Dark Practices: Book Four of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

  “Yes it is,” Maxmillian nodded. Whispering the command word, he brought the power in his hammer to life and gave the Orbheart a strong, controlled strike, the skull shattering like an eggshell beneath the faintly glowing hammer-head; the fragments blurred and flickered away to nothing until the depression in the block of wood was empty.

  The three stood and studied the block for a moment. Finally Maxmillian stirred. “We had best be about our business before anyone wanders by and asks why we’ve got eleven dead people here. I’ll go see about a horse and cart from the stables out back to take Pug off with.”

  “Good idea,” Elonia murmured, touching his hand as the historian headed for the stairs out of the cellar. “What about you?” she asked Ernest. “The Badgers can always use another Healer.”

  The Doctor gave that some thought. “I might come along,” he mused. “I’m between employers at the moment, and have nothing else much to do.”

  Maxmillian found her sitting at Klaus’s desk drinking wine straight from the bottle and staring off into the distance. “We’re loaded and ready to leave,” he prompted gently after a moment. “Any time you’re ready.”

  “That’s it, then,” Elonia banged the bottle down onto the desk top. “Forty-one days’ investigation, wading waist-deep through degradation, Pug is dead and I came far closer to dying horribly than ever I have before in a very long and very risk-filled life, and it ends in a fight that lasts less than four minutes, a conversation with a man who doesn't mind dying because he’s so bored that anything new is welcome, and a single hammer stroke.”

  “So it would seem.” The scholar walked around the desk and touched her cheek. “We survived, and broke the back of the cult. Now it’s time to go.”

  She reached up and took his hand in hers. “We should have just grabbed van Feuchter after the first party, taken him to a temple, and sweated the truth out of him, instead of messing around as long as we did.”

  “Easy to say that now, but at the time we weren’t sure that it would work. We needed to dig deeper and come up with more details before we started flailing around. Besides,” Maxmillian grinned. “You wouldn’t have gotten to kill the Duchess if we had.”

  “She wouldn’t have gotten to stick her tongue in my mouth, either,” Elonia snapped back. “Do you realize that I had two women kiss me and run their hands over my body on this mission? That is two more than I ever wanted to do that. At least you only were felt up by Myra.”

  “None the less, I killed her for it,” Maxmillian frowned severely. “No woman but you touches me and lives.”

  A smile jerked at her mouth. “All right, I’m getting too agitated, or something. I suppose it’s got to do with you killing Zari before I could get loose; I want revenge for being held so helpless.”

  “Then getting back to the main body will be just the thing for you: a few fighting patrols, the odd ambush, and some dedicated Goblin-killing is just what you need, get you back into form.”

  “It’s worth a try,” she smiled up at him and squeezed his hand tight. “But first we’ll spend some time someplace nice forgetting this whole mission.”

  “It won’t be easy, but I’ll give it a go,” the scholar grinned as she stood.

  Brother- Captain Hollister glowered at the file in front of him; it had been delivered two hours ago, and after reading it he arranged for a Block of forty heavily armed Brothers to go to a mansion outside of town, and for a File to escort a couple Temple specialists to a barn which was also outside of town. Another File had been sent with a writ to search the home of a Geraz van Feuchter, who was, according to the papers before him, dead and hidden someplace; other Quads were visiting the home of a Myra Soutar, the lodgings of a Zari Wiali, and the home and shop of a Gerhard Stotz. A competent officer was heading to the Municipal hall with a complaining city clerk in tow to examine the disposition of the estate of the last Duchess of the house Meurer, who had been cremated without ceremony not long ago. The Temple of Beythar had sent a reply stating that it would have a Brother-Almoner from the Order of the Fiery Staff report to him as soon as he could be located within the city, the cult hunter in question being on leave with family in the area.

  In a little while he was going to have to report to the Brother Commander for Teasau and explain why he had an off-duty Wall (four Blocks, or one hundred sixty-odd Brothers) out on special assignments, and half the duty Wall off on various tasks instead of the latter patrolling the city and the former ready to assume that duty when the latter finished their shift, but he wasn’t too concerned about it. If what the papers before him revealed was true, they were on the verge of solving a large number of murders that had up to today been resting heavily upon the Brotherhood’s ledgers.

  He eyed the documents and wondered who had written them and had them delivered to the Brotherhood; idly he dug a leather oval from a desk drawer and eyed the Badger on the front. He thought about upset mercenaries, and Dwarf Captain’s attitudes regarding unit honor, and mysterious papers explaining the presence of a cult in his beloved city, a cult that was likely responsible for scores of deaths or disappearances which had been disrupting his sleep for the last couple years.

  And he thought about Brother-Captains who perhaps used their positions to push people and organizations in directions they would not have gone otherwise, directions a Brotherhood officer could never go. He thought about seized opportunities, sly actions, and minor abuses of power that had gone unnoticed, like the first precisely-dropped rock that sends a ton of stone roaring down a mountainside.

  A knock sounded at his door. “Enter,” Hollister yelled, knowing it was his clerk Lay-Brother Brar. He folded the badge within a sheet of thick, blank parchment as the door opened.

  Lay Brother Brar leaned into the office. “The Brother Commander has sent for you, Brother Captain.”

  Hollister poured a dollop of wax onto the edges of the folded parchment, sealing the badge inside. “Good. How’s the arm, Brother?”

  Brar held up the limb and wiggled those parts of his fingers that showed above the cast. “Healing fast, and inching terribly, Brother Captain. I’ll be out of here in no time.” Lay-Brother Brar had been struck across the arm with a stout cudgel during a bit of a disturbance on his third night patrolling the streets. Because he had not seen fit to mention the broken bones to his Corporal until after all the unruly elements had been chased down and subdued and the relevant details sorted out, Brar had not been able to be Healed, as the healing magic requires fresh wounds. Thus the gangly young man was clerking for Hollister while his arm healed naturally.

  “Good; a Brother’s place is on the cobblestones. Is the smithy across the street still at work?”

  “Yes, sir, he works late in summer to avoid the heat.”

  “Excellent.” Hollister stood and handed the skinny young Lay Brother the covered badge. “While I am explaining matters to the Brother Commander, Brar, I have a mission of great importance for you: take this package, without opening it, and go to the smithy. Put it seal side up on the coals and watch until the entirety of it is ash, then give the ashes a good stir and come back. Do you understand?”

  “Burn it without opening it or examining it,” Lay Brother Brar drew himself to an eager position of attention. “Then return.”

  “Good, very good. Now be off with you.” Hollister watched the young man, still short of his twentieth birthday, rush off. ‘Still hasn’t worn out his first pair of boots on patrol, or gotten a clue as to how hopeless our job really is much of the time,’ he mused to himself, then shrugged and turned to gather up his papers. Lay Brother Hollister had been much the same, all those years ago. Very much the same.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The fifteenth day of Gleichteil (the sixth month in the Imperial Calendar) dawned bright and clear, the kind of balmy clear summer day that makes the world seem a generally happier place than it really is, or ever has been. Bridget rose with the sun, and spent the first hours of the day catching several river pike,
hard-fighting fish that gave good sport and made fine lunches. She had never been much of a fisherman before, but the garrison life in New Fork was equal measures of cramped conditions and noisy confrontations, and the advocate had found that the calm, quiet business of hooking a meal out of the river and the impersonal struggle to get it onto the bank was a soothing activity that did wonders for relieving stress.

  She had gone upriver a half-mile to avoid the noise and splashing generated by the Dwarves; making her way back down the bank she found herself impressed with the changes wrought in the colony. When they had landed here a few days short of two months ago, the only signs of civilized occupation had been a few trails through the brush and the crude pier that had been knocked together the previous year. Now the entire township area had been cleared of all brush and nine out of every ten trees, leaving only those of stately age and proper positioning; the clearing had progressed outwards at a measured rate and in a similar fashion, each day seeing more acreage transformed from dense forest to lightly wooded ground suitable for farming (after extensive stump-pulling, of course). Dwarven-built cranes studded the township, moving stone blocks, slabs, and troughs of flaume, the latter a wet gray-green slop made from a powder-mix called faum added to water, sand, and gravel, and which the Dwarves used like glue, the stuff turning to the consistency of stone after it had dried. Already the Dwarves had one pier’s pilings and supports in place and were busy fastening on the stone slab decking with flaume, a very good thing as the wood pier did not have many more weeks of service left in it. The pilings for the second pier were nearly all set in, while the mill-site and the proposed guard-houses had been smoothed and trenched, ready for the stone blocks of the foundations. The Badger camp, which also housed their paymasters and the Dwarven contingent, was neatly laid out and carefully kept up, defended by a deep ditch, a broad stake-belt studded with leg-breaker holes and man-traps; abatis lined the camp side of the ditch, with circular fighting positions made from uprooted stumps piled chest-high positioned every sixty feet or so.

  Dropping off her catches with one of the von der Jab’s servants who were tasked with cooking for the Company and their employers (the Dwarves had their own cook), Bridget stopped by her tent to put up her fishing gear and grab her medical bag. The Company had been operating off a very complicated duty roster for the last few weeks as the increasing tempo of work at the colony site made greater and greater demands upon their time. The Teasau group had reported their success and the death of Pug in a written message carried by a half-Goblin Watcher, his female companion, and a Healer, all three new recruits for the Company the Teasau group had located during the course of their investigations. The Watcher and Healer had been enlisted after careful examination, and the Watcher and his girl sent back to Oramere to help prevent any sudden surprises aimed at the Badger stronghold, the girl signing on with the support staff. The four veterans who made up the rest of the Teasau group finally straggled in five days ago, having taken a self-awarded vacation; after hearing of what they had been through, the advocate did not blame them. Still, having two more Corporals and two steady veterans added to their ranks helped immeasurably.

  The Company had recruited twelve fighting men since the log fort fight; Durek had sent five veterans (all of whom having sustained wounds this summer) and five newcomers back to Oramere, and had the five Badgers who had been assigned to the garrison rejoin the main body; thus the Badgers had fifty-seven combatants and one non-combatant (Doctor Kuhler) at New Fork, while Oramere now had eleven Badgers and a Watcher.

  Currently the Company mounted guards at their fortified base around the clock, sent out at least one fighting patrol per day, provided eight Badgers (two teams of four) as security for the surveying crews while they were out mapping the area, and had a detachment checking on the logging crews, a very demanding load on a small Company, no matter how many new recruits they had obtained. The roster made out every few days by Durek, Axel, and the serjeants tasked Bridget with command of the detachment assigned to the logging company for this day, a job she certainly did not relish. Still it had to be done, and she went to gather the rest of the Badgers assigned to this detail: Rolf and four line Badgers, all new recruits; the new-hires were most commonly assigned to guard duty or logger patrol, with an extra four hours of drill each day administered by either Rolf or Kroh, both to improve their skills and to accustom them to the pan-racial nature of the Company, and so far the new Badgers were shaping up nicely.

  Rolf had the four assembled, inspected, and ready by the camp’s only entrance, she found; the four rankers eyed her curiously and speculatively, but made no outward signs of disrespect. The novelty of women in command positions had already worn off, along with the surface resistance to the idea, although she knew it still rankled with some. She gave them a cursory checking-over for form’s sake, knowing good and well that if Rolf said his charges were ready, then they were in fact as ready as you could hope for.

  Her patrol ready, with flasks of ale and packed lunches drawn from the hard-working von der Jab staff, she led her detachment out for the day’s duty. The Clean Saw logging company had arrived over a month ago to begin the process of clearing the area for the township and prospective farmland. A timber concern had purchased logging rights from the von der Jabs (who still had plenty left over after having ceded no small amount to the Dwarves), and had commissioned the Clean Saw company to harvest the trees and get them into the Burgen, the Clean Saw being paid by the trunk. To accomplish this, the logging company consisted of ten cutting crews, each with six men manning three saws who cut the trees down; ten trimming crews (four men with axes) who then trimmed away the branches and piled them into great mounds which were burned after a few day’s sun had dried them out. The logs were then dragged to the river by the hauling crews (of which there were ten), two men and a pair of oxen. Not incidentally, the effects of dragging the logs to the river was rapidly clearing away most of the underbrush in the area.

  When enough logs had been gathered, the timber combine sent crews up in river boats to float the wood down to Teasau in great drifting rafts. To support these workers was a cook and seven helpers, a tool-master and two assistants, and a tally master and two clerks, all supervised by the company master, Medart Evarts. If one hundred fifty-four men and twenty oxen were not a sufficiently large enough establishment to add to the camps at New Fork, the loggers also brought twenty-eight women and sixteen children with them, the wives and families of some of the loggers, or so Medart explained when Durek had inquired.

  A few of the women in question did in fact live with a logger in a wifely fashion, but most, as the Badgers had discovered, were acting in a professional capacity. Between the presence of these women and the large quantities of ale and stronger drink consumed each evening the logger’s camp was a rowdy place when darkness halted work. At first Durek had posted Badgers in the camp at the von der Jab’s request to keep order, but the inevitable clashes between the mercenaries and drunken loggers had led the paymasters to withdraw the guards.

  Further problems had arisen because of the proximity of the nine Badger females and six women in the employ of the von Der Jabs, all of the latter being fresh-faced young girls drawn from the maids at the von der Jab home. Hardly a day went by without a heated argument between Durek and Medart over the conduct of Medart’s employees, and tensions between the mercenaries and both the loggers and surveyors remained extremely high with no relief in sight. The logger detail was intended to keep an eye on the lumber crews, their camp, and their activities, both to safeguard them and to remind them that the Badgers were a force to be reckoned with.

  As was her custom, Bridget began her patrol with a circuit of the logger’s camp, in the area they shared with the surveyors. No defensive precautions had been taken, and in fact basic sanitary practices had not been observed within the casual group of battered tents, ramshackle huts and lean-tos built from branches and saplings that made up the camp. The men were all hard at work,
cutting, trimming, or moving trees, sharpening axes and saws, or maintaining the records of timber harvested, but the forty-four dependents gave the squalid camp a measure of life. Scrawny children ran back and forth shrieking and laughing, barking dogs in tow, playing some game or another. A few of the women were visible, although most would not rise before noon; all were uniformly hard-faced and hostile towards the mercenaries, camp-following a logger company being a position no woman would consider unless she had no other options.

  Bridget spotted a young woman named Orah she had had occasion to speak to in the past, and had once intervened (with Kroh to do the actual work) to stop Orah’s ‘husband’ from beating her, carrying a couple buckets on a yoke towards the river.

  “Good morning, Orah,” she called, veering her steps to fall in alongside the tow-headed woman while Rolf led the patrol into the rat’s nest that was the logger’s camp. “How are...by the Eight,” the advocate gasped: the pudgy girl’s face was a magnificent plum color on the left side from her hairline to her chin, the skin stretched drum-tight over swollen purple-blue bruises, her left eye a mere crease in the distended flesh. “What happened to you?”

  “I fell,” the girl muttered sullenly, trudging onward without a glance at the slender woman at her side.

  “No, you didn’t,” Bridget snapped. “You don’t have to live like this, Orah. Get your son and your belongings and I’ll move you into our camp until the next river boat passes heading for Hohenfels.”