Brigands (Blackguards)

by “Melanie Meadors”

  She met the eyes of the Wilbur family, took note of their complete lack of remorse, and then pressed away through the barley to meet with the mayor and his wife.

  The two were huddled around a lantern, their backs to the scene. The mayor was quietly dictating something while his wife, still dressed in her bath robe, carefully copied the words down onto a piece of parchment.

  Evaline thought it odd that the couple would know to bring a stationery set out here to the outskirts. As if they’d known they would be writing an apology to the nearest Sharath commonage.

  She sighed, quietly amending herself. Of course they’d known.

  “The city of Longrove offers its heartfelt condolences,” the mayor continued, “and a pledge to provide monetary reimbursement as well as any goods that will be required for the burial services.” He took a moment to ponder any further words, but just ended up shaking his head. “Sincerely, Johnathan Meeker. Mayor of Longrove.”

  “Very good,” Mrs. Meeker replied. “I think it turned out nicely, dear.”

  “Really? I feel like something could’ve been added at the end, you know? Don’t want it to sound too official.”

  “Don’t want it to sound too personal, neither. You know how they get.”

  “True, very true.” The mayor took up the parchment and rolled it up. “Terrance Dankin comes down from Mariposa with a new story about the commonage every season. It’s a wonder we have any treaties still standing.”

  He handed the letter to Evaline, along with a small pouch of what would be silver coins. Evaline knew the drill. “Get going tonight if you can,” said the mayor. “It’ll be better for everyone if you were on their roads before the week’s end.”

  “Everyone,” Evaline echoed, fixing the mayor with a stare.

  The mayor nodded in the direction of the body. “Save for the departed, of course. Goes without saying.”

  “What are you going to do about them?”

  “Receiving the body should be enough. I’ve never known them to push for anything more than that.”

  “I meant the Wilburs,” she said, motioning to the family. “Am I carting John off to the lawkeeper?”

  “Oh my, no.” The mayor snickered a bit. “It’s an open and shut case of self-defense, my dear girl. No need to wake old Daniels, though he’d tell you the same thing I’m telling you now. The grief will be enough for the Wilburs, I think.”

  Evaline felt the coin in her hand, but it just wasn’t enough to keep her from speaking. “The ’rath had no weapons.”

  The mayor tilted an ear towards her. “Excuse me?”

  “I said the ’rath had no weapons on him, Meeker.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t plan on arguing this point with you tonight, Miss Cartwright. What’s done is done. Please get the body to the nearest Sharath commonage before one of their rangers comes looking for it. Will you do this for me?”

  A number of arguments breathed and died at Evaline’s lips, all of which would’ve gotten her in the kind of trouble that would make living in Longrove a chore, possibly even dangerous. The Wilburs were friends of the mayor, and that was that. But she wondered how long that excuse would stay her hand.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t like the ’raths to know about the Wilburs,” she said.

  “That goes without saying,” he replied, pointing to the letter. “That says he was killed in a fight with a thief, and that’ll be the truth from here on out. The details don’t matter. Correct?”

  Evaline forced a smile. “The very words I live by, Mr. Mayor.”

  “Excellent. Good travels to you, Miss Cartwright.”

  Evaline turned without another word and made for her horse, a small wagon already attached. She led it over to the body. “You mind?” she asked Mr. Wilbur. He nodded and helped her carry the covered body into the wagon. He didn’t set his end down gently. “You said you didn’t know he was a Sharath?”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Wilbur replied. “He was using that stone as a lantern. Thought he was a wicker.”

  “You get many wickers on your land, Mr. Wilbur?”

  “You ain’t supposed to let ’em speak. Everyone knows that. Took my chances for my family’s sake.”

  Evaline nodded, but in truth she didn’t believe a word the man was saying. A lone wicker this far north made no sense. “I suppose so.”

  Mr. Wilbur didn’t say anything for a few long moments, but he didn’t look the least bit nervous. He had no reason to be, after all. “That’s all there is to it.” He turned and led his family back to their home. The Meekers had already gone, as well, leaving Evaline alone with the body.

  “Some night, huh?” she said to the dead Sharath. A reply seemed to come in the form of a cold wind passing through the barley. She pretended she hadn’t noticed and mounted her horse. A rough ride to the commonage was ahead of her, but she knew the way by heart these days.

  “WHAT’S THE GOING rate of a man’s life, huh?” Wilbur was in tears now, his hand resting on the doorknob but unwilling to turn it. “How much did they pay you to do this to me?”

  Evaline looked him in the eye. “What kind of money could buy a show like this?” She pointed to the door. “Go.”

  A moment of hesitation passed, but the man finally turned the knob and pulled the door open. Firelight spilled out, and almost immediately there came a pair of shouts. “Daddy!” His two little girls sprinted over and threw their arms around him. Wilbur pulled them both into a tight embrace, and he cried into their necks.

  “It’s okay,” he told them, kissing their cheeks. “It’s all going to be okay.”

  Evaline scoffed. “Don’t lie to them.”

  Diane Wilbur rose from the couch just then, furious. “You let him go and get the hell out of our house!” she demanded, standing at arm’s length from Evaline. “You have no right!”

  Evaline shook her head. She hated repeating herself. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” She tapped the grip of her revolver and Mrs. Wilbur stepped back. Then Evaline nudged Mr. Wilbur on the shoulder. “Hurry it up, John.”

  “For gods’ sake, woman!”

  “You better believe it.” Evaline pulled the revolver from its holster, the mithral runes inlaid across its barrel and cylinder catching the light. “Tell them!”

  Wilbur looked back over his shoulder, his eyes wide, lips quivering. Helpless. “Kids,” he said, taking their hands in his. “Your father has to go away now.”

  “Where?” his youngest asked, tears flowing.

  Wilbur’s voice broke when he said, “I just have to go. Your mother will explain when you’re older.” He brought them in for one last embrace. “I love you both so much.”

  THE WHISKEY WAS always cheaper at the hangings in Little Horn. Most were too distraught to notice how much the stuff had been watered down, but they would keep on buying throughout the night to “ease their poor humors.” It was a frustrating racket, but obviously a worthwhile one to the right seller.

  “They don’t use them hoods no more,” said the bartender. “Sheriff reckons the fear in the bastards’ eyes’ll be enough to dissuade the youth from committin’ to a life of, ah…unclean consciences.” He cleaned his spectacles, flicking his eyes in the direction of the nearby window for a moment. “Ask me, I say hearin’ their necks snap like a peach switch is enough to dissuade the youth from any and all potential indecencies.”

  Evaline held up two fingers, uninterested. “Double shot of whiskey.”

  The bartender set a glass atop the hardwood bar and was about to fill it when Evaline caught his arm.

  “Nothing from Weathernell.”

  “Shoot.” He scoffed and slid the bottle back on the shelf behind him. “Annexation’s goin’ through any day now. You got a grudge?”

  “I’ve got standards.”

  “That’s funny.” He picked out another bottle—this one distilled in Marathon—and poured. It was the safe choice. “Couldn’t help but notice the contents of the wagon tied to the back
of your nag when you rode in.”

  Evaline looked up from her glass. “Couldn’t help but notice the kids about to swing from a short rope across the street.”

  The bartender took the comment in stride. “Dissuasion at work, mercenary.”

  “They’re young enough a day in the fields would’ve done the job.”

  “Better to nip it in the bud. So the sheriff says.” He sniffed. “Kids ain’t that young. Old enough to aim for the head.”

  Evaline shrugged. “Yeah, well…” She drained her whiskey and slid the empty glass across the bar. Practically a double shot of water. “I suppose if common sense was contagious, I’d be out of a job.”

  “It would be a shame. Maybe if you didn’t get somethin’ out of your profession.”

  “Some days I think I do.” She slapped two silver bits on the bar. “Thanks for the drink.”

  “Sure. Happy trails.”

  She pushed her way out of the saloon, but now the crowd at the gallows had expanded up to the boardwalks. It would take some doing to get back to where her horse was tied up.

  Hopefully no one had messed with the Sharath’s body. Some people, like that Terrance Dankin fellow Mayor Meeker was so fond of, liked to collect ’rath ears for necklaces. There were places deep in the Highlands where hillfolk paid decent bounties per ear. To some, the severed pointed ears were exotic, to others, a sign of progress being made.

  The crowd’s chatter died down when Evaline got halfway across the street. One of the three boys about to be hanged was talking.

  “I can only plead and pray that my trespasses will be forgiven by you all. Maybe… Maybe not today or tomorrow. But I think I, ah…I think I learnt a valuable lesson while looking at those bars. It weren’t right to steal. It weren’t right to shoot at those folks. Gods know, I never pondered killing a man before, not even just before it happened. It just…I can’t…I reckon that’s just the way it happened.”

  Evaline looked to the gallows and accidentally made eye contact with the boy speaking. He didn’t even seem old enough to grow a beard.

  “To my mother and my brother and my sister, I hope you do not think ill of me. I made a mistake to unforgivable ends, and I will pay for it in full. With my death….” The tears he’d stifled came forward. He stuttered and fought to catch his breath. “With my death, oh gods, I hope you see the error of my actions and neglect to follow me down this wicked path.” He wept. “For a rope around your neck will be all it shall provide you.”

  The sheriff upon the gallows motioned to the second boy.

  “Mama! Please make them let me go! I didn’t shoot no one, please! I just wanna go home!” When the boy said nothing else the sheriff deemed of substance, he tapped the third boy on the shoulder.

  “I’m sorry for what I done. My auntie said someone with a torch threw a brick through her window three days back. If you are in the crowd, please leave her be. I’ll be gone for your grievance shortly.”

  The citizens of Little Horn were practically petrified, their mouths agape, eyes unblinking if they were looking at all. Evaline was finding it hard to push through to her horse. She could see the wagon, where the young Sharath boy’s corpse was wrapped in that filthy tarpaulin. There really was no looking away for her, was there?

  The lever slammed home. The boys cried out. There came a quick snap like a broken peach switch, and one of the boys kicked and choked against his noose until his tongue swelled and his face went purple.

  “ALL RIGHT, THAT’S enough.” Evaline grabbed Wilbur by the hair and began dragging him towards the front door. The man cried out, grabbed at her arm and tried to pull her down to the ground with him. In the scuffle, Mrs. Wilbur rushed Evaline with a fire poker in her hand, screaming at the top of her lungs.

  Time seemed to stop when Evaline leveled her revolver and pulled back the hammer. Everyone froze in place, though the kids pushed themselves further back into the corner, unable to keep from crying.

  “Don’t,” said Evaline, and she whispered some word of power that caused the mithral runes on her revolver to glow a deep, unnatural blue. “This is not going to end well, regardless of what you do with that poker. But if you want your kids to grow up with at least one parent, your best course of action is to let me take him and cope on your own time.”

  The same look of grim acceptance Evaline had seen on Mr. Wilbur found its way onto his wife’s face. Mrs. Wilbur gritted her teeth and let the fire poker slip from her fingers. “You can’t leave my children without a father,” Mrs. Wilbur said. She moved to comfort her daughters. “What did we ever do to you?”

  “You pissed me off, for one.” Evaline wrapped an arm around Wilbur’s neck and got him to his feet. “You also thought killing a boy would go unpunished, which offends me greatly. Usually, I’m content to look the other way and let people like you take your clean consciences into another sunrise, but I’m convinced—absolutely convinced—what you did was supposed to nudge me off the middle way.”

  Mrs. Wilbur managed a laugh, but the rage never left her eyes. “That’s what this is all about? That trespassing fucking thing? It carried sorcerous objects onto our land. John had kids to protect!”

  “Thing? You killed a young man.”

  “That weren’t a man!” one of Wilbur’s daughters screamed.

  Evaline stared at the girl, dumbfounded. “Huh…?”

  AFTER TWO DAYS on the road, Evaline woke to a steady stream of rain water soaking through her blanket. It hadn’t been the worst idea to lay up in an abandoned miner’s shack, but it certainly felt that way now. She was still weary, from the ride and a number of other things, but the sun was out so finishing up her trip to the commonage was the preference over trying to sleep in soggy linens on a cold morning.

  Looking up through what had once been the shack’s roof, she saw nothing but gray clouds. A fine way to close out her journey.

  She gathered up her effects and tracked down her horse, which had taken shelter beneath a thick oak tree, and led it back to the wagon. She had to scare away a couple of vultures from the Sharath’s body. They had picked through the tarpaulin overnight, and now a few bloodied strands of the boy’s entrails were dangling out, pulled through the fabric.

  Evaline mounted the horse and guided it back down the hill to the main road. The sight of the Sharath’s mutilated corpse didn’t quite hit her full-on until she was a few miles from the shack. The rain was pouring down harder than ever, soaking through every layer of clothing she wore, pulling blood from the corpse’s open wound until the tarpaulin was stained with a rust-colored blot.

  Lightning flashed behind the pines, and as the thunder rolled through Evaline cried out a torrent of expletives in every possible combination she could make. By the time the sky went silent, she was out of breath, nearly out of patience or any form of calm. The only thing on her mind was that self-satisfied look on Mr. Wilbur’s face when he realized he’d be getting away with murder.

  It was all she could do to keep from taking a shot at the image, if only to relieve her aggression.

  “Ho, there!” A man walked out onto the road with a repeating rifle held over his head. “We’d like words with you, friendo!”

  This far into Westfarleigh, with only scattered cabins and homesteads between her and the commonage, she wasn’t about to stop for anyone brandishing a gun. But when she kept riding, the man gestured and four more of his similarly-armed buddies lined up on the road, blocking her path.

  Short escarpments on either side of the road prevented her from going around, and an unwillingness to backtrack all the way to Little Horn kept her from retreating. So she brought her horse to a stop a few yards away from the men and their repeaters, and waited.

  “Thanks for stoppin’,” the leader said with a tip of his hat. “Name’s Isa, by the by—and we mean only to trouble you with a proposition of mutual beneficity.”

  Evaline leaned back on her horse, placed a gloved hand on her thigh only inches away from her revolver. “You�
��re troubling me with more than just a proposition at the moment, Isa. I have someplace to be.”

  “We are well supposed of this, lady, and will not stay you any longer than necessary.” Isa threw a glance at his crew and took a measured step towards Evaline. “An acquaintance of ours privied us to the whereabouts of a woman who might be haulin’ a cart of ’rath corpses back to their camp for burial. We do not wish you to quit this venture, but we would like to make you a coin offer here and now.”

  He pulled a pouch from his pocket and happily shook it so the coins inside could be heard. “Twenty silver for each ear, lady. More if ’n they still have them fancy bracelets clingin’ to their wrists.”

  Evaline’s eyes narrowed. “I find it flattering that you’re so ‘well supposed’ of my whereabouts, but I’m only transporting one Sharath corpse—”

  “Forty silver, it is then!”

  “—and he is not for sale.”

  Isa laughed loudly into the rain. His friends didn’t so much as grin. “You would not pass up forty silver without cause. Hell, if ’n you’re worried ’bout decent burials and dignity and such, cast away those thoughts. The ’raths are not concerned with the stateliness of their dead. A missin’ ear, or preferably two, would go unawares.”

  “Not if they show up without a clan bracelet.”

  “Which is why we would pay you extra for your troubles.”

  Evaline shrugged. “I’m gonna have to decline. The ’rath’s ears aren’t for sale.”

  Isa snickered, but the false mirth was draining away at a dramatic rate. “You don’t understand, lady.” He took a step back. “We are not exactly payin’ you for the ears.” He shook the bag again. “We are payin’ you so we don’t have to kill you, and take the ears anyway. Your life—that’s what we are dealin’ for.”

  “That’s not for sale either.” Evaline pulled her revolver, whispering a word of power as she took aim. The runes of her weapon glowed a bright blue, and the bullet that left the gun’s barrel carried with it a similar hue. Isa took the bullet to the shoulder before he could get a shot off.