A RHYTMIC TAPPING sprung from one of the many dark-oak counters across the busy institution encased in glass. As his left hand danced to a rhythm the right playfully twirled a scruffy yet well-kept beard where rosary beads hid underneath. There he stood bedazzled for the hundredth time never tiring atop a pedestal watching the movement of the busy crowd and though their leather boots brushed mud across the marble floor their omnipresent chatter was more than compensation. And every so often one could hear the door chimes followed by a formal greeting, “Welcome to the Sell-sword Agency of Walt!”
The Taskmaster’s tapping stopped abruptly and someone beside him sighed in relief. He dragged his limp closer to the wall where the somber city outside and its small folks vividly appeared like a colony of ants wandering through misty ridges in between small cubic rocks. Deafening downpour pummeled cobblestone while passersby held umbrellas in one hand and indifference in the other, a live mural nothing short of a masterpiece... if not for one thing.
“Ugh.”
The spawns of chaos scurried inconspicuously in between the pebbles. In the eyes of the large apparition on top of it all, they did not deserve to be called “children” for they lacked the purity of such. What child would greedily steal the purse of an unknowing lady and go about their day as if nothing happened? Unconscienced compost-processing locusts, the label might as well be their names the more they congregated like a swarm. He clasped the rosary dangling on his neck tightly then returned to his initial position where a lady was anything but ecstatic.
“Once”, said he with a smile, “there came a time when monsters ruled the world. Humanity was a slave to their whims, for they were both weak and sinning. Praise be to God, for he provided us shepherds that borrowed his perfection. We knew this, for it was written in The Great Gospel. There, a great prophet once said—Men are flawed like sheep, and so they must rely on His perfection. Follow the trail of the shepherds and you shall see the light.”
A proud grunt escaped from the bloated stomach. Right beside him was a fine yet feisty stallion protruding from the sea of men. He turned his head slowly to the side then brushed his palm from her nape down to her back where a quiver was electric, and then his eyes disappeared between puffed cheeks and thick unibrow both pressing on a gold-covered crescent of calcium. “He sent me here, my lady, and he sent you here. To me.”
“Sadie!” Barged in a hurrying, nigh-exhausted chap with a bagful of posters that dragged across the floor. “What are you… hah… slacking here for when it’s the busiest hour of the day?! And by heavens… hah… right in front of The Taskmaster! You dumbo! Please pardon her, she’s just a few weeks old here.”
“ I’m… aware, Ron.” The Taskmaster’s grin dwindled slightly. “Go on, do your tasks.” Before she could scurry away, he whispered, “God needs you.”, then a handful of her ass.
Sadie’s hand reflexively clasped her cross earring. To let go or to let loose argued like stubborn children playing tug of war and as if a foolish mother to the duality of man her preference for the latter child nearly showed. 30 years of existence and not a single one prepared nor notified her for such whipping humiliation, for the perverse actions of a disgusting wretch. Had they met in earlier times, a place which her mind wandered to, his blood would’ve been honey she’d lick off her knuckles as she happily paints the purple evening sky on his frog-like face.
“Agh, my back! Shit… are you alright?” Ron said after pulling her away. “O-one of these days, I swear I’ll get him.”
She raised a brow before she sighed. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’re… hah… very much welcome… So, how’s the child?”
“He’s fine.”
“… Really? Cause lately I’ve been hearing some stuff about-”
“Ron.” Sadie gave a stern look, then back to a smile. “He’s fine.”
“I see, haha… sorry for overstepping. Well, before I forget…”— He dropped her way a stack of parchments then pointed at the humongous boards whence the crowd flocked— “Tenth one, purple drapes. Normally I’d do them myself but as you can see, there’s just too many.”
“I’ll get them done.”
“Great. Take care, Sadie.”
As soon as Ron left the vicinity Sadie’s trembling knees gave. How long? How long must she endure that bastard? A few months? Years? The hormonal teenager seemed of help yet his motives were as transparent as the walls despite the unsubtle warnings of the gold ring. Perhaps she was reading too much into it. Perhaps the times have left her behind even though she was no older than 30. There was a time when employment was rejoiced in spite of previous impressions. As the occupation revealed innate qualities veiled initially, at some point, she began to envision herself ten years from then a respectable branch manager. One filthy hand squashed her dreams.
I want to go home.
Ding-a-ling! The door chimes were louder than usual and the image of a spinning porcelain couple induced a smile that rid some shadows on her face like a lamp post on a dark street. She gained a pole for a spine which appended to her height and all problems seemed nil until she heard a loud clank then felt herself thrown on the floor with all processes paused. The pain had her gently caressing her broad forehead to cajole the violent tone creeping up her throat but negotiations led it to the eyes that threw daggers at the… metal wall, she bumped into. Only a scant few in the West passed her top, whoever was behind the helmet dwarfed. An elephant in the room wouldn’t faze her nor the crowd for that matter, oddity was a normality, but not if it clasped a thick zweihander reminiscent of the decorative ornament of worship regarded by many as too heavy for battle. In his hand the notion was challenged and the challenge was as silent as he.
He just whispered… what did he say to me?! Was it a threat?! Was he threatening me?! Before a choice between fight or flight he was already gone which mandated a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t mind an altercation with someone of his stature, truly, for she was born in an esteemed family of knights. Never mind her difficulty standing up.
It… It leaked a bit. Shame transformed her to a statue and begged her for a solution. She turned to the parchments then a bulb appeared atop her. Before her plan was realized, however, the devious image of a certain fat man convinced her to read the papers carefully as some of them held importance. Sadie told herself to make quick work of it which she did and yet she grabbed another right after. Why, she asked herself, but before the answer her fourth paper was finished and by the fifth one her face already resembled today’s messy morning sheets. How do people like these exist?
“They’re beasts!” A guttural voice was not only affirmative to her thoughts but also indicative of the eye-patched elder infamous for copious self-grumbling. “No man can pillage, rape, kill, then still roam the streets with a smile! At least those that I know of. God said we must hunt these beasts! We must…”
She didn’t quite know what to think of what was said. Frankly, she does not care. Out of respect for his age and position she pretended to even though acting was a gift God forbid her from having.
“HAH! The youth these days are na?ve!” He scoffed then, as if to prove a point, knelt from which the scar-ridden face and empty socket caused Sadie a funny gag. “There’re all sorts of things out here, lass. Angels and demons walk with the lot of us, we just don’t know it. You just don’t know it, I just don’t…”
And the old man wandered off doing what he always did. She wondered why someone with obvious mental deficits was in his position, but upon realization that her superior was a shameless sex offender, a lethargic shrug directed her back to the papers. Much to her own confusion, the old man’s words somehow resonated while reading the dead-or-alive document of an arsonist who burned a village down to cinders 2 years ago.
“… Really? A granny? How come she hasn’t been caught yet?”
See the dilapidated cabin. Go inside and by a fireplace with such wrath it snapped wood in half then turned them pigmented with the blank night sky before whiter than fallen snow. It danced to the tune of the stars which shied behind the faint clouds and though it did not mean to its warmth comforted the nearby girl whose physique would make even the most seasoned veterans wary. There she lied motionless on the unfamiliar bed, the unfamiliar ceiling poorly distracting her from the itchy pain underneath dirty bandages practically smothering her primitive body to cover injuries caused by an event she has no recollection of like everything else around and about her. A better way to pass the time was listening to the melancholy played by the maestro hunched over the distant piano. Despite her injuries motion was a choice yet the obscurity of the person making her soul weep with notes was something to consider.
“Who are you?” She finally spoke, her voice like dry wind passing by. The Maestro continued playing. “Where am I? What happened?”
THUD! She gasped at the ominous pitch produced by a sudden bash to the keys. The Maestro looked back; bandages wrapped every inch of his face spare for the unsettling eyes of unrest like that of Sisyphus. He stood up from the piano and to her. Immediately the girl’s foot twitched in fear. Before he could even touch her shoulder, a kick stunned him and she ran for the door. The chilling gust of winter intruded and flashed an image—a snowman, a ginormous one, with an abnormally large pumpkin for a head to pair it off. Cheery children surrounded it in celebration and wrote on its body.
“Walter.”
The name made her heart jump out of joy. Walter? Who is he? One of the children perhaps? In fact, who were those children? Now was no time to ponder. She must run- “AAAACK!” Her meager scream of agony did a poor job of conveying for someone her size though her immediate fall plucked a few icicles from the birch eaves. The throbbing pain felt as if her very flesh and bones were rebelling violently against her wishes. It took no time before The Maestro got to her.
“Idiot.” He revealed himself to be an old she. “Everyone’s clueless! Every-fucking-one!”
“… ?”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“Don’t gimme that look, bitch. Yeh, I saw yer look. Even if God Himself gave me the instrument, ya chewed-up-candy-looking fuck, I wouldn’t want it inside’cha! Ya can make a decent hunk choose and he’ll take mah withered ass every darn time!”
The grumpy Maestro picked the girl up and back to bed. She pointed her palm at the writhing mess then closed her eyes and began a short prayer. Subsequently she opened them with pupils missing and after a word— “Amen”—the girl’s erratic movements stopped and a small crack appeared on her steel rosary. The wet bandages were changed then the maestro went back to the piano. Instead of performing, however, she pulled a cigar out of her pocket that lit itself on fire and took a good puff. She spoke then.
“How’s my faith, Pixie?”
“…”
“Bah! Yer very fuckin’ welcome. Any name ya fancy tellin’ me?”
“… I don’t remember.”
“Parents?”
“… I don’t remember.”
“Lover?”
“… I can’t remember anything.”
“Hmph! Can’t remember, she said… who’s this Walter guy then?”
“…”
“Well if Pixie here ain’t interested in tellin’, am more than happy to reciprocate. Was goin back to the village with bad weather when alla sudden I heard screamin’. Smoke was risin’ from afar, from a big fire. If ye were there to see and hear ya’d look like effigy. Horrible… Just horrible. Was like watching souls of the damned flee hell, scared the fuck outta me even with this here cross, and I swear on mah dead momma, may she rest with the Almighty, I never get scared with Him on mah bosom! Momma never flinched with it despite that monster she once called husband beat her wits outta her. Fucked up sunnava bitch… So, I went and hollered to prove my tits outweighed his balls. The screams were fadin’ quick’n when Trusty went past the gate, there was only flames howlin’ and wood cracklin’. And you, right next to someone that-”
“Someone?”
The cigar hit Pixie right between the brows. “STOP INTERRUPTING!”
“… What?”
“Dont’cha fuckin’ what me! wHaT? Issat all ya have’ta say for yerself? Was tellin’ a fuckin’ story here and then you interrupt with wHaT! Young’uns these days’re disrespectful as shit! Fine then, no more story for ya!”
“W-wait-”
“NO MORE STORY! FUCK BACK TO SLEEP!”
What the hell is wrong with her? The girl struggled to find the words. She was torn between apologizing to hear more of the story and yelling curses right back but upon reassessment of the situation only a sigh came out of her. Even still, the past was as murky as the future and yet she was sure that the old lady was the most insufferable person she has and will ever meet.
“Seriously, get yerself some shut eye.” The Maestro said as if nothing happened. “Storm’s comin’.”
Thunder struck above the remnants of a once peaceful village. One of the bigger ruins housed a group of outlaws gathered around the fire casting silhouettes of their depravity. Alcohol and jaded women ran laps around the circle while Negligence wrapped around their shoulders and sang along their horrendous vocals, distracting them from the man clad in black who eyed one of them from a dilapidated joist above before disappearing into the shadows as if he submerged underwater. Throughout the vicinity their laughter’s roar uneased even a starving pack when the world seemed to skip a portion of time and by then only cicadas could be heard mating on huckleberry leaves. A forbidden puddle of blood and wine formed beneath the earless corpses, spare for one fathoming outlaw.
“Jake, y-your neck… WHAT THE FUCK!” Pietro yelled and stepped back then noticed a figure slowly emerging from the darkness above with a necklace of ears on his chest like an oyster shucker walking ashore. He flipped through pages of a worn-out book containing collages of wanted men and their excerpts were recited in a manner that matched a mother reading a story to her child.
“Thievery… rape… human trafficking… good god Pietro, your group’s list goes on.”
“A sternritter!” Pietro gasped. “Why did you come for someone like me? Was it Henry? I should’ve killed that motherfucker before he-”
“I don’t think you’re in any position to ask questions-”
“-THAT TRAITOR!”
“Shh.” He pointed his blade at him. “Stop yelling. I hate loud things.”
“A-Alright… I won’t shout. Spare me, please. I’ll give you all my money just spare me.”
He giggled. “Do you see what I have right now?”
Pietro looked him from head to toe then gulped. Everything he wore could make him a king if sold to the right place. Kleptomania patted his back like a great dreamer though the whispers of Death became the voice of reason.
“With that face, you could’ve been in theatres, earn as much as I do. Such a shame.”
“I-I’ll do anything you ask! Please!”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Alright.”
The nameless sheathed both blades then sat down right beside the uncomfortable. His gaze was met sometimes but mostly averted, partly due to fear but also because of his androgynous beauty. It was hard to keep in mind that the person calmly wiping blood off his cheeks was a manslaughterer, let alone a man, a severe contradiction of the personification of testosterone that was Pietro. With an innocent smile that could kill he said—
“I’m in a good mood right now. Tell me a story and I’ll give you money.”
Pietro raised a brow but his eyes turned alive. “O-okay… Okay. Sure. What story though?”
“You used to live here?”
“… L-live where?”
“… Where the fuck else is ‘here’?”
“Ah, y-you mean in this building? No… no I don’t- I don’t live here, I have a house-“
“Nooo, no— listen, listen, listen… I don’t give a fuck about your house Pietro. This, that over there and yonder, everything here used to be a village and you used to live here.”
Pietro took a second to think. “Oh, y-you mean Connie. Damn, sorry- wait how did you know about Connie?”
“How did it burn?”
“… I don’t know. I was on Baron Kampfer’s that day passing reports. Only heard news when I left. When I asked around what happened, so many stories contradict each other. Some say it was the children at the orphanage because it started there, others say it was the old woman who hated them since they were often loud. I say the old woman but it was mostly old people here.”
“Which one do you believe in?”
“… Neither.”
“Elaborate.”
“I was a knight there once, patrol. Couldn’t say I was close to them but I knew everybody. The kids would never play with fire, their caretaker made sure of it. And Lucy? She doesn’t even have a fireplace in her home, probably since she’s from the North.”
“You went inside her house? I thought you weren’t close?”
“She asked something of me.”
“Something?”
“That was years ago, okay, I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast.”
“… Whatever. So who fucking did it?”
“I… I don’t know who did it… but just now, I remembered… Grandpa Alex. He was saying something about a kid.”
“From the orphanage? And who is this Alex?”
“Grandpa Alex is the sole survivor of the fire who was actually there when it happened. He calls everyone younger than him a kid. Hell, he watched me get my cherry popped and he still called me a kid.”
“Wait, you said you weren’t close with them and all of a sudden here comes Alex and he watched you fuck.”
“Well, I was close with Grandpa Alex.”
“Where’s he now?”
“… Probably dead.”
“Good. One less weirdo.”
“What’s wrong with that? We’re both men and we were close.”
“So is my father. Doesn’t mean I’ll let him watch do the deed.”
“…”
“You think this kid did it?”
“… I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s definitely not the kids, not Lucy either.”
From out of his pocket, the assassin pulled the portrait of a beautiful woman wearing a fancy dress which complemented her curled amber hair that covered half her face. The visible eye appeared like mossed boulder unmoved in a river of flames. Whoever it was, it made Pietro’s eyes broad.
“H-how did you…”
“You know who this is?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? She’s alive?!”
“Tell me who she is.”
“T-that’s Kim… Kimberlain! She was the oldest in the orphanage!”
“How old was she?”
“Probably between twelve or fifteen when it happened. My God. She’s grown gorgeously. And she used to be a tomboy too. During my days I was jacked, but you compare her to me and I’d be ashamed. I once mistook her for a grown man because she had that pixie hair.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I bet all the children in the orphanage thought of her as their mother and you know what? Maybe she was. A real lovely lady, I tell you… Wait, you’re not saying that she started the fire, are you?”
The assassin stood up. “That was fun.”
“A-are you letting me go?”
“No.”
“B-but I told you my story.”
“Yeah, and I told you I’d pay. I’ll leave the money right beside your corpse.”
Tears streamed down to Pietro’s chin. At that moment, he garnered the strength to stare at the assassin’s face. “Please, I have a family waiting for me. You can take my money, you can take the women, anything!”
The assassin laughed. “Yeah, you can be in theatres alright… You said I can take the women?”
“Yes! Take all of them if you want! T-they won’t resist you, we’ve trained them well!”
“Hm, you’re right. I can take the women.” The assassin leaned closer to Pietro, wiped his tears off, then squeezed his cheeks until he resembled a blowfish. He never broke gaze. “But I don’t want to.”
The outlaw gave a muffled response, “… W-what?”
“Where’s the masculinity in overpowering something that won’t even fight back? Hm? I say… instead of prey, I go for predators. If you can last until I’m finished, then I’ll let you go.”
Heavy rain came unto the world in a condescending attempt to pin it down even though it sat far above it already. Its boast was made known through a bright flash of branching light before an ear-splitting roar followed in its wake, terrifying the irrelevant critters beneath. But not the pack of wolves. They were braver than those fools, more intelligent. They approached the vicinity tongue-out and salivating at the aroma of blood but they immediately fled it once they heard the bone-chilling wails of one man. Make no mistake as the man was not to be feared, whoever caused them was. Fortunately for them Patience was their best friend. By morning the monster was no longer and their feast began at the treasure trove of flesh as their teeth rent meat off earless corpses though they were sensible enough to spare one body not out of sympathy but out of disgust. It smelled far too atrocious.
