Bounder Ch. 07

I tucked the bit of cut rope into the back of my hose, freeing my hands now completely, and I gave my obedient thrall one last set of instructions.

"Now, place your knife into my hands, slowly and carefully and then step back towards the fireplace, where you had been standing. Count slowly to yourself, to at least ten, if you can, but wait for a long moment or two, then cry out as loud as you can 'Fire' and run for the door and keep crying out fire outside all the way down the road to the bridge, until help arrives."

I really wanted a delay of at least ten seconds, and twenty really would have been much better, but the lad couldn't count past 'one, two, three, potato!' and he cried out nearly at once as he stepped away from me. I'd hoped to have a moment or two to risk cutting away my leg restraints with little or no notice from the others, but this hope was instantly dashed. The lad did make haste for the front door, unlatched it and ran out hollering into the street crying 'fire' as I'd ordered, so hopefully that would bring at least Koch to my immediate rescue.

There was no fire yet, but I had my hopes. I figured that Koch or Maitlan would be nearby, close enough to come running. It was going to be a very short and one sided fight if someone didn't arrive to my assistance nearly at once, if not sooner.

Fortune favors the bold and those attacking first by surprise, and as my foes turned to face me and scamper over towards me in alarm, I still had the necessary time to undo the three top buttons of my padded jacket, enough to reach inside to my holsters where I could with some deliberate aim level each of my pistols one by one in turn and accurately discharge them. If Koch needed any other warning to come charging to my aid, I would be much astonished and disturbed... and likely also too deceased to protest much about it otherwise.

My pistol lead had fired true. The first bullet taking the older taller brother, who was standing the closest to me, dead in the center into his chest as he stepped forward. His brother delayed for a moment, stopping in sudden shock to examine Edwin's instantly fatal wound for several unwise moments, giving me ample time to withdraw my other pistol and fire it as well with precise deliberation. That pistol ball stuck the remaining brother just above his ear, penetrating his skull with enough force that it exited out the other side, showering his sister Edwina with a crimson spray of blood and brain matter across the entirety of her face. As she was preparing at that moment to light once more her matchlock musket for ready use, that momentary disruption was quite a lifesaver for me.

This gave me a few additional seconds that I otherwise wouldn't have had to violently throw myself over sideways to the stone floor, hoping to break the chair or its legs sufficiently that I might dislodge my rope bonds there, but they remained firm. But with the belt knife now back in hand, I had enough time to cut free one leg and gain enough leverage to roll myself violently over yet some more, complete with the chair still attached to my other leg, as her musket was at last was discharged in my direction.

Matchlock guns are inherently inaccurate and extremely slow to discharge and also not accurately sighted for use at extremely close range. Aiming with the sights, the bullet fired at pointblank range would strike much lower by at least a foot or more than the intended target. Even when the weapon is triggered for fire the lighted match often does not instantly burn the priming powder in the fire pan, to thusly discharge the weapon exactly where it had been originally aimed. Seeing the matchcord triggered, I instantly made as much of a violent evasion as was possible, and the nearly one full second delay in the gun's eventual discharge caused the lead bullet to ricochet off of the stone floor just in front of my foot and bounce to strike the back of the chair behind it, passing just over my leg by several comforting inches.

By now I bought enough precious time that help was indeed now finally arriving. Koch appeared surprisingly from the now open staircase door to the cellar below instead of the open front doorway of the inn where I had been expecting him, and he immediately engaged the patriarch of the family in a furious sword duel. The retired Blackguard had some skill with a blade, that great hand-and-half sword was too large to be wielded with either speed or deftness within the now crowded taproom. Outdoors, with room to maneuver the heavier weapon, Koch might have be at the disadvantage, but here with smaller and quicker weapons, he could parry that unwieldy blade with ease. He quickly struck two clean mortal strikes with his long stabbing dagger, felling the former black-cloak officer quickly to the floor almost in time to prevent his daughter from fully completing her reload of her cumbersome weapon.

Maitlan had now emerged from the downstairs cellar steps as well, along with Flerrie right behind him at the rear, and he had at once engaged the murderous young villainess just as she finished reloading. Flerrie had apparently loaned the lad her vigiles broadsword and with a wild sudden stroke I quite thought he had cut off the young witches head. Whether by accident or intent, his inexpertly executed sword blow had been struck with the flat of the blade, knocking the bitch down senseless, but alive.

Maitlan stooped over his unconscious victim to finish the job, pulling out a knife to cut the young woman's throat but Flerrie stopped his hand. I wasn't sure that we even wanted a prisoner taken alive, but the evil young woman had rather pissed me off! It was also good to know that Maitlan could cut a throat, when needed.

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Certain that now the danger had past, I took a long moment to cut away my final restraining leg bond from the chair leg and with some measure of slow deliberation and case I brought myself back up to my feet. Standing upright caused my head to hurt again, and with my eyes now full of stars and my knees now wobbly, I was not entirely at my most focused best when I found myself face to face with the tiny black beady evil eyes of the old witch, who had sudden emerged downstairs into the tap room from the stairs to the bedrooms above!

Her will was strong, the mightiest I had ever faced! At once her mind lashed out at me with tricks and subtle techniques I'd never even imagined using before, striving to overpower my will, to use me and my body as a shield against my partners, and for a few rather unpleasant moments she very nearly succeeded. Without my gift I would have been her thrall in but a moment.

I'd used up some of my will possessing her grandson, and the earlier rather powerful blow to my skull had significantly weakened my ability to focus my mind with deliberation and even once I'd recovered from the initial surprise of her sudden assault, I found my foe's strength of will to be at least a match to my own. Her mind was a cesspit of darkness and evils willingly and even loving embraced and she could penetrate deeper into my thoughts further than anyone had ever seen before, revealing my own wickedness for her amusement.

"We are as of a kind together." She whispered into my thoughts seductively. "Embrace me, and together we shall enjoy delights unknown!" Her visions of the evil that we could do, with me as a thrall to her will was terrifying. Her soul had no restraints of any sort upon at and there was no wickedness abhorrent enough to revile her. Her past deeds were beyond heinous, and despite my own innate dishonesty I found that they entirely repulsed me.

Part of myself, a deeper darker part wanted to embrace this unfathomable evil, to make it a part of myself... and a man divided is a man at war with his very soul! The explicit mental images of my mating with her young witch of a granddaughter, to breed our gifts together to spawn a generation of horrifically amoral evil (and very magical) monsters was admittedly intriguing, but utterly too terrifying for contemplation.

I'd optimistically prefer to diminish this very real threat and danger I was in by insisting cheerfully that with increased focused dedication and renewed force of will, I could have easily overcame this mortal peril and repulsed my foe. I'd have the situation quite entirely in-hand in another moment or two, but in truth... she was kicking my ass and was very nearly about to make me her bitch... or rather her granddaughter's new breeding stallion and plaything. Even gathering my thoughts into better organized fortress of resolve, her mind was in fact more powerful than mine and she'd sensed my internal weakness, and had begun to exploit it.

Losing the fight, my thoughts started now becoming ones of 'we', rather than 'I', until to my relief, I could sudden feel with a sharp violent cry her mind violently break apart from mine. Able now I bring my eyes back into focus, I saw her withered body fall to the stone floor with Flerrie standing behind her, and her dagger, the wicked looking blade she had taken from the assassin was buried into the center of the witch's back! The relief was nearly overwhelming.

If the young lass had any further computations about this brutal killing of an apparently unarmed old woman, she showed no signs of it. With seeming little overt emotional interest, she then bent over and with a swift and measured stroke, ensured her kill. I've heard that witches have the ability to curse their foes with their dying breath, but no words emerged from the dying wicked old crone as the lass quickly and smoothly cut her throat from ear to ear, finishing the job.

"That must have been the witch! Just a glance at her eyes made my knees to turn to water and I could tell that she was trying to put a spell upon you. Good riddance to her!"

I couldn't have agreed more. My head still hurt and I wasn't thinking too clearly, and I let the capable armswoman grab hold of my arm to steady me.

"Mumford is outside, out in back by the stable, with their wagon keeping an eye on things. We got trapped inside the city when the gates closed but he offered a wherry boat captain a full gold solida to bring us down river to the bridge, with the only small keg of oil that we could save." Flerrie informed me as she found some spare rope in a cupboard near the taps and Koch used it to tie up the unconscious young lady. She wouldn't wake up again for awhile, and she'd have a monstrous headache from her blow, but for extra safety we gagged her with a rag and then popped a small sack over the young witch's head, just to be safe.

Except for Edwina, everyone else was dead and the lad Maitlan was sent upstairs to quickly make sure that there were no guests present this night and that we were now alone in the inn. The simple lad Edgar could still be heard outside in the streets of the town crying fire, and we were already behind our time... and needed to start providing one! I shut and barred the front door once more to keep out the townsfolk until our bonfire was ready.

Maitlan had seen the Weir's wagon being harnessed and driven out from the other barn where he had been heading towards and he followed it back to the stables, in time to watch my capture and being taken into the inn. He'd then swiftly slunk off to find Koch, and together the two of them had decided that the easiest way into the inn was via the barrel delivery chutes leading into the cellar. While forcing an entry there, Mumford had now arrived with Flerrie and all together they made a hasty plan for my rescue. Once downstairs where the barrels of spirits were stored, they assembled on the steps by the wooden door leading up to the tap room, where they could hear everything and they were ready to charge in and fight when they heard my diversion and gun shots. The small five gallon keg of fuel oil had been brought into the cellar and left next to the larger barrels of spirits, and should prove to be an entirely suitable ignition source for burning the much larger liquor barrels.

"Good enough." I approved. "Koch, grab the bitch and take her out to the wagon and cover her up. I'd rather not have anybody see her. No witnesses that we were here! The cellar is full of hard spirits right? Those should burn nicely and probably take entire inn with it. I'll start that fire as soon as Maitlan comes back downstairs and I'll meet you three out the back door. Have Mumford ready to take us out around the inn towards the north, away from the town and anyone outside on the street checking on the fire. We'll find a spot close by to watch the bonfire and clean up any loose ends in the morning."

Maitlan quickly confirmed that no guests were upstairs while Koch barred up the front door to prevent the first arriving townsfolk from interfering with my belated attempts at arson. Koch then tossed our murderous feminine prisoner over his shoulder while Maitlan grabbed the cash box. There was probably a secreted stash of coins somewhere else in the house but we weren't here for that and we didn't have time to waste looking for it anyway.

Flerrie helped me down the stairs into the basement and she poured out the keg of fuel oil over the score or so full barrels of spirits. Using the still slowly burning fuse cord from Edwina's matchlit musket we set the oil alight and in moments the entire cellar was burning nicely while we made our own hasty escape. The spirits ignited quickly and flames quickly roared out of the cellar into the taproom, where the dead bodies of the Weir family quickly began to smolder and burn.

Still dizzy from my ordeal, I quite needed Flerrie's assistance to make it to the backdoor and it took Koch's additional help to get me up into the back of the wagon where I could at last collapse and rest my weary head.

By the time we had driven the wagon to up a northeastern trail to a remote hill overlooking the town, the inn was blazing like a torch, and it remained ablaze until the early hours of the morning until everything within it had been consumed to nothing but bits of stone and ash.

Our prisoner was awake by then but we kept her blind and gagged securely and double-checked her bonds regularly. I had plans for her, but not immediate ones. Work before pleasure. Flerrie knew that Sir Adrian didn't want or need any prisoners, nor could our captive ever go on trial, and her decision to stay Maitlan from dispatching her had been impulsive, based upon her usual vigiles instincts, but I assured her that I'd find a use for her! I did have a few last questions that I wanted answered.

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In the early hours of the morning, Koch escorted me on foot back to the town and we quickly located the local watch station commander of the vigiles and I took him aside for a private conversation that required extremely little coercion or persuasion on my part. I explained rather truthfully that I was there following up on some interests of Sir Adrian, and his name (and Flerrie's presence) was magic for exacting his complete and utter cooperation.

I admit that I quietly exerted a very minimal charm over the Watch-Lieutenant, really doing very little more than making a few 'suggestions' for assisting his later investigation of the fire. First and foremost, that some shadowy townsmen had been seen perhaps starting the fire in revenge for various well-known injustices and abuses, and that otherwise the unfortunate death of the members of the Weir family had been accidental... probably due to smoke inhalation. If any bones were recovered (not likely with the ferocity and length of the blaze), any lead bullets that might be found melted in or nearby any of the charred bones, were clearly of no significance and were to be disregarded.

Overtly, I made it exceedingly clear to him that Sir Adrian's wishes would be for the official report was to read accidental death. Privately, the vigiles could consider the matter arson... but the motive strictly a local affair, involving revenge from their unified outraged neighbors, of which nothing could be proven... nor should be!

I observed the vigiles investigation for a few hours but began to lose interest in the proceedings well before noon, when it became clear that even the townsfolk all privately suspected each other of committing the deed, and with approval. Little if any remorse appeared to be noted about the deaths of the Weir family either. 'Good riddance' was the prevailing attitude as well. I assisted this general mutual suspicion the best I could with a helpful 'suggestion' here and there, until the resultant headache from the overuse of my gift was nearly too overpowering to even stand, let alone walk. I'd had a rough night and the lack of sleep hadn't helped either!

When I was certain that the 'accidental fire' verdict had been universally accepted, Flerrie and I had just started to sidle away back north out of town, content that our job appeared to be complete, when we caught glimpse of a bevy of black-cloak riders galloping over the Ormsbridge towards the inn. We ducked behind a tree to wait and watch for awhile. I was pessimistically expecting trouble that the Blackguards wouldn't accept the official vigiles explanation of the facts and would instead conduct their own inquiry, but I was pleasantly delighted to be proven wrong. Their patrol leader did question the Watch-Lieutenant to some lengthy degree, but the tone of the interrogation appeared to be measured and even restrained. It also wasn't at all hard for the Blackguards to read the mood of the assembled townsfolk and accept the official verdict at pretty much its face value. They weren't stupid and knew that the Weirs were unpopular with their neighbors... and they undoubtedly were also aware of the highly volatile liquids that were stored in their cellar below!

In any case, a cursory but adequate evaluation of the 'accident' certainly appeared to have no bearing whatsoever with me! As far as the Blackguards were concerned, even if the fire was indeed an arson, it was of domestic origins, and couldn't have involved any external third parties. Now that the black-cloak code of loyalty had been severed by the death of their former officer and business partner in smuggling, they should have no further reason or cause to have any interest in me. Unless they blamed me personally for their ill-fated assault upon a known vigiles drinking establishment! I doubted it.

When the black-cloaks rode off, back across the bridge to Ormsford to report back to their superiors, the whole entire business appeared to be over and done with, at least as far as I was concerned. With my head still bounding too sharply for my eyes to focus, I allowed Flerrie to help me back to the waiting wagon and we made camp as best we could for several hours until nightfall. I feel into an exhausted slumber that was almost restful, but didn't clear up my head nearly as much I had could have hoped.

Taking a tied up prisoner into the city was ill-advised at best, and we didn't even try it. Sure gate guards can be bought off, but I didn't want any kind of attention paid to us, at least until I was sure how the Blackguards would react, and if formal hostilities would be declared over. Instead we took the north river road west and under cover of darkness hired a skiff pilot with a noted complete lack of curiosity about our captive, and he brought us across the western side of the city docks late that evening under a heavy gloom of fog, attracting no one's attention.

My gift had been rather over-used last night and again today, and I was relieved that our pilot (with his palms quite full of silver) had already quite forgotten us and our transit. I was still woozy enough that I could only just barely concentrate upon normal thoughts and my gift was unusable still! But at least now we were safely back home!