by C S Boyack
"Oh yeah, good idea. Hey, we killed our guards but now we need more help."
"Maybe you're right." James tied a large bag behind the saddle, mounted the horse then rode back.
He slowed his pace as he entered the city once more. Shops were closing for the night, and music bled from the taverns he passed. He went to a stable near the bank then went inside. The liveryman was waiting.
"Did you get fresh shoes on her?" James asked as he walked around the mule.
"Sure did, and she's all saddled."
James handed him a pouch full of gold coins. "The horse for the mule. That's more than fair. The coin is for the story. A man stole a grey mare and rode hell bent for the western road. Got it?"
"Yessir. Anything else?"
"Just stick to the story and that'll be enough." James grunted as he lifted the sack over his shoulder. He needed to hurry before the bank closed.
James filled and lit his pipe as he walked.
The interior of the bank involved a small lobby, a short stone wall between James and the man working, and iron railing imbedded in the wall reached all the way to the ceiling. An open vault stood behind the teller.
The teller approached the only window in the railing. "We're about to close. Can I help you with something?"
"My lieutenant said to withdraw some gold from the Earl's private account. Said you'd know the story."
"Where is your lieutenant? I expected him to come himself."
"He said you'd know what it's about."
"I do know what it's about, but I wonder if you do. What is your lieutenant's name?"
"Um, he's just my lieutenant. I'm a new recruit."
"You expect me to think they'd send a green recruit on a mission like this? I'm afraid you'll have to come back tomorrow and bring this lieutenant with you."
James puffed on his pipe in rapid bursts until the ember was glowing red. He hoisted his bag onto the counter with a resounding clunk. "In that case, I want to make a deposit."
"Fine, but we need to hurry. How much are you depositing?"
James pulled the end of a fuse from the bag, then shoved it into the bowl of his pipe. When it started to burn, he shoved a thirty-two pound mortar shell across the counter. "This much."
The shell rolled across the counter, then fell to the floor. It bounced slightly and rolled toward the vault.
The teller started climbing the iron rail.
James flattened himself on the floor up tight against the pony wall.
The explosion was deafening. Twisted iron held pieces of the teller in the air. An iron rod pierced James' boot top, but didn't harm him. After freeing himself, he climbed over the wall and into the vault.
Things were blown to hell, and coins scattered all over the floor. He scooped them up, but didn't have much time.
A stack of gold ingots remained in place on the floor. He grabbed as many as he could carry then turned to leave.
Townsfolk were tentatively coming inside. The soldiers could arrive any second.
The ceiling collapsed. A dirt cloud billowed through the building. When the dust cleared, a route to the upper floor revealed itself along a charred beam. James took it.
His leg pushed through the floor at one point, but he was able to free himself. He headed for a broken window then jumped onto the roof of a tavern next door.
From there, he followed the rooftops until he came to a tannery then climbed down. He discarded the cap and brown coat in a pile of dried cowhides. Tying a bandana around his head, he slowly walked to the stable.
The mule was waiting, and his former horse had been moved into a stall. He casually mounted then rode east toward Prelonia.
After leaving the city, he left the road behind. The mule could easily handle the rough terrain, and even the pending darkness wouldn't be a problem.
Before the sun set completely, he picked a route along the ridges that would bring him back to the road near his friends. Mounted soldiers raced along the road below him toward the border. "Looks like they didn't buy the grey mare story," he told the mule. "Wonder if they're brave enough to enter Prelonia?" He clicked his tongue for the mule then turned back down the ridge.
His friends waited in camp, but James watched them from a safe position to make sure they were alone. The swivel gun wasn't mounted on the caravan, and there didn't seem to be any extra horses around. "Hello, the camp," he raised his voice.
"They've all gone," Dan said.
"So they were here?"
"Oh yeah. Said they were looking for a man with a red eye. Might be riding a grey mare. What happened to the horse?"
"We look suspicious with nice army horses. The mule is more natural for travelers." He tied the mule then handed Dan the bag. Dan grunted over its weight.
Mal was fascinated with the mule. He ran his fingers along its ears. "Big ears horse."
"Her father was a donkey. We call her a mule," Dan said.
"Mule. Big ears horse is mule."
"You don't know what a mule is? How long have you been here?"
Mal held up five fingers.
"Five years? Didn't your master have a mule somewhere?"
"Five days."
"Hear that, James. Mal here is fresh off the boat."
Fala sat a hot cup of coffee on a rock for James. "Did you have any trouble?"
"Never fired a shot. Well, kind of. Is there any rum to add to this?"
Fala stood then headed for the caravan. "We bought some."
"Hollish soldiers in Prelonia," James said. "We're going to tell that story everywhere. I hope others saw them too. Wars have been known to start over that kind of thing."
"They probably will see them. They rode deeper into Prelonia."
"Crap!" James stood then went into the caravan. "They can't see me when they leave, and they can't see an extra mule here either." He closed the door and shutters. "I need to think."
Moments later, Dan and Fala entered the wagon. "I picketed the mule back in the trees below the road," Dan said. "Mal dropped some bedding there for you. He and I will watch tonight to see if they come back. If they don't, we'll have to figure something out."
"Maybe you'd better let me make you an eye-patch," Fala said. "An eye patch is a damned sight more common than a red eye."
"Don't want a patch. I can see just fine."
Mal came inside and held James' hat forward with both hands.
"You'll have to keep it. The soldiers saw you wearing it," James said.
Mal nodded and looked around. He found a small knife on the counter then held it aloft. "This."
"You can borrow it, but we need it back," Fala said.
He opened the shutters then pointed to a small window box. "This?"
"That's for plants. A lady might like some flowers or some herbs to cook with," Dan said.
Mal grunted then returned to the fire. They heard him taking the windowbox down.
"What do you suppose he's up to now?" Dan said.
"He doesn't seem to hurt anything," James said. "Looks like I'm sleeping with the mule tonight. I'll loosen her cinch, but leave her saddled. Might have to make a fast escape, and she can go straight off the ridge."
They left the caravan then James ducked into the shadows.
Mal whittled on his vegetable while Dan kept watch. Fala took the opportunity to clean up.
Mal took pieces of the vegetable skin and carved them into perfect teardrops before placing them aside. He put the yam away in his new bag then used his hands to fill the window box with soil. Four of the perfect teardrops he planted in the box, before watering it and hanging it back below the window.
"Great," Dan said. "We're yam farmers now. I'm sure the mule will be impressed." He rolled over and closed his eyes. "You take the first watch."
Hours later Mal tapped Dan on the face. "Watch."
"Did anyone come back past?"
"No." The old man curled up and went to sleep.
Dan awoke to the sound of James leading the mule into
camp.
"They rode back past in the middle of the night," James said.
"I heard them, but pretended to be asleep."
Mal wore James hat, but with the points side to side, rather than fore and aft. A large hole was cut out of the crown, and Mal's bald head protruded.
"Whata-ya done to his hat?" Dan asked.
"Leave it be, he must think I gave it to him. It's my fault." James tied a bandana around his head then sat down.
Fala brought out breakfast, then they broke camp before heading deeper into Prelonia.
Chapter Six
They dropped out of the mountains into an area of rolling hills. Herds of wild ponies passed before the wagons and slowed their progress. Their own animals wanted to run off with them.
In the late afternoon, James and Mal turned off the road into a long winding meadow. Dan and Fala followed in the caravan. They went over a mile off the road before selecting a camp.
Fala nudged Dan and pointed. "Look, look, look. Those are burrowing goats." A handful of small goats ducked underground as the wagons parked. "I have one arrow left, and maybe we can have some fresh meat tonight."
"Hold that thought," Dan said. "Let's set up camp first. If they live in burrows, they aren't going anywhere."
Dan and James parked, then started unhitching the animals. "Why so far off the road?" Dan asked.
"So we can practice tonight and avoid any observers. It's useful to fire the weapons along with our regular practice."
Once everything was set up, James broke out the Hollish muskets, and placed out some reloading supplies. Dan blazed a mark on a tree then paced off a reasonable distance.
James and Dan managed to hit the tree, but missed the blaze. "Not horrible for smoothbores," James said.
Dan showed the others how to load the weapons, then helped Fala. She had to lean back to lift the weight of the long musket, and completely missed the tree.
"Why would an army use these stupid things if they're so inaccurate?" Fala asked.
"Think about a battlefield," James said. "There are clusters of men everywhere. Doesn't matter if you hit the one you're aiming at as long as you hit someone."
Mal was interested in the weapons, and asked, "This?" many times. He declined to fire one.
James and Dan took turns with pistols, and both managed to hit the blaze. They decided the rifling made that much improvement.
After the weapons were cleaned and put away, Fala said, "The goats are probably long gone."
"Maybe not, but you may want to walk away from camp," James said. He opened another one of the drawers then pulled out a short blunderbuss. "Take this. It's also a smoothbore, but it fires a cluster of balls."
"Might as well throw rocks."
"You'll need to get close, but at close range there's nothing deadlier."
"I'll go with you," Dan said.
"No you won't." James tossed him a leather and canvas collar.
"What's this?"
James put a collar around his own neck. It went from his ears to his shoulders. "Wooden swords are great to learn with, but eventually you have to try the real thing. Obviously, we aren't going to stab each other, or try to cut each other, but even an accidental wound could kill us in the neck area."
Dan took his time buckling the collar.
"Don't worry, we'll start slow. Your advantage is reach. The saber is longer than the cutlass. Your disadvantage is the weight that comes with that length. It will take you longer to recover than me."
"It's not that much heavier."
"When you swing hard, it will travel further away before you can block again. My only hope is to get inside on you. I'll have to be willing to take a severe cut, but not get stabbed, in exchange for stabbing you."
They started slow, working on basic moves. Blocking and stepping in slow motion until they felt like more speed was appropriate.
James blocked his partner and stepped inside.
Dan stepped even closer until they were chest to chest. "You can't stab me either. What now?"
Dan froze at the sound of the derringer cocking.
"When this happens, do whatever you can. Punch, kick, hit with the pommel of your sword. Stomp my foot. Pull a knife. I have a derringer. That's whatever I can do." James carefully lowered the cock on his gun then took off his collar.
"So that's it?" Dan asked.
"Try this." James pointed his cutlass forward and placed his off hand on the back of the blade. "Put some pressure on it, then draw back as hard as you can. You won't kill someone this way, but you'll cut them so deep they won't be much of a threat."
"Then I can reset and finish them off." Dan repeated the move a few times.
"Maybe. My world was all on ships. The better idea was to leave that man and move to the next one. My mates needed the help and time was better spent helping them."
"How many fights were you in?"
"I don't know. It was more like one big fight with pirates. I moved from man to man and didn't count. They retreated then sailed away. But it was just the one time."
"How were you able to beat them like that?"
"Because I practiced whenever I could."
The blunderbuss fired from down the meadow.
"Fresh meat?" Dan asked.
"Maybe."
Fala came marching toward the camp, blunderbuss over her shoulder, and dragging a small animal.
The goat appeared to be an ancient billy with knobbed horns that arched over his back like scimitars. The whole animal wasn't much larger than a cat. Fala was covered in dirt and mud.
"Damned thing jumped back down his hole after I shot," she said. "I was able to reach him and haul him out."
"He smells terrible," Dan said.
"Maybe it won't be so bad once the skin's off," James said.
Mal took the goat from her then did the butchering. Fala went to the tiny stream to wash up.
"That looks better," Dan said.
"For now," Fala said. "It's always me. Someone spills a beer, it's always on me. A carriage drives by a puddle, it always hits me. Some idiot tips over his stew, it gets on my dress. It's always been that way. That's why I never own nice clothes."
"Well, I think you look fine."
"Thanks, mate." She climbed into the caravan to start the stove burning.
Dinner amounted to chunks of goat fried, then roasted in the cast iron oven for a few hours. After they ate, Mal climbed into the wagon then came out with Fala's last arrow. He broke it then threw the end with feathers into the fire.
"Hey! That's mine," Fala protested.
"I think the blunderbuss is more reliable, don't you?" James asked.
"Probably, but still."
Mal carried the short shaft and arrowhead to his window box then pulled up his plants. In the course of one day, they grew clusters of leaves, and thin tubers over seven inches long.
"You ever seen anything grow that fast?" Dan asked.
"Can't say as I have," James answered.
Mal sliced the tops off the roots then stuck the broken arrow point up in the remaining soil. He reached in his bag and pulled out a small tricorn hat, obviously made from the piece of James' former hat.
The roots stood up then turned around.
Fala's mouth fell open.
The roots had arms and legs, and ugly vile looking little faces. They were a mottled beige and brown, with bits of dirt still clinging to them. They growled at Mal in protest. Their mouths were full of tiny sharklike teeth.
Mal pulled the lieutenant's shrunken head out and showed it to them. The roots stopped sneering and all went, "Oooo."
Once he had their attention, Mal put the shrunken head away. He held out the tiny hat then moved it up and down the line in front of them. Once he selected one, he placed the hat on its head and said, "Boss."
The Boss made an evil victory sneer then grabbed the broken arrow like a spear. He held it aloft while his mates cheered for him.
Mal pointed at the camp and sw
ung his finger around at the trees and meadow. "Watch."
The Boss held his spear aloft once more. "Monchala!" He jumped to the ground. The other roots followed. Then they ran into the grass, fanning out yelling, "Ookey, ookey, ookey."
"What the hell was all that?" Dan asked.
Mal came back to the fire then sat down. "I help."
"How's that helping?"
"We sleep. They watch."
"Sleep with the bloody doors and windows locked, and that blunderbuss across my lap," Fala said.
"Thank you, Mal," James said before filling his pipe.
Mal filled his own pipe then pulled a grass stem. He produced one of the tiny goat horns from his bag then measured the interior depth with the grass. Then he placed the grass alongside the horn to show the depth. He looked up at James. "Make cut. Here."
James rolled to his knees. "You want this cut off?"
Mal nodded, and James got to his feet. He rummaged through the wagon, but failed to find anything to do the work. Ultimately, he chose one of the Hollish fighting knives. By applying pressure, like he showed Dan, he made a mark around the horn.
Mal held out both hands and took over the task. Hours later, he managed to finish the work he desired. "Come in," he said.
The root monsters approached the fire from four different directions. The Boss held his arrowhead spear, but the others wielded pointed sticks or small pieces of wire as weapons. Mal handed the horn to the Boss and said, "Choose."
The Boss lined up his trio of men and looked them over before giving the horn to one.
Mal said, "Blow."
The root monster put the tiny horn to his lips. He managed a pffft sound. The Boss snatched the horn away then gave it to the next monster. That one managed a piercing alto sound. The monsters all went, "Ahhh."
"Go. Protect," Mal said.
The monsters disbursed back into the grass without a sound.
Mal went back to the fire then rummaged through his bag. His friends all stared at him with quizzical faces.
"Alarm. Wake us up." He found four more of the seeds he carved then went back to the window box.
"I don't know what the hell they're supposed to do," Dan said. "Poking someone with a piece of wire won't do much."
