The Test of Ostra

by Rory D Nelson

  Germanicus looks at Merlin and is about to speak, but Merlin interrupts him again. “It is about Maximus, is it not?” He asks.

  Germanicus nods. “Ai. The boy came to see me just now. It seemed that he wanted to excuse himself from the lead in the hunts.”

  “And, of course it is not his place to make that decision or even broach the subject. Is it not?”

  Germanicus nods. “Ai.”

  “I have spoken to the boy myself. He is tight-lipped on all matters, but his guilt is as transparent as an apparition. Our interloper has manipulated him and used his insecurities against him. His insecurities were greatly amplified with the aid of the sorceress. Once deed was nearly done, he was overwhelmed with guilt. If the boy had perished, it may have broken him. We have a turncoat to thank for the boy’s survival.”

  “Do you know who the turncoat is?” asks Germanicus.

  “Only one name comes to mind. Only one man is brazen enough to have defied our interloper and lived to tell of it. Do you not know yourself?”

  Germanicus looks intently at Merlin and the answer dawns on him. “Felinius Hermedez.”

  “Ai.”

  “But he is presumed dead, has been for years.”

  “Rumors spread by the Orachai. His escape from Cathrall was a source of angst for them. Felinius is alive and well and has found refuge with our interloper.”

  “So, why would he turn? It makes no sense for him. He is a wanted man. Why would he defy the interloper? For what purpose? If it were ever ascertained, his life would be forfeit.”

  “Because he is torn, ambivalent, a part of him still yearns for redemption. It makes no sense logically, but his soul does not operate on a logical plane. For whatever reason, he could not abide.”

  “Is there any hope for him to turn completely?”

  Merlin shrugs. “I don’t know. Beyond my abilities to portend. But I do know that his mistake has put his life in jeopardy. It is well within our interloper’s ability to discover his betrayal. And if he discovers it, he won’t hesitate to eliminate him.”

  “Is he still alive, Merlin?”

  Merlin nods. “I believe he is. Even if Herod discovers his treachery, he may be reluctant to eliminate such an asset. I don’t know. Perhaps someone else in his steed protects him. Maybe, this is why he lives.”

  Germanicus considers. He nods. “What do we do about Maximus?”

  Merlin sighs. “We permit him to stay. He has passed all his tests and remains in standing as a recruit. He has been manipulated by a powerful sorceress, so we can’t completely fault him. One day, our interloper may reach out to him again, and I want him under within hand’s reach if he does. He will stay.”

  Germanicus nods. “Ai.”

  Chapter 9: Tenuous Position

  Martimus Rosscouver checks on his two deputies Markus and Cuss. As he walks into the station, he smells the residual aroma of pungent pixie weed. He looks at his two deputies disapprovingly.

  “You fellas been smokin’ the pixie weed, I ken?” He asks.

  Markus and Cuss nod. “Ai. Was a long night, so it was,” replies Cuss. “I must have been smokin’ the reefer something fierce cause I lost my balance and then got this on my noggin.” He demonstrates the knot in his head to Martimus he received when he fell.

  Martimus rolls his eyes in mild exasperation. He reaches out quickly and smacks him hard on the head.

  “Ow!” He bellows. “What the fuck, Shariff? Easy on my head.”

  “You two good for nothin’ cock pleasers were supposed to be up and alert to Tom fuckery not gettin’ your fill of pixie smoke. It makes you slower, so it does, and we got these gunners out there ready to make trouble and here you are passin’ out on the job.”

  “We cry pardon, Shariff. I may have fallen asleep myself. Seemed the pixie dust was a fierce indeed,” says Markus.

  Martimus looks dubious and seems to consider. “But you never fall asleep Markus. It’s not the first time you smoked the pixie.”

  He smiles mischievously. “No.”

  “What was the last thing you remember?”

  “A horsefly stung me on the neck.”

  “A horsefly?” He asks dubiously.

  “Ai.”

  “On the neck?”

  “Ai.”

  Martimus looks at the floor and then gets down on his knees, looking for God knows what? Markus and Cuss restrain a laugh, knowing that a jest would not be well-received. Martimus is not amused. He doesn’t find what he is hoping for, but he does find something else. He picks a very long thick hair.

  “Markus, Cuss, did you let in your dogs last night by chance?” He asks.

  They shake their heads. “No.” They answer. “We know how you feel about lettin’ in our canines, so we do. Why?”

  He presents the hair to them. “This is from a canine.”

  “Well there was no dog in here last night,” says Markus defensively.

  Martimus nods and rubs his chin pensively, seeming to consider something. “I believe you.” He pauses. “Something is not right, set watch and warrant it so.” He goes to the safe and removes the contents. His eyes grow big and then he slams his fist into a wooden drawer. Markus looks at him. Markus’s befuddled expression induces him to lash out further. He strikes Markus with his open fist, knocking him to the floor.

  “You shit for brain turd burglars are as worthless as tits on boar, so you are!” He bellows. “They were here last night!” He proclaims. Markus gets up, a little cautiously and slowly, still reeling from the strike.

  “We cry pardon, Shariff, but no one could have gotten in here.” Markus says, a little uncertainly.

  “Then why, pray tell, are there contents from that safe that are missing? How can you explain that, tripe one?” He asks.

  Martimus looks at Cuss and Markus accusingly. They both shrug in response. “They must have come in when we were a sleepin’,” says Markus stupidly.

  “You think, shit for brains?” asks Martimus facetiously. He then slaps him on the back of the head.

  “We cry pardon, sharif, so we do,” says Markus.

  Martimus points to the two of them. “If those two knights abscond with that document, it’ll be on my fuckin’ head. And I will set watch and warrant that you two will share the bullet alongside me. Do you ken?”

  They find it impossible to swallow and nod their heads in solemn acceptance. “Ai.” They say.

  “You two, be of some use. Muster me up some men. And be quick about it!”

  “How many?” asks Markus.

  Martimus slaps him on the head again. “As many as you can muster, imbecile!”

  “Are we going to arrest them?” asks Cuss.

  “Long enough to put a bullet in their noggins,” replies Martimus.

  (2)

  Herod looks at Morgana contemplatively, unsure and indecisive. He has no need to speak. She reads his mind as easily as picking up stunned fish on the surface of a lake. “He has said that the situation is contained,” says Morgana.

  Herod nods. “Ai.”

  “But it is not what he says, but what he does not. Like all animals, he is concerned with self-perpetuation. Is he not? For all we can warrant, the brethren are on their way back to Gilleon with the original document, having moved up a step behind you. You ken?”

  Herod nods. “Ai. My feelings as well. We assume the worst. The brethren have the original and are heading home. We sever ties and whitewash the scene. You ken?”

  Morgana nods. “Ai. A contingency we expected at some juncture. Your interest does not prove guilt.”

  “A task that will require the skills of an exceptional gunfighter.”

  “I will summon Felinius,” says Morgana, a far-away gleam in her eyes.

  (3)

  Atteus waits patiently for Domithicus to return, eyeing the door every couple of minutes during his game of parlay solitaire. Feeling restless, he gets up to pace about when he hears the key in the lock.

  Domithicus walks in with an a
bundance of supplies, minus the dogs.

  “For the love of God, I thought you would never return. Where are Greylady and Troubadour?” Asks Atteus.

  “Close by, sort of a look-see.”

  “You expectin’ some sort of play, comp?”

  “Ai. Always expectin’ the worst. How well do you trust the Shariff?” asks Domithicus.

  “A fair point,” remarks Atteus.

  Domithicus goes to the window, opens the heavy drapes and looks out the window. He sees a group of people walking out of the Tavern across the street from their hotel room and it strikes him as odd. The town was bustling with people when he first ventured out to retrieve his items.

  It had now grown quiet and unsettling. Something is amiss.

  Domithicus looks at Atteus, an unsettling look in his eyes tells Atteus everything he needs to know. The worst-case scenario has come to fruition.

  “I do hope you packed an ample supply of ammo, brother,” says Domithicus.

  Atteus nods. “Ai. Set watch and warrant, so I did. Enough arsenal to take down a small army if need be.”

  Domithicus nods gravely. “I do believe need be, brother. It seems we won’t be needin’ to make a copy of that document after all.”

  “Get that whistle and blow the A-chord,” says Domithicus.

  Atteus nods. “Ai.” He pulls out the whistle and blows on the A-Chord.

  “Do you think they will just try to kill us or take us into custody?” asks Atteus.

  Domithicus shakes his head. “Too brazen, even for them. They won’t risk killing us in open public. They will arrest us first and then find a nice quiet place to finish us off, I ken. They will concoct whatever story they want for the townsfolk. It measures well and it will give us a chance to put our play into action.”

  “You have a plan, then?” asks Atteus.

  Domithicus shakes his head. “You disappoint, comp. How long have you known me? Why I have already put it into action.”

  Atteus nods and smiles.

  Chapter 10: Unwelcomed Travelers

  Within only a couple of hours of the summons, armed men on horseback begin to arrive in the town square. Several of them begin to check their arsenal, ensuring they are fully loaded and that their weaponry is within easy reach, whether in a gun belt, back holster or in a hidden sleeve compartment. They all nod at Cuss and Markus. Though they speak few words, their sentiments are clear. We’re ready.

  Though Martimus is impressed, he refrains from giving his deputies a compliment. Better to let them fear for their jobs and lives as well. He looks at them with measured approval and nods his head slightly. “It’s a good number, deputies. To start. Any more to join our campaign?”

  “There are thirty men here, ready to heed your command, Shariff. We expect another twenty or so to join us later,” replies Markus.

  “Ai. Let’s hope it’ll do,” answers Martimus.

  “Men!” He booms. “I say thankee for answering the call. It’ll be our heads on the chopping block if these men are not caught. They hold a valuable document on their person, which they have unlawfully obtained, and they must be arrested. If we are successful in apprehending these perpetrators, there will be a reward of one hundred gold pence for each man who joined in this campaign.” That was a lie, but no one would press too hard if the reward was not received. Several men murmur in approval. “Now, I don’t expect there to be any trouble. These men are, for the most part, law-abiding citizens and they will submit to authority. But, on the off chance, they start a tussle, you men are to not hesitate to gun them down. But you must follow my orders. Do you ken?”

  “Ai,” shout the men.

  “No man is to shoot out of turn. Only if the men fire on us are you to fire back. We give them a chance to drop their shooters and surrender. If they do not, set watch and warrant, I will give the command. And on my command, you are to fire and bring them down. You ken?”

  A roughshod in a scraggly and unkempt beard, smelling of tar and leather, raises his hand. Martimus addresses him. “You sir, Lorrie Cove, I believe. Ken?”

  “Lorrie Stove, Shariff,” corrects the man.

  “Cry pardon, Lorrie Stove. What’s your question?”

  “I have heard hard rumor of these men you wish to detain. I heard they’re from Gilleon and no less than Knights a’ the Round.” Several men murmur uncomfortably and progressively louder.

  Martimus holds up his hand to quiet the crowd. “That is just a haughty rumor, Lorrie Stove. Set watch and warrant it so, tis a rumor, and an unfounded one at that. It may be true these men are from Gilleon, but they are not knights. Why, they are nothing more than just two constables from Gilleon, sent on an errand from King Menelaeus. But like all men, they are not invulnerable to mischief and curmudgery. They have absconded with some important papers so they can make hefty and quick coin from their mischief, so they have. But they have been discovered in their Tom Fuckery.”

  The men nod and seem to calm to the news. “But set watch and warrant, these men are not to be trifled with. They are dangerous and hard to predict. So be on full alert. If we must gun them, then so be it. But only on my command. You ken?”

  “Ai!” yell the men.

  “Then let us be off!” shouts Martimus. “The men are holed up at Boss Jegger’s Tavern and SleepEazy.”

  (2)

  Boss Jegger, much to his chagrin, goes up the stairs to the men who are ‘definitely not Brethren’ in order to assist in their arrest.

  If these men are not part of the brotherhood, then why the large number of men? There are ten men in his place alone to ensure that the men are safely apprehended. Four of them accompany him on his errand. He approaches the door and knocks, sighing deeply. “Pardon Sai. It is the manager of this humble estab. Do you mind?”

  After a couple of seconds, the man known as Domithicus answers. He is wearing an extra thick overcoat, which hangs nearly to the floor. God only knows what arsenal he has in there. When he had last seen him, the man was wearing a waist length, gray, peacoat, which was more befitting the temperate spring weather.

  “Good day to you, Sai. What brings you here?” He smiles courteously.

  “These men are here to arrest you. You must come with them.” Two of the men flash their speed-shooters, emphasizing the seriousness of his request.

  “On what grounds?” asks Domithicus, wearing a befuddled expression, as any reasonable and respectably innocent man would.

  “You will have to discuss that with Shariff,” replies one of the men, accompanying Boss Jegger. “Now, if you don’t mind, we will have to frisk you, so we will.”

  “I’m a lawman. I’m carrying of course.”

  “Set watch. We will find your guns,” says another man. He pats down Domithicus fully and finds several hand cannons but none of the brotherhood’s famous twelve-shooters. The man feels Domithicus’ back and notices how lumpy and deformed it seems.

  He smiles sardonically. “You a hunchback?”

  Domithicus nods. “Ai. A minor deformity, but I assure you I’m not a handicap.”

  “I heard a rumor that you were one of the brethren. I see now that was a lie. The brethren do not accept freaks like you.”

  “I never claimed to be such, Sai. But I assure you that I’m no freak.” Domithicus, who stands nearly a foot and a half shorter than the massive giant, does not back down. The bigger man eyes him menacingly and then relents.

  “Well, let’s be about our business. Move.”

  Domithicus nods. “Ai. I am anxious to reconcile this matter. I’m sure this is just some misunderstanding. Nothing more.”

  As they make their way down the corridor, several other men appear, armed to the teeth. No one is taking chances.

  This does little to comfort Boss Jegger, who looks on, irritated and incredulous. For the brethren, this appears to be too many men. They make their way down the stairs. At the first floor, the saloon, restaurant, and front desk are situated. It is absent of any townsfolk as to be expected.
>
  Domithicus looks around uncomfortably. “Where is Shariff?”

  “Outside,” says the large man. “Now go.” He pushes the butt of his rifle sharply into his back. He glances at the man, glares for several seconds, and then walks out onto the porch. At least another 25 men are positioned with guns drawn.

  “Good day to you gent. Nice of you to join me out here.” He laughs and the rest of his men join him as if it were the funniest joke they ever heard.

  “Good day to you, Shariff.” Domithicus replies courteously. “Seems I didn’t have much choice in the matter.” Light laughter ensues.

  “Crom and Porter, did you frisk this man right and proper?” asks Martimus.

  “Ai,” says Porter. “I removed all his arsenal. Set watch and warrant, this man is no knight.”

  “If I want your advice on how best to slaughter a pig, I’ll ask you Porter, but I’ll make my own assessment about this man.”

  Martimus looks at Domithicus, anger flashing in his eyes, his demeanor edgy and tight, as if he is ready to pull his trigger at any moment. “Which one are you?” asks Martimus.

  “I am Domithicus. My comp’s name is Atteus.”

  “Where is he?” asks Martimus.

  “He went out to get a few supplies. Why? What is this about?”

  “You know full well what this about, gunslinger!” He yells. “You have absconded with a document.”

  “You gave us a copy of a deed which you have permitted to make a copy of for our investigation. Was that not clear?”

  “Don’t be tripe with me, gunslinger. There are over thirty guns pointed at your head now. You would be wise to cooperate, so you would. Now where is your comp?”

  “He should be back soon. I am cooperating with you Shariff. Don’t care for no trouble, so I don’t.”

  Another burly and menacing looking deputy emerges from the tavern, a bit out of breath and ruffled. “No sign of the document, Shariff.” He says, as he stares icily at Domithicus.

  “Where is it?” asks Martimus angrily. “Is your comp in possession of it?”