The Midnight Man (The Mancer Trilogy Book 2)

by Alan Scott

  “No,” replied Rab Cregg.

  “He must have been delayed,” added Confessor Vember.

  “Maybe he does not have the stomach for this,” whispered Deacon Brown.

  “What sane man does?” replied Archbishop Peak.

  “What was that, your Grace?” asked Amanda.

  “I said that I agreed with the Confessor. Chamberlain Aslo must have been delayed on urgent business,” lied Peak.

  “That is as may be; however, when I see him next, we shall discuss this urgent business.” The tone of Amanda’s voice promised that the discussion would not be an easy one for Aslo.

  “Look, your Imperial Majesty,” said one of her many interchangeable captains, “the horses are arriving.”

  “So they are,” said Amanda as she leaned back in her seat.

  ***

  A wall of noise met the three horses as they galloped into the wide open market square. The riders slowed the horses down as they circled the square once, before making for the rear of the gallows, which were positioned right in the centre.

  The middle horse pawed at the ground as the dust billowed up around it, caused by the heavy object it had dragged for a mile.

  Caldecote, Big Dick, and Tim dismounted from their horses. Tim, who was riding the horse dragging Rebecca, walked up to the beast’s head and did his best to calm it down, whilst the other two allowed their horses to move away.

  Caldecote and Big Dick rushed to where Rebecca was tied.

  “Shit, she looks bad,” commented Caldecote. “Quick, help me untie her, Big Dick.”

  Both men went to work - Big Dick on the ropes attached to her ankles, Caldecote to the ropes attached to her wrists.

  “Rebecca, can you hear me?” asked Caldecote.

  Rebecca just lay there.

  “Rebecca, for fuck sake, can you hear me?” urged Caldecote and slapped Rebecca across the face.

  “Mmmmm,” mumbled Rebecca.

  “Come on, girl, you have to stand.” Turning to Richard, he continued, “Get her other arm.”

  Between them, both men got Rebecca to her feet. Blood covered her ripped and torn clothing. The shoe and stocking from her left foot had been shredded, and her foot was battered and bruised.

  “Swallow the leaves, Rebecca. You must swallow the leaves,” urged Caldecote.

  “Wha… what?” managed Rebecca.

  “Swallow the leaves, darling. It will help.”

  “Swallow.”

  “Yes, Rebecca, swallow.”

  “Will… try.”

  Rebecca felt strange. She felt totally detached from her body. There was a dull nagging ache coming from all over her body and one of her feet felt wrong. A strange man kept calling her darling. Did he not know who she was? Who was she? Why was she here and why was there such a noise? What were people shouting about? To whom were they shouting?

  “Shit, she is not eating the leaves, Caldecote,” swore Richard, aka Big Dick.

  “I know, I know.” Caldecote looked round frantically as they continued to carry the badly wounded woman to stand before the gallows. “Ah,” declared Caldecote as he spotted a water butt near the gallows, “get her to that water butt.”

  “Why the hell is there a water butt near the gallows?” asked Tim.

  Caldecote glowered at Tim. “So that they can wash away the blood after they cut her into four pieces.”

  “Oh.”

  “Idiot.”

  The pair dragged Rebecca to the open barrel. Caldecote cupped his hand and drew out some of the water, holding it to Rebecca’s mouth. “Drink.”

  Rebecca drank a few drops.

  Big Dick looked around. “The crowd and Her Imperial Majesty are beginning to look impatient.”

  “Fuck!” declared Caldecote. “Ma’am, hold your breath.” With that, he pushed Rebecca’s head into the water for a few seconds before lifting it out just enough so that her lips were barely away from the water.

  “Drink and swallow the leaves,” pleaded Tim.

  Her mind swam. The world seemed thin and far away, and her entire body was a dull ache. Words dripped into her consciousness - “...leaves... water... swallow, Rebecca! ...bitch... hold...” Out of reflex, she chewed the things that were in her mouth and finally swallowed.

  “The stupid bitch has done it!” Richard near shouted. “Shit, sorry.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Caldecote as he plunged Rebecca’s head back into the water, holding it there for a count of five. He lifted her free, and both men dragged her in front of the dais and Her Imperial Majesty, Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd.

  “Does the traitor, Rebecca Rothgal, still live?” called out Queen Rothgal-Ackroyd.

  “Yes, she does!” shouted back Corporal Caldecote.

  “Prove it! Stand away from her.”

  Caldecote and Richard looked at each other worriedly, before releasing Rebecca and taking a step back.

  Rebecca slouched as the men released her, but remained standing.

  Queen Rothgal-Ackroyd stood to address the broken woman before her. “Rebecca Rothgal, you stand accused of treason, betraying your people, cavorting with deviants, taking a werewolf as a lover, and turning away from the One True God.”

  The booing from the crowd grew louder.

  Amanda raised her voice. “You have been found guilty and the first aspect of your punishment has been served. Next, you will be hanged; however, you will not be allowed to die, as you will be cut down at the last moment.

  “A knife will be plunged into your stomach and pulled upward, causing your insides to spill out, and you will die a slow and painful death.

  “Once dead, your remains will be cut into four quarters and sent to the four corners of this kingdom. Such is the punishment for those people who have betrayed their duty and fornicated with deviants.”

  Rebecca fell to her knees and looked around the market square. It was getting harder and harder to think straight. All she wanted to do was lie down and sleep, as everything hurt and everything was so sad - so very, very sad. Stretching out on the dirt, Rebecca started to cry for all the sadness in the world.

  “See? The deviant is weighed down with her guilt and weeps as she thinks back on her life of debauchery and sin!” shouted out Queen Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd. “Take her to the gallows!”

  Caldecote reached down and grabbed Rebecca’s shoulder. “Come on, darling. It’s the last stretch.”

  “No… just want to sleep,” muttered Rebecca.

  “Shite!” cursed Caldecote. “Come on, Richard, give me a hand.”

  “Right,” replied Big Dick.

  “Get her on her feet!” screamed Amanda.

  Closing his eyes for a second, Caldecote muttered, “Forgive me, my Queen.” Opening his eyes, his face hardened. “Right, you deviant bitch – up!” he shouted as he grabbed Rebecca’s hair and pulled her upright. Big Dick hesitated for a split second before grabbing Rebecca around the waist and, between them, dragged her to the rear of the gallows, and the steps leading up to the seven foot tall platform which held the scaffold and noose.

  ***

  As they approached the structure, the hangman, who wore the traditional black hood, emerged from the shadows. Behind him, standing perfectly still, was another man, also hooded, who held a massive axe in both his hands.

  The hangman joined the rear of the group, as Caldecote and Richard hauled Rebecca up the stairs to the main platform. The small group moved to stand behind the noose, which swayed gently as it dangled from the gibbet. An innocent looking trapdoor lay under the noose.

  “Keep her upright!” commanded the hangman as he began to bind Rebecca’s hands together.

  “We know,” growled Caldecote.

  “Hey, Caldecote!” said Big Dick.

  “What?”

  “You are growling a lot today.”

  “Really! You want to mention that now?”

  “Just saying.”

  “Prick,” growled Caldecote as he shook his head in dismay.


  “He is right, you know,” said the hangman, as he finished tying Rebecca’s wrists. “You do growl a lot.”

  “Fuck off!”

  The hangman shrugged his shoulders with indifference.

  Caldecote surreptitiously looked around at the sea of faces below him. Men, women, and children were standing behind the makeshift barricades, screaming and shouting like wild animals as they called for their ex-queen’s blood. A crooked smile flitted across his face. “There is nothing like an execution to reveal to the world the true colours of humanity’s joint soul - jet black and bright red,” he thought. With a dismissive snort and a shake of his head, he returned to the job at hand.

  The hangman placed Rebecca’s neck into the noose and pulled it tight, leaving Big Dick and Caldecote holding her upright. The hangman moved to a wooden lever, which came out of the platform’s floor. Looking straight ahead towards the queen, he raised his right hand and waited for her response.

  As she stood up in response to the hangman, Amanda thought, smugly, “The kingdom is now mine.” The crowd went quiet as she raised her own right hand. Doing her best to hide her triumphant smile, she shouted, “Let the second stage commence!” before dropping her right hand.

  Big Dick and Caldecote stepped away from Rebecca.

  The hangman pulled the lever, the trapdoor opened, and Rebecca fell through with an audible snap of her neck.

  A stunned silence swept the market square, as Rebecca’s dead body slowly swung back and forth at the end of the rope.

  The hangman quickly reached down and picked up an axe, which was lying next to him. Moving to where the rope was attached to the platform floor, he cut through it in three swift and powerful cuts and Rebecca’s body fell to the ground.

  Amanda Rothgal’s screech broke the silence. “Executioner! Quickly! Cut her into four pieces now!”

  The executioner hurried to where Rebecca’s body lay and pulled off his black mask just as Caldecote, Tim, Big Dick, and the hangman arrived. “Now the shite really does fly, Caldecote,” the executioner commented.

  ***

  Archbishop Frances Peak sat in his chair and watched the sky. “Brown, have you noticed something?”

  “Storm clouds seem to be gathering, your Grace.”

  “Well observed, Brown, well observed.”

  ***

  “That’s right, Les. The shit is going to fly,” said Caldecote as he stood over Rebecca’s dead body. Turning to the hangman, he said, “Nicely done, Pat - a clean death for poor Rebecca.”

  “Did she really have to die?” asked Pat Bristow.

  “Aye, she did,” said Caldecote, sadly, “but there is no way we are going to allow her to be butchered.”

  “Yeah, poor bitch does not deserve that,” added Big Dick.

  “Here come the others!” shouted Bristow as he spotted a wagon entering the market square at speed.

  “Too fucking fast,” commented Les Broadleaf.

  “Nah, Syd knows what he is doing,” dismissed Caldecote.

  ***

  “What is happening?” demanded Amanda.

  “It looks like the recipients of the Rothgal Star are attempting to escape with Rebecca Rothgal’s body,” said Confessor Vember.

  “Kill them all!” commanded Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd.

  Along the back of the stands, men armed with crossbows appeared, whilst at the side of the stands, a group of twelve archers moved into position.

  ***

  The wagon swung to a halt next to the gallows. “Get the fuck in!” shouted Syd, who was holding the reins. Four other Rothgal Star holders, carrying shields, jumped from the back of the wagon, ready to protect their comrades from attack.

  At the same time, all the men noticed a whistling noise. “Get into cover!” called out Les, just as the arrows and bolts slammed home.

  “Anyone hurt?” shouted out Caldecote as he looked around. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cursed violently as he heard, then saw, the wagon disappearing away from the gallows.

  Still sitting on the runaway wagon, Syd looked down at the two arrows that had penetrated the tops of his legs and a third that was sticking out from his wooden lower leg. However, that was not the problem. The problem was the bolt that had gone straight through his chest, puncturing his lungs. Blood started to trickle from his mouth as his breathing became laboured.

  Syd tried to pull back on the reins to slow the horses, but they ignored the urgent commands. With his failing eyesight, he noticed a number of arrows protruding from the pair of horses. “Ah, that’s why,” he thought. The jolting from the wagon caused him to look skyward. “Where have those dark storm clouds come from?” he muttered, just before three hard thuds punched into his torso and ended his life.

  “The bastards have killed Syd!” declared Big Dick.

  “He looks like a pin cushion,” stated Tim.

  “True,” agreed Les with a shrug. “Right, Caldecote, what do we do now?”

  Caldecote looked down at the hard ground and spat. Lifting his head, his mouth split into an evil grin. “We kill those fuckers before we, too, die.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” said Big Dick.

  “Can’t think of a better one,” agreed Tim.

  “Has anyone noticed the wind getting up?” asked Pat.

  ***

  Queen Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd’s eyes danced across the darkening skies. “What is happening, Archbishop?”

  “I am not completely sure, your Imperial Majesty.”

  “But you could hazard a guess?”

  A bolt of lightning lit up the darkening skies.

  “Oh, yes, I could hazard a guess.”

  “Then guess!” demanded Amanda.

  Straight-faced, Archbishop Peak answered, “A great deal of trouble.”

  ***

  Another volley of arrows and bolts swept through the gallows, striking wood and flesh, indiscriminately. Les called out in pain as an arrow pierced his left shoulder. Pat cursed as a bolt went through the thigh of his right leg. Two of the men with shields fell when arrows struck their legs, causing them to fall and drop their shields, before more projectiles struck their heads and throats.

  “We are getting massacred here,” complained Big Dick.

  A massive boom of thunder sounded out overhead and heavy rain started to fall.

  “What the hell!” exclaimed Caldecote. Big Dick pointed to a spot just over Caldecote’s right shoulder. Turning, Caldecote’s eyes went wide as he uttered, “Dear God, have mercy.”

  ***

  “Oh, Lord!” gasped Queen Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd.

  “Hello, Dark Storm,” said Archbishop Peak, quietly. “You don’t look well.”

  ***

  Caldecote watched as Jack Rothgal, the brother of Rebecca Rothgal, also known as the Ver named Dark Storm, exited the shadow-door. “You look like shit,” thought Caldecote as he watched the creature approach.

  Dark Storm had wrapped his arms around his ribs and was holding tight. His eyes held huge amounts of sadness and a deep, deep all-consuming pain. He would have been seen as a pathetic wreck of a man, if it was not for the waves of hot rage and violence that radiated from him. His hands were clenched fists and a snarl constantly threatened to dominate his face.

  As the fury of the storm increased, Jack Rothgal purposefully made his way to where his dead sister’s body lay.

  “My lord, we did our best to make it as painless as possible,” Caldecote said as Jack knelt down beside Rebecca. He unwrapped one of his arms from around himself to gently move a stray hair from her face and place it behind her ear. “We are a cursed family, little sister,” he said, quietly, “and duty is our curse.”

  Sobbing, Jack reached out to pick up his sister, when two crossbow bolts thudded into her dead flesh. Dark Storm stared in disbelief for a second, before a roar of raw rage exploded from his mouth. Quickly, he spotted the group of crossbow archers who had fired the shots. They stood just in front of the crowd and were frantically reloading. Dar
k Storm stood up with his sister’s body cradled in his arms. “Die!” he spat as a lightning bolt struck the ground where the soldiers stood.

  ***

  “Damn it!” declared Archbishop Peak as he watched the unit of soldiers and some of the crowd get incinerated by the lightning strike. Standing up, he made his way to Amanda Rothgal-Ackroyd.

  “I thought you said he would not turn up?” accused Amanda. “This is turning into a farce.”

  “We can still turn it around,” said Peak.

  “How!” exclaimed Amanda.

  “He will follow his dead sister’s wishes.”

  “How do we know that?”

  “We don’t, but have to believe that he will,” declared Peak. “Now, have you got your Bible with you?”

  “Yes, it’s with one of my maids.”

  “Then get it,” urged Archbishop Peak.

  ***

  “My lord!” called Caldecote. “My lord!”

  Dark Storm was not paying him any attention. His attention was squarely on killing any troops that got near.

  “Oh, fuck it! In for a copper, in for a gold,” said Caldecote to himself. “Jack Rothgal, listen to me! She would not want this! Don’t make her sacrifice meaningless.” Caldecote placed himself in front of the enraged Ver and shouted, “Do not make her sacrifice meaningless!”