Seeing is believing, which is why I’m a big fan of watching professionals in action.
Reason being is I’ve got a bit of an ego, and most of the time, I think everything sounds easy enough. Take cooking Abby for example. It’s simple in concept, and any reasonably healthy person can handle the job. Collect the bodies, chop ‘em up, put ‘em in pots full of water with your preferred blend of herbs, spices, and chemicals, then boil away until the prized Aberrtin floats to the top before skimming it and any Spell Cores you might have found. Done it a thousand times before, and will do it more than a thousand times after today provided I survive long enough to make it there, but I ain’t in no way an expert like the Pages of the Protectorate Knights.
Unlike the Rangers, not every soldier operating under the Protectorate’s banner is an actual, bonafide Knight. That there is an honour which typically can only be bestowed upon you by the reigning Monarch, or in the case of the Protectorate, their Lord Justicar who’s the head honcho and effective Commander in Chief here on the Frontier for all things military. Still answers to Parliament and has to adhere to their budget, meaning he can’t appoint more Knights than they’re willing to pay for, which is a whole other can of worms I ain’t gonna touch with a ten-foot-pole.
That being said, Pages don’t get paid nearly as much as a proper Knight, nor are their standards as high. Long story short, if they was part of the American Armed Forces, then Pages wouldn’t qualify as Rangers. They’d be basic infantry, Government Issue Grunts, foot-sloggers and ground-pounders if you feeling fancy, or meat-shields and mud-eaters if you wanna get right into it. They learn how to hold a gun, point it in the right direction, and follow orders. That’s all that’s expected of basic infantry, though to be fair, the Brits tack on extra training to teach their Pages how to sword and board.
Bows, spears, and other weapons too, so might be Pages are a little fancier than your basic infantry. Either way, their first role both in battle and out is support staff, meaning they the ones who clean up the battlefield, and these fellas know their stuff. Tired as I am after all that training and fighting, I do feel the need to walk off my sizable dinner after resupplying on the Protectorate’s dime, so I leave Chrissy to play some songs with Astrid and head out to see the sights while the fellas are hard at work. A good thing I did, because the Protectorate Pages put on a damn clinic of cooking Abby as they get to butchering their catch with expert efficiency. Me, I had my little choppa as Luther described it, a hatchet that I used to hack and hew them bodies apart, and I had to put some real effort into it. The Pages though? They got these heavy meat cleaver dealies that look proper intimidating, with a wide, short blade and a handle no different from a proper knife, yet they’re carving through Abby like a butcher goes through hogs.
It's not all about raw strength, but knowing where to cut, following seams along the joints and tendons to pop limbs out and almost peel them Abby apart. Arms are neatly separated into hands, forearms, and biceps, and something similar happens to the legs. The torsos get extra attention because that’s where all the juiciest bits be. Any internal organs gets removed, diced right proper, and cooked lickety split over a hot flame, as them soft bits will break down in an hour flat. Then the spine and ribs are expertly detached or sliced away before joining the piles of segmented limbs which get secondary priority over a medium flame. Leaving only heads and pelvises, which get cooked up last over a lower flame that goes for longer because they’re denser ‘cuts’ as it were. With limbs and ribs, you can pretty much stack them upright in the pot and maximize the surface area to cook it right quick, while don’t nothing need to be said about them diced organs. Doing it this way means they only really gotta pay attention to the fire for about an hour or three before banking the flames and leaving the rest to cook overnight.
In stark contrast to how I do it, cooking whole batches to completion before removing them from the flame, or praying that the flames ain’t hot enough to evaporate all the water before I wake, else I’ll come back to a batch that done been burnt black and is stuck fast to the pot. You ever burned a stew or something and had to scrub the pot clean? Now imagine having to do that to the stinking remains of Abby that done been emulsified then crisped. You let that happen once, and I guarantee you’ll never care to go through it a second time.
Luckily for me, I kept on top of things and avoided that worst-case scenario, or maybe Luther and Aaron kept an eye on the cooking fires while I slept. Either way, taking a little time to properly process my catch would save me a whole heap of trouble, as I could easily finish cooking the organs and limbs in a couple hours before leaving the rest to stew overnight. Goes to show that no matter where your job sits on the totem pole, there’s always something you can teach to someone else. Like learning knots from a sailor, the proper way to carry a load from a porter, or how to swing an axe from Elodie, this here is a good reminder to always be looking for ways to do the job more efficiently, no matter how simple the task may be.
Overall, I’d say this trip has been pretty good for me, as it done opened my eyes to the way things work and showed me a lot of issues that need fixing. I been so stuck in doing things the way my daddy did, I never stopped to think about the why of it all. Then I started making changes, again without making any real considerations, which is where I started really screwing up. From here on out though, I got a newfangled perspective that’ll serve me well even if I don’t turn the Deadlands into a permanent hunting ground.
Which I probably won’t. Too dangerous to hunt on my own, and I can’t be imposing on Edward, Aaron, and Luther all the time. Maybe if Elodie finishes her training right quick and becomes a free agent again, or maybe if I find a couple good recruits who don’t need much in the way of teaching. Might as well ask for a thick vein of platinum and rhodium somewhere close to the caverns under the quay, one I could sell the rights to for a percentage and have more money than me and mine could ever need. Got about equal chance of happening as finding a bunch of young prospects who’re already trained up, because I sure as shooting ain’t qualified or patient enough to train them myself.
All in all, I sense my trip to Deadlands coming to a close. All that’s left to do is to help the Askefjords find a few samples of Sunflare Thistle, then handle that business for the Serbians and Manfredis. All seems simple enough. Head over to a particular waystation, meet up with a particular individual to pick up the Serbians’ package, then move out to the border of a place called Fairhaven to pick up the package for the Manfredis, one that’s buried and hidden so there’s no need for a contact. Which is preferable, and why I gotta go in that particular order. I don’t want to be carrying no package when I meet up with the Serbian contact. No sense tempting fate after all, as they can’t steal nothing if I don’t got nothing to steal just yet. If they try to follow me out into the swamp after the fact, then I can either lose them or kill them as I please, then leave Abby to clean up after the fact.
I got no qualms about adding fuel to the Soulless fires. I ain’t so sure about the Soul and afterlife and such, so I ain’t all that bothered by leaving them corpses for Abby. Neither was Edward, Aaron, and Luther, though I thought that was the case when they went chasing after them fresh company corpses. I blame it on the fever, which left me weak and downright delirious, but once I cooled off and had time to think, I figured it out for myself. They didn’t go after them bodies to put them out of their misery and free their eternal souls or what have you. Nah, they went after them corpses because they was hoping it’d lead them to wherever the Proggie be hiding, but they didn’t go far before abandoning the hunt because there were too many Zombies and Ghouls moving to intercept them.
I mean, if it was that easy to find the Soulless Proggie, the Deadlands would’ve long since been reclaimed what with so many different military forces working alongside each other. Shows in how quickly Edward’s been reassigned, with orders coming in over the radio to send him out to the beleaguered eastern border of the Central Deadlands, where multiple outposts are under heavy attack while soldiers of all four nations mobilize to assist. From what little I’ve overheard, it doesn’t look like a coordinated, all-out assault from a Synapse Aberration, but it could still well be one. Might be the Synapse is after one outpost in particular, while the majority of other attacks are just cover for whatever it’s doing, though don’t no one seem to have any earthly idea as to what that might be.
Regardless of the motivations behind the attacks, Edward is the Protectorate’s biggest and baddest gun, so he barely had time for dinner and a Catnap before heading back out again. One he insisted he get from Chrissy once he heard that she knew the Spell, and praised her to high heavens for it. Aaron and Luther both went without, but they followed him out all the same, and there wasn’t nothing I could do except see them off with a smile and a hug.
Wanted to go along with, to help them out in some way, but I didn’t even ask because I knew that I’d only slow them down. They operating at a whole different level from what I can manage, which is a rude awakening after spending so many years thinking that I’m the best of the new bunch. Never even considered I could match up with the old guard, but I never thought I’d be holding them back so much. Forget four years; I’m at least twenty away from keeping up with Edward, or at least that’s how it feels at my current pace. As for Aaron and Luther, I didn’t really see them work, but I’d say I got a good few years before I can pull off something like them Knight-Bannerets, who are a full rank lower than Aaron and Luther who stand out even amongst their peers.
So suffice it to say I still got a long ways to go, because having guns and Spells ain’t the be all and end all. Like my daddy used to always say, a man’s greatest strength lies in preparation. So long as you got the right tools, the right skills, and the right mindset for a job, then there ain’t nothing you can’t do.
Which is what I tell myself after a few hours of studying and good night’s rest. Wake up bright and early to prep for my solo journey out into the Deadlands, and it starts with gathering intel. Having seen me come in with Edward, the Protectorate Pages are awful forthcoming when I show up before sunrise to inquire as to the status of the surrounding areas. Then again, they might well have shared all that they had regardless seeing how the folks here are more united against the Abby than back in New Hope. Might have something to do with the constant, pervasive threat looming over their heads at all hours of the day, or the fact that every dead person who ain’t reclaimed becomes another resource for Abby. Whatever the reason, I don’t get no pushback when I ask for a sit rep, as they even let me get a look-see at their map with all the hotspots and waystations marked down.
Most of latter be to the east, whereas my destinations be west and north of our current location. Doesn’t mean I’m free and clear to travel though, because Abby be streaming out of the Central Region to attack the eastern border from all fronts. The same Central Region where Fairhaven be located, an Independent company town run by the infamous Aultman and Sons, so it could be that I’m heading right into the thick of things, with relentless Zombies, ravenous Ghouls, and dedicated Wights aplenty to avoid as best I can.
Means I’ll want to travel light, maybe two days worth of food at most. A hammock, blanket, mosquito netting, and a single change of clothes is non-negotiable. The Sanctuary Stakes for a quick and dirty Protection from Abby Ward, a Dewbane Charm if I get soaked and need to dry off, a good bit of rope and a grapple for climbing, and that’s about it. You know, aside from my regular kit filled with first aid, Spell components, and ammo for my Ranger Repeater and Shortsword. Seems woefully light for a solo run, a single carbine and pistol, but add in my two axes, my flail, and my new and improved Conjured Axe-Whip thingamajig, and I’m feeling confident about my chances out there.
Granted, I’m always confident, but seeing how I’ve made it this far mostly intact, I say I got good reason to be. It’s a fine line between cocky and confident, and I wager that Ronald Jackson, the Puglianos, and that Sword Saint I done almost put down after Christmas would all say it’s a line I walk well.
The one thing I didn’t account for was Chrissy’s reluctance to see me leave, as she wants to come along. Spots me packing my things from her hammock and goes into overdrive to get ready, and I gotta sit her down to tell her that she’s sticking around here for a little bit. “Won’t be more than a week before I’m back,” I say, desperately hoping I keep to the timeline lest she get it into her pretty head that I need rescuing. “If it takes a little longer, then you just wait right here until Edward gets back, and then you let him decide okay?”
“No,” Chrissy replies, meeting my gaze with her big, pale violet eyes while brushing her hair without missing a beat. “Partners. Crew.”
Can’t use ASL while she’s got both hands occupied, but she’s made leaps and strides in vocal communication too. Could almost kiss Jinfeng for giving me the idea to teach her ASL, and not just because her pretty face and pursed lips haunt my dreams. I’d almost kiss her even if she was a man, because this right here is giving me more hope for Chrissy’s future than I’ve had in so many years. “You right,” I say, fighting against the odds to hide my smile as I treat this with the gravity it deserves. “You done a bang-up job as a part of my crew, better than most I work with.” Which is even true, because a lot of folks fail right out the gate since they ain’t willing to listen to orders. Not my orders at least, putting Chrissy at the top of the class alongside Sarah Jay. “Couldn’t do without your support, all the Mental Fortresses and Catnaps you been handin’ out, and you been great about following orders and keeping the birds and Cowie safe.”
Chrissy nods to hear it, and switches over to brushing the other side as she asks, “You wait?”
As in will I wait for her to get ready so we can leave together. This time, I don’t hold back my smile and go to my knees so I ain’t looming over her no more. “You know I love bringing you around, but ain’t everything done in a group. You remember how my daddy used to always ride out solo? That’s because that’s part of the job, and this here is also somethin’ I gotta do on my own.”
“Like hell it is,” Gunnar says, rolling out of his hammock with more than a little difficulty as he jolts awake. “You’re leaving to go do the thing, right? Then I’m coming with.”
“What’s happening?” Astrid murmurs, still snug as a bug inside her blanket as she sleepily asks, “We under attack?”
With an alarming lack of concern I might add, which is almost adorable. “No,” I say, in lockstep with Gunnar, but mine has more than one meaning. “We ain’t under attack, and none of you are comin’ with.” Holding up my prosthetic hand to forestall his argument, I say, “With how things are lookin’ out there, speed and stealth is king, and ain’t a one of you speedy or stealthy enough to keep up.”
“I’m not about to let you head out there alone,” Gunnar retorts, accepting the facts as they are but still standing his ground. “What if you get sick again? Or hurt? A twisted ankle might as well be a death sentence.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, waving aside his concerns. “I done already got the Bogfire Ague, so ain’t like it can get me twice.” I hope. Those were a miserable few days, but I’m right as rain now. “As for twisted ankles or worse, I can just throw down a Floating Disc and get on by. Lastly, I ain’t gonna be alone. I’ll have my partner with me. Ain’t that right, Cowie?”
“First off,” Gunnar begins, getting dressed as he goes without a care for decorum. “Given how it stems from a tick bite, you can most certainly get the Ague again. Fact is, I hear back-to-back bouts is pretty common. Your immune system is already compromised from fighting it off the once, so it’s too worn down to put up a good fight the second time around. You could also get Mirelung from inhaling swamp spores, Fenrot Fever from a swampwater rash, Gatorback Aches from scale-like welts from bug bites, or Blackwater Flux from drinking bad water.”
“…Noted.” Why do people even want to live here? This place is the worst. “Still, I think it’s best I handled this alone.”
“You don’t got a choice Howie.” There’s a note of steel in Gunnar’s tone, one that I ain’t ever heard from him before, and one he probably ain’t ever used on anyone besides his kids. “I’m coming with. End of story. If you think I’m moving too slow, I’ll throw down a Floating Disc just like you said and tag along behind. I won’t say a peep, won’t step a foot out of line, but end of the day, you need someone there to watch your back, because these people you cut a deal with ain’t all sugar and spice.”
Part of me wants to ask what Gunnar would even do if things went sideways, but he got a look in his eye that makes me think twice. He ain’t ever pretended to be anything besides what he is, a brilliant Alchemist with loose morals who’ll do anything in service to his cause. Namely find a way for his beautiful wife to go back to the way she looked before she ate that Spell Core, a version of Miss Alice even Gunnar ain’t ever seen before, but one she wants back more than anything else. So for the love of his life, he’s dedicated his whole entire existence to making it happen, no matter the cost.
He’s run scams selling Fools gold after transmuting the stuff to look and feel more real while evading most common detections methods. Then he started selling what he called a truth serum, but was actual a mild narcotic that happened to also make folks less cantankerous and open to conversation. When people caught on to the facts, they wanted even more of his mood-altering brew, and he made a pretty penny with that until the law caught on and put a stop to it. Still sold it after the fact, but the high wasn’t addictive or significant enough for most folks to risk it, so he started selling illegal potions, namely Fear, Invisibility, Alter Self, and anything else criminals were willing to pay a premium for while simultaneously not being so expensive that they were worth killing over.
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Because there are plenty of potions which are, like Gaseous Form, Meld into Stone, or Nondetection. That’s why Gunnar’s always had to be careful about showing off too much of his skills, same as me. Otherwise, he might well have been captured and put to work by some unscrupulous slavers like what happened with poor Mr. Thornwick. Especially after the Askefjords got chased out of New Hope, but Gunnar didn’t just survive out in the wild Frontier. He thrived, and in the process, he built himself a little slice of paradise for Innates like his wife and children. One so renowned even Edward’s heard about Providence all the way over here in the Deadlands, which is about as far as you can get while staying on this side of the Divide.
So yeah. Gunnar might not be much of a gunfighter, but I’d be a fool to think he don’t know how to handle his business in a pinch. Not to mention the fact that he ain’t no stranger to dealing with lowlives like the Serbian contact I’m supposed to meet, so might be he got something to teach me. Did just learn that lesson, so might as well put it to use, though I’m still a little worried about bringing him along. “All right,” I say with a nod, because I done been convinced. “Let’s get you a pack then.”
“Me too,” Chrissy says, while Astrid grumbles and heaves herself up and out of bed, none too happy to be coming along even though I ain’t said I was gonna bring her.
“Not you Princess,” I say, giving her nose a tap while taking the brush outta her hands to help finish up. “You still been a big help, but best if you sit this next part out with Astrid and Harald.” If I was heading out to hunt Abby, then I’d bring them all along no question, but when it comes to dealing with other people, I don’t need three loose cannons to worry about. Takes a good bit of convincing before Chrissy accepts that she’s staying behind, though most of it is me promising to make it up to her when I’m back. She never liked seeing my daddy or hers ride out either, and while she never made much of a fuss these last few years, I’m starting to think that’s because she already knew how hard it was on me, and she didn’t want to make things worse.
Yeah, the Princess is sweet as sugar she is, which is why she’s the Princess after all.
Astrid is similarly worried about her daddy, and Gunnar does his best to talk her up, tell her how she’s needed here to look after Harald and Chrissy. Who takes issue to that statement, as she looks over when she hears it, only to heave a little sigh and look away, like she feels she’s the one looking after them. Which she might well be true if it wasn’t for the fact that Soulless Abby are pretty resistant to Enchantments and Illusions.
Which makes me pretty nervous about leaving her here in this outposts with walls much too low to keep souped up Zombies out. Least the Protectorate were quick to react and do what they could to contain it, but either way, I’m feeling conflicted. Especially with Astrid in charge, as she ain’t always what you’d call sensible. She got potential, but needs a whole lot of training before she’s even remotely capable of looking after herself much less two other people to boot. One of whom ain’t said a word even though he woke up at the same time, and has got his nose buried in a book instead saying goodbye to his daddy.
“Howie,” Harald says, without looking up from the pages, and I ain’t sure if he noticed me glancing or just got something to say. “If things look troublesome, then forget about it and walk away. Worst comes to worst, I’d rather take my chances in court.”
He says that, but I get the feeling the Serbians and Manfredis won’t look kindly upon any failure to deliver. I could always clear them out, but killing criminals is a thankless task that I’ve kinda soured on. Sure, I scored a fair bit of precious metals from taking out the Puglianos, but most of it’s just sitting in a safe for a real rainy day, or until I have need of it. The only useful windfall I got from the whole shebang was Mikey’s Orichalcum badge, the metal for which has been earmarked for a stronger, fancier prosthetic. Don’t got too much of it, so I want to know what I’m doing before I commit to crafting an Automaton with a built in Aetherarm so I can walk around with a big gun attached to my right hand.
Handguns are nice, but gun-hands are where it’s at. That’s the dream, to one day make a finger gun and actually Blast someone dead.
Chrissy is still being difficult, as she really don’t want me to leave and is making excuses to keep me here. Presenting Frowny in the palm of her hands, she gives me a deadpan look and says, “Dance.” Now, it’s one thing to dance with the little guy while I’m sick as a dog, and another altogether to dance with him while everyone’s watching. Gunnar has himself a chuckle and turns his back, but Astrid just lies there in her hammock and watches on with interest. Ain’t nothing for it though, as Chrissy is adamant I dance with Frowny, as it’s been working wonders to cheer him up each morning. Already, he’s bouncing away in front of my face while Stella and Terrance dance together on the floor, so I get to bobbing and tilting and he follows along with my lead as we tilt from side to side while bouncing and weaving all the while. Don’t know what it is Chrissy is looking for, but after about a minute of all this, she gives me a nod like I’m doing it right, before leaning over to let Frowny hop right onto my shoulder.
“Be safe Howie,” she says, leaning in for a hug I’m more than happy to give. “Come back soon.”
“Will do Princess,” I reply, so touched by her concern that I can’t argue against bringing Frowny, because she clearly thinks I’ll be better off with him around. The round little bird is looking mighty fierce and alert, perched right up against my neck and cheek while keeping watch on my right, and silly as it might look or sound, it feels mighty reassuring to have him there.
Course, that don’t mean I’m willing to bring all the kiccaws, as I would look mighty silly with a bird on each shoulder and a third atop my head. Still gotta say goodbye to the little critters though, as I’ve grown mighty fond of them all, and I only hope the ones back home ain’t giving Aunty Ray too much of a headache as she looks after them and the newborn calf. On that note, I head out with Frowny on my shoulder, Cowie at my side, and Gunnar on my six as we set forth into the Deadlands once more with Settle in Shadows to keep us unseen. Dropped Spiritual Weapon like I said I would, but I also dropped Levitate for Elemental Orb, while making sure to pack an Elemental Stone of Acid in my components pouch.
Mostly because of what Edward said, about assuming I’d gotten rid of those bodies using that particular Spell. Never really considered how good it’d be at getting rid of evidence. Or breaking into places. Or simple area denial, because while it don’t do nothing to stop you in your tracks, most folks will think twice before stepping into a puddle of green, caustic Acid.
Ain’t about the Spells you use, but how you use them. Another nugget of wisdom my daddy taught me long ago, but one I ain’t been putting into practice. Been too focused on learning new Spells, which is important to be sure, though not as important as honing your mastery of the Spells you already know. Still didn’t stop me from putting most of my study time into learning a new Spell, one I’m so darned close to figuring out I’d like nothing more than to sit tight for a day or two until I get it done and dusted. I can do that after I secure the packages though. Even though the Serbians didn’t give me a specific time frame to pick the package up, I don’t want to show up late and find out they done sent a second runner in to do the job in my stead.
Mostly because I want that ten grand. Spent all week killing Abby and haven’t even made $500 yet, and that’s a decent haul. Ten grand will set me up for a good little bit, or at the very least make a dent in the cost of putting a stone wall up around the quay. Spell-fired brick would be nice, or maybe a magically durable coating even, something to keep them Bugs from just bashing the walls down since I won’t have that many guns to help defend it. Also, whatever concoction they put into their walls and bricks here in the Deadlands would be nice too, because Enchantments and Illusions are tough to defend against, and a second Mindspire is always a possibility.
So yeah. I want that ten large, because that’s why they call finding fortune in adversity, and seeing how this might well be my first real job, I want to make sure it gets done right.
The Deadlands are teeming with Abby though, and me and Gunnar are forced to go to ground or treetop more than once during our travels. Luckily, he do got Levitate prepared, and even got juice enough to Levitate the both of us without having to upcast the Spell. Which is needed because them Zombies ain’t messing about, as they zooming east at a fair rate of knots like someone done rung the dinner bell and they been starving for months. Which is odd considering how much life there be here in the Deadlands, a contradiction I touched upon my first day here, but never really thought about after the fact.
And I should have, because it don’t make no sense. All them Abby holed up in the Divide stripped the Badlands clean of all flora and fauna, leaving it more of a dead land than the Deadlands themselves. In contrast, them Zombies, Ghouls, and Wights pretty much got free run of the swamps, but they ain’t strip mining away all the trees and vegetation to bring back to their Proggies. Curious that, and I share my thoughts with Gunnar in a quiet whisper, and he gives me a look like I done said something dumb.
“The limiting factor for Soulless isn’t biomass,” he says. “It’s the strength of the Mimics. Each one can only control so many bodies, and while that number isn’t low, there aren’t that many Mimics hanging around, because their Progenitor needs more than biomass to make them. It needs Spirit, which it gets from fresh corpses and living hosts infected by Mimics. The corpses are picked clean, while living hosts have their souls shredded apart bit by bit like pulling pieces of bread off a giant loaf. That’s why Ghouls all go crazy and savage in the end, because their souls have been torn apart and reinforced with the Spiritual equivalent of mud and spit until what’s left is barely even recognizable as human.”
Now there’s a cheery thought, one that puts to end my idle musings of taking naps unguarded and using a Mimic to train up my willpower and give me ideas for new Spells at the same time. I mean, one bout in dreamland got me the inspiration for my extendo axe after all, so I was wondering what a couple more rounds in the ring could do for me. Like, what if the Mimic tries to tempt me with improvements to Fireball? Or the Spell that’s been plaguing me for years, Hunter’s Mark? I’d accept Conjure Armour or Mage Armour too, because I’d love it if I got both Spells to last 8 or 12 hours a pop, giving me all the protection I’d need all day for a measly eight Aether.
Hell, I’d be happy if the Mimic could help me come up with a proper name for my new weapon, because Lord knows I’ve been wracking my brain and coming up empty. Extendo axe? C’mon now.
That idea done been dropped to the wayside though, because I’ve no idea how much damage my soul or Spirit might’ve taken, or even if I done cleared out the Mimic entirely. Could still be up there, lying low and recovering from the thrashing I gave it, assuming it was actually injured and not just playing me for the fool. Heaving a sigh for what could have been, I focus on the task at hand, namely making our way through the Deadlands unscathed. Between the difficult terrain and active Abby, our progress is slow going, and we just barely make it to an outpost by nightfall. One that’s occupied by a Protectorate patrol no less, who saw some action yesterday and stopped here to lick their wounds instead of risking the trek back to the outpost we just came from. They’re understandably guarded and aloof at first, as it do be somewhat suspicious for two people to be travelling about with dangers abound, but Gunnar works his social magic and soon has them all chatting and laughing it up. They tell us all about their fight, one in which they brought down a half dozen Ghouls and two Wights no less, and get to regaling us with the heroics of their fellow Knights. It’s nice to see a master at work, because while I done tried to be friendly like this in the past, it never works as well for me as it does for Gunnar.
Which is good, because they also invite us to share their food, a meal that is far better than the hardtack and pemmican I done packed. They got plenty of wild game and local plants to garnish their hardy stew, and Gunnar repays them with stories of his own, ones he tells with a practiced cadence that says he’s done this a thousand times before. Me, I used to practice my stories in the mirror until I got them right, but I bet if I tried to tell the story about how I came to be, I’d stumble over all the words and miss out on important details, because it’s been a whole year since I’ve had to tell it.
Course, Cowie is the biggest hit of the group, and Frowny is pretty popular too, though far more standoffish and unwilling to vacate his perch on my shoulder. Friendly as the Knights might seem, I still have me and Gunnar set up in a separate cabin while we take turns standing guard, and they ain’t put off by it seeing how they done left a cabin empty for just this possibility. Standard procedure out here in the Deadlands is to trust no one, not even your companions, as all it takes is one person to succumb to a Mimic before all hell breaks loose.
Come morning, we bid the Knights farewell, who are intent on sticking it out in the waystation until they got orders to do otherwise. Might seem cowardly, but it’s the smart move, because a forty-man patrol ain’t exactly sneaky or stealthy, and if they come under attack and call for help, they’ll be putting even more lives at risk when people sally out to save them. Puts a bit of extra pressure on me to keep us free and clear of Abby, but they’re moving more erratically today than they were yesterday. Instead of roving about in giant groups intent on the east, they’re more spread out and less focused as they wander about the swamps in groups of five, ten, twenty or whatever. Ain’t no rhyme or reason to it, no fixed direction they’re all moving in, and there’s no avoiding them all, so in the interest of expedience, I end up having to cut my way through a few small groups and leaving their corpses behind for the swamps to reclaim.
Thankfully, they don’t all come zooming in towards us as soon as I take a couple Zombies out. Means there most certainly ain’t no Synapse around, and the Mimic in charge is either distracted or got other things to do. With that in mind, I keep a keen eye on Abby movements and notice a bit of a pattern. As the day gets long, groups of Zombies and Ghouls keep getting called away to the east, with stragglers and loafers getting herded together and shepherded in the right direction as it were. Interesting that. Whatever caught their attention in previous days is starting to fade, but the Mimics in charge are still interested and invested. Enough to jump around and herd groups of straggling Abby over whenever they can, though I get the feeling that Zombies and Ghouls ain’t the best at staying on task.
Nor are the Mimics capable of being everywhere at once, else them Abby would all be moving at once. Goes against the rumours of a Synapse Aberration having spawned here in the Deadlands, because while Mimics got a limit to how many puppets they can control at once, a Synapse is only limited by proximity. If there was a Synapse here in the Deadlands, it could gather all them Abby up in one big group and herd ‘em all at once. Ain’t proof that there ain’t one, but you can’t prove a negative, nor can you cash in on a reward for finding something when all clues point to it not being there. A shame that, but I shouldn’t get greedy. Instead, I should focus on what I set out to do, namely make contact with a Serbian supporter who’s gonna hand me my package, a contact holed up in an outpost affectionately labeled, ‘Moose Knuckle, on the Protectorate’s map.
Which get’s Gunnar to chuckling as we make our stealthy approach under the cover of fog, pointing at a massive tree growing out of the centre of the fortified walls that’s got a big, rounded bulge growing out the trunk. “Moose Knuckle,” he whispers. “I get it now.” Seeing that I don’t, he shakes his head and asks, “It’s like camel toe, but for men.”
I still don’t get it, as I’ve only ever seen camels in pictures and illusions. “I thought camels had hooves,” I say, which gets a giggle out of Gunnar who’s more nervous than giddy, so I let him get it all out before saying, “All right. Get safe while I take a gander for a bit.”
I don’t head right on over to the front gate. Instead, I circle around and climb a tree the old-fashioned way to get a good look-see at whoever’s guarding it. Professionals from the looks of it, and I spot a flash of blue, white, and red as opposed to the red, white, and blue of the stars and stripes. Frenchies then, but not Chevaliers, as they’re missing out on the trademark tan mantles with rearing horse patches that they all wear. They’re also missing the lantern insignias of the religious and militant Chasser Lanternes, and with two out of three possibilities ruled out, it don’t take much to put the pieces together and identify these fellas as French Foreign Legion, a practice that done been carried over from the old world, allowing foreign nationals to serve in the French army regardless of their history.
Explains how the Serbians were able to get a man so deep into the Deadlands then, as the Legion will take anyone with a pulse so long as they speak French and follow orders. Also works in my favour, because even if my contact be a Serbian gangster, he’ll still be French military all the same, and thus beholden to laws and orders. Unless the whole squad of Legionnaires is on the take, but if that was the case, they wouldn’t need a third party to smuggle something out. Feeling much relieved, I return to Gunnar with the news, who frowns to hear it, as the French Foreign Legion do got themselves something of a reputation. A bad one as it were, as a lot of them are outlaws who got no other choice but to sign on for 20 years, else they risk getting shot by any stranger who recognizes them from a wanted poster somewhere. They’re the fellas who take the jobs no one else wants to do, the ones who get down and dirty while the French Government looks the other way. Friendly governments will do the same, because all too often, they need the Legion to do something, so they just put up with their less than pristine reputation and penchant for looting and plundering wherever they go.
Ain’t nothing for it though, as we head up to the gate together and wait to be let in. My French ain’t even close to intelligible, so I don’t even try, but at least I understand their questions well enough. With a bit of back and forth in French and English, I convey my intention to take shelter for the night and allow them to search me and Gunnar both. Don’t let the Legionnaire going through my component pouch to filch any of the expensive materials within, like the spool of gold wire I keep on hand for Levitation or the crushed diamond dust for Clairvoyance. Nor do I allow the other guy to walk away with Gunnar’s stuff either, as I still got my guns and am ready to use them. Maybe that’s why I don’t get along with folks, my readiness to kill them in the blink of an eye, but while the Legionnaires on guard duty don’t look none too pleased, they ain’t ready to kick up a fuss here and now.
Not because they’re afraid of me. They’re worried noise or Aetherarm fire will bring a horde of Abby down upon them. Me, I welcome it, because even if I can’t win the fight, I’m fairly confident I can get away. More to the point, one fella spots us getting patted down at the gate and makes his way over to mediate, before revealing himself to be my Serbian contact here in the Deadlands by casually dropping the verification pass phrase in his introduction once we’re away from the rest.
“You have milk?” The soldier asks, with a slight accent I can’t place, but ain’t exactly Serbian. “Can’t make proper café crème without milk.”
There it is, café crème. “Fraid not. Can’t milk a bull, and wouldn’t drink it if you could,” I reply with a smile before confirming my half of the pass phrase. “Me, I like my Americanos, but not that much.”
Really, all I had to say was Americano, but I couldn’t help myself, and my contact has himself a little laugh while escorting me to an empty cabin. Soon as we’re out of earshot, he drops the act and says, “You are too early. These attacks, they’ve caused a delay. Package is not here, but on the way. You must wait. We get tomorrow night.”
Sucking air through my teeth, I heave a sigh and resist the urge to wax poetic about working with amateurs and instead ask, “Got a radio I can use?” The Legionnaire don’t like that much, as he scowls and hits me with a suspicious stare, wondering if I’m trying to get him pinched or something. “I need to check in with my people, let them know I’ll be delayed.” Shrugging, I add, “Unless you want Edward Elton to come a lookin’ for me.”
“…Fine.” Don’t much like using Edward’s name like that, but it does the trick, and I bring Gunnar along to make the call. Using the codes I memorized before setting out, I get a message to the research outpost which should reach Astrid’s ears soon enough, one that says I might be out for a few days more than expected, as travel is slow going with so many Abby abound. The Legionnaire sticks close by, listening in on every word I say, then escorts me and Gunnar back to our cabin where I suspect he’ll be keeping watch the whole time we’re here.
Because he don’t trust us, but the feeling is mutual, so I say, “I’ll be heading out tomorrow morning. Keeping up appearances as it were, as I can’t be seen sitting around here. I’ll be back day after tomorrow, and if the package ain’t here, then I ain’t waiting around no more. Don’t got all month to spend waiting, and if you fail to deliver, that’s on you, not me.”
He scowls to hear it and shakes his head. “No,” he insists. “You must come with. We get package. You bring away. Me and my men, distraction.” Meaning they don’t trust whoever’s delivering package to cover his or her ass all that well. If they’re worried about a tail, then I need to be worried too. Even though I already told the Serbian that I’d hand the package over to the authorities if anyone comes a looking for it, they’ll probably be none too happy if it actually happens. To make matters worse, I can’t just take the package from the Serbians and rabbit back to the Protectorate outpost. I still gotta grab the Manfredi’s package from the borders of Fairhaven up north.
Ain’t nothing for it though, so I ask, “Who you distracting?” The Legionnaire gives me a look, but not a dirty one, just confused because he thought I should know this. “I was tasked with picking up a package, and getting it out. That’s all I know. That’s all I wanted to know, but now I’m thinking I need to know more, if only so I know who to avoid. So, who you expecting to come after this package?”
“…Order of the Cleansing Light,” the Legionnaire replies, and Gunnar sucks his teeth to hear it to hear it.
“Aultman and Sons,” he supplies, without me having to ask. “That’s the name of their ‘denomination’, a white Christian cult with ties to the Aryan Nation.”
Who work out of Fairhaven, making all this better and better. Ain’t nothing for it though, so I play it cool and just nod to hear it before making arrangements to meet the Legionnaire and his people tomorrow night. For the same reasons as before, as well as the fact that I don’t trust him one bit and don’t intend to sit around where he and his people can keep an eye on me. It’ll give me time to make some preparations in case things go sideways, and find somewhere for Gunnar to hole up while I make the pickup because if something goes disastrously wrong, at least one of us will walk away. After bidding the Legionnaire a good night, I allow my shoulders to slump down and heave a heavy sigh, because this is all looking more complicated than I’d hoped. Precious bird that he is, Frowny nestles in even closer to see what’s what, and I give him a little nuzzle while reaching for my Spellbook to set up for the night, because it’s looking more and more like I’m gonna need that new Spell to get my way out of this Charlie Foxtrot in one piece.
Go to a certain location, pick up a certain package, and bring it out without running afoul of the original owners or customs. A simple job I figured, but one I knew was too good to be true from the start. No matter though. Them racist neo-Nazis might know the lay of the land, but I been giving Abby and outlaws the run around for years now, so I ain’t worried about being tracked. Long as I get them packages in hand, I’m confident of outrunning any pursuit while hiding my tracks. Even if my confidence is misplace and if it comes down to fight, well…
Let’s just say that regardless of whatever may come, I’ve never lost when betting on myself, and I mean to keep that streak going.
