traveller for free, even an older one. “He’s much too old for that, his friend better be along soon or he’ll be forced to head along soon.” Tessa thought to herself. He seemed to agree, muttering as he counted out 3 plates and checking what was left “2 more days at most, then I’ll have to move on, hope they can catch up maybe?”
On the 8th day, Tessa woke to a banging on the gates. Someone was rattling and shaking them incessantly, muffled shouting carrying over the yard through her windows. She quickly got dressed and woke the Johns, hoping they’d be up fast. Unexpected visitors were common enough but few would arrive this early, unless they had travelled by night. She made sure the crossbows in the office were where they were supposed to be. There were 2 main reasons people would travel at night, either they were under a tight deadline, or they were looking to avoid attention.
The Johns didn’t take too much time, and she stood in the gate lane as they opened the gate. An angry looking man with untidy red hair stood in the lane as the gate swung open, one arm bound and crudely splinted with rope and wood stakes, the flesh puffy and purple. “Bout time you let us in, been riding all night. Don’t you know there’s monsters out there?”
Behind him came a small wagon, with 2 riders sitting on the front. They had the same hair as the knocker, and a strong resemblance suggested brothers or at least close cousins. A leather sheet was pulled tight over the flat rear, keeping the night mist and morning dew off their cargo. The 2 looked half as angry but regarded the Johns with surly eyes. They each wore filthy trousers and boots with long wool coats stained all over with gods knew what. Tessa braced herself for a rough day. “Apologies sirs,” she said once the men had disembarked and handed the reins of the tired horse to a John. “We don’t normally get visitors this early. Hot breakfast and a cold beer to start with?”
“To start with yeah” came the reply from one of the men with an unpleasant chuckle. She swallowed, and curtsied. As she expected, the 3 leered at her chest openly. She’d need a John to stay nearby. As she turned to lead them into the hall, she waved beckoningly at the Johns. They knew well enough the meaning, and the older John headed towards them. They all stopped as they heard a voice call out from the guest house in a loud but flat monotone, carrying across the yard. Mister Wakesfield stood on the porch as always, and Tessa squinted her eyes as she saw something in the crook of one arm, something long and wooden with a shine of metal in places.
“Would you happen to be a Misters Edward, Seamus and William Shaughnessy by any chance?” came his voice again.
The 3 men glanced at each other and each reached for something under their coats. “Depends who’s asking!” one of the 3 shouted in reply.
Tessa watched Mister Wakesfield nod, raise the thing in his arm and rest it against his shoulder, one arm coming up to hold it close to the shoulder and the other further down the length. There was a loud noise that echoed through the outpost, a puff of smoke from Mister Wakefield, and a red flower bloomed from the back of the head of one of the 3 men. Something hot and wet hit Tessa’s face, and she stared as the man crumpled backwards in front of her. There was a neat little hole just over his right eye trickling blood into a staring, unseeing eye.
Tessa looked down at the body staring up at her. She wiped the wet thing with a shaking hand, and looked at the small red lump that came off on her fingers. There was a patch of red hair on it. “I should run away.” She thought. She felt oddly calm. But she couldn’t move. Her hands fell to her sides, shaking against her leg. She became distantly aware that she was breathing hard, short rapid breaths. “I think I’m going to pass out” she thought to herself. It seemed like someone else’s problem.
The 2 remaining Shaughnessy brothers had drawn weapons, one holding two daggers and the one with his arm in a sling holding a hatchet. They made no move rush their attacker. They looked down at their brothers body, and up at the thin old man and the small cloud of smoke drifting away from him.
“It appears he shot Seamus, William.”
“That he did Edward.”
“Remind me William, how long does it take to reload a powder rifle?”
“I knew a lad could do it in a good 20 seconds Edward, course he was young and quite skilled.”
The brothers took a small step each, moving away from each other in the direction of the man on the porch.
“20 seconds. That’s an inconvenient weapon when you’re alone and facing two younger men.”
Another small step.
“That it is. Reckon they could cross the distance in well less than that.”
Another small step. The rifle had not moved in the old man’s arms.
“I reckon they could indeed, and then the man with the rifle would be in a great deal of trouble wouldn’t he?”
“That he would be. So tell you what sir. You throw down that rifle, and step over here. We’ll make it quick. One quick chop, you’ll barely feel it.”
“Course if you make us come and get you, we’ll pull you apart slow, like a wishbone. I’m hoping for that outcome myself.”
The man on the porch made no movement. There was a moment of calm where all was still, and then Tessa’s legs gave away, collapsing her on to the muddy ground. As is she was a signal, the brothers took off running, one left and one right to put some distance between themselves while they closed on the porch. The man did something with the rifle, Tessa couldn’t see properly at the distance, there was a flicker of motion and the glint of early morning sunlight on something brass for a moment before he replaced his hands, swung the weapon around to the man with daggers bearing down on him from his left, and fired. He tumbled and hit the ground, clutching his neck and gurgling as blood erupted from between his fingers, the daggers fallen either side.
The remaining brother had been halfway to the porch when his brother fell, and he found some extra reserve of energy as he saw the rifleman fiddling with his weapon again. He was near face to face with him when the rifle swung around to meet him, but he dove shoulder first into the man as he did, driven by adrenaline and anger. The rifleman tried to move out of the way but was too slow, bouncing off the flying shoulder and hitting the wall of the guesthouse with a thump. William landed on his splinted arm and cried out in pain. That damn thing had left it a broken sack of shards and the pain felt fresh, but he kicked up as quick as he could, sweat beading on his forehead. His hatchet had fallen somewhere when he had hit the ground, no time to look.
He turned and saw the old man sitting, adjusting his glasses and grabbing for his rifle. He had it swung across his body when William half fell on top of him, grabbing the rifle with his good hand. He gripped it and fought the old man for it. He couldn’t tear it loose, but he was easily stronger than the old man. He pushed it high and forward, slowly forcing the wood and steel frame against the old man’s neck. “Should have taken the quick chop old man” he hissed between gritted teeth. The old man gasped as the rifle pressed against his neck, and one hand came loose, the frame slamming forward on one side and forcing a strangled cough from the old man as it impacted his throat. William grinned darkly and leaned forward, putting as much weight as he could on the old man’s neck.
The hand that had let go of the rifle scrabbled for something, anything, and found nothing. Then, moving like a snake, it came up before William could react, squeezed under his splint and squeezed his ruined arm. William screamed and tried to cower away, almost pulling the old man up from his sitting position as he tried to fall back. A foot rose up and kicked out straight into William’s groin, a fresh explosion of pain making him fall back off and away from the old man as the grip on his arm was finally released. He fell onto his belly for a moment, propped up on one arm as he cried out in pain. He had a moment to realise his mistake before the rifle was swung around, pointed at his temple from an inch or two away, and William knew no more.
The whole encounter had taken less than 2 minutes, and Tessa had seen everything from her kneeling position. She had watched from a distance it felt like, she could see herself watching. She didn’t move when she saw the second man fall gurgling as he ran. She couldn’t move when she saw the angry young man tackle Mr Wakesfield. When she saw a portion of the third man’s head about the size of a large egg open like a grotesque flower, she screamed.
She was sobbing and crying as Mr Wakesfield approached the man still clutching his throat on the ground, weakly coughing and twitching now. She watched Mr Wakesfield stand by the man, a step or two away, aim the rifle down and fire one last time, the body giving one last violent twitch before falling still, the hands slowly sliding off the throat.
She didn’t remember much after that, she supposed she had passed out. When she woke she was in her bed, the Johns at the foot of the bed. She near fell out of bed, but the older John grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “Easy Tess, easy. Not been long. Mr Wakesfield took a look at you, said you’d be fine but need to be calm.”
She stared at nothing for a moment. “He killed those men.”
“That he did Tess.” Said the younger John, standing at the window and looking out at the yard. "Showed us the bounty warrants. Them 3 was outlaws, wanted for murder, robbery and…other stuff.”
Tessa checked her breathing, and tried to still her shaking hands. She wiped her head again and was relieved it came away wet with only sweat. She pulled off the blankets, and saw the Johns had put her in with her shoes still on. The mud was still wet, it really hadn’t been long at all. She’d tell them off later for messing the sheets, they had meant well. “Where’s Mr Wakesfield now?” she asked.
“He’s outside, but not sure you’ll want to see him right now” replied the younger John, still looking out the window.
“The hell I don’t, he used my outpost as a killing ground, he can’t be allowed that!” She pushed away the older John and strode out of the room, back into the yard. Her anger carried her down the steps into the mud and past the wagon, but she stopped cold when she saw Mr Wakesfield. He was dragging one of the bodies by the feet, face red with effort even with the mud giving little resistance to the movement. She saw 2 of the men (corpses, her mind corrected her. They stop being men when there’s holes in their heads and throats) were seated against the porch, their heads tilted back and eyes and mouths open in idiotic stares. She felt bile rise in her throat, but stamped it down with anger. “What in the hells are you doing now?” she shouted as she stormed over.
Mr Wakesfield finished moving the corpse before replying, pushing it into a seating position with the others before replying. He had removed his vest, showing his shirt stained with sweat and mud, and he had a faint trickle of blood down one side of his head. One hand was coated in trails of dried blood, torn open forcing its way under the crude wooden splint. He took a long deep breath, and cleaned his glasses on a part of his shirt he apparently deemed clean enough.
“Creating proof that I may collect the bounty on these men.” he replied in his flat monotone. He may as well have been commenting on the weather.
“Creating? What the hells are you talking about?”
He didn’t answer, and walked to his trunk, still open on the porch. He stepped out holding the trunk in front of him, grunting with the effort as he placed it on the ground a ways away from the sitting corpses. From a kneeling position he took out a tripod, set it up and ensured it sat without movement, and placed black box on the top.
Tessa’s anger had faded as she watched him. She felt numb and cold. “That’s a camera isn’t it? I saw a parlour in the city once.”
“Indeed it is. Quite useful for providing evidence, in the old days I would have had to haul these corpses to the nearest proper town.”
She didn’t like the implication in that statement. She watched him set up, crouch under a black cloth at the back of the camera and do something. There was a small flash from the front of the box and a cranking noise from within, and he emerged. “It will need a few minutes, please don’t disturb the tripod.”
He headed around to the side of the porch, and entered the guest house. Tessa stood there indignant, angry that he was so cavalier about it. If she hadn’t seen it she’d have sworn he had just finished a morning stroll, not murdered 3 men. She debated going in to confront him, but part of her dreaded the thought. She stomped back towards her office, and saw the Johns watching her from the porch with careful looks. “Get his bags ready, he’s not staying here another hour” she ordered, and marched off to feed the chickens. The birds sounded like they were in a flurry, the noise of the rifle and smell of blood no doubt. The Johns looked at each other, and headed off to fetch the trunks still stored in the shed.
Mr Wakesfield watched the Johns load his trunks onto the wagon the 3 men had rode in on. They had uncovered the rear and found it empty save for a large dark stain soaked into the wood. The corpses of the men had been thrown together on the sheet and bundled like a grotesque butcher’s sack. He had insisted on taking the bodies with him, calmly but firmly telling Tessa he would not leave her to deal with them. He would deliver them to the nearest guard outpost and hand over the wagon and horse, continuing on with his donkey to collect the bounty at Xrantha. She felt wrong about it but couldn’t bring herself to argue, she didn’t relish the thought of digging 3 graves or throwing them out in the woods to rot.
She refused to see him off, watching him leave through her office window. He had replaced the vest and donned a tattered woolen coat. He looked up at the window as he rode out, but gave no wave or nod, no acknowledgement beyond a short look. Once the Johns had closed the gate she left the office, and went out to examine the exterior of the buildings. There was a hole in one of the planks of the guest house porch, surrounded by a still sticky stain. She retched a little at the thought of scrubbing it, and decided she’d have the Johns replace the stained timbers. The wall of the main hall would need 2 new planks as well. She found 2 small holes, and she dug into one with her fingers and found a small metal lump, flatted and deformed from whatever the original shape was. She didn’t care to think too hard about where she had been standing, and how close these small metal lumps might have passed by her. She buried the thoughts of the morning in the list of chores, there was work to be done.
The man calling himself Benjamin Wakesfield rode on, the wagon travelling slow to allow the elderly donkey to easily keep pace with the horse. He had a blank expression on his face, but his mind was busy as he let most of his thoughts work on his finances, the easy road and compliant horse needing little attention. The stay had been longer than intended, and he was running low on funds. He had a list of items that needed replacing, and with 2 of the gang missing he would be well short of his needs. He frowned and continued on. He wasn’t going to waste time diverting from his planned route to hand over the corpses, a handy ditch a suitable distance from the outpost would do. There was enough things in the woods that would deal with them in short order. He could get some short term funds for the horse and wagon, though his donkey had earned some loyalty with a long service. He set eyes on the dark blob on the horizon, the smoke of Xrantha visible days away, and rode on.
