by Macronomicon
Jeb landed on his knees, desperately muscling down the urge to scream as the blade wobbled in his guts. He wasn’t out of the woods yet. He turned away and began crawling as fast and quiet as he could, the noise masked by the increasingly alarmed cries of the outlaws.
“Attack!” Svek screamed. The pirate lord was much faster on the uptake than his men, and he whirled back around, swinging his thick black nails through the air where Jeb’s jaw had rested, taking a chunk out of the wood itself.
Jeb directed the butterflies to sink down around him faster as Svek stepped around the torture restraints.
Maybe if he’d gone through them, he would have arrived in time. The extra second it took to move the giant’s bulk gave Jeb enough time to bring the butterflies down around himself like a protective barrier.
All through the camp, the sound of stunned pirates getting chunks torn out of them grew to a fever pitch.
Mostly the screaming.
Jeb was hoping the pirate captain would try to dive through the wall of butterflies and put himself out of Jeb’s misery, or wait until the rest of them collapsed in on the center of the formation and tore the guy to shreds.
Predictably, the pirate chose the least polite option. The giant dug the front of his foot into the dirt and flung it up in front of him, sending a violent scatter of dirt and small rocks through the wall of butterflies, popping the majority of Jeb’s butterfly defenses in a fraction of a second.
I hate fighting smart people, Jeb thought, scrambling backward.
Svek grabbed a nearby belt lying on the ground and snapped it straight, and for some reason, it stayed straight. With a couple flicks of his wrist, the melas had used the belt to pop the last remaining butterflies between the two of them.
Shit! Jeb thought, bunching his foot under himself and shoving away, trying to put more void butterflies between the two of them. If the melas got his hands on Jeb, it was game over.
It wasn’t some Hollywood movie or kids’ cartoon. When someone with overwhelmingly superior strength gets their hands on you, they don’t toss you; they pull you in and snap your neck.
Jeb was halfway through his awkward frog-leap when Svek flickered forward, meaty hand seizing Jeb’s leg—peg leg! Jeb shoved himself farther away, the pegleg detaching in the pirate’s hands.
The cloud of butterflies was only four feet off the ground now, so the melas crawled after him, fiery murder in his eyes.
It took less than a second for the pirate king to overtake Jeb, and Jeb felt the huge hands grab his real leg at the same moment Jeb’s questing hands touched down on something cold and heavy. Jeb’s eyes flicked up and he spotted Smartass standing above his revolver, giving him a thumbs-up.
Jeb’s hand seized around the grip just as Svek gave a bellow, hauling Jeb’s leg nearly out of his socket.
Jeb slid back toward the pirate violently, bringing his gun to bear as the pirate’s hands went for his neck.
For a crystalline instant, Jeb and the pirate stared each other down.
Then Jeb pulled the trigger.
…
Gun no go boom?
Jeb’s eyes widened as he spotted the pirate’s finger lodged between the hammer and the frame, a victorious smile on the man’s face.
Jeb felt the man’s scratchy fingers wrap around his neck, and he knew he could break Jeb’s neck one-handed. One second left.
In a last, desperate bid, Jeb reached out with his meager Myst, smacking the bullet’s primer inside the barrel with everything he had.
BOOM!
The fingers around Jeb’s neck went slack as a pancaked piece of lead dropped off Svek’s forehead onto Jeb’s neck, scorching his skin as it rolled off.
Svek gave him a confused, punch-drunk look, a bit of blood pooling in his eyes where the blood vessels had burst.
Then black butterflies ate his face.
Jeb rolled out of the way as the corpse toppled over, squirting blood out of a stump-neck. The move caused the knife in his guts to tug against the ground for a moment, and Jeb would’ve passed out right there, but for the gobs of rocket fuel coursing through his system.
He carefully hauled himself to his feet and scanned the eerily silent camp. Only the occasional pop of burning wood from the fire broke the silence as the remaining butterflies settled onto every surface, awaiting instructions.
“Is that all of them?” Jeb asked, glancing at Smartass.
“I think so. I’ll do a look-see,” she said, buzzing off to survey the camp.
Need first aid, Jeb thought, stumbling to a nearby corpse riddled with holes. He tugged at the man’s thick leather belt, something he could use to help with the bleeding. Normally, the rule of thumb is to not pull out whatever sharp object was inside you until the professionals could do it themselves, but that logic was predicated on a world where ambulances were a phone call away, and doctors still existed.
Jeb gathered ingredients for a good fifteen minutes in the silent camp before he stumbled his way over to the yurt with the girl in it. Jeb brushed the door aside, shedding light on the situation.
It made him wish he could’ve taken his time killing the pirates.
The Grenore girl was chained to a thick iron post drilled into the ground, her body covered with dirty hides. Where the skin was exposed, Jeb spotted bruises.
Goddamnit.
“Is it over?” a tentative voice asked as Jeb took a step into the yurt.
“I think so. Just waiting on word from my partner.” Jeb gave a self-deprecating chuckle as he approached the girl’s chains.
“Seraine Grenore, right? My name’s Jebediah Trapper, and I’m here to get you out of here. Honestly, I thought I would be a lot more heroic when I rescued you,” he said, “but now it turns out I need your help.”
Jeb grabbed the big lock keeping the girl from leaving and peered at it, scowling. Chances were the matching key was on Svek’s body. Jeb didn’t have the patience to go looking for it with a knife in his guts, so he opened it the old-fashioned way.
He grabbed the tumblers with Myst and flipped them, springing the lock open in his hand like a magic trick.
“Did you kill them?”
Jeb searched her eyes for a moment. “Fuck yeah, I killed ‘em.”
“Good.” She buried herself deeper under the hides.
“I know you’ve had a pretty fucking rough couple days,” Jeb said, unhooking the lock from her restraints and freeing her. “And I would understand if you need to sit there and process, but I would really appreciate some help with removing this,” Jeb said, pointing to the handle sticking out of his stomach.
The keegan girl looked up at his face, then down at the knife handle before nodding. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Jeb said, helping her to her feet and turning around while she got dressed. Their species all looked like Holocaust survivors, and Jeb was fairly sure none of the people who’d assaulted her even thought she was pretty. They just wanted to hurt someone.
Once she was dressed, Jeb led her out into the open, where he sat down against the torture device. Next to him was a jug of nearly pure alcohol, a needle and thread, the cleanest cloth he could find, and a belt to cinch it all together.
“So here’s the plan,” Jeb said before walking her through the basics of what he expected to happen when the knife was removed, and how to handle it, just in case he passed out. The process took a couple minutes, but it paid off in spades.
“Ready?” Jeb asked. Seraine nodded, holding alcohol and bandages.
Jeb slowly removed the knife, biting a leather strap through the pain and trying desperately not to cut anything new on the way out. Minutes felt like hours, and when the blade left Jeb’s stomach, he got the unenviable sensation of a gush of warm blood streaming down his stomach and basting his crotch in his own juices.
Then she hit him with the alcohol.
Jeb’s eyes rolled back in his skull, and everything went black.
Chapter 6: Gettin’ Paid
Peo
ple in the streets of Kalfath moved out of the way as a one-legged man limped down the street, caked in dried blood. Over his shoulder was a rope lashed to a sled chock-full of weapons and overstuffed burlap sacks that rang with a metallic chime every time they shifted.
Some might have been tempted to steal from the sled, were it not for the dozen or so severed heads that rested on top of the pile of booty.
***Zlesk Frantell, Sheriff of Kalfath***
“No, you don’t understand,” Zlesk said, glaring at Bree. “That wasn’t my signature.”
“Looks like your signature,” the obstinate desk jockey said, the barrel of a woman scowling at him as she pointed between Jeb’s fake and a zoning form for an outdoor hunter recruitment bazaar he’d signed for them a few years back.
“But I didn’t write it! He forged it using another signature I gave him!” Zlesk said, his ire rising. “I suggested that you not allow him to join the association!”
“You said he couldn’t read. He said he couldn’t read.”
“Obviously he paid someone to help him!”
Zlesk leaned forward, unafraid of the oversized melas in front of him. “Listen. That man is incredibly weak, stupid, and dangerously foolhardy. He was a homeless bum until yesterday. Did you know that? He’s only level six, for god’s sakes!”
“It’s not my problem if people want to get themselves killed biting off more than they can chew. Keeps the gene pool fresh.”
Zlesk let out a hum of anger. “Listen here. On my authority as sheriff, I want you to strike him from the record, and kick him out the next time he shows up. The man is dangerously incompetent, and he’s going to get other people—”
The door to the flimsy little Hunter’s Association office slammed open, revealing the one-legged man in question. He gave Zlesk a sheepish wave.
Zlesk almost sighed in relief, but disguised it with anger. “Jeb, where the hell did you go last night? I had to—”
Before Zlesk could finish his cuss-out session, Jeb turned toward the door, heaving on a rope, giving a heavy grunt as he hauled a sled up the stairs and into the wooden room.
Zlesk felt the words die in his throat as head after head slid in through the doorway, sitting atop a pile of what was obviously pirate weapons and treasure.
“Think you can ring this up for me, Bree?” Jeb said, motioning to the heads.
“I said something as small as a finger would work,” the clerk grumbled, opening the bar of the desk and motioning for Jeb to run the sled through.
“Fingers wouldn’t have stopped people from mugging me on the way in,” Jeb said.
“Fair enough.”
Jeb tossed her the rope and the two of them shoved the pile of loot through the gap in the desk. A moment later, Zlesk heard Old Grindy grinding up the heads to identify them.
RRRRR.
“Hey Zlesk, what are you doing here?” Jeb asked, leaning up against the front desk, panting and wiping his brow, sweating in the disgusting way that humans did.
“I was—”
“Neil Spetvar, three bulbs!” came a shout from the back.
Zlesk blinked.
RRRRR.
“Jonan Korde, five bulbs!”
Zlesk glanced between Jeb and the doorway leading to Old Grindy, where Bree was tallying the bounties aloud.
“Svek Pederson, twelve bulbs!”
“Nothing,” Zlesk said with a sigh. “I wasn’t doing anything here.”
“Cool. Beer after you get off work?”
Zlesk glared at the smug upstart. “Last time we went out for beer, you used me and left me with an enormous mess to clean up.”
“This time…will be different!” Jeb said over the sound of Old Grindy rendering heads into juice and Bree’s deep voice calling out numbers.
“Better be,” Zlesk muttered as Bree emerged from the back, carrying Jeb’s payment in tightly-packed leather holsters that made the gold visible from the side.
“Sixty-two imperial marks,” she said, placing two holsters on the desk. One was completely full and one halfway full of gold coins.
“Bree, would it be possible for you to hook me up with a bank account?” the homeless kill-savant asked, wiggling the leather pouch. “I don’t feel like getting stabbed again.”
“Normally no, but for your illiterate ass, I’ll make an exception,” Bree said.
“Stabbed again?” Zlesk asked.
“Sorry Zlesk, I’d like to stay and chat, but I got some more business to take care of, and it’s pretty time-sensitive,” Jeb said, grabbing a handful of bulbs before limping back out the way he came.
“Will you hold my stuff for the night?” he asked Bree on the way out the door.
“Twenty-four hours and then it’s mine,” Bree responded, not bothering to look up from her paperwork.
“Thanks, Bree!”
“What do you mean, stabbed again!?” Zlesk called after the limping bum. He tried to reach out to grab the man’s arm and demand some explanations, but an undefinable sense of danger halted him in his tracks, allowing Jeb to slip out of the office, stomp down the wooden stairs and out into the crowd.
“I think you’ve got better people to worry about, mother hen,” Bree muttered as she worked.
“Yeeaah, I got it,” Zlesk growled, taking his leave.
Starting to think that guy lied on his census papers.
***Jebediah Trapper***
Six bulbs bought Jeb a fancy new outfit, a damn good shave, slicked back hair, and a rough, manly perfume that smelled like wood and toughness. Two bulbs for a wicked-looking new sword that he was sure he wouldn’t need, and the sheath to go along with it. He got a nice leather cowboy hat made for a couple silver too, because why not?
Inspecting himself in the burnished mirror of the room, Jeb had to admit, he looked like a successful bounty hunter. Gotta spend money to make money, and this con wouldn’t really work without the right look.
God, I just hope word hasn’t spread already, Jeb thought. He could still punish Mr. Grenore, one way or the other, but he’d like to profit from it if he could.
“Alright, you wait here while I talk to your dad, okay?” Jeb asked Seraine. The girl nodded. “We’re just gonna work some payment stuff out real quick, then you’re good to go home.”
“Are you gonna keep me if he doesn’t pay you?” she asked, looking small, tucked up on the inn’s bed.
Jeb held up his right hand. “I swear, whether your dad pays me or not, you are going home after I speak to him.”
Click. Jeb felt the promise click into place inside him like a lock. He felt as though he couldn’t renege on it if he wanted to. Thankfully, it was a promise he was happy to follow through on.
Jeb paused with his hand on the door handle, a thought occurring to him. Screwing over her dad was going to hurt her too, possibly more than it did her dad.
“Seraine,” he said, turning to face her.
“Yeah?”
“Would you rather live in blissful ignorance, or suffer through a painful reality, if it allowed you to take control of your life?”
She watched him silently from beneath the covers.
“…I want control,” she said, barely audible.
“Okie dokie,” Jeb said, tipping his hat before heading out. He left the girl there and clomped a few blocks down to Garland Grenore’s place of business, an eyesore of a building that dominated the local architecture by a full story.
Jeb watched as a wagon full of what appeared to be rocks covered in sticky black oil were hauled into the warehouse on the bottom floor. Jeb shrugged and followed the wagon in.
“Hold up, who the hell are you?” a brawny melas asked as Jeb entered the building. He had a flat nose and his nostrils flared as he crossed his arms. The very picture of businesslike intimidation.
“I’ve got news Mr. Grenore is going to want to hear. It’s about his daughter,” Jeb said.
The melas eyed him for a moment, then nodded, motioning for Jeb to follow him.
/> “Right this way,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “I hope you know that if this is a waste of his time, I’m going to have to beat you within an inch of your life.”
“Understood. I fully expect that Mr. Grenore will get what he needs out of our meeting.”
A goddamn wake-up call. You don’t use your daughter as collateral on a debt and expect a happy ending. You just don’t do it. Jeb’s fingers brushed the two letters in his vest pocket, absentmindedly making sure they were still there.
There was the one Smartass had found in the man’s own safe, and the one Jeb had looted out of Svek’s personal chest.
Together, they painted a pretty damning picture.
“Here,” the melas said, opening the door for Jeb to enter.
Jeb strode through, back straight, and the hulking melas followed a moment later, cutting off any chance Jeb had of running away should things sour too badly.
Directly in front of Jeb was the man who’d stolen his silver coin, shuffling through papers with a pair of bifocals hanging on his nose.
“What’s this, then?” Mr. Grenore said, scowling at the interruption. His eyes flickered over Jeb dismissively, not showing a hint of recognition.
The homeless bum in the street might as well be an entirely separate person.
“Says he’s got news about Ms. Seraine,” the bruiser said.
“What are you? Another messenger, come to raise the ransom again? I thought I already told you if you did, I’d pay for an imperial enforcer to be dispatched.”
“I’m a bounty hunter,” Jeb said with a shrug.
Mr. Grenore’s eyebrow cocked. “A human bounty hunter? Lees, please escort this man from the premises.”
Jeb felt a heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder.
“I went through the Impossible Tutorial!” Jeb said before he could be dragged out.
“Oh, one of those?” Jeb saw cold calculus flash across the man’s gaze. “Wait there a second, Lees.” Garland opened his desk and winced a moment as he clipped a familiar golden earring onto his ear-hole.
“Say that again.”