Gauntlet

by Matthew C. Gill

  “I do appreciate how I can always count on you to be of service to this fine community,” Demure declared as she produced a small list to place upon the counter. “Always a pleasure, and do make sure to have that order ready when my secretary returns later for it. I would hate to think anyone might have to suffer even a minute longer when we could relieve their burden.”

  “You should just stick to smiling and swaying those hips, leave the caring to those of us who still has a heart,” Grandma Grael advised as she watched the Mayor make her way back out the door. “Marshall, let me give you some free advice; never trust a two-faced politician. And trust even less a snake like her who barely bothers to hide her scales.”

  “Pardon me,” Marshall apologized for his own ignorance. “But do you mean that she is the Mayor?” He might have guessed that she was the Mayor’s wife or even his secretary but never the Mayor herself. And knowing that she was he couldn’t believe that Grandma Grael had just spoken to her like that.

  “She has been a spoiled little brat with a pretty face ever since she could toddle about town,” she explained. “As a young lady she was unfortunate enough to catch the eye of some thieves that were passing through the area robbing every establishment they could get into. They decided to take her with them as an insurance policy and lucky enough for her eventually they messed up good enough some lawmen managed to rescue her.

  Using the press from her ordeal and the public’s sympathy she decided to run for office and easily enough found herself a spot as the Assistant Mayor. Eventually the Mayor died while in office and Demure there took over for him. Now she runs the town like it’s her personal popularity contest. But as long as she keeps everything running smooth enough to keep the majority happy nobody bothers much about it.”

  Grandma slid the list towards Marshall and let a big grin rise on her face. “So it looks like you best be getting busy if you’re going to fill this order right away.” She giggled to herself as she disappeared back into the rear of the store, leaving Marshall alone with the list. Half cursing to himself he then realized he hadn’t any idea where any of this stuff even was in the store. “Better get to it then I guess,” he decided.

  As he set himself to seeing to his job Grandma Grael watched from around the corner still smiling. She liked this young man; he had a good feeling about him. But she would have to wait and see how well he handled finding some of the things on that list. Not everyone could make sense of her organizational methods. The thought prompted another hushed giggle before she went about seeing to some other things herself.

  Episode 9 – When Good Men Can Do Nothing

  Running alongside the General Good and tucking neatly behind it was a small alleyway that lead to where Grandma Grael kept her waste bins and the like. It was also where folks like Jeb and Cut-throat Charlie liked to meet to do a quick spot of business. “You remember to bring your coin this time Chuck,” Jeb joked as he rubbed at the scruffy stubble that littered his chin. “Long as you made sure to not forget to bring with you what I might need it for,” Cut-throat countered before spitting at the ground.

  Jeb grinned eagerly from ear to ear as he eyed the potential purchase and awaited the show of money to seal the deal. But instead of reaching inside his jacket’s front as usual, he marked Cut-throat’s hand slowly going for the back of his pants. “Hey, what’s this you’re trying to pull now,” Jeb demanded as he immediately tried to draw a weapon himself. Neither back alley dealer managed to be faster than their opposite as both heard the sound of slapped leather as guns quickly lent themselves to hand.

  “You done been cheating me for too long,” Cut-throat challenged, careful to keep his pocket-sized pistol trained on Jeb. “It’s just business,” Jeb said with a shrug as he managed to keep his own weapon locked on his would be mark. Both men watched the other with growing irritation as their trigger fingers itched along with their impatience. That is until a third voice called from the street to draw at least a measure of their attention.

  The slight slender shape of a man moved from the sunlit street back to investigate the shadow shrouded landscape of the alleyway. Standing just less than 5 feet tall Deputy Rook had never been known to strike any real notion of terror let alone invoke any measure of authority into those who he came across. As a Gael-Noir he had come to find himself an awkward sight here on Newport and even more so out here in Redemption.

  He often wondered if it was the pale purple-grey tone of his skin or the deep iridescent violet of his eyes that made everyone look at him the way they did. But over the years he had come to find it even simpler than that. The fact that he was small, thin and often referred to as ‘that twisted child looking thing’ had come to lend more than enough understanding on the matter.

  Despite the feelings others had on the matter he still refused to let that interfere with his job. As the Deputy it was his duty to see to the upkeep of law and order here in Redemption. Even if his authority was vastly limited when compared to the Sheriff’s, he still felt obligated to do all he could. So with a short sigh he relaxed his mind and let a rippling calm slip through him as he entered the alleyway to examine the sudden sound that disturbed his ears as he walked by.

  “If anyone is back this way, I would highly recommend they declare themselves. This is Deputy Rook, state your name and business,” said the Sheriff’s substitute. Warily Rook kept his hand on the holstered weapon that hung at his hip as his eyes scanned about in the dim light searching for the source of the sound. He could almost feel it on the air around him that something or someone was back here in the alley. The same instinct also lent him the insight that while he wasn’t authorized to engage in open force on the streets he might be about to walk into a situation where he would have to.

  ♦♦♦

  “Would you be so kind as to take this bundle out back to spare an old lady the strain on her shoulders?” Grandma Grael asked as she pointed down at a small parcel that sat next to a few broken remains of what might have once been a broom handle. Judging that he had managed to gather everything to satisfy the Mayor’s order and only required a second pass to ensure the matter, Marshall nodded his agreement.

  “Just point me as to where they need putting and I will see to it,” he acknowledged. Grandma rested her hands on her hips and puffed out a petite sigh before jerking her head towards a rear hallway. “Right through there and out the back door is where you’ll find the bins. Mind you, it’s best to be careful; sometimes folks rummage about back there.”

  “Don’t worry none, I’ll take this stuff out and be right back to finish my work,” Marshall promised. He claimed the bundled bag in one hand and the busted broom handle in the other before heading down the hall. As his hand reached for the door knob he could hear the clear command for anyone to identify themselves, sparking in him a sense of alarm.

  Tightening his grip on the handle in his hand, Marshall eased the door open cautiously at first and let his eyes survey the situation. What they found waiting to be witnessed was a grizzly pair locked in a standoff with weapons drawn on each other. Whoever had called from around the corner for everyone to announce themselves had sounded distinctly like an officer. They also, it looked well enough like it, were about to walk into a messy situation outnumbered.

  There didn’t seem to be much of a decision about the matter as Marshall seized on the element of surprise to take action. With a grunt he heaved the bundle like a bullet to slam into the figure on his right, knocking him off balance by the blow. Following up the garbage gambit, Marshall rushed in to deliver a swing directing the broken broom to bash the other man’s gun up and away. The brutal blow sent the firearm flying free from the grip that guided the gun to skid away back down the alley.

  Reading the registered shock on his victim’s face Marshall continued his crusade and returned his attention towards the other armed assailant. Already spinning to shake off the stun, the bag battered bully was raising his weapon for a shot in retaliation. Reflexes reacted
automatically from within Marshall to send the ruined remains in his hand sailing on a collision course with the man’s middle that ended with a groan that emptied him of air. Not wanting to wait for the other suspicious stranger’s shock to wear off, Marshall brought his right up in a savage uppercut to send him toppling to the ground. For good measure he granted the gasping gunman a quick jab or two as well before pulling the two to lie limply together.

  “Hold it right there,” Rook declared as Marshall retrieved both of the men’s weapons. He ignored the order and simply handed both guns out handles first to offer them to the officer. Confused by the gesture, Rook puzzled over the sight of the pummeled pair upon the ground and then looked back at Marshall hoping to find an explanation. The two of them locked eyes, warm walnut staring back into vibrant violet.

  Both men measured the other in the unspoken moment and found for themselves a feeling for one another. Of the two, Marshall was the first to break the silence by speaking. “Apologies officer,” he began respectfully. “But you were about to walk into a nasty bit of luck. Both of these men had weapons drawn on one another and if not for myself might have done harm to you or one another.”

  “Appreciated, and you are,” Rook asked inquisitively, a slight shimmer in his eye. “My name is Marshall Lawson,” Marshall admitted and offered his hand. As Rook accepted the polite gesture Marshall continued. “I’m new in town and currently at the mercy of Mrs. Grael’s charitable disposition.”

  Deputy Rook nodded as he accepted the offered explanation but then his face turned somewhat sour. “Like I said I am grateful for the assistance, truthfully I am. However I am afraid that I have to strongly advise you to refrain from any further such actions. Technically speaking by engaging in open violence on the streets of Redemption I am obligated to see you arrested. But, seeing as how you spared me a potentially permanent end to my duties I am willing to overlook the matter.

  Be that as it may, if the Sheriff hears of this he is liable to force the issue and demand you be placed behind bars. Now, I’ll do what I can to try and keep this between us but it would be wise to steer clear of anymore heroics. Understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand,” Marshall replied. “But just tell me this though; what would you have done if I hadn’t been around to ambush these two?” Deputy Rook had to consider the question for a moment before he ventured an answer. A wry grin crawled up one side of his face when he found the only possible action he could have chosen. “I would have done my duty as the Deputy of Redemption.”

  Marshall never let his eyes leave the deputies as he answered the question. There wasn’t a single waver or sign of weakness in their depths, and he was certain that the deputy would have undoubtedly tried. Fortunately though, Marshall reminded himself with a chuckle he had been around to take out the trash. “I best be getting back to my work,” he excused himself and started back for the door. “Likewise,” said Rook as he held up a hand in parting before turning to gather up the groaning men still on the ground. And then both men returned to their tasks with a fresh friendly grin upon their face.

  Episode 10 – A Gauntlet Is Thrown Down

  When Marshall arrived back inside he couldn’t hold back the memories anymore. They came to him in rapid-fire bursts to explode in his mind like barrel after barrel of buckshot barrages. He halted a handful of times to catch himself with a hand reaching for the support of the wall as he made his way for his room.

  Waiting for him like a silently patient old friend was his patched and frayed bag laid at the foot of the bed. Moving in automatic empty motions he began to open a series of makeshift straps and buckles along its weathered exterior to unleash its contents. Within a scarce few breaths he had already began unrolling cloth packages that smelled sweetly with the familiar scent of well-maintained machined metal.

  As Marshall examined each one in a systematic series of visual inspections he found them all appearing just as satisfactory as when he had packed them. But even the rewarding routine of reviewing his gear couldn’t push the painful punishments from his mind. He could see every angry face and hear every cruelly hurled taunt as the past poured back into him. The torment alone wasn’t what still hurt; it was the burden of being beaten for trying to do what was right.

  Their preferred penalty was a gruesome and grizzly affair they pulled straight out of the historical archives. They called it ‘the gauntlet’ and it always managed to bring out the most barbaric behavior from his peers. He would be forced to run between two tightly lined rows of recruits as they repeatedly assaulted him until he managed to reach the other end. It wasn’t the kind of thing easily forgotten, nor was it the sort of thing many ever endured more than once.

  “I am happy to see that you were able to lend a hand, Mr. Heart-Helmed,” Grandma Grael declared from the doorway. Without waiting to be invited in the miniature maiden marched straight into the room to stand beside Marshall as he still looked on at the arrangement upon his bed. “You know I haven’t seen one of those in ages,” she confessed as she pointed at a particularly peculiar piece.

  It was an aged antique, to be sure, quite unlike anything still in modern use almost anywhere. A pair of barrels, one atop the other were met at their rear by a revolving cylinder that ended with a sawed off stock that held a lever along its bottom. Most men had moved past making use of any such weapon to opt for a more modern one considering such a relic to be quite simply a foolish firearm. But even Grandma Grael could appreciate the simple truth that the trusted and true design of guns like this would never jam on you. Nor would it require external power sources. All you had to do was feed it bullets, crank the lever and pull the trigger. It was the kind of technology that was built to last; simple and dependable.

  “You mean my ‘Hole-Maker’,” Marshall found himself asking as confusion mingled with curiosity at the remark. “I’d say it is,” Grandma giggled and Marshall whipped his head around to face her. “Hold the horse here, wasn’t it you who explained that it was foolish to be governed to action by your feelings out here?”

  Without any damage to her demeanor, Grandma Grael prepared herself to correct him and licked her lips. “If you will well recollect; what I said was that it wasn’t wise. I never said it wasn’t right. Which is often enough the case, the right road is typically the one that is the most difficult. Now, tell me pup; how in all the heavens did you lay hands on a pristine pair of old Tamel’s?”

  She punctuated her question by pointing down at two handguns coupled together before her. They were anything but new as well, revolvers too but perhaps not quite as old. Both of them held the blued steel smooth shimmer of a cared for creation with almost no sign of the wearing age or mishandling could bring. Seeing such sights brought back her own memories as well forcing Grandma Grael to redirect her thoughts back to those presently appropriate.

  “Never mind that now,” she interrupted while waiving her hand as if clearing away old cob webs. “We can talk more about such tales another time. Tell me, pup, what is it that you aim to be setting yourself to? Or do you have any plan at all?”

  Still distant as a man adrift within a dream Marshall reached down and picked up the handle of a heavy edged blade that ended abruptly, broken off a couple feet from the hilt. “There is an old saying; ‘to throw down a gauntlet,’” Marshall recited. He didn’t have to look back at her to understand that undoubtedly she was familiar with the expression but he continued to explain anyway for his own benefit. “It means to declare a formal challenge – like two warriors tossing down an armored glove to dare the other to face them. I aim to be that gauntlet and cast myself against those who plague this town.”

  “Well, I figure Gauntlet is as good a name as any,” Grandma Grael confessed. “But boy, you might want to speed up a step or three if you plan on making a difference. While you was out back old Mr. Mitchum called to warn me to steer clear of going out for a bit. It seems that he spotted that Dizcord’s lot heading into town in some fierce manner of hurry and likewis
e disposition.”

  “The Sheriff isn’t about to make any move the stop them is he?” Marshall asked the question aloud already confirming what he had suspected since coming to town. Something about Arbiter burned at him inside; what kind of man could wear a badge and swear to an oath only to turn a blind eye? He locked away his thoughts of the past behind a wall he had made out of a simple promise. All those who had dared to try to punish him with pain for seeking to demand justice had only helped him to understand that nobody could give it to you. You had to make things right for yourself and stand against such people. Which is exactly what he planned to do; he was going to bring the gauntlet to them and see how they liked having to run for a change.

  Episode 11 – First Breaks, Tough Breaks

  The vehicle violently shuddered to a halt as it found itself resisted by the ruined remains of an exterior wall. Inside, Eris cursed at herself for having known better than to ever listen to her dangerous driver. Crash, as they had aptly named him long ago, was one of a trio of Type II’s that for all intents and purposes were best described as robotic brothers. However if you asker her, the whole lot of them were little more than never-ending nuisances. And now this scrap-for-brains had just managed to ram them through the wall of the bank they were going to rob.