2 comments/ 11173 views/ 3 favorites Bounder Ch. 06 By: Stultus *********************** CHAPTER SIX It was not quite yet midday when we arrived, as we had hurried our traveling pace on the good road to complete the four leagues of distance in rather less than the usual four hours. I was huffing a bit, being a little out of my best physical conditioning, but Koch and Flerrie appeared to show little if any fatigue and they made no particular complaints. I left them for the moment at one of the roadside vendor tents, an ale house of sorts, and let them quench their thirsts. The air had been brisk and quite dry, but the eastern storm clouds were getting obvious nearer. I hoped that we could be safely home again before the storm struck but this would be unlikely. I wanted to locate watchman Auguste and a brief inquiry with the army major in command of the combined camp informed me that this guardsman was indeed present, but posted for duty at the southern most watchtower this week. The six watchtowers were each situated about two miles apart from each other, some perhaps a bit more, and more or less situated in a direct north-south line. The northern most tower was positioned so that it could both watch the northern tracking bend of the great river and also the hills and plains to the west. The river north of here was shallow and filled with rapids and considered largely impassible by anything other than small boats. The southernmost tower actually tended to incur the most danger, having to guard the western and southern hills, and also the edge of the great swamp just to its east. This area was where bandits tended to congregate, but rarely in any significant strength, and the camp commander had heard no recent rumors of brigands or other troublemakers in the area. From this camp, this meant another short trip of about another two leagues south, taking a poorly marked dirt trail that lead to and past each of the guard towers. The route was hilly, rock strewn and the blowing wind made even southern travel uncomfortable. It was past noon when we reached the final tower and found our guardsman Auguste, bored but hale. While the lad was eager to be helpful, unfortunately he had indeed given a rather complete and full account already in his record and he could add very little of pertinence to that prior report. Still I questioned and requestioned him again, until I became at something of a loss to find a query that hadn't already been adequately covered. Auguste had been stationed at the Ormsford Bridge watch station for nearly a full year and he along with two other guardsmen alternated patrols east and west along the river road and also made short scouting trips north of the town upon several small dirt trade roads. The river route was considered 'safe', but the northern trails were much less so, prone to bandit attack or even raids by non-human tribes from further north, such as the Hobs. Yes, people did disappear with regularity from the region, both men and women, but invariably from the north, and not travelers along the river roads, the north or south banks! The dangers had increased over the last few years, enough so to add an additional watchman of the vigiles to this post, and now even another additional patroller was being requested for future duty there, in response to the ever rising risks. As for the Weir's, the lad agreed that the family was not popular in the area, and few travelers stayed at their inn, mostly staying instead at several smaller rooming houses in the nearby small town. The father was renowned for his ill-temper and his two older sons shared that defect, and were considered both ill-mannered and rather free with their hands with the young ladies of the region. Despite rumors that several young women of the district might have been raped or otherwise ill-used by the brothers, no charges had ever been made to the vigiles that Auguste knew of. "No one will talk about the Weir's, especially to strangers or the vigiles!" He insisted. "Everyone in the town was sore afraid of them, and the local farmers would do no business with them either. Word is that bad things happen to those who get involved in Weir family business and no one ever lets their womenfolk go anywhere alone anywhere near town." "It's definitely the two elder brothers responsible then?" "Aye. If there's trouble, they'd be the root cause of it! There's a third youngest brother, but he's said to be simple and stays mostly in their stables, causing little or no trouble that I've ever heard of. I'm sure Edwin, Edward and also Edwina their sister all lied, claiming they'd never seen that girl's torn clothing before, the undergarments that were found in their copse, near the road. They belonged to the missing girl, Rochelle all right. I could see it in their eyes when I showed them the torn cloth! I'd stake my oath that they were the ones responsible, but there was no proof to be found. Their sister even tried to claim that the torn clothing was all hers, but this was clearly a lie as the garments were all sized for a much more slender woman. They knew we couldn't prove anything against them and they laughed at us too, smug that we had no cause to take them for questioning... and never would either! It's said that their father was once a Blackguard officer, given an early pension for an incident involving excessive cruelty, and for one of the Blackguards that sort of offense must have been monstrous indeed to be so punished! He still has friends among them though, as I used to see black-cloaks coming and going from the inn all the time, both day and night... and sometimes with heavily loaded wagons, their cargo well covered up by a tarp. If they share a business interest, I'm sure it not an honorable one!" Indeed, in fact I could hardly imagine an offense brutal enough to give even those hardened killers misgivings. As for other rumors about the family, there were many, but nothing that could be proven. One remote farmer had warned the vigiles once a few years before that the former Blackguard and his family were bandits, preying upon travelers and merchants along the dangerous northern roads. Another goodwife of the town claimed that the old grandmother living with them at the inn was a witch of the darkest sort, who cavorted with imps and other creatures of darkness and used her magical powers for wickedness, cursing everyone that spoke against her family. Again, Auguste could claim no proof of evidence for any of these alleged crimes, but it was his personal opinion that the unfortunate woman Rochelle had crossed the bridge during the worst of the storm so that she might take temporary shelter in the town, and perhaps the inn on the northern side. Then as now, there was no suitable nearby shelter along the marshier southern road, until much closer to the eastern gate. He was certain that then that the brothers had espied her, seized her by force and made sport with her in the copse of trees near the inn, which was indeed their usual trysting spot. It wasn't their habit to physically harm their victims, so premeditated murder would have been an unlikely fate for their victim unless she had been especially threatening to her attackers. It was alternatively more likely that just after her physical rape that she might have temporarily overpowered one or both of her sated attackers and then attempted to flee toward the road and safety. Perhaps then, to recapture her, the carriage was used (or perhaps already nearby with the horses harnessed for some reason), so that she was quickly pursued along the road and perhaps even run over by the carriage by accident, due to very poor visibility during the violent and extremely heavy downpour at the height of the storm. All local witnesses agree that during the mid afternoon of the day Rochelle vanished, the storm had been heavy enough at several times so that visibility, even on the roadway, was nearly nil. A hack driven by a nervous driver galloping in haste could have possibly have struck the victim unintentionally by happenstance, not seeing her before it was too late to stop. Or maybe even the murderous deed had been done intentionally, to silence their victim, who was not a local resident. In any case, now finding their victim dead, and perhaps nearly sliced into half by the narrow wheels of the carriage, the nearby river barely a stone's throw away was quickly used to discard the body, with the heavy rain sufficing to wash away any blood spilled upon the road stonework. Auguste had searched the stone roadway with great care but had been unable to find any bloodstains to prove this notion, and the torrents of rain had prevented any of the blood from staining the stones and would have quickly washed away all of the evidence. While not perfect, this version of events seems to adequately cover all of the known facts of the case. Auguste had little other additional advice for us, save that all of the Weir family was likely to be highly skilled with arms and of a highly disagreeable nature. They would likely resist with violence any attempt to apprehend them, even for temporary questioning before their Blackguards friends could gain their release. "If I could be certain of their guilt," he sadly added, "I wouldn't even attempt to bring them into the station, even to see them put to the question with hot irons! Their hearts are rotten to the core, filled with evil the entire lot of them. I'd not give them the chance for a fair fight, but bar their doors and windows up tight with stout iron, boards and nails and then burn the inn down fast upon their evil heads! The old mother might or might not be a witch, but their souls are all black enough that perhaps naught but clean fire could ever rid us of them!" I didn't entirely disagree. I'm opposed by nature to giving my opponents anything resembling a fair fight and if the family indeed did have plenty of old friends up at the castle, they'd never be put before a trial. The charges (not to mention the witnesses) would vanish and quietly the lot of them would be released from whatever extremely temporary inconvenience they might have suffered. I'd remain their prime enemy, with the entirety of the Blackguards arrayed against me, and those would be insufferable odds! No, if the Weir brothers were guilty, which now seemed highly probable, there could be no arrests, no prisoners, no trial and most importantly no witnesses... living ones anyway. Sir Adrian had suggested as much in his note. Strike hard and fast and get your head under a large rock before the shit starts flying again until it all blows over. I could do that! ************************* It was about mid afternoon now and the skies were getting darker with the promise of heavy rain with much of the daylight now gone. In annoyance I resisted the very sensible notion of following the hill trail back north to the camp. The idea of more walking up and down the innumerable small hills once more until we reach the main stone road before we could then return east to the city thrilled no one. That was the smart decision, but we were all tired and annoyed at our lack of progress and when Koch suggested that we just shave off part of the trip by cutting northeast 'a little bit' around the edge of the swamp to intersect with the road a league or two closer to home, I didn't argue. Flerrie, who usually had more sense than to do obviously idiotic things was just tired and annoyed enough herself to just shrug at the suggestion of a potentially time saving 'shortcut'. Anything that would get us back home, safe and hopefully drier even a half hour or more sooner was music to our ears. Sure I could claim that it was his stupid idea in the first place, but I was the boss and ultimately the shit starts and stops with me. So a half hour later when a twelve foot long swamp lizard dashed out of the marshy tall reeds less than a dozen paces away from us, there was really no one at all to blame except for myself! Swamp lizards can usually be avoided. Most successfully by not going anywhere near the great swamp in the first place! They're not all that fast, unless they've been basking in the sun for several hours beforehand and then they're capable of a short, but rather rapid lunging charge upon their two hind feet towards their prey. This one had been basking in the reeds barely a stone's throw away from the 'shortcut' we'd taken that passed a bit too close to the edge of the swamp for my comfort. Anything within bow or gunshot range was too close, in my opinion, but I'd been a bit too lost in thought to really notice how closely we'd encroached toward the marshy edges of some bog land between us, on nominally dry land and the swamp proper. Running away wasn't a good option. We could run further, but in a short distance sprint of fifteen or twenty yards, the critters were faster. Koch did what he did best and stepped up to block the lizard's charge, placing himself in front to protect me. Well, that was a big part of his primary job description and what I paid him for! With his sword and long stabbing dagger out, he was attempting to drive the creature off, but not with any particular success. Lizards are dumb and extremely single-minded, especially when they're hungry. People, especially bodyguards dressed as simple merchants tend to be tender and juicy, and the bones would make for good crunching later, after another long bask in the sun. Flerrie had her pistol out and at the ready, waiting to take a clear shot at the creature and not risk her bullet striking Koch instead. The big problem was that while Koch's blades were of good metal and plenty sharp, swamp lizard scale is harder. Stabbing doesn't really work and just annoys them, and you almost have to peel off a layer or two of scales before you can find something softer you can sink a sword into. A normal long sword wasn't quite the tool for the job and his long stabbing dagger was almost worthless. There are idiots who hunt these beasts professionally, and while they are crazy and often have short life expectancies, smart (and lucky) well-prepared hunters can earn big money. Lizard scale is the best possible material for making really good military quality scale armor, and the lizard hunters use either very long and extremely sharp spears to stab in-between layers of the scale (particularly near the softer underbelly) or else they hire very big northern barbarians with huge axes or spiked hammers that can chop their way through most trouble and are usually too stupid to care about the risks. I had no weapons of this sort. Koch was put immediately upon the defensive now and he soon needed to throw himself to the marshy ground to avoid a devastating chomp of the creature's jaws that came near to taking his entire head off. The beast had two excellent choices now, to either chew up my bodyguard's entrails rather easily and quickly, or else to leap upon its only other two vertical opponents, Flerrie or myself. I read somewhere that lizards tend to have poor visual senses and rely upon scent and movement to locate their prey. Since I was back pedaling as fast as my boots could shuffle, I must have seemed the more appetizing entrée and it forgot about the tender meal right at its feet and came waddling after me, soon dropping to all four legs to chase after me. With a clear shot now, Flerrie took it. And her bullet struck the beast in its chest but it did not penetrate the scales. She then drew out her vigiles issue broad sword and charged forward hoping to distract the great lizard just before it could rip its claws and long sharp teeth into me. I'd left my sword cane back at our brothel room in the city, with much of my other traveling possessions, not that the slender blade would have been useful here either. It didn't fit my cover as a common merchant and it was too big for hiding my pack anyway, not that I would have time to rummage for it now in any case. I did have my pistols, but I'd heard mixed reports of their usefulness, even before I watched Flerrie's larger and more powerful pistol shot fail to penetrate the creature's natural armor. Allegedly, bullets from matchlock muskets, having a much heavier powder charge and more resultant striking force than any pistol, only had about a 50% estimated penetration rate, which overall gave me far poorer odds of nailing the bugger with my two smaller pistols, even at point blank range. Not that any single one shot, or even two would likely kill the powerful beast. The first shot, already at a range closer than I would have preferred, certainly didn't penetrate. I don't think the lead bullet even dented its scales! I'd fired from as close of a range as I could dare, with both Flerrie and Koch scampering to remain safely out of mauling range of the lizard. That left me with just one loaded pistol and one last single chance for survival. This shot had to count, and I resisted the urge to entirely empty my bladder into my leather traveling trousers as the creature shambled up to devour me now instead. My last shot must have annoyed it. It faced me eye to eye and opened its great tooth filled jaws to bite my head off, but had my aim ready. I discharged my weapon from an inch away into its left eye and then I dove and rolled to my right, into what I hoped would be its blind spot where it couldn't immediately see me... especially if I remained utterly still while pissing myself! That might buy a moment or two for Koch or Flerrie to backstab the beast, shove a sword up its scaly ass, or at least divert its attention away from me long enough for me to retreat far enough away to safely have the chance to try and reload my pistols. The alternative was to run like hell. That was actually the smart move, to write off Koch and the young patrol woman as a lost investment and move on, but they were both definitely useful. Koch didn't chatter away blathering non-stop when we worked together. Men (not to mention women) like that are a rare find. As for Flerrie, I used to have no use at all for the vigiles and hated the very uniform they wore while back in Mirabelle, but I was already in her (and their) debt even before this minor little problem of dealing with the local wildlife we shouldn't have been annoying in the first place. I'm not a coward, but I do value my self-preservation... but in the long term that needed to include keeping Koch and Flerrie both alive. I wasn't sure how I could manage this, but I'd think of something, I usually did. Actually, having a heavy lead bullet fired into one's brain (admitted not a very large brain) tends to be extremely distracting for a good many reasons, and while the creature didn't quite drop dead instantly in its tracks, it did begin thrashing about now rather violently, and with rather little coordination of its flailing limbs and teeth. This gave me time to crawl away a few more feet and then get up and scamper off much further out of range, and both Koch and Flerrie decided to make a strategic retreat as well. Safely back now at a distance (or more so anyway), the guardswoman and I reloaded our weapons hastily, but the creature declined to chase after us any further. After a few moments, the monstrous lizard staggered off back into the marsh, loudly howling out its pain and frustration like a banshee the entire time. I'd like to think that the big lizard sunk right into the swamp and promptly died, but that was probably just wishful thinking. It was in all probability far too stupid for any single bullet to the brain to kill it, perhaps even if I'd fired an entire pouch full of lead into its dimwitted skull! Just as well, actually. Even if it had dropped dead right at our feet, skinning the hide would have been an issue, and I would have hated to have just left all of that potential gold to just sit and rot by the marsh! Bounder Ch. 06 Shortcuts be damned in any case! We turned our backs to the swamp and just hastened due north to find the road as quickly and directly as possible. We didn't discuss our close call almost being a lizard tea-time snack but Koch did have the decency to look a little embarrassed and mercifully quiet for the remainder of the trip home. ************************ In keeping with our general travel luck today, all bad... the long anticipated eastern rainstorm greeted its dryer western cousin clouds directly above our heads with a hearty 'hail and well met'. Nearly at once the skies turned black and just before the downpour of rain began, our skulls and tired shoulders were greeted by a thundering avalanche of falling hail. Mercifully, some of it was small, but a near fist sized chunk of ice greeted Koch's balding pate, striking his scalp through his traveling hood just sharply enough to draw blood. His grumbling for the remainder of the miserable journey back to the city was entirely understandable. Even the normally even-tempered Flerrie began to glare at the world and everyone in it with some growing malevolence. In repayment, I promised us all a good dinner and I quietly found an excellent inn that catered to traveling merchants quite near the west gate, decently remote enough away, we hoped, from anyone that might likely recognize me. As wet as miserable as we all looked, the tapster made no complaint when we kept our soaked traveling hoods on over our weary faces and kept our noses to the fireplace, and out of any of the social conversations. ******************** We returned to the widow's rooming house again later that evening and enjoyed the unexpected snack of a fresh warm honey cake while toasting our toes (still damp and miserable) in front of a now cozy fire inside of our bedroom. The day had been wretched, and the skies outside were still unleashing a downpour of hard cold rain, but at least we had made enough progress to continue with our existing plan for tomorrow without any significant alterations. Koch, in an unusual comprehension and display of behavioral subtlety, even quietly enquired if he ought to make alternative sleeping arrangements for tonight in another guest bedroom next door? Obviously we were still quite safe and secure here, and even the lump of a fellow like the former leg-breaker could gauge the rising levels of sexual tension that had been growing between the young guardswoman and myself once more, upon our return to the rooming house. The fact that Flerrie had just changed once again into the thin cotton nightshirt which little hid or disguised her charms had rather increased my ardent desire for experiencing the touch of her flesh once more, but in a rather more intimate manner. Stupidly, I told him to stay. What Flerrie's direct reaction to this was, I'm not entirely sure. For a moment I thought I caught a hint of disappointment from her surface thoughts, but I would have needed eye contact in order to know this for sure. That I could not do... as I couldn't trust my urges to remain under control, if I were to gaze directly into her beautiful eyes once more. I had been facing away from her, focusing on controlling my thoughts and more importantly my increasingly wanton desires. More than ever, I longed to make her my next pet, to lovingly and gloriously corrupt and defile her, body and soul. Alas, this was still neither the time nor the place for crafting a new sexual toy, and with stern effort I steeled my willpower and allowed my growing erection within my hose to become flaccid once more. Again, I feigned a desire for sleep that wasn't entirely accurate, but it served to place the moment of temptation further behind me... until after the candles were blown out for the night and I soon once more felt Flerrie's soft feminine flesh encroach ever closer and tighter next to me. By the time she had surrendered to sleep, her arms were again around my waist, clutching me close in comfort and security. I decried to myself that I was being a damned fool, and that with just a casual roll over into her arms that I could then hold her too as well, and exhibit that I was yet awake and passionate with desire and need for her. But I did nothing, until the moments of danger had again safely passed. The young patroller did not know of my wickedness, my carnal appetites and how I molded, devoured and discarded my playthings with little or no regard for their feelings or desires. She wanted my companionship, perhaps even my love... emotional experiences that I was largely unfamiliar with. I 'took' women, I ensnared and enslaved them with my gift and used them by any method that temporarily amused me at that time. She desired kindness and affection, to share herself with me as equals, loving companions, and this was something altogether new and an entirely different experience for me. Frighteningly so! I did not know how to give or even share... I only took that what I wanted. Now, I wanted her... but I could not bring myself to bear the power of my gift against her, no matter how badly it cried out to me to use it! I knew I could make her my thrall, but I was well aware that I'd then lose everything about the woman that had attracted me to her. I could create an obedient and submissive sex slave out of her that would bear her face and speak with her voice, but it wouldn't be quite exactly the same... it wouldn't be her! Was it Flerrie's youth and innocence that I longed to corrupt? Or did I continue to feel some lasting gratitude for the unselfish way that she had strove to keep me safe and only time in my life? I just didn't know. Somehow the comfort of her warmth soothed me and despite the swirling conflicted thoughts that continued to rush through my mind I somehow became relaxed enough to shut my eyes in peace, and I surrendered to the comfort of a long dreamless sleep. ******************************* Early again the next morning, just as the sunrise gate horns blew, our kindly landlady again gently rapped upon our door to awaken us. As my eyes opened I discovered that they now directly faced into Flerrie's, awake and cognizant as well, much refreshed by her sleep. We had ended up intertwined in each other's arms, holding each other close during the night. The embrace was close, intimate even, as I discovered that my left hand had been gently grasping her right breast on top of her thin shift, with casual tenderness. As our eyes and perhaps our souls made equally intimate contact I thought for one terrible moment that she had seen into the darkness of my very soul, that my secrets and terrible desires and urges had now made known to her. But instead she just smiled and continued to hold me close for a long, long moment until she reluctantly rolled away from off of her small mattress to arise and make her morning ablutions. With no apparent modesty, she lifted up the hem of her shift fully above her waist as she used the chamber pot to release her morning urine, giving me a clear unobstructed view of her loins as she pissed nearly fully facing me. Her pubic hair was dark and somewhat thick, but her vaginal lips were clearly visible for my scrutiny. She then with a smile on her face, pulled off the shift and casually began dressed herself, being not at all protective her remaining modesty. Her waist was wasp slender above her full hips and her figure would be the envy of any noblewoman and although the soft breasts were a bit on the small size, they were well rounded and shaped, with dark areola and firm prominent nipples. I longed to hold them again once more, this time knowingly so, and not just while in the land of slumber. I mentally cursed myself again for being a fool, that this lovely creature had desired to be taken, to become a willing vessel for my sexual pleasure, and that a priceless opportunity to obtain her had probably been lost forever! Honesty, loyalty, justice and even revenge be damned! ********************* We managed to leave the boarding house just after the second horn of the morning, when the gate trumpeters announced that the city gates which had been closed for the night, would now be reopened. We needed to cross the length of the city to the eastern gates, and then to the stables a short walk outside thereafter, but we didn't want to move hastily enough to attract any attention. In this instance, speed was of a bit more importance than stealth. If we crossed the city by side streets and alleyways alone, the trip would take us hours, and that would have made us late for our rendezvous with Mumford and his nephew. The overnight rain had desisted for the most part and had become instead a rather persistent fog and drizzle that left a light fog over the city streets, likely to remain over our heads for some days or even a week or more. This was a more consistent weather behavior for late spring, or so I had been told. Something to be endured... at least until the dry heat of summer arrived to make even this limited cool moisture be remembered with fondness, rather than annoyance. For today, the expense of a few silver marks for a covered carriage to quickly take us straight along the main city river road, Ormscrest Way, which ran wide and spacious between the two city gates, was a very worthy expense. Especially with the fog that would cloud the eyes of anyone watching for us! Even with the thick early morning mist and numerous warehouse and naval cartage making their deliveries, we suffered no meaningful delays and we reached the east gate in less than an hour. Still dressed as itinerant merchants, no one near the gates paid any notice of our passage as we walked out. Even the pair of Blackguards stationed there was currently showing more interest in the exposed ankles of the daughter of a teamster, hauling into the city a wagon of fresh produce. They loudly ogled her tanned bare legs exposed below her knee-length kirtle, which I had to admit were of the first quality. The black-cloaks didn't spare the slightest glance at us, and we made our second departure from the city with a similar lack of fuss and bother as the first. From the eastern gate, the Lowry Stables were only about ten minutes further away down the river road. Mumford was already watching and waiting for us, with Maitlan enjoying an early morning nap in one of the hay lofts inside. He had spent the entire night on watch outside in the rain near the copse of trees near the inn on both nights and had nothing of any significance to report anyway, so I let him sleep. My disguised manservant had enjoyed slightly greater success, but provided me with very little actual information that was in fact completely new to my ears. Still, it confirmed the information that I had been given and helped to rearrange a few of the more troubling puzzle pieces to their proper position. "The elder Weir is a bad one, alright. Marked by the Furies he is! All rage and no restraint, even to his own kin that fear him even as the goodly would fear a devil! He was indeed of the Blackguards once, a captain if the scroll of merit that he showed me was true. He was quick to speak of his many friends still there, and of how his enemies feared their wrath! A villain born to hang, 'tis no doubt about that! And of his sons, they'll all become gallows birds someday soon enough, each of their own merit. My first night spent at the inn revealed their lusts, as they nearly claimed for sport the young wife of a traveling trader. They fled the inn but in the nick of time, as the lads made many loud threats against her husband if he did not allow them to share her favors, all the while their hands were groping under her bodice and kirtle! The unhappy couple then departed with great haste and to safety, I can report with no small amount of pleasure." "The lads are known rapists then?" "Without dispute. The youngest however is quite simple and to my knowledge he lives and stays in either the barn or the stables and is not a likely party to their sport." "Ah, the stables. Tell me about their horses and any carriages? Let me surmise that they have at the least a small black hack and a pair of coal dark horses to pull it?" "Quite so. You were quite correct in every aspect. Late last night, while the simple stable lad slept, I risked crawling underneath the carriage to examine the underbody and I also checked the wheels most carefully. The recent rain has cleaned off any traces of blood from the wheel spokes, unfortunately, but the underside of the hack showed a few clear lingering traces of remaining splattered blood. Fresh enough stains though to have been Danelle's. Almost certainly splattered there within the last couple of days, as the blood splatter fell upon a good firm layer of dust, and it has not rained for some time until yesterday." "Excellent. And the usual driver?" "I cannot say Sir. The carriage was not taken out of the stables at any time during the two nights and the day we kept it under observation. I would judge that any or all of the family could have been involved with either of the two killings, or the cover-up that followed." That was my estimation too. The whole family was bad and needed to be excised like a wart. Perhaps the simple youngest son held no guilt, but he was certain to protect and defend his family against outsiders if confronted. "Any other potential problems then, assuming the father and the two sons need to be rather urgently, but quietly dealt with?" "The crone grandmother is another one who walked the dark sunless road of evil a very long time ago and with little if any remorse, and probably singing with joy at every step along the way. Her eyes are as black as the abyss and have no soul left within them. And her granddaughter was spawned from that same wicked tree as well! She seemed to see right through our disguises and we were encouraged to leave straight away without delay early the next morning, despite our stated desire to wait in residence an additional day, to wait for the arrival of a business partner. We even offered them extra silver to stay, but I liked not the malevolent looks in their eyes. We'd aroused their suspicions and our lives were likely to be forfeit had we stayed more than another moment longer! If someone claims that the old mother is in fact a witch, I'll not dispute that assertion! There is something of the Sylvan Gypsy look to the old crone and granddaughter both, their brows, cheekbones and chin are of the old blood, and I'd wager that they've forgotten more black magic than the famed Stygian Witch ever learned in her several lifetimes! In truth, I was heartily glad to be gone from that evil house and its occupants, and probably none too soon!" "A well-timed escape, I would agree! Now let us consider how we might best deal with this problem so that we might all the sooner return to our homes and resume other normal, profitable, business affairs!" ********************* Actually, I was rather short of clever ideas at the moment. We didn't want witnesses, even innocent travelers around. That suggested a carefully planned late night strike to acquire at least four bodies that would require a late night all expenses paid guided one-way tour of the swamp. It was by throwing dead bodies into the nearby all-to convenient river that started this entire mess in the first place! Perhaps a deep burial hole out in the nearby wilderness hills might be faster and safer, if slightly less permanent. No, it needed to be fire... it was not unheard of for the murdered buried bodies of the exceptionally wicked to rise again as revenants, or become the fodder for diabolical necromantic rituals. That was pure nightmare fodder and the sort of lingering after-problem I never, ever wanted to deal with. Only purifying fire would do... of that I was absolutely certain to the very depths of my tainted dishonest soul! No matter how we sliced up roles for the job, Mumford and Maitlan were going to miss out on most of the wet work, and I was none too sure just how far young Flerrie could be trusted to go either! My old partner in crime was too old and arthritic for that sort of fun and his nephew was much too inexperienced, and quite untested in a mission of hard premeditated murder that was being lightly coated with fancy words of whitewash as 'justice'. The kid had never cut a throat before in his life and I was none too sure how he'd react afterwards. Flerrie on the other hand had killed a few folks before in heated blood or self-defense and had even slit the throats afterwards without being the least bit squeamish. She was indeed an adequate warrior shield-maiden, but I doubted that her current loyalty to me would cover outright deliberate cold blooded murder either. Instead, I was becoming more partial to the 'accidental late night fire at the inn' strategy suggested by Auguste, assuming that I could get Flerrie to agree to this rather overtly ingenuous and arsonous means of solving Sir Adrian's current problem. This would also eliminate a late night trip to the swamp and potential witnesses along the road. Not an insignificant matter. Having a cart loaded with oil on hand ready to fuel this sort of conflagration would be rather helpful. Also death by arson would leave very little suggestion that the dire deed had been indeed done by me, rather than a host of the Weir families other enemies. Another significant advantage. Under the right circumstances, like one outraged wife or daughter too many, I could see the townsfolk gathering outside with torches and sharpened pitchforks and starting the bonfire all by themselves. Such an unfortunate (and perhaps all too plausible) event would quiet down the Blackguards' obligation to 'do something', and rather instead just let the entire unfortunate matter drop. That seemed like the most desirable potential outcome to me! ************************** With something now resembling a plan of action, we once again divided our forces. Mumford and Flerrie were to be sent back into the city to obtain at least several barrels of good fuel oil from the markets. Anything that would burn! At least fifty gallons total, but in smaller five to ten gallon kegs, preferably bought just one or two at a time and from different vendors. These were harder to trace (impossible I hoped) and would be more accurate for surrounding and engulfing the mostly wooden two-story structure into a raging bonfire in just minutes. That amount would do, but a bit extra would be helpful. Flerrie was rather insistent upon staying with me, but lying shamelessly through my teeth I assured her that I would be in no physical danger during her absence, and thus she could safely assist the elderly Mumford with his critically essential task, since Maitlan had been up for two straight days and needed some sleep. I didn't volunteer any information about what the oil was to be used for, and much to her credit she didn't ask me any questions that required me to lie in response. She wasn't a stupid girl though, but I suggested that the oil might be necessary for the post-party cleanup, rather than admitting I would rather roast all of the guilty parties alive in their own home in the dead of night. Mumford and Flerrie would stay with the wagon, after quietly bringing it around to the Weirhold Inn stables at about midnight, then Maitlan, who would remain with me to continue scouting our enemies the rest of this afternoon and evening as well, could assist me with the process of distributing the fuel around before helping me to quietly awaken and remove any current visiting guests before the incinerating blaze was started. If or when we were spotted by the townsfolk, we'd all have masks or hoods on and pretend that we were one of them and make ourselves lost in the confusion. Bounder Ch. 06 Everyone seemed game enough for that, including Maitlan. Murder by arson seemed to be a 'go' morally for him. Good, I really needed his extra help to pull this affair off since I couldn't depend upon Flerrie to assist with burning our evil friends alive, in a rather overly excessive bonfire. I was sure that she had her moral limitations, and until I had the freedom of action necessary to make a pet out of her, she could become an unexpected threat to our otherwise overly simple and direct plan. If she confronted or defied me, I'd have to act and possess her will... which would undoubtedly have certain and extremely unfortunate consequences with Sir Adrian shortly thereafter. At best, I could arrange a simple accident, that one of the Weir's had killed her during the resulting assault upon their inn. An extremely unfortunate incident that everyone would regret. I did not want to do this, or let the situation get that far out of hand. It would be a terrible waste of a beautiful young woman, not to mention prime dalliance material, and this sort of fate must be avoided, except at only the very greatest need to preserve the secret of my gift, or my very life itself. Already I had the rather uncomfortable feeling that a world without Flerrie living in it, would be too painful for me to ever enjoy lasting happiness in. Sociopaths aren't supposed to have consciences, but already I had rather more regrets than I was currently comfortable living with! I owed the young guardswoman a debt of honor, or at least a significant obligation of gratitude for her help. If the unthinkable occurred, and she needed to die by my hand, I was certain that this would be a stain to my already dark soul that could never be scrubbed away clean. I was a thief, a scoundrel and a bounder, lose and free with other people's wealth and any woman's virtue that I fancied, but I was no cold blooded killer! My dishonesty and wickedness did have distinct and finite limits though, and there was a moral line of basic human decency that I had never crossed... and never, ever wanted to! My every sense warned me that I was now at an unknown crossroads, with an uncertain future before me no matter which unknown path I chose. My arrogance was certainly gone now, its loss not even particularly lamented during the stress of these last few days. Instead, I possessed hitherto unfamiliar apprehensions about how to 'do the right thing', a previously frivolous concern, at best. Perhaps I had some genuine humanity hidden within me after all? In any case, for now it was best to keep Flerrie, who had seemed to become the living personification of my growing conscience, as far from me (and moral temptation) as possible. I would do whatever I must do to bring the two slain women justice, or at least the best revenge that I was capable of. My fate after that, in or out of Flerrie's hands, was a matter to be resolved later.