The Delivery of Flesh

by Francis James Blair

  “Leaving?” Lalaish let out a laugh. “I think not. However, you may ask your question.”

  “When we first met, the marshal said you consorted with daemons. Is that true?”

  Lalaish’s brow furrowed. “I have spoken to several, yes. Why?”

  “Oh, it just makes introductions so much easier. Lalaish, say hello to Belial.” As she spoke, Temperance crushed the vial hidden up her sleeve.

  Since she had never broken one of these containers before, Temperance wasn’t sure what exactly would happen. If they were unlucky, the daemon would be sleepy and sluggish, like when it was first imprisoned. In that case she and Peter would die in the next few moments.

  Fortunately, Belial appeared well rested from his time in captivity. The red cloud burst from her sleeve with an unnatural howl, sounding as if the ground had rent itself apart. It swirled in a circle, twining its way through Lalaish’s men, curling red wisps around them.

  Without a host the daemon was noncorporeal, but the bandits didn’t know that. Amid screams of terror they opened fire, and least a half dozen fell in the opening volley of bullets. The noise seemed to spur Belial on, and the red cloud swirled around even faster, clinging to the men’s clothing and sending them further into a panic.

  During the ensuing chaos, Temperance kicked out at the man behind her, striking him square in the stomach. She snatched her guns from his hands, and before he reacted swept his legs out from under him. Next to her, Peter and his guard went down in a twisting struggle.

  Temperance spun, gun already out of her holster. She aimed towards the largest knot of men and with a cry of “Despalola!” fired into their midst. As the ball of light left her revolver she dove behind the remains of a wall.

  The shot was the most powerful of her non-lethal hexbullets, something that would cost her a fortune to replace. If it did its job though, it was worth the price.

  It hovered in the air three feet or so from where she fired. No sooner did Temperance hit the ground than the ball burst into a cluster of white hot pinpricks. These zipped through the red mist, impacting the chest of any bandit still on their feet, dropping him in a limp heap to the ground. The daemon howled as several lights tore through its empty form, and with a rush of air fled over the fortress wall and onto the prairie beyond.

  Temperance peeked out of her hiding place, then ducked back in time to avoid a bullet passing overhead. Three men still stood, including Lalaish, a webbing of green light surrounding the sorcerer, likely a summoned shield of some sort. Off to the side of them Peter scurried away behind a pile of rubble. With luck the marshal had reclaimed his gun.

  Running a hand down her bandoliers, she took a quick stock of what remained. There were two bullets left that would leave a single man unconscious for a few hours, and one whose electric shock probably wouldn’t prove lethal. Otherwise there were few options available to her. Several more shots passed overhead. She waited to see if Peter fired, but wherever the marshal was hiding, he wasn’t moving.

  Taking a deep breath, she loaded the two remaining knockouts and waited for any sound to betray the bandit’s locations.

  A moment later, gravel crunched as the men started forward. Temperance leapt up and shouted “Abayo! Abayo!” Two shots screamed across the short space, dousing the men in pink dust and dropping them to the dirt.

  Temperance felt a rush of relief. She couldn’t believe she had scored both targets. Then she froze. Only two additional forms lay crumpled on the ground before her. Where was Lalaish?

  Something struck her on the back of the head and she dropped to the ground, teeth biting down hard on her tongue, gun sliding from her limp grasp. She looked up through a red haze of pain to see the sorcerer standing over her. He tossed aside the log he was holding and picked up her revolver. Planting a foot on her chest, Lalaish’s lips pulled back in a sneer as he leveled the gun at Temperance’s head.

  “Goodbye, Miss Whiteoak.”

  He pulled the trigger. The gun made a quiet clicking noise, and the sorcerer grunted in frustration.

  Temperance couldn’t help but grin up at the man. “I only load what I need.”

  “Impudent witch.” Lalaish leaned down and pulled a bullet from her bandolier. “Now we end this ridiculous game.”

  “You don’t even know the proper incantation for that hexbullet.” She barely got the words out through a mouthful of blood.

  “I don’t need them, a mundane bullet will kill you just as well.” He ground the gun into her face.

  “Hey Obadiah.” The sorcerer turned. Peter stood behind him, shotgun held at the ready. “Tempe.”

  Orange and blue fire tore through the space between them the same second as Lalaish pulled the trigger. The swirling colors took the sorcerer in the chest, knocking him off Temperance and into the wall behind. He hit the ground in a crumpled heap and lay there, unmoving.

  Then Peter was at her side. “Temperance! Are you hurt?” he asked.

  Temperance took his hand and pulled herself up. “I’m fine, why?”

  “I saw him pull the trigger. How did he not hit you?”

  She gave the marshal a wry smile. “You ever shot a hexbullet without the incantation?”

  “No, I don’t think I have.”

  “Well, it doesn’t work. These bullets don’t have any gunpowder, so without the proper words they’re just worthless chunks of metal.” She retrieved her gun and extracted the bullet still inside. Holding it up to the light, Temperance let out a low whistle. “It’s a good thing he didn’t know them, too. At close range this hexbullet would have blown apart the entire fortress.”

  The color drained from Peter’s face. “I’m glad it didn’t, we were already close enough to Hell in that fight to smell smoke.” Temperance grinned, and he continued, “Your plan worked better than I expected it to. Still, sorry about you losin’ your daemon.”

  Temperance shrugged. “I can track him later, his kind leave quite a trail. Now let’s grab your prisoner and get out here before anybody wakes up.”

  Conclusion

  Temperance would never have believed she might be so happy to see civilization again. Standing now before the gates of Benson City, it was all she could do to not weep for joy.

  Of course, calling this place a city was a rather polite gesture. It was little more than a trading outpost that had outgrown its original walls. A fair number of people lived there, true, but it had none of the luxuries and modern conveniences that the eastern cities offered. The streets weren’t even cobbled, just mud tracks with straw put down to keep the mess to a minimum. Still, at this moment it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

  They trotted down the busy streets, Obadiah twisting back and forth in an effort to free himself, as he had been attempting since the moment he first awoke. It was no use. She had reinforced the ropes that held him with a little sorcery of her own devising. He couldn’t burn his way through them if the fires of Hell itself came to his aid.

  The sorcerer made one last effort at escape as the courthouse came into view, straining so against his bonds that Temperance was sure she would hear something snap inside him. At last he sagged against them, all of his energy spent.

  “Please,” he said, his voice hoarse and ragged. “You must let me go. They cannot imprison me. You do not realize what damage you are doing.”

  “That’s right Lalaish, I don’t know.” Peter hopped off of his horse and came round to the mule. “I don’t care much, either.”

  He pulled the sorcerer from the saddle and handed the end of his ropes to a soldier standing nearby. “Take him inside and see he’s secured. Don’t feed him, don’t talk to him, and whatever you do, don’t take those ropes off. I’ll be back soon.”

  Lalaish screamed every curse imaginable as they hauled him away until at last the sounds disappeared behind the courthouse doors. Peter turned and regarded Temperance. “I suppose we ought to see about gettin’ you paid.”

  “That would be mighty kind of you.” A
lready she was calculating the cost of replacing her hexbullets, and the result was rather grim. The money still owed to her would barely cover the cost of the one that knocked out most of Lalaish’s gang, never mind all the others. Still, half a spool was better than none.

  Peter led her into a whitewashed building across from the courthouse, the flag of the Federation waving out front. Inside, it proved to be as colorless as without, the walls beige and bland. A woman in a pristine white suit sat behind an unadorned desk. She looked up as they entered and folded her hands in front of her.

  “Mornin’ Miss.” Peter tipped his hat as he approached. “Name is Peter Scrimshaw, a marshal out of the main office in Arkton. I just deposited one Obadiah Lalaish in the courthouse for processin’.”

  “Good to see you, Marshal.” The woman nodded at Temperance. “I assume you need payment for your deputy?”

  Peter spoke again before Temperance had the chance. “That’s correct. Per my agreement with the sheriff in Rosea, we owe the young lady here some five hundred kos.”

  Temperance’s head snapped around to look at Peter when she heard this, but the marshal refused to meet her eye. The woman behind the desk appeared not to notice anything out of the ordinary and retrieved the money from a back room.

  When the woman returned, she set the bag of coins on the table and opened an enormous ledger. She looked at Temperance. “Your name, please?”

  “First name Temperance, family name Whiteoak.” Temperance glanced at the marshal, then added, “First of the Pistol Witches.”

  The woman at the desk paused, then continued writing. Peter just grinned.

  As they stepped outside again, Temperance turned to the marshal. “Five hundred? I thought we only agreed on two.”

  “Yup, we did, but you went above and beyond the call of duty. I thought you deserved a bit extra. Besides, it’s not me that’s payin’, they’ll send the bill on to the sheriff. Can you image the look on his face when he gets it?” Peter laughed, and it sounded real and joyful in Temperance’s ears.

  As the laughter trailed off, Peter turned back to her. “Now that my business is done, I’ll be returnin’ to Arkton. Would you consider comin’ with me, Temperance?”

  “What?” His question caught her off guard. Was the marshal asking to court her? There had been a spark between them, she readily admitted that, but this still seemed rather sudden.

  “I’m serious. We could use someone like you workin’ for the marshals. Someone to teach my organization what it means to be a real Pistol Warlock.” He paused, then added, “Or a witch, for that matter.”

  “Oh, of course.” Temperance couldn’t deny feeling a little disappointed at her misunderstanding. “I’m afraid not. I need to recapture Belial before he gets up to any more mischief, then keep searching for Varconis. Until I pay him back for what he did in Cold Valley, I won’t be able to rest proper.”

  The marshal nodded as if this was the answer he had expected. “I hope you’ll at least consider stoppin’ by for a visit next time you’re in the capital.” Peter held out his hand, and after a moment Temperance took it in her own. “Until next time, stay safe out there.”

  “You as well, Marshal, you as well.”

  Temperance stood there watching Peter trek across the muddy ground towards the courthouse, then set off to find Astor. There was still daylight left, and they had best be moving if they wanted to catch a whiff of Belial’s trail while it was still fresh.

  First Belial, then some new bullets. As for after that? Well, one problem at a time.

  Thanks for reading! Temperance will return May 2019 in

  Episode Two: Curse of the Daemon Beast