Chapter 7

May regretted sending the kid out about five minutes after ordering him to do so. After heading down from the laboratory, she could see figures following her down the hill. All the instincts she had honed over the years screamed at her that something was going on with the Inventor. May's only hope was that Darby's goons would follow her and think Patrick too incompetent or too green to be of much help.

Patrick, thought May, gods bless him but he was green as grass and not much confidence in himself to do the job, at least not yet. She wondered if she had miscalculated and the boy was now filling out a mine shaft somewhere. May shook her head, disabusing herself of the notion. They'd see him hanging around, and the worst they could do is just give him a few smacks before sending him on his way.

The plan was for May to drag her walk back to the town, maybe stop to look at the sights, gods know she needed it, stall the goons long enough for them to lose interest. Them gone, May could be free to go hound Darby's camp doctor while he took his usual nightcap.

The camp doctor's name was Fazzenwaif, which is why most everybody called him the doctor. It was quite a different inflection than the town doctor, which, granted did get confusing when both doctors were out drinking at the same bar, or when you wanted to tell your friends about your plans to go get a check-up.

Fazzenwaif had a bad drinking problem, and he would come down from the hills periodically to resupply and to take one or 12 samples of the local brew. May was sure that she could get what information she wanted out of him.

Things had been strange for a few weeks, even before strange men in vintage army uniforms were being dragged around by trees. Darby was manufacturing more and more weapons, new hotels were built in the town almost every week because of the new miners arriving, and Fred sold his mansion and lived out of the back office of the Downed Cart, a local bar he owned.

The first problem was, most of those miners were the kind that carried spears, swords, and pistols and none of them look too friendly. May had to break up more and more bar fights in the past few weeks than she had in the whole previous year.

The second problem was that the foundries were working overtime, the smoke billowing out day and night, but the number of ships going down the river to the Royal Markets had not increased.

Last but not least was the worrying number of explosions that echoed down the hill and into the valley. They couldn't all be just experiments on improving the gunpowder.

But first, before dealing with all that, May had some time to kill. Might as well try her hand at multi-tasking.

"Hey, Fred," said May. Fred was sitting on a bench in the town park, rubbing at his aching joints and trying to feed the local ducks.

"Hey, May. How goes the hunt?"

"Not great. Ran into a few hiccups. Did not have much time to look for your runaway soldier." said May.

"Should find him. He might be dangerous. Nearly took Doctor Kevin's head off." said Fred.

"Doctor Kevin?" snickered May, "You mean Bear?"

"He doesn't like it when you call him that," said Fred.

"Well, then maybe he should think about a shave and a haircut."

"Oh, you're a riot," said Fred. "So, back on the trail?"

"Yep." responded May, "I just need to go do some research. Whatever our curious guest has, I'd hate for it to be contagious and kill us all."

"Magic diseases? I didn't know those were a thing," said Fred.

"You know, Fred, for someone who's more magical apparatus than person, you really should pick up a book on what makes your appendages tick."

"I'd be more appreciative of the darn things didn't itch so much. Until then, I reserve my right to bitch and whine," said Fred. "So where are you headed?"

The Livingston Library was a small building stacked between two hardware stores, that barely left the place room to breathe. Stepping inside, one would find shoes stacked up to the walls. Nobody knew how it started or who left the first pair in the hallway. Ever since they did, the Librarian developed a quick obsession with stealing the townspeople's shoes as a sort of misguided revenge because somebody dared walk around her library without shoes on.

It did not phase the Librarian that stealing shoes would mean that more people would have to enter the library without footwear to retrieve their lost items. Eventually, they gave it up, and it became a tradition to drop off a pair of shoes at the library in the holiday season.

"I think it's cute." said the Librarian, her giant hat flapping around in the non-existent breeze.

"I didn't say anything," said May.

"You were definitely thinking it, probably." said the Librarian.

"I just thought we could get some new holidays in the town, that's all," said May. "Preferably, of the non-shoe variety."

"What are you, rich?"

"Alright then. Let's forget the whole thing," said May. "I didn't come here for this anyway."

"Aww, did you get in another knife fight?"

"No."

"Duel? Flintlocks at noon?"

"No."

"Did your pet scaled buffalo escape?"

"I don't... Scaled buffalo? Who has one of those as a pet, Ellie?"

"I don't know. You might. You kinda look tough."

"I really gotta get back to work. Can we do this later?" said May.

"Of course. Let me put on my job hat." said the Librarian.'

"You have another hat? Never saw you without this hat."

"It's imaginary. The work hat is imaginary. I'm not going to spend my money buying a stupid hat so I can do a job I already do amazingly, thank you very much."

"I feel as if we've gotten off track here," said May.

"Did you expect anything else?"

"Did you hear about the guy that showed up at the doctor's office?"

"Some sort of soldier in an old-timey uniform. Yeah, Maya was going on about it. What about him?"

"I need information on curses, maybe transmutation. Something to do with his blood being gold," said May.

"That's gotta come in handy."

"Not actual gold, it's gold-colored," said May but the Librarian's attention had moved to the pile of books at her feet. She knelt and began rummaging through them.

The Peacekeeper sighed. She was known to do this when in any conversation with the librarian that lasted more than a few minutes.

"Elizabeth?" said May.

"Hmm." responded the Librarian.

"Curses?"

"Oh yeah! Yeah, there's a bunch of old stuffy books back there." Elizabeth waved her hand and as if dragged by an invisible string, a bunch of books floated and spread themselves on the desk.

"I'll never get used to that," said May.

"I don't complain about you making that shield of yours. We all have our talents. It's just what we do with them."

The Peacekeeper nodded, took the books, and sat down at an empty table. Before digging into the books, she checked the clock, seeing that she still had three hours until sunset and having to deal with Fazzenwaif.

"Now, let's see," May mumbled to herself, as she took off her sword, her gloves, and loosened her armor. "The doc said he could not remove the bandages. Maybe they're feeding off the blood and that's why it turns golden. Some sort of alchemy experiment gone wrong perhaps. An attempt at getting rich in an expeditious manner of time. Alchemy, alchemy. A-ha!" Finding the right book, May became lost to the outside world.

***

Patrick awoke in the complete dark, his breathing coming out with the frequency and timber of a freight train. The grinding of his bones as he tried to open his mouth spoke of the terrible things that must have happened to him.

For the moment, the young deputy was spared that knowledge as his fogged-over brain could hardly recall its name, much less so, its present circumstances.

The crickets could be heard through the window of wherever it was that Patrick was held. If he focused, he could feel a sight breeze coming from behind him.

After his head cleared a bit, the young deputy began to realize the depth of his problems. Not the least of which, if he understood correctly, that May might have sent him here with the intent of getting caught. She even had an inside person that stopped Patrick from making his way into the medical tent unseen. That could've prevented all of this from happening. Patrick wouldn't be trapped in some dark room and the doctor wouldn't have been stabbed by psychotic mercenaries.

The young man grimaced at the image of the doctor lying in his own blood. He wondered if the man was still alive. They said they wanted him alive for Darby to question, but who knew if that business was already done. Darby could've finished the job on the doctor and could just be waiting outside the door, knife in hand, ready to stick it in Patrick's neck.

The shame was almost overpowering. He knew he could not do this job, it was just the only thing out here other than the mines. Grandfather was dying, and Patrick could not face disappointing the old man.

Well, congratulations grandpa, now your grandson's getting hog-tied and murdered in a dirty forest by a crazy gunpowder dealer. At least disappointments are still alive.

Things couldn't be as bad as they seemed. May might be strict and a bully in the training yard, but she wouldn't just abandon him. Not for long anyway. She was probably out there now, cutting down the mercenaries, and dragging Darby to a cell by his ears.

After a while of sitting in the dark and trying to get a half-decent wheeze out of his broken nose, Patrick heard a scratching at the door. It got louder and then the door cracked open.

Looking for all the world like a fresh dug-out corpse, Fazzenawif stood in the doorway, as his leaking eyes took in the room and got used to the dark.

"Hey, kid." said the doctor.

Patrick tried to respond but could not get any words out. The doctor wasted no time in pulling out a small canteen and pressed it to Patrick's lips.

The young deputy never had a better drink of water in his life. "How are you even walking?"

The doctor gave a guilty smile. With the door open, and light pouring into the cabin, he could see the doctor's midsection and arms were all covered in bloody bandages.

"I woke up in my office. I guess they just dumped me there, probably thought I was dead." the doctor elaborated. "Guess all those narcotics I've got running through my system did me some good. Not about the let some blood loss do me in. Probably just helped sober me up, if anything. I had some supplies below all those papers and my little helper here." He tapped the flintlock in his belt with something like affection. "For the worst of the worst cases, you see. Brain injuries and such."

Patrick coughed out a good amount of water. "Sorry," he mumbled, horrified with the thought that he once had dreamed of being a doctor. He began pouring the rest of the canteen down his throat.

"I would conserve that if I were you, boy." said the doctor. "You have a long way ahead of you. " He then grabbed a satchel he had brought with him and pressed it into Patrick's hands.

"It was my insurance plan, you see." The doctor said pressing his fingers against the satchel as if touching something sacred, something that offered protection. "All the document I could ferret away. Copies, hand-written notes from Darby, invoices, inventory, whatever you like."

Patrick grabbed the bag and held it against his body protectively. "This is big isn't it?"

"Terrible too." added the doctor. "I don't know how nobody saw it coming. I've been drowning in liquor and powders and I still noticed. Of course, Darby needed me to take care of his little wounded worker-ants, but still. What the hell do they even pay you, bastards, for? Looking shiny in your armor?"

The doctor stood and began to pace the little room. He couldn't take more than two steps without running into the wall, but it did not stop him.

"Okay, kid, listen. Darby found something when he was testing out a new gunpowder recipe. The proportions were off in the mix and it took a big chunk out of the hill. Only it wasn't only the hill that got torn up. Something was down there. Old twisted tunnels leading up into who knows what. Darby started sending men down there. The next thing I know, he's sending down people to get mercenary companies on the payroll, the foundries are pushing out double the output and the guns are being put away down in the neighboring village. Whatever it is he wants to do, he wants to do it by force."

"Do you think he's trying to take over the town?" asked Patrick.

"Whatever he's trying to do, maybe take over, maybe put everyone in the county to the sword so there's no witnesses to see what's coming out of the ground." responded the doctor.

Patrick tried to process all that he had heard and then decided that it could wait until he was free.

"Can you let me go?" he asked.

"Of course. I'm sorry, I should've done it when I walked in." The doctor kneeled and cut off Patrick's bindings with a small knife.

"Here," the doctor said handing over the knife. "I don't know where they put your sword, and I don't have time to go looking for it. This might help you survive out there."

Patrick took it, noticing that it was caked in blood. He wiped it on his pants before putting it away in his belt and making sure it was secure. "Can't I have that?" He nodded towards the pistol.

"No, I'm going to need this a bit later." said the doctor.

"Alright, let's get out of here. Do you have horses nearby?" asked Patrick.

The doctor's face began to redden. "Have you not been listening? I'm not going anywhere. This is it for me. I'll just make a distraction while you escape."

"That's stupid. Let's just sneak away."

"I am not going. I let this happen. All of it. I could've said something a long time ago, but I just wanted to be left in peace, to live my miserable little life. Just nod and do as they say because you're too afraid to risk a life you hate, but one you can't change." said the doctor, "This is all I can do."

"It's not too late," said Patrick. "We can get out of here. We can do the right thing, both of us."

"No. I've had enough. Now, no more arguing. We've wasted enough time. We're going."

They stepped out of the small building, and into the night. The moon was peering down on them from between a few spare clouds. Unfortunately, it was looking like a clear night.

The guardsman's corpse was twisted by the door, his neck slashed open. He had a look of slight surprise on his face.

The doctor shrugged when he saw Patrick staring at the corpse. "It's best if you get used to this kind of thing fast."

"You couldn't knock him out? You're a doctor. You must have something."

"Doesn't really work like that. Was I going to give him a nice cup of tea laced with morphine?" the doctor shook his head. "Come on, there's an old workhorse I tied next to my office. You'll take him through the sidepath and cut down into the forest on foot. Luck holds you'll reach Northgate."

"Then what do I do?" asked Patrick, panicking. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in. He could barely breathe through his broken nose.

The doctor looked at him with pity. "Just sit still." He grabbed Patrick's head, and with one hand, set the boy's nose back into its right place with a click.

Patrick gritted his teeth as to not make a noise. It still hurt terribly, but at least now he could take a breath without it sounding like a rattle.

They made their way back to the doctor’s office, it wasn’t very far. The medical tent had been dismantled and only the lighter, turned over ground was proof that it had ever been there. Without the tent, there was nobody on the street except another body, laying halfway outside the door, and face down. Patrick made a guess that was the person tasked with guarding the doctor until Darby arrived.

In the dark, Patrick could almost make out the spot where he had been beaten down and the doctor was stabbed.

Arriving at the office, they walked around the back and found an old horse tied to a post. It made a sound of recognition at seeing the doctor and stamped its foot. The doctor went to the horse, held it by the reigns and spoke softly as to calm it.

“This here’s Vergil. He’s old and cranky, but he’s a good boy. He’ll see you through.” The doctor said.

Patrick looked at the old beast and saw a bit of something wild in its eyes. That and the huge size of the horse, did not give the young deputy a lot of confidence that he could handle riding a long distance, having to do it soundlessly as well.

A wooshing sound and an explosion of light in the sky startled them. Patrick held onto the horse with all his strength and barely succeeded. The beast was terrified and so was the boy.

"That's a flare." said the doctor. And indeed it was. The flare fell illuminating the area all around them.

The doctor turned and nodded to Patrick. "This is it. You get going now. I'll try and buy some time." And he walked off

The young deputy struggled to get on the horse. By the time he was in the saddle, he was hearing voices, angry and shouting. He kicked the horse with the bottom of his boots and they were off.

Seeing movement, they opened fire on him. The doctor took out his flintlock and shot one of the men in the chest. Carter, stepping from behind his men, punched him in the stomach, knocking the pistol out of reach. For all the good that did him, since the one-shot was spent, and now Fazzenwaif was defenseless.

Carter smiled. He picked up the doctor by the neck and slammed him on the ground. While the man struggled, Carter forced his hands into the doctor's mouth and gripped his jaw with the tips of his fingers.

Fazzenwaif beat at him with his fists in a useless attempt at salvation. Carter pulled in different directions, snapping the doctor's jaw bone, spreading gore and teeth all around.

He admired his work for a few seconds and then crushed the remnants of the doctor's skull under his boot.

"Who's up for a night-time chase?" he asked.