The woman whom Team 3 was brought to clearly had seen enough wrong in her long life to fill the Velk River. Hendle's face was mashed like a squash, bore the marks of a drinker and fighter and frowner and cusser. They were all gathered in the cleared-out hall of a large saloon. Hendle was the town's leader and de facto mayor. The Reapers found the settlement a strange one upon their arrival. The men of Catatonia were pale and listless. Spoke not at all. Only drooled and stared like the patients of an asylum pacified by sedatives of root and venom. Most of these men had been locked up inside homes and barns for their safety. Others milled about unfettered, perhaps in the hopes they would simply wander off and unburden the others. Only the women appeared to do anything of use here. Working the businesses, doing repairs, running the town's affairs, tending the fields and animals, caring for and teaching the children, patrolling with crossbows. Making up for the unproductivity of their 'worser halves.'

"That's how Catatonia got its name," Hendle explained in her gruff manner when Nail asked about the men that carried themselves with no more sign of sentience than rotters. "'Providence' or 'Windcross' or some other such nice and fluffy swineshit would be a much more suitable place to call home. But the bunch of do-nothin's round here couldn't get their act together to vote on and register a name so some mapmaker went ahead and made one up for us. 'Catatonia,' after these worthless dregs we gotta spend all day feedin' an' dressin' an' bathin' and wipin'. Well, it stuck. 'Catatonia.' Son of a snake."

"And how did the men get this way?" asked Nail. "And why just the men?"

"You harpies poison these poor souls' food?" asked Vulture. "Make slaves of 'em, your husbands and sons and fathers?"

"Some slaves! You see the men doin' any of the damn work around here?" Hendle's face was pinched with derision. "It was the goddamn mines, you cockgoblin." At this Thirteen cackled. "That hole was Catatonia's main trade," Hendle continued. "Pullin' ore from the earth day in and out. Makin' claimers rich. But there was some commotion down there one day and every damn man in town went down to take a look. Seemed compelled to, even. Well, they struck somethin' in that pit that changed 'em terrible. They all came out white as ghosts and dumber'n toadstools. They won't say what did this to 'em down there, what the hell it was they found. A couple muttered they found somethin' beautiful down there, a thing that called to anything with a pair of acorns twixt its thighs. Too beautiful to stand. Cost them their minds. We sealed up that evil hole and thus our livelihoods. Town dried up with nothing left to mine, and by then it was too late for the menfolk. They never was the same. So now it's just us women and kids runnin' things now. Breakin' our backs. Scrapin' off the parched earth."

"We can try to get you out of here," said Jasha. "Find you a new home."

"And go where?" said Hendle. "There ain't nowhere to travel that ain't already full of folks lookin' for work, or trouble, or fightin' in some war we want no part of. That's how we all ended out in these nowheres to begin with. Was the only course we had, weren't nowhere else to go. This is a land of final resort. The war comes to us... I suppose we make our stand and take what comes."

Nail got to the business he'd been sent here to commence. Catatonia's woes aside, he had his missing brothers to see to. "We were told you know where some Nation soldiers are being held captive. That they might even be Reapers. That true?"

"S'right," said Hendle. "Some ways off, at a piss-drinker post."

"And you can direct us to that place?" said Nail. "Draw a map? Provide details? Their defenses, number of hostages, things of that nature?"

"Sure can," she said.

"No use wasting time, then. Spit us your brains."

"There's one thing to first settle," said Hendle.

Nail squinted and waited. Always there was a wrinkle. A condition. Was it money she wanted? Protection? Or did they wish the Reapers to investigate and deal with whatever siren or daemon had been sealed in that mine?

"We need your help," Hendle began to explain. "Got nowhere else to turn. Now hear me out—"

Doors opened, distracting everyone. Reapers hands went to knives and bows. But it was just a couple of the other women bringing out tankards of ale and buttered bread. "Hang on, boys," Nail said. "I know this bread smells like home and you're all hungry enough to eat your own hands... but it's a wicked world, and trust not casually thrown." His eyes fell on Hendle. "You eat first."

"Some way to treat your generous hosts," said Hendle. Nail and the men waited for her to comply. Unsettled consequences stirred in the air. The old woman picked up a piece of the bread and took a defiant bite and chewed and swallowed.

"Go on, now," said Nail. "Wash that down." He pushed a mug of ale toward her. Foam lurched and spilled from its lip.

Hendle sneered and picked up the swishing tankard and chugged all of its contents in a string of even gulps. She set the empty mug back down on the table with a resolute thud. Then the old woman writhed. Nail's suspicions confirmed? Had the ale indeed been poisoned by one of those witches of the kitchen? Hendle summoned forth a titanic belch that nearly seemed to shake the rafters of their dust.

The tension broke. Laughter. The Reapers tore into the feast. It was the best food Team 3 had in weeks, maybe months. They could smell something else cooking in that kitchen that promised sensory heaven. Blacwin's imagination went wild when wondering what might be on the menu. What was in season around here? What livestock did the people of Catatonia slaughter for the occasion? Chicken, swine? Even unicorn would be a welcome meal at this point.

Nail continued his conversation with Hendle as they ate and drank. "What is it you want done so we can be on our way with our true duty?"

"You ain't gonna believe it," Hendle returned. "It's straight outta legend."

"Try us," said Nail.

"You heard of the Qoldah..."

"The birdkin?" said Jasha.

"No credible man or woman has laid eyes on the Qoldah in modern times," said Riddle. "They're believed extinct but their ruins still exist in the mountaintops and canyon walls."

"We got people who seen 'em, and wished not," said Hendle. "The farmhouses around Catatonia's been sufferin' from attacks, and the descriptions we get are of 'bird people.' Big wings and beaks and shrieking like hell as they descend on the roads and fields just out of town."

"And you want us to deal with 'em," said Nail.

"I know that ain't why you're here," said Hendle. "But them feathered folk ain't only took our money and goods. They took our people. Got some of our girls. You bring them women home to me, I'll tell you everything you need to know about them captive soldiers. Lead you right to the wasters' doorstep myself."

The same old story, thought Nail. The world was an unending churn of people who needed saving from monsters. He held up his tankard of ale. "Was all this meant to butter us up?"

"Any weapon in the arsenal," said Hendle. "And these ladies can cook a mean rack of lamb."

Lamb, though Blacwin. He almost became dizzy at the thought.

"You got some pumpkins, miss," Nail said. "It's within my rights to have you shot for this."

Hendle gave him a look and the words to match it. "Do your worst, then. I don't give a damn no more." Tension filled the room like a thick smoke. Blacwin waited for Nail to say something. Would the officer really bring lethal force against this old woman for the hubris of interfering with Reaper business? Hendle's lip quivered and a tear broke at the corner of her eye. The old battleaxe's shoulders heaved in a sob. It pained Blacwin to see an old and proud lady break down like this. He heard Thirteen and Vulture chuckle at the other end of the table and it made him want to run his sword through them like a spit through squirrels. "I just want our girls home," Hendle said. "My life's worth savin' theirs. If they ain't dead already."

Nail regarded her and seemed to go cold in an instant. It was if a reptile had slipped into his skin. He set down his mug. "Apprehend her," he ordered, heading for the back.

Thirteen and Vulture leapt into action and each grabbed one of Hendle's arms. She was strong of spirit but her body would not accept much abuse. Blacwin held his tongue. For now. He and Jasha shared a look.

"Sir...," Jasha said. Nail ignored his second in command and entered a door that led into a back room. Thirteen and Vulture dragged Hendle in his wake. The door slammed shut behind them. The other women emerged from the kitchen and shadows. "What are they gon' do to her?!" one stricken soul wailed. No one answered. No one knew. Blacwin felt paralyzed. Would those men really torture an old woman for the intelligence they needed? To help Catatonia would set them back, true... but was avoiding the request worth this terrible cost? These women weren't asking for money or title. They weren't acting out of greed or malice. They simply wanted their girls back home. Blacwin eyed that door. Muffled shouting issued from its other side. A sick thumping. The women in the front room began to fret and cry. One made for the door and Jasha and Riddle held her back.

Blacwin addressed the despairing women. "Do you know nothing that can stop this?" he asked. They shook their heads. Faces full of tears. The shouting and slamming grew in intensity from beyond that closed door. Blacwin drew in a breath. He was going to have to do it. He was going to have to go through that portal and put a stop to this. Blacwin made his way for the back room. "Say the word, sir," his sharp ears could now hear Thirteen say from the other side of the distressed wood. "Say the word and I'll nick her." Blacwin reached out for the handle but before he could touch it the door flew open and slammed hard against the wall.

A furious Nail emerged and brushed past the half-ylf. "Stand down," he told his men. "Let the cunt free."

Blacwin looked through the doorway. Watched Thirteen sheath his dagger as Vulture released Hendle's arms and stepped out from behind her chair. The woman had bruises where the animalist's fingers had gripped her but she appeared to be otherwise physically unharmed. Nail had simply used the threat of serious harm against her but did not act on his promise. The Reapers vacated the room and Blacwin went to the elder. "Are you alright?" he asked. Hendle nodded and Blacwin helped her to her feet. Walked her back into the main room.

Nail pointed at the gathered women. "How about we rough one of these other girls up, eh?" This query was for Hendle. "Will you sing then?"

"You won't do it," said Hendle. "You weren't heartless enough to torture me. You won't hurt them neither."

"I may not be cold enough of blood," Nail said, "but they are." He nodded toward Thirteen and Vulture.

"Sir, please," said Jasha. "Let's sleep on this. The road has taken its toll."

One of the women stepped forward. The Reapers recognized her as the lead rider that greeted them outside town. "Understand we have got no choice but to play this card. It's our only hope for them girls. But we got other things to offer. We prepared a great feast for you men. We have soft, warm beds. I'm sure we can muster some warm bodies as well, if that's what it'll take."

"So you can kill us in our sleep?" Nail asked.

The woman sadly shook her head and stepped forward. Reaper hands went to hilts. She put her own hand to Nail's cheek and her eyes met his. "What happened to you out there?" There was genuine sadness in her voice. "You was jus' a darlin' little baby once." She looked over the men. "I know it's a mean world out there but we got no bad intentions with you men. We don't want to hurt you. We just need your help. We aren't Reapers. We can't get our girls back alone."

Blacwin sniffed the air. "Is something burning?" His eyes went to Nail. Again the half-ylf had inadvertently revealed that his senses were the sharpest in the room. But it appeared no one had taken notice, in light of what now weighed on the gathering like an anvil. A couple of the women ran into the kitchen to deal with the crisis of cookery.

The main course came out and they all sat and ate together in a strange truce. The famished Reapers savored their meal of braised lamb and waddlebird. Yes, there was some small danger that these women had dosed the food but the soldiers ate with abandon. If this was to be their last meal, it would make for a fine one. The meat melted on their tongues. The butter and ale warmed their souls. It seemed the Reapers had no choice but to help these women with the Qoldah, or whoever their tormentors were—or lower themselves to torture these civilians for the intelligence on the Reaper captives. Perhaps even those were rumors, invented by these very townsfolk to get them out here. Yes, Nail had been hardened by war and world as this woman they now learned was named Emery had so tenderly surmised. But not to the point that he could do such a thing as hurt a woman. He had a code. Women and children were off-limits. Human ones, at least. And these ladies knew it. It was the only card the people of Catatonia held, but it was indeed a trump card. And that was all it took. Had this company been under the command of Thirteen or Vulture—or even Scratch, perhaps—they would possibly be on a different road. Hendle would have bled. And others, if so required.

But Nail was no such man as that. Not yet, at least. But as his physical sight dulled with time, so too did his moral vision. Another reason he sought an end to this hellish career. He wanted to be done while there was still an ounce of humanity left to him. Soon that too would be gone. As the grizzled Reaper ate he thought of Halo and Tusk and Risper and Adamore and hoped like the stars they were indeed among the soldiers that were said to be held by the enemy in these desperate reaches. One way or the other, they would soon find out. Nail unexpectedly found his mind going again to another missed friend, Scratch. Not the man, but the cat. He wondered how the feline now fared. It felt like a lifetime ago when he'd bequeathed the animal to Shroomer's safekeeping. In this moment of emotional crisis—in which Nail had been forced to consider torturing an old woman to stop from having to rescue a group of innocent girls so that he may do his duty and rescue his brothers, a morbid puzzle indeed—Nail was stabbed in his calloused heart with an unwelcome splinter of tenderness. He wished his feline friend well. And decided there would be no more ale for the night.

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