by Ian Dyer
John stepped forward, his boots scuffing on the sawdust floor and he leaned in close to Cathy; a closeness that looked too familiar. He spoke softly, ‘The gentleman is a Watchman, dearest. Treat him so.’
Stephen saw Cathy’s eyes widen like he had so many times before on so many other faces.
‘Well fuck me. All the way out here? Why?’
The Deputy stood back and smiled. ‘All in good time, Cathy.’ John turned to Stephen, ‘In the meantime I hope we can call you Stephen, for such formalities tend to be forgotten way out in the wilds?’
The Watchman nodded. He couldn’t give a damn what they called him. By the Fates, now that he was in some sort of civilisation he realised how dirty he felt and he yearned for a bath.
‘Good. And now I shall bid you all a goodbye. A Deputies work is never done.’ John winked at Cathy and nodded at the Watchman, ‘I shall see you both this evening after my shift is done.’ His gaze then shifted to someone stood at the far end of the bar. Stephen looked, turned, and followed Johns gaze.
3
Only his whore lover, Clare, came close to the beauty that stood in front of him at the Travellers Last. It was as if an Angel had appeared before his eyes and all around her the filth and wretchedness of the bar only made her shine more. Stephen was lost in an eternity of a single moment and it was an eternity he would have loved to have stayed in for the rest of his life. He may have been none weary; his legs ready to buckle like trees in a gale but all that floated away in an instant.
The Watchman scanned her body like a painter admiring his work. He knew he must have looked like but he couldn’t help it. Like his murderous skills or his hunters talent scanning a beautiful woman and taking in all her luscious curves came easily to Stephen. It was as in built as all the others: she stood just shy of six feet tall with hair of such a shimmering blonde it made him yearn to run his fingers through its long locks. Her face was slender; her blue eyes were like wells you poured yourself into, deep skies full of wonder. Her neck was long and well-proportioned and her shoulders held a feminine strength that he liked. Her green vest, dirty with the day’s work, hung quite low revealing two pert breasts in their prime, their milky whiteness Stephen begged to hold, to lick, and to kiss. Her stomach wasn’t flat but had a fullness of health that was pleasing to see. Her blue jeans followed the curve of her body and just above the belt line a small tattoo revealed itself. Her legs stretched down to the floor and it seemed to take an age to follow them.
Stephen took in a deep breath to control himself. She was truly a woman to love. A woman to want. A dream. A vision. An ancient Siren who would beckon sailors to their doom. Stephens’s fugue ended with a far off voice echoing around the bar. At first Stephen didn’t pay any attention to it. He only started taking in the words when the girl finally reached the bar and started cleaning the glasses. Stephen took in a deep breath and with a lick of his lips he gathered his thoughts together and tried to think of other, more pressing matters.
Watching the Deputy walk away he noted the glare between John and Cathy and knew that tonight their lust for each other would be quashed and that their sweaty bodies would entwine under the moonlight. Sunlight from the burning disk in the sky reflected off a shiny ring wrapped around the Deputies fourth finger.
Cathy brushed back her hair and took hold of the dirty cloth which she had been using to clean the dirty glasses as Susie moved behind the bar, her head hung low a slight tint of redness upon her cheeks which seemed to infuriate Cathy.
Stephen slid his travel bag from his side and heard the salon doors swing open and shut as the Deputy left the Travellers. He listened hard to the footsteps as they walked along the dusty hardpan until finally they vanished. It wasn’t long before the profanity began again.
‘Right then, girl, you get on with the glasses and getting this fuckin bar ready whilst I show this Stephen here up to his room and run him a nice hot bath.’ She turned her head toward the traveller. ‘How does that sound, sir?’
Back in Ritash such behaviour would not be tolerated, such language frowned upon by professional women and anyone when in the presence of a Watchman, but John had been right, formalities have no place in towns like this. Stephen nodded. ‘Thank you. A hot bath and a shave is exactly what I require.’ He took a quick glance at Susie but she was busy cleaning those damned glasses. He hoped she had been looking at him and he was a little upset that she had paid him no attention what so ever. But why should she; he was dirty, smelly, unwashed and dishevelled. An odd sickening feeling filled his gut at the thought of this girl not wanting him. It reminded Stephen of being a spotty, horny teenager with a crush on anything with a pair of tits; wanting to stick his perpetually hard dick into anything that had a hole.
‘Aye. A good bath and a clean shave is what ya need. The room will cost ya half a gold a week, the bath is free and the meals and drinks we will tally up at the end of ya stay,’ she turned her attention to Susie quickly before Stephen could respond, ‘and Susie, make sure that you clean yourself up before the dance tonight I don’t want ya looking like some sort of fuckin vagrant whilst you is singing your little ditties.’ Cathy turned her head back toward Stephen, an eyebrow raised almost to her hairline.
‘Right then, if you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you to your room and then get the bath running.’
4
Stephen lit the small smelling stick on the windowsill, walked over to the steaming hot bath and carefully stepped in. He hadn’t spent too much time in his room, it was as non-descript as the desert he had just waked from.
The bathroom was small, furnished only with a basin atop an old wooden unit, a clothes rack and a towel stand. The wooden floor was smooth, walked that way by hundreds of feet over the years. The wooden walls and ceiling reminded Stephen of the old Sauna houses back home. If he could call it home. The Watchman walked from the window, over to the copper bath that stood in the centre of the room and carefully stepped into it.
As he sunk down into the deep bath, the water refused to permeate through to the skin; the dirt of the Wastelands putting up a brown barrier of filth. But eventually the dirt gave way and his skin was renewed with the clean, how water. The steam filled his lungs and Stephen knew that in a couple of hours he would have a deep cough to contend with as the dirt and dust tried to free themselves from his lungs.
The Watchman closed his eyes and allowed himself to be drift away. He forgot about all the things he had seen and heard over the last few weeks and months. He had reached his first goal, and was pleased to be off the track for a while. His mind cleared and he could feel the sleepiness start to wash over him like a soft tide washing over sand. For a moment he was alone and free.
If only for a moment.
5
‘The water good for ya?’
The voice Stephen recognised but it didn’t take away the shock. He slid up the bath, water sploshing from the sides and splashing his face and for a moment he was blind.
The voice chuckled at the sight, ‘That’s a Marksman and a Watchman I have surprised in the last couple of days!’ the Black Sorcerer tapped the fidgeting Stephen on the shoulder, a gesture to calm him and to poke fun. ‘So, how is it?’
Stephen, moving to the right, leant over and grabbed a towel, wiping his hands and then his face so that he could better see the man to his left. ‘How’s what?’ Stephen blurted out without thinking as he steadied himself.
‘The water, Stephen. How’s the water’ The Sorcerer stood back and gazed upon the Watchman, awaiting his response it seemed with almost bated breath.
Stephen sighed. ‘Fine, the water if fine. In fact everything was fine until you surprised me!’
The Sorcerer neither snarled nor grinned. His face, slightly obscured by his cloak was blank. Only his eyes glistened and the Watchman was drawn to them like a moth to the flame.
The Sorcerer moved over to the window and careful began to play with the smoke rising from the scent stick. Stephen thought back to the
lonely miles he had just walked and the unknown journey that lay before him and that he owed this man his life. ‘I apologise if I have offended you. Do you have word of my next task, Sorcerer?’
Samson swirled the smoke between his fingers, his eyes seeming to contemplating the meaning of life as he did. He remained silent for some time as he played with the smoke. Just as Stephen was about to ask again, the Sorcerer turned and from his cloak his removed the black orb.
‘Do you know what this is, Stephen?’
The Watchman looked at the black orb in Samson’s hands. It had a glow to it, a fire seemingly burning at its heart. Something warm irritated the back of the Watchman’s head, a burning pain that felt like the coming of a storm.
Swallowing hard Stephen shook his head.
The Sorcerer smirked. ‘That’s surprising, Stephen, I thought you would have heard of her.’
Stephen shook his head as the burning intensified. He was becoming agitated, especially at the burning itch on the back of his head. He voiced his annoyance, ‘I don’t know Samson. Is it a magic crystal ball like the old gypsy’s use in the forests?’
‘Don’t be so obtuse, Stephen. This stone, this magic ball as you put it, is what saved your life and what gives your pathetic life a fresh start and fresh opportunities?’ Samson stepped away from the window and toward the bath. As he got closer the room grew darker, shrinking with each step, and with each step forward the baths water dropped in temperature to a point where small ice crystals formed.
Stephens’s heart began to race and he tried to jump from the bath before he froze to death. All the while the room seemed to be getting smaller and the light darker. Just as the Sorcerer was about to walk into the bath he disappeared. Stephen looked about, still trying desperately to climb from the bath, but he couldn’t see the man in black. Just as Stephen was about to try one more time to free himself from the icy grip of the water the Sorcerer appeared by the window, the room was bright again with sunlight and the water was a warm as it had been.
‘These stones are everything, Watchman,’ Samson continues as if nothing had happened, ‘they are creation itself and hold the keys to ours and our new king’s futures.’
Samson placed the dark glowing orb back into its hidey hole under his cloak. The irritation removed itself from the back of Stephens head and he took a deep breath.
‘I take your silence as an apology.’
Stephen nodded.
‘Good. Your first task is a simple one.’ Samson turned and pointed one old gnarled finger out of the open window. ‘Go into this rotten old town and find the lad called Tommy. He’s a simple thing but shall serve his uses. Ask him to take you to the witch.’
‘A witch?’ Stephen interrupted.
Samson looked back to the Watchman and placed his hands by his sides. ‘She has a weapon that you will need if you are to do the bidding of our King. Once you have the weapon she will tell you how to get to the boy we have spoken of and if required help you upon that path for it will be shut to me.’
Samson stepped away from the window and his eyes met Stephens. The once Watchman sunk down into his bath, tried to remove his gaze from that of the Sorcerer but found that he couldn’t. Samson continued, ‘Don’t fail me, Stephen, this is a turning point in our journey, a pivotal moment in our future and one you can’t fuck up.’
Stephen sniffed and held his right hand to his heart, an old habit from an old time. ‘I shall not fail you.’
Samson leant forward. His face almost touching the face of the Watchman. The two men’s eyes met and Stephen fought hard not to break the lock. Whatever the Sorcerer was looking at, looking into, he wanted no part of it but knew he couldn’t look away.
Within a heart beat the Sorcerer stood. ‘Good, good. Chop, chop now. No dallying on this one old boy. Two days should suffice,’ the Sorcerer looked out of the window and inhaled hard, ‘Yes, two days will be plenty. This town won’t know what hit it.’
Stephen took a deep breath; this bath had turned into a nightmare. He had no more words for Samson so simply nodded. The Sorcerer nodded back.
‘I know it can be tough, Stephen, trust me, I know. So as a measure of good will as it were, and as a little extra for me, do take it upon yourself to fuck the living daylights out of that young filly, Susie.’ Samson closed his eyes and continued to talk, only this time his voice seemed far off, distant, ‘Yes, have your way with her. You will need to buy her with coin but don’t let her know that. There has to be a certain amount of love in one of you. Yes, that will do it. That will be a fitting end…’
And with those final words the Sorcerer disappeared.
Stephen looked about the room and eventually sunk back into the bath. The room remained empty apart from Stephen and the random voices from outside. He thought back over the brief and eventful visit from the Sorcerer and chuckled to himself.
Buy her with coin the sorcerer had said.
There has to be a certain amount of love there.
Riddles weren’t the Watchman’s favourite but a few coin for a night with Susie seemed okay. He could make any girl swoon and if needed fall in love with him. Especially way out here when the closest thing to a good looking man was the sign above the barbers.
Before his water got too cold, Stephen washed himself quickly. His time was coming. His time to shine and his time to prove himself were almost upon him. But before that he had to buy a girl and find a Tommy.
6
Before leaving the Travellers Last, Samson Little, wanting to play a little game, hovered above the young girl Susie. She couldn’t see him, no one could for he was hidden in the darkness that Arda produced. He uttered some ancient words and scattered dust from his pockets over the oblivious girl. The particles covered her body and bored their way into her skin. She scratched a little, but that was all.
Samson sniggered at his own majesty and then was gone all together.
Susie pictured the Watchman, Stephen, and from that moment on she was besotted with him and would be until the end of her days.
7
In the summer, yes this desert swept town sees seasons, the sun stays high but sets quick. As it drops it cast the world in long orange shadows which suck the heat from the soil and chills the air. At around six o’clock, with the Watchman up in his room in the Travellers, Cathy and John stand upon an overlooking mound of hardpan known to the locals as Hangman’s Hill. The view isn’t all that impressive; harsh desert to the south, east and west with a filthy little town to the north. But it wasn’t the quaint view the two lovers were here to discuss. It was something far worse.
‘So they are coming tomorrow? They know what they have to do?’ Cathy said looking at the soil beneath her feet.
‘Yep. First thing.’ John replied.
Cathy inhaled deeply exhaling as she spoke. ‘And she still doesn’t suspect anything?’
‘Nope. Even if she did I don’t think she would say anything anyway. Too much of an image to protect. You know how she is.’
John turned his attention from the town and gazed at his lover. He held her hand using the other to lift her head so that he could see her better. He continued. ‘Not long now and we can end the secret meetings and the quick fumbles. Not long now and we can leave this fuck awful town and settle elsewhere.’
Cathy smiled and nodded but she wasn’t convinced and John picked up on this. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘The Watchman, John. A fucking Watchman in Rockfall. Don’t you think it a convenience that a Watchman turns up one day before the Quints do? Especially after that fat fuck Jameson caught us the other night.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. And we don’t know if we were seen. He was as pissed as old Morey on a Saturday night. Anyway, we have come too far to stop now.’
Cathy released her slight grip and run both hands through her hair. ‘We have to be careful, John. Tonight I shall watch him like a hawk and you do likewise. He has given me some coin for a night with Susie so that should keep him occupied onc
e the lights go out.’ She turned and now she held his head with both her hands, ‘You suspect anything we tell the Quints to fuck off back to their hidey holes and we wait for the Watchman to leave before we try again.’
John didn’t answer but pulled her in tight and they embraced watching the last of the suns light disappear over the horizon. Above them Old Lady and her Nine Daughters twinkled in the night’s sky and the Hunters moon shone light a second sun.
8
Two miles to the north, in a dark hut, sat a dark woman thinking dark thoughts. Patience had long since lost the looks that Cathy still clung too, and with those lost looks went the men wanting to dip their pink stick in her. But she now had other things to keep her sweet. It was one of these sweet things she cradled now, its pulsing yellow glow shining in her lifeless eyes, its weight making her ancient muscles strain. But she cared not. The yellow ball between her legs was enough to keep her ancient womanhood sweet; for the time being, anyway.
She watched the townsfolk from time to time, especially the two up on Hangman Hill. Watching them two fuck reminded her of times long past when she was the temptress and men yearned to get into her panties. She spat out a wad of phlegm and rubbed it into the dirt with her foot. So many men but none of them ever came close to taming her. None of them could ever replace the fulfilling power of the magic she gave up everything to master.
The orb pulsed and it flashed images of the weary traveller into Patience’s mind. I bet he could have tamed her. A Watchman from the South; a real man for once in this town of runts with a real man’s intentions. He excited her, filled her with a yearning she hadn’t felt in many years and probably would never feel again.
She squirmed in her chair and adjusted herself so that the ancient orb sat in her lap, her hands free to grab a knife, roll up her right sleeve and cut the skin deep. Raising her arm she put the cut to her old dry lips and drank deep, the blood dribbling down her chin. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets and she began to mumble to herself the yellow light flickering with every word.
