A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1)

by William Scott

  *

  “You’re a cruel bastard,” Pierce uttered in pain, “and I won’t forget this.”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. I think I said it was a nice day.” He then uttered another curse under his breath.

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Wilhelm Schell looked back over his shoulder, watching his companion struggle up the slight grade of a hill. He pulled the reins of his horse to stop and turn around. Pierce finally reached him, wincing in pain.

  “I can’t feel my ass, I think I might be bleeding.”

  “Stop complaining, this was your idea.”

  “All I said was that I hadn’t been riding since I was a child,” retorted Pierce sharply. “You’re the one who said we should take the horses out.”

  “Yes, but you agreed.”

  “But I was drunk!” exclaimed Pierce.

  “So was I!”

  Both began laughing at the ridiculousness of their conversation and the situation they found themselves in. Schell grabbed a bottle of water from his saddle bag and passed it over, sensing Pierce’s greater need. They polished it off within minutes between them, neither satisfied.

  “I think there’s a creek further up, we can give the horses a break and refill our canteens.”

  “I doubt the horses need a break, since we’ve only gone about two kilometres,” chuckled Pierce.

  Pierce urged his horse to follow Schell’s as they continued along the path. His head was pounding and his muscles ached. Scenes from the night before flashed in his head; a bonfire, scotch, dancing around the bonfire, more scotch, some champagne, mistakenly walking up to an amorous couple, and then more fire and scotch. He didn’t remember how he got back to his rooms and could hardly remember waking up this morning. However his attempts at recollection were halted by Schell announcing their arrival at the creek.

  “Watch out when you dismount,” warned Schell, “you probably won’t be able to use your legs properly.”

  Pierce was able to dismount without much trouble, although it was not graceful. He led his horse over to the creek, casually wrapping the reins around a tree branch. The horse leaned down to take a drink of water and Pierce followed suit with his canteen.

  Taking a pull from his bottle, Pierce surveyed their rest stop. The land rose steadily, but there were no big ditches or rocks surrounding the area. Indeed, there didn’t seem to be any real natural obstacles anywhere, despite the wooded environment. Growing up in the woods of the Canadian Shield where the bush was dense, rocky, and chaotic, this place seemed almost groomed. When he mentioned this to Schell, his partner nodded in agreement.

  “When I first arrived and began my equestrian excursions I asked the same question,” explained Schell. “Apparently this is the old hunting ground when the Club was first created. They had the groundskeepers remove the rocks, fill in holes, and trim the trees. They used to ride their horses through the forest at speed so that, like their prey, they weren’t confined to the paths.”

  “Hardly seems sporting,” observed Pierce with mild conviction.

  “The Hunt is not terribly concerned with fair play,” responded Schell with a shrug.

  Pierce was intrigued, but his head was too sore to delve too deeply into the statement. Instead he found a solid tree to sit against and continued to empty his canteen.

  “How come you’re not a hung-over mess?” asked Pierce relaxing into his spot.

  “I am, trust me,” he replied with a smile. “I’m simply better trained to deal with it than you.” Pierce raised an inquiring eyebrow, forcing him to continue. “First, I’ve been at the Manor much longer than you. What you witnessed last night was a fairly regular occurrence. Of course we don’t always have large bonfire parties every time the Colonel duels someone. Otherwise these woods we’re enjoying would have been cut down long ago.

  “The second reason is that I was a diplomat for some years. When I wasn’t in meetings I was drinking at receptions. There’s nothing diplomats like better than to drink. But you always had to be ready to go into a meeting the next morning and sit through hours of deliberations without falling asleep or being sick on the floor.”

  “You didn’t have to drink.”

  “Of course I did, it would have been bad manners to refuse. Besides, getting the other side drunk was the best way of getting information. And nobody trusts a sober person.”

  “Words of wisdom,” toasted Pierce raising his canteen to his companion.

  “I think we’ve rested long enough,” he announced after a few minutes of silence.

  “I still feel awful.”

  “Well then another bit of wisdom to follow,” offered Schell walking over to his horse. “The best cure for a hangover is greasy food and more alcohol. We’ll ride down to the village and stop in at the pub and get both.”

  Pierce nodded slowly in agreement. The thought of food or beer made him feel queasy; however he wanted to return to the pub to renew his search for Lord Lodge.