Dark Practices: Book Four of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

  “Yes, Brother-Corporal.”

  “Nice steel, you don’t see things of this quality every day.” The Corporal handed the two daggers to a Brother who had gathered up the other weapons. “Wouldn’t you agree, Senior-Brother Heaslip?”

  “Very nice work,” Senior-Brother Heaslip nodded sagely. “Not exactly what you’d find on your average trader.”

  “True, very true,” the quad leader nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, most traders in leather goods wouldn’t have carved up the Curly brothers without so much as a scratch, either. Let me seen your hands, leather trader.” He studied the palms presented to him, and ran his fingers across them. “Awful lot of callouses there, lad; they would suggest a few hours spent holding a hilt, I would think. What was this fight all about, good trader?”

  “Ah, well, ahem, I rented the services of a young lady last night, and there might have been an issue made with the coins I used, and perhaps a sum involved in the use of dice as well,” Philip tried to look guilty. “I don’t believe that the gentleman involved understood the exact exchange rates for Sagenhoftian silver, is where the problem lies.”

  “Ah,” the Brotherhood Corporal nodded. “And thus an argument ensued. And this lady here, is she with you?”

  “My cousin, I was seeing her off.”

  “I see; coach master, are you ready to depart? Good, don’t let us delay you. The rest of you can go about your business while we tend to ours.” The circle of interested onlookers, which had begun to gather at the sight of blood and had tripled at the sound of the Trident whistles, gradually wandered off.

  Bessie darted a kiss on Philip’s cheek and whispered her thanks before grabbing her satchel and bag and hurrying off to the coach.

  “Can we get on with this, Corporal?” James Curly growled, a grimy bandanna pressed to the gash in his face. “I’m bleeding here.”

  “That’s ‘Brother-Corporal’ to the likes of you,” Senior Brother Heaslip growled, giving the burly thug a nudge with the top of his ghoad. “Show a bit of respect to the members of the holy order chartered by the glorious Emperor to enforce the law.”

  “Well, bugger me,” the bleeding thug muttered, holding his temper in check with the certain knowledge of how the encounter would end if he lost it.

  “No, thanks,” Heaslip grinned.

  The quad leader waited until the noise of the coach departing amongst a few shouted goodbyes died away. “I believe that we shall go to our post and sort this business out,” he observed to the world at large. “There your wounds can be treated and the facts of the matter arrived at and pondered.”

  “There ain’t no problem, Brother-Corporal,” James insisted. “We got into an argument, this wee hairy bastard came up a’cutting, and here we are. We don’t hold a grudge, and he can forget what he owes.”

  “In a hurry to talk to Turkle, James?” Heaslip nudged the wounded thug to get him moving. “My, that leg looks painful. Pick up the pace, there, lad, we haven't got all day.”

  Philip found himself walking beside Senior-Brother Heaslip, the rest of the quad just ahead following the Curly brothers. “How far to your post, Senior Brother?”

  “Oh, it’s not a matter of distance, lad, it’s a matter of how far the good Brother-Corporal wants James there to have to limp,” The sandy-haired officer removed his leather helm and mopped away the sweat with a gaily colored bandanna. “Old James is a hard case, he fancies himself a bit of an enforcer, he does; works for Turkle the purveyor of ladies, and a few other merchants of the safety profession, preventers of unfortunate deeds, those lot. That is, if you are paying them nothing bad happens, you understand. We don’t care for other people professing to enforce anything, infringes upon our charter and complicates our lives. Old James here, he’s overdue for some road work, has three brothers out there right now making trade and traffic possible in remote regions of the Empire. Nothing wrong with prostitution, you know, comfort for lonely lads and all that, so long as the girls are willing; problem is, the Curlys often are employed to induce artificial willingness, if you get my drift. Slavery’s a hanging offense in the Empire.”

  “I’ve heard,” Philip nodded. “So are a lot of other things.”

  “Yes, well, they’re good for the business sector, draws a good crowd, hangings. Wouldn’t be a proper Market Day without some poor beggar taking a short hop with a rope collar. Instills a bit of civic awareness in the onlookers, too. Or at least a touch of caution. So Bessie’s leaving the trade, is she?”

  The question caught Philip blind-sided; he couldn’t control the involuntary flinch. “Yes, well, she’s a friend, sort of.”

  “We’re prohibited the commercialized forms of affection by our order,” Senior-Brother Heaslip observed. “And getting it gratis by a whore violates the code of ethics, but I always thought, ‘there’s a fine set of legs’ whenever I saw her. Dabbled in a bit of that, did you?”

  “No, more’s the pity, I’m just doing a favor for a friend.”

  “Ah, when you’re not trading in leather goods,” Senior-Brother Heaslip nodded sagely. “Are you travelling alone?”

  “No, I’ve my wife with me.”

  “Does she know about Bessie?”

  “Yes, as I said, it’s sort of a business matter.”

  “Ah. Well, the first coach-station is ten miles outside of Teasau; Turkle’s writ won’t extend past that. They’ll reach in about, oh, a bit over two hours after they left the gates. We ought to be done with you lot by then.”

  “That’s a convenient time for me as well.”

  “The Brother-Corporal, he has a soft spot for tall women, his wife’s the same height as Bessie,” Senior-Brother Heaslip nodded good-day to a young woman leading her son by the hand across the street. “And we’ve known the Curlys for years, right good customers they’ve been, I can’t count the fines they’ve paid and the floggings they’ve gotten. Good afternoon, ladies,” the Senior-Brother bowed to three giggling young whores who were watching the bloody Curly brothers stagger down the street. “Ah, here’s the post, I suppose it wouldn’t do to let James bleed out completely, although his clothes are good and ruined.”

  “This Turkle, is he the type to hold a grudge?” Philip asked.

  “There's an interesting point, you see, we don’t care for trouble on our streets, and a leather dealer such as yourself might carve up three or four good street lads before the situation ended; while we don’t mind seeing a bit of thug blood hitting the cobblestones, we don’t like having too many disturbances upsetting the flow of trade, either. I believe once we’re done with the three of you we’ll go have a word with Turkle, advise him to let things alone. I might be a bit careful for the rest of your stay, though.”

  “I’ll start wearing my sword,” Philip assured him.

  “A fine idea. Now, if you’ll step this way....”

  “What took you so long?” Tonya sat up on the bed where she had been napping in her slip. “Is that blood?”

  “Yes, it is; two toughs tried to take Bessie off and I had to talk them out of it. The Brotherhood showed up and I had to go before the magistrate and pay five shillings for brawling. Bessie’s safely gone, though; the Brotherhood take long shapely legs into account.”

  “Good news for me, then,” Tonya laid back and thrust hers into the air, ankles crossed, as Philip took off his coat and began unstrapping the various scabbards he wore. “What do you think?”

  “You would get away with murder. How did it go?”

  “I woke him up an hour after you left, had to use smelling-salts. He was in a good mood, remembered it all and never suspected a thing.”

  “Of course, he’s never really had his hands on you before today, that was a big help.”

  “Thank the Eight. He dropped me off a block from here and went home very satisfied with his life, said he would pick up the toys tomorrow. Did you drop off a note for Elonia?”

  “Yes, and they’ve gotten it, I went past the stand on my way here.”

 
; “And took a good look at that dancing girl who’s been working the other corner for the last few days, no doubt.”

  “Not really, she’s far too short for me.”

  “So you say.”

  Elonia came out of the barn dry-washing her hands. “It’s the place, all right. How’s the area look?”

  “Too deserted,” Maxmillian shook his head. “We couldn’t watch it for weeks without being spotted, unless we got Durek to send us Starr, and I don’t see that as an option at the moment.”

  “We’ll need to get a date, exact or approximate,” Elonia frowned. “What’s that in the back of the carriage hidden under the blanket ?”

  “A picnic lunch and two fishing poles,” the scholar grinned. “I thought we’d find a nice creek and spend a relaxing afternoon.”

  “And no doubt a bit of wading, it’s a perfect day to take a dip, and the next thing I know you’re making a vulgar suggestion,” Elonia folded her arms, fixing the historian with an imperious look.

  “Is that the Sight or just a lucky guess?” Maxmillian asked unabashedly.

  The mixed-blood Badger shook her head. “Call it the result of experience with your devious little mind. The water will probably be cold.”

  “The fish won’t mind.”

  “I suppose you got the lunch from Pug’s stand,” Elonia said as she climbed into the carriage.

  “No, actually I got it from one of the better markets: sliced beef, a small ham, and some fried chicken, you can’t have a picnic without fried chicken. Plus the usual side dishes and some very good wine.”

  “Lead on, then, fisherman.” Elonia leaned aback against the cushions. “It’s as good a plan as any.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The news of Alantarn’s defection and the inevitable war it would make possible had prompted Durek to begin preparations for the coming campaign at once. To date the Badgers had always been a small Company, beginning a decade ago with six Founding members and rapidly adding a dozen or so, then attracting such recruits as chance and fame sent them; five years ago they had numbered thirty all told, most long-serving Badgers. Now he had sixty Badgers on the rolls, with Gottri and five Badgers garrisoning Oramere, five more Badgers on the mission in Teasau, and the rest with him at New Fork.

  Next year, however, would be different; next year they would be part of a war that might drag on a lot longer than one season, and it would be necessary to field more troops than they currently did. Durek had promoted Gottri Gravel-breaker, the Company’s third Dwarf, to Corporal with the permanent job of commanding the Home Guard, the garrison left behind in Oramere. Gottri was as thick as a stump to be sure, but he was loyal, stubborn, and fearless, and commanding a keep did not require genius. Nor did it require a huge amount of troops; all a fortress defender needed to be was tall enough to be able to stand on a cat walk and look out an archer’s embrasure, and strong enough to drop a five-pound rock out of it. Since nearly all the orphans fell into that category, as would any of the scores of farmers who would flee to the fort should trouble appear, Gottri should be able to hold out until help arrived. As a hedge, however, five Militiamen were required to stay at the fort on week-long stints to augment the garrison and receive extra training. While that was ample now with the Spider distracted by the road work and New Fork, next year and the year after it might not be enough.

  Accordingly, Durek decided to raise the Company to at least a hundred warriors now, giving him time enough to train, indoctrinate, and evaluate them before they set off next spring for the east. To accomplish this, Durek had written the Mayor of Hohenfels, Rudolf Sleiger, with whom the Badgers had had many successful dealings, and arranged that prospective recruits could be housed in a warehouse of Sleiger’s fitted out for that purpose, and fed on a chit system at a local tavern, all for a reasonable fee. He then contacted recruiting agents in Teasau and other sizeable cities, and whenever Sleiger sent word by one of the river boats that he had a dozen or more prospective candidates for Company membership, the Captain would send an officer and one or two rankers down to Hohenfels to conduct the basic evaluation, bringing any promising types up to New Fork for a final examination.

  The day after the Badgers had double-crossed the Spider on the ‘trade’ Henri had gone to Hohenfels to evaluate fifteen candidates, returning to New Fork with six, five of whom were eventually accepted. The system was working, although many of the longer-serving Badgers were unhappy with the rapid increase in the size of the Company, which to date had increased slowly, indoctrinating each recruit with the customs and traditions that welded the Badgers into a prime fighting force.

  Thus it was that the evening of the eighteenth of Natterteil saw Rolf and Veda Sligh stepping off a river boat onto the docks of Hohenfels to interview another batch of prospective recruits which had trickled in the few days since Henri’s trip. The burden of his new responsibilities and the presence of Veda had the big Corporal more on edge than any fight he had ever taken part in; he would have been mortified if he knew that a whisper from Henri to the Captain was the reason for the woman being assigned to this mission.

  He had followed the Wizard’s advice and awkwardly invited Veda to some crossbow practice; she had readily agreed, so much so that a few minutes later they were outside the defenses and peppering the straw butts put up for that purpose. It wasn’t an exercise that required much social contact, calming the half-Orc a great deal and bolstering his courage to the point where, as they headed back to the Badger camp he shyly offered to teach Veda the finer points of dirk fighting. She had readily agreed, and they had had two sessions before departing on the recruiting mission.

  Now it was growing dark as the two unloaded their packs from the boat and walked off the docks. “This is a nice town,” Veda observed causally, her pack and crossbow slung over one shoulder.

  “Yes, and growing: in fifty-one it had five hundred people, and now I’ve heard there’s eight hundred. They are expanding the city defenses to the south to make room for new buildings,” Rolf observed carefully. “I spent the winter of fifty-one here.” He pointed to a well-lit tavern. “That’s the Fisher Hawk, where we’ll be staying. Why don’t you get us our rooms while I go tell the recruits that testing starts at dawn tomorrow.”

  “All right, let me have your pack.” The young woman took his back pack, her bicep swelling beneath the sleeve of her ring mail tunic. “See you in a bit.”

  The warehouse-barracks was dimly lit, and a half dozen figures slouched around the open door, sitting on sections of tree trunk and the ground itself. “I am Corporal Lightseeker of the Phantom Badgers,” Rolf announced. “Preliminary entrance interviews (he had had to practice that phrase quite a bit after Axel had explained it to him) will be held tomorrow at dawn on the Militia field outside of town. Those of you who pass it will return to New Fork to be examined for enlistment into the Company.”

  “Load ‘a horse dung,” one of the shadowy figures muttered. “Too much fannying about, just pass out the pole axes and let us get about the job.”

  “The Phantom Badgers are an outstanding mercenary body,” Rolf addressed the figure directly. “We want only the best troops. If you aren't good enough, don’t waste my time tomorrow.”

  “I reckon I’m man enough for any half-breed bastard,” the figure stood and stepped forward aggressively, close enough for the tall Badger to smell stale wine and old sweat on the man. Rolf’s mother had influenced his entire life with her teachings to always serve the Lights, avoid evil, be honorable, truthful, and clean, to obey orders and respect the law, but she had never addressed the issue of fighting fair. Without warning the hulking Badger threw a mighty punch into the man’s midriff, doubling the mercenary over, then grabbed him by the shoulder and waist and kneed him viciously in the ribs three times, leaving the loudmouth curled in a sobbing ball on the ground.

  “Does anyone else want to call a Corporal of the Phantom Badgers a bastard?” Rolf looked from figure to figure, but no one else wanted to say anything.
“In the Badgers we have discipline, respect for officers, good personal hygiene, and peace within the ranks. If these are not things you want to adhere to, don’t bother to show up tomorrow. If you drink to excess, cheat, steal, or fear battle, don’t waste my time. Good night to you all.”

  Veda was sitting in the common room in a cotton tunic, still wearing her short sword and dagger but having left her war hammer upstairs with her shield, helm, and armor. She tossed Rolf a key. “Yours is number ten.”

  “Thank you.” He read the menu chalked on the slate over the bar, proud that he could, having been illiterate the last time he had been here; now he could read and write Pradian, do sums, and knew the Dwarven alphabet and numbers. “Order me a double portion of stew, half a loaf, and a tankard of ale if you would.”

  The food had just arrived when he came back down from removing his armor and washing up a bit. He dug in hastily, embarrassed at eating dinner with a woman other than Starr, who he never thought of as a woman. Veda, on the other hand, ate her baked fish slowly and studied the other occupants of the Hawk’s room. “Mixed bag we’ve got here,” she commented while forking up carrot slices.

  “Yes.”

  “Loggers, river men, fishing boat crews, a couple hopeful mercenaries, a peddler, two tinkers, all the flotsam of the river.”

  “Yes.” Rolf wondered what flotsam was.

  “I imagine this place can get pretty lively in a bit, that younger chap with the yellow hair and green doublet was pretty insistent that I needed some company until I told him that you were my boyfriend; he took one look at you when you came in and hasn’t even glanced my way since,” she chuckled.

  Rolf felt every drop of blood in his body roar up to sink, hot and heavy, into his face and ears.

  “You wouldn’t mind me being your girlfriend, would you, Rolf?” Veda asked, a wicked gleam in her eye.

  “Um, no, it would be...very ...all right,” he managed lamely.

  “Good. A girl likes to know that she isn’t over the hill yet.” She eyed the flushed half-Orc for a moment, and then mercifully changed the subject. “How do the new meat look?”