Fugitive: A Prequel to Spirit of Magik

by Richard Cluff

  “I will, Dad," Baxin replied.

  Sherie and the rest of them mounted up onto the wagons. Sherie

  jumped onto the forward wagon, on the other side from where Baxin was. The other two men were on the rear wagon. Gerald sat up front on the driver’s seat.

  “See you in six weeks, man," Gerald said to Johann. “Right. Hey you guys, you don’t have to bring this old coot back with you if you don’t want to...” Johann said with a grin.

  Gerald just shook his head ruefully, and coaxed the team of horses forward.

  They drove through town, Gerald was careful not to run anyone down, but one boy was knocked over by the horses. Baxin jumped down to make sure he was alright. Gerald cursed and yelled, “Watch where you’re going, boy. I can’t stop a load like this quick!”

  After a few miles, they squeezed the wagons down an alley, and came to a stop behind a three-story stone and wood building. This building seemed familiar to her for some reason. There was less than five feet of space on each side of the wagon. Baxin jumped down from the side of the wagon, and called out, "Thedo, come inside and give me a hand."

  “Be right there,” the man replied, jumping off of the rear wagon.

  This was the first time she had heard his name.

  The house was three stories tall, but the alleyway gave way to a slope behind the house. Sherie could see that there was a cellar down there with a solid double door. Baxin pulled a key out and opened it. Thedo followed him inside.

  Sherie leaned forward and asked Gerald, “Is he going to need backup in there?”

  “Oh no, this is Baxin’s mother’s house. He’s as safe as he could be.” Gerald pulled out a pipe and filled it with tobacco. He lit it with a match and began puffing on it while they waited.

  “His mother must be pretty rich, with a house like this. What was she doing slumming with Johann?” Sherie asked.

  Gerald started laughing so hard that he barely held on to his pipe. The older man was turning red by the time he was done. When he could finally speak he said, “Oh damn, girl, are you tryin’ to kill me?”

  Sherie just smiled, “If I was tryin’ to kill you, you’d have an extra hole in you by now for sure!”

  “Well, I don't really know what brought them together. I'd imagine that alcohol might have had something to do with it, though. Alcohol's brought more babies into this world than the prophet Josko, I'll bet." Gerald sucked on his pipe, and blew out a cloud of fragrant smoke.

  “What’s this prophet, Josko?” Sherie asked.

  “You were Legion, weren’t you?” Gerald asked around his pipe stem.

  “Yeah.” She said.

  “Well, so was I. If you’d gotten too rambunctious with Baxin last night, it would have fallen on me to kill you,” he said completely calm, without bluster.

  “Johann lied to me then,” she said, not happily.

  “You’d have never started it if he’d told you I mustered out as a Captain. Not unless you had a death wish, anyway,” Gerald told her looking right into her eye.

  Gerald was right. If Johann had told her Gerald had been a Captain in the Legion, she wouldn’t have even thought about it. He must have his mastery.

  “What tier are you?” She asked.

  “It doesn't matter. While we're on the road, though, I'll teach you a few things. Baxin's a solid man, but he'll never have the raw talent you have, Jirai." He nodded to her respectfully.

  “Well, thanks. But what does any of this have to do with this prophet? Is he rich or something?” Sherie asked.

  “What? No, not that kind of profit. a Prophet… do you know letters?” He asked.

  “I can read some,” she said.

  “Well… let’s just say this kind of prophet is spelled differently. You’ve been told about the Cult of Purity, right?” Gerald asked.

  “Well, of course," she replied. According to her briefs, the Cult of Purity were anarchists that worshiped an invisible being. They were dangerous lunatics; dissidents that were subversive against the Crown and denied Crown authority.

  They must be taken into custody when they are identified, was Legion policy.

  “Well, Josko is the name of their Prophet. They say their Prophet heard the words of their Gods. That’s what the title prophet means in this context,” he said while smoking his pipe.

  “What, are you one of these Cultists?” Sherie asked, suddenly wary.

  “By the spirits, what the hell does it even matter?” She thought. "I''m involved in a capital offense already, aside from my desertion."

  “Not really. I have a few friends who are, though. They aren't anarchists or anything, they're just a little strange. Good people, though," he told her around his pipe.

  “I suppose I'll have a chance to meet all sorts of criminals, now that I am one," Sherie replied. Gerald just chuckled.

  Then she saw Thedo wheeling out a barrel that looked identical to the ones on the wagon. Sherie went to the other side of the wagon and leaped down to help him.

  “I’ve got it, but I’ll need help putting it up on the wagon. Get Halog to help us.” Thedo told her.

  “Right,” she said, then yelled, “Halog, give us a hand here!”

  “You’ve got some lungs, woman!” Thedo exclaimed after she yelled.

  “Thanks,” she said as he rolled the barrel up to the wagon with the hand cart.

  Gerald yelled down, “Alright you three be careful with that, it’s delicate, and can’t take being all bumped around, you hear me?”

  “Right!” The three of them replied as one. They brought it over to the wagons, and as a team carefully put it on the forward wagon under Gerald’s careful direction. This barrel was much lighter than the others, and didn’t slosh the way the ale barrels did.

  Thedo went inside for another barrel with his hand cart. Sherie then saw something that nearly surprised the socks off of her. She saw Baxin walking out with a woman, whose graying blonde hair was distinctive. Sherie cursed herself for an idiot. “That’s why this house looks familiar,” she realized. Doctor Zanna must be Baxin’s mother.

  “Well hello, Jirai! I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon!” The older woman walked right to her and gave her a hug.

  She returned the embrace softly, slightly embarrassed to be hugging a near-stranger like this. “Neither did I,” she replied, feeling odd.

  “Well, just be careful with those barrels, okay?” Doctor Zanna told her with a smile. Sherie was discovering that she was the most terrible judge of character ever. She would have never considered this woman could be a criminal.

  “Of course I’ll be careful. If we don’t get them where they’re going, we don’t get paid, right?” Sherie asked.

  “That’s right.” She told her with a smile. “Well, I have patients that are waiting. Make sure to lock up when you leave, alright Baxin?”

  “Of course, Mom!” He rushed up and gave her a big hug before she went back inside.

  “Alright now, this is how this is all going to work, listen up!” Gerald called everyone together and explained exactly how they were going to get away with this.

  Sherie listened quietly, and realized Gerald’s plan was brilliant. She’d never understood before now how vulnerable the Legion and House Guards left themselves to smugglers.

  Sherie’s eye was opened, and her naivety fell away like so much filth being washed down the drain.

  * * *

  The wagon pulled up to the south gate of Fenel Hold after waiting for a time. The wagon moved forward after the Guard Lieutenant finally gestured for them to come forward.

  “What is this, mister?” The Lieutenant asked Gerald. “Well, as usual, we have a shipment of ale we're taking down to Grax sir. Nothing odd here." Gerald told the man.

  “Really? I’ll be the judge of that,” the Lieutenant snapped. With a

  gesture, four more House Fenel soldiers stepped forward. Just as before,

  there were more of them standing back watching closely.

 
Gerald stood up and said, “We’ll show you ourselves if you like.

  Get him some barrels!”

  Sherie and Baxin shared a look; Baxin smiled at her. Sherie tried

  to, but couldn’t quite manage it, she knew what Gerald had said, but she

  was still scared. The two of them began moving one of the barrels of

  contraband right out to offer it to him for inspection.

  The Lieutenant watched them for a moment, and promptly pointed

  to the second wagon. “Go check those barrels, now!” Exactly as Gerald

  had predicted he would. Sherie had never been in charge of a Group of

  Legionnaires running a checkpoint, but according to Gerald, unless you

  did something to seem particularly suspicious, they wouldn’t check more

  than half of your cargo.

  That and they would automatically assume any cargo you yourself

  offer for inspection was clear. Sherie saw him tapping the barrels with a

  baton, and having a few opened. All, of course, were completely

  inoffensive. Just plain, average quality, ale.

  Gerald walked past her and Baxin down to the end of the first

  wagon and asked; “Do you want mine to open any of these up here for

  you, sir?”

  Sherie couldn't help a smile. Gerald was such a good, helpful lawabiding citizen for making such an offer. The Lieutenant did exactly what

  he said he’d do next.

  “No sir, that’s enough. Get your barrels sorted and quit clogging

  my gate, man. Have a safe journey, alright?” He told Gerald. “Thank you kindly, sir, I appreciate you," he replied before he

  barked, "Get my wagons straightened out all of you! We need to get

  moving!"

  “Right!” They all replied, and hustled quickly to straighten out the

  mess the House Fenel Guards had made of the second wagon. After about

  fifteen minutes, it was as good as it had been, and Gerald coaxed the

  horses forward.

  Sherie watched the gates of Fenel Hold grow smaller behind her,

  elated that they had managed to come this far without getting caught.

  * * *

  Sherie kept working on getting their fire started in the dimming light. She'd been assigned to do this since she actually had a flint and steel unlike most of the others. Gerald sat the bag of oats down and watched her for a moment.

  “What?” Sherie snarled as she futilely struck the flint over the wood.

  “You need some better tinder. I’ll be back.” He said. Gerald walked into the thick woods on the side of the road.

  When he returned, he had an armful of dried leaves. He nodded to her and dumped them by the fire pit. Then he tossed a handful on top of her wood and said, “Try it now.”

  She struck the flint to the steel, and dropped the sparks onto the dried leaves. They caught quickly; Gerald leaned in and blew on them gently to encourage them. Soon after a modest fire was burning.

  Thedo and Halog were setting up the three big pavilion tents nearby.

  Sherie was surprised. They could all squeeze into one tent like this, why did they have three of them? For that matter, why did they have nine barrels of contraband instead of the seven she had been told about?

  “So are we going to get paid for the extra barrels?” Sherie asked.

  “Maybe. Probably not, though." Gerald told her with a smile. “What’s in them?” She asked.

  “Right, this is your first run. Baxin, get dinner started man.” Gerald said.

  “Right!” Baxin replied.

  “Come on up here," Gerald said as he pulled himself up onto the front wagon.

  Sherie just hopped up onto it without effort. Gerald eyed her jealously. “Damn I wish I could still do that.”

  “Why can’t you?” Sherie asked, morbidly curious.

  “My back is weak. It will go out on me, and I can’t even walk sometimes. The Legion Doctors can’t do a damn thing for me. Not even a Wizard can. So, I retired,” he told her.

  “That’s terrible. I’m sorry about that.” She said.

  “Yeah, me too. One of you boys, get up here!” He called out.

  Halog jumped up to join them. With their help, Gerald dragged a barrel out, and wedged the short crowbar into the lid with a mallet. Then he pried it up and pulled the lid out of the barrel.

  Sheri had been expecting to see all sorts of things, illegal alcohol, stolen tobacco, maybe even smuggled diamonds, but she didn’t expect to see what was actually there.

  A person.

  It was a thin man wearing a slave collar. Sherie covered her mouth in shock. This man looked so weak and pathetic. He was gagged, but not bound. What sense did that make? And who would even think about giving them money for this sickly slave?

  Gerald pulled the gag off of him and asked, “Can you stand up, man?”

  “If you help me,” he coughed.

  Gerald nodded to them and backed up. Sherie and Halog each put a hand under his arms and helped the man up and out of the barrel.

  He nearly fell when they let go of him. Sherie helped him balance.

  “Baxin! Get up here!” Gerald called out.

  Baxin came over, and asked “Yes?” Before he saw the sick slave and just picked him up in his arms like he was a newborn.

  “How bad are the others man?” Gerald asked with concern.

  Baxin asked the slave, “What’s your name?”

  The slave told him; “Gorin, milord.”

  “According to my mom, he should be the worst of the lot. I need to get him his medicine, he didn’t have time to take it all before we picked them up.” Baxin said.

  He carefully made his way off the wagon with the slave in his arms.

  “My name is Baxin, sir, and you’re a free man now Gorin. You don’t have to call me 'milord.'” He told the slave firmly.

  “So, that was it,” Sherie thought. They were smuggling slaves out of town. Stealing other people’s property and letting them go on their way. Every person that was a slave was either born into slavery, or they had committed a heinous crime of some kind like stealing other people’s property and letting them go (like they were now), or avoiding their Legion service, or a myriad of other crimes for which one could be enslaved.

  “Why are we even taking them out of the barrels?” Sherie asked Gerald as he popped another lid.

  “We can't just leave them in here for three weeks can we?" He asked as the young woman stood up from inside her barrel stiffly. She pulled her gag down and let it hang loosely around her neck.

  “Why the hell not? We’re gonna get caught like this!” Sherie said. Gerald helped the young woman out of her barrel and pulled Sherie closer, “They gotta eat, piss and sleep too. Besides, while they’re out, we gotta get those collars off of them. Once we get ‘em off we’re in the clear. No one will be able to prove they were slaves once we’re rid of them.”

  “How are we going to get them off?” She asked seriously.

  “I’m gonna pick the damn lock, that’s how we’re gonna get ‘em off,” he told her, starting on the next barrel.

  “Aren’t those things supposed to be impossible?” She asked.

  “Bull. That’s just what the locksmiths and slave owners want everyone to believe. They are tough as hell, but they aren’t impossible,” he told her firmly.

  Gerald popped open the next barrel, and then the rest of them. At the end of it, there were nine slaves with them. Baxin and Thedo prepared dinner while Gerald worked on picking one of the locks. The other slaves were in the tents. The flaps were open, but if someone were to be spotted on the road, they would close them.

  Gerald had told them earlier they would explain the three tents like this; one for her, one for Baxin and Gerald, since the other two gents didn’t like men the way they did, and one for Thedo and Halog.

  Sherie had to admit, they did have all of their ducks in a row. She wou
ld have easily believed what they said. This bothered her.

  It was too perfect.

  Gerald worked on the lock of the sickly slave, Gorin. “Jirai, you wanna come take a look at what I’m doin’, woman?”

  “Only if I can try smoking your pipe,” she said.

  “Sure, why not?” He said and pulled it out. He filled it up for her, and handed it to her with a match. “Now don’t you go wasting that match woman, they’re expensive!”

  “What do they cost?” She asked.

  “I get two for a copper mark, and that’s a bargain, I assure you!” He said.

  “Really? Piss on that,” she said. Sherie got up and went to the fire. She grabbed a twig and let it catch. She used that to light the pipe Gerald had filled.

  “Thanks, now gimme my match back,” Gerald said, holding his hand out.

  “Sure,” she said taking a big puff on the pipe. She instantly fell in love with the taste of the pipe smoke and just as quickly began coughing her lungs out.

  When she was finished coughing, she saw Gerald’s greedy hand still waiting for his match. She grudgingly returned it to him.

  “Alright, now that you’re holding my pipe hostage, watch what I’m doing here. This is a terrible pain in the ass,” Gerald said as he slid his pick back into the lock on the collar.

  Sherie moved in closer to watch while they sat near the fire. “What am I looking for?”

  “I'm gonna try to explain what I can about these damn things because I only understand them halfway myself. Watch how I actually do it. If you want a shot at it, I have another pick," he grumbled.

  Gerald told her everything he knew about locks in general and these locks in particular. While he grumbled about it, she finished his pipe and ate the meal Baxin and Thedo had made. While she was eating the thick stew, the lock finally popped on Gorin's collar.

  “Nice!" Sherie said, picking that one lock had taken him over an hour, though.

  “I’m taking a break and getting a bite. I want you to try one when you finish eating,” Gerald told her, handing her his pick.

  “What? Why me?” She asked around a mouthful of stew.

  “Because I’ve already tried to teach these other lunkheads how to do it, and I’m guessing they couldn’t pick the lock of a damned diary to save their worthless skins!” He said.