Chapter 7

HIKING UP A mountain was slow, tiring business, made worse by an unwilling pack mule and a teenage boy unaccustomed to life in the great outdoors. At best their progress was cut in half, but most likely it was taking them three times as long as it should to ascend the mountain trail, and this first leg was the easy part! Rory was not a big fan of hunting, but realized it would soon be a necessity at this pace. Fortunately, Bozius’ second favorite activity was killing, and the man would welcome any escape from Rafule’s company. It was still too early to consider hunting, but the time would surely come.

The party broke for lunch sometime after noon. Octaria was a good distance away in the valley, but from the slight elevation the party had thus far reached, the little village could be seen. Rory always found himself missing Tabitha terribly whenever he left her. She really was his greatest source of joy in this world. Still, he was not about to delude himself into thinking she wanted more than what they had, and he was damned sure he was above begging.

Unless it was involved in foreplay, in which case he would beg as much as was needed…

“What, if it’s not flowing from your fingertips you just can’t do it? Let me guess, you don’t know how?” Bozius was busy scolding Rafule for his inability to start a campfire. “Give it here, sally!”

Bozius took over fire-starting duties, probably hungry from being angry, and angry because he was hungry. Bozius Bozinius was a man of simple means, but he got downright ornery when his needs were not met. Rory would not put it past his friend to start rubbing up on the mule if he did not soon find some release. Maybe hunting would be a good idea, Rory considered. It’s either Rafule or some innocent deer at this point…

“Let’s save the salt pork and jerky for now, Bozy,” Rory suggested, grabbing a bow and quiver of arrows from the pack mule—as well as inspecting the security of the Golden Baby’s chest. “How about fetching us a fresh lunch? We can teach young Rafule here how to skin a rabbit or something.”

“But I don’t—” Rafule began, but was hushed by a wave of Rory’s hand.

Bozius was still aggravated, but appeared to take the hint. “Yeah, some rabbit would be real good right now. Maybe the kid’s hand will slip on the knife and make everything go away…” Bozius continued grumbling as he took the weapon and marched off into the trees.

“You really must learn to choose your words carefully around him, Raffy,” Rory insisted, waving the boy over to help him take the chest off the mule and give the animal some rest.

“He hates me,” Rafule lamented.

“What?” Rory replied. “What would ever make you think that?”

“He’s always telling me how much he hates me.”

Rory was quiet for a moment, but quickly picked up the conversation. “Nonsense, he likes you fine. But sometimes you just get under his skin. I know, you don’t mean to, but it’s quite easy to do. Just try to be more… accommodating.”

“What should I do? Buy him some whores and keep fetching him cold beer?”

Rory smiled at the notion. “That would be a great start, but I was thinking something a bit more subtle. Such as stay out of his way, don’t second guess his decisions, and yes, fetch him a drink whenever you can. Actually, in your case, that prostitute idea might not be such a bad road to take…”

“Great,” Rafule threw his hands up in submission. “So, bribe him into liking me? All so he won’t kill me in my sleep.”

“Oh, he would never do that,” Rory assured him. “Bozy considers that a coward’s homicide. He would much rather kill you to your face.”

“What a relief!” Rafule mocked.

Rory finished building the fire in silence, and set some water to boil for tea. Rafule would learn, though his education would likely be more a trial by fire. Still, it was nice having the kid around. Not just for his magical talent, but Rory enjoyed seeing Bozy get upset by the little things. Small pleasures in life, Rory considered. So sweet!

Bozius eventually returned with some rabbits, and the three adventurers ate quickly, repacked the mule, and continued up the mountain trail. Rande Bahn was a significant distance up into the Crescent Mountains, which made it safer and more dangerous all at once. The safety was not so much for the visitors but for the criminals that took shelter from the law in the town’s remote location. Authorities had to really want to go to Rande Bahn to even consider the trip, and even then no sane person would go without a heavily armed team. It’s remoteness from anything and everything else is what increased the town’s danger: in the Pit, no one could hear you scream—no one that would care, at least. Rory was counting on a two-day journey at minimum, and at that point his party would be completely on its own.

It was the only viable option, unfortunately. He had to beat the news from Castletop, and the only news reaching Rande Bahn was carried by villainous scum, and they tended to take slower, more indirect routes through the country. If all went well, he would be in and out of Rande Bahn with heavier pockets before anyone was the wiser.

Too bad nothing ever went well in Rande Bahn.

* * *

IT INDEED DID take the party two days to reach the Pit, but not just the wake-up-for-breakfast-be-there-by-lunch variety of two-day journey that Rory had hoped for, but instead the Bozy-might-throw-Rafule-off-the-mountain-if-the-kid-complains-one-more-time brand of traveling that he feared the most. There was nothing quite like arriving in the sickest, cruelest, immoral, most vile den of evil in all of Vimiland in the middle of the night to really test a man’s courage. Rory half-considered making camp sometime after sunset, but time was of the essence… and what was to stop murderous brigands from robbing them in the night this close to Rande Bahn? Pressing on was the only feasible choice.

Either way, they were walking into the dragon’s mouth.

“This place gives me the willies,” Bozius admitted, hand firmly gripping the sword at his hip.

“You’re scared of something?” Rafule urged him.

“Hell yes I’m scared!” Bozius said with pride. “And if I were you, I’d be, too! Hell, if I were you I’d kill myself…”

“Boys, boys,” Rory interjected. “You two fighting isn’t going to help. I’m not going in there with a fried bodyguard and dead wizard.”

“I’m just sayin’, this place is all kinds of wrong, is all,” Bozius continued. “Thieves, gangs, mobs, murderers…”

“Murder-burglers!” Rory smiled, looking at Rafule’s face contort in discomfort at the sound of the term.

“Worst of all is the Circle,” Bozius stated.

“The Circle?” Rafule asked.

“A thieves’ guild, and they’re harmless,” Rory explained. “Probably the safest people to be around in the Pit. What’s their name short for, Bozy?”

“The Unforgiving International Circle of Death and Robbery,” Bozius answered, emphasizing his point by spitting.

“See?” Rory gulped. “Perfectly safe.”

“International?” Rafule suddenly sped up his pace, closing the gap between himself and Bozius. “How are they safe?”

“Rory thinks cuz of their rules they can be trusted,” Bozius replied, staring Rafule down until he backed off a step.

“The Circle has a code, and all members must follow it or be killed,” Rory stated. “One of the big rules is that members of the Circle can’t kill without permission.”

“But I thought you called them the Circle of Death?” Rafule wondered.

“Permission ain’t very hard to get,” Bozius cleared that bit up. “Even after the killin’s been done. They ain’t no safer than jumping off the mountain.”

“Just keep your eyes open, Raffy, you’ll be okay,” Rory assured the boy, patting him on the shoulder. “They all mark themselves with a barbed circle, part of their initiation.”

Torches were alight at the gate to Rande Bahn. The town was defended by an under-kept stone wall and a cracked wooden gate of about ten feet in height. Some could argue that the scum within the walls did not care enough to maintain the wall, but most would say that the appearance of the outer defenses was the best defense the Pit could ask for; it practically taunted all comers to even attempt to lay siege to the town. All who knew anything definitely knew better. The self-proclaimed mayor of the town—better known as the Pit Boss—was Franklin Beucomp, a defected general from some foreign army, rumored to have killed a whole battalion of his own men for no other reason but that he didn’t like the rhythm they marched to. His reputation kept any and all authorities at a great distance from Rande Bahn, allowing for the scum to float to the top, figuratively.

There were men at the gate, though whether they were official guards or just outright bullies was negligible. Most people passed in and out without so much as a look from the men, but most people weren’t wearing bright red silk with a paisley pattern.

Most people weren’t Rory.

“What is this, a family vacation?” one of the men barked. “Get lost, sissies.”

“Can you do a little magic and still have some left over for later?” Rory whispered to Rafule.

“Sure,” the boy responded, “I suppose. Like what?”

“Just a hint,” Rory suggested. “All we need is a hint.” Then he turned to the guards and replied, “Gentleman, please, we are merely tired and hungry travelers in search of food and shelter for the night.”

“Keep walking, Sally,” the same man argued, flexing the muscles of his barrel chest for emphasis.

“Wait, Edgar, wait,” cut in another man, sitting on a stool against the open gate. “Maybe these ladies have the toll?”

“Oh yeah, right,” Edgar agreed, looking back at Rory. “The toll.”

“I’m sorry,” Rory smiled. “Edgar, was it? But we haven’t a single bobby amongst us.”

“Too bad,” Edgar agreed. “How was you expecting to pay for your room and board?”

“Oh, we have payment,” Rory offered. “My dear boy, would you be so kind as to show our new friend Edgar our payment?”

Rafule presented his hand, palm up, and as Edgar leaned forward to look, a spark of flame shot up from Rafule’s palm. Edgar jumped back, practically falling into the arms of his fellows—some of whom laughed, though all were keeping their distance, if not so much their composure. Rafule closed his hand and waved it back, probably for emphasis. Good lad, Rory thought.

“May we pass, Edgar?” Rory asked, innocently. Edgar nervously nodded and waved them ahead. “Splendid! Good night, gentlemen. See, Rafule,” Rory whispered to the boy as the trio led their mule past the front gate. “Nothing to fear here; nothing at all.”

One would think that the best time to find the right person to pawn the Golden Baby off to would be after midnight, but it a town without law, most of the villains kept regular daytime hours. Rory would be conducting no business tonight, which meant that his group would actually have to seek a room until morning. Fortunately he spent some time in Rande Bahn before, and knew a few places where he could find descent enough lodging, though he and Bozius would still have to coordinate watches through the night.

After a casual stroll through town—a direct, purposeful trot was a sure way to stand out, which the party definitely did not want—Rory and Company found themselves at a quaint little tavern called the Bull & Gremlin. From the window, Rory could see what could only be described as a bourbon-fueled display of gambling, sex, and violence.

“An orgy!” Bozius’s eyes lit up. “Whatta ya know, this town ain’t half bad after all!” Waiting for no one, the brute simply walked right on in, just as two men mid-brawl rolled right out, followed by a man in a dirty white apron shaking his fist at them.

“Don’t think about leavin’ without payin’ your tab!” the man shouted. “Oh, hey, Rory! Long time no see!”

“Hey there, Chuck,” Rory greeted. “Got any rooms?”

Chuck started smashing a broom atop the two fighters. “Oh sure, no pets though,” Chuck eyed Rafule. “The donkey can stay, but this one’s gotta be roped outside.”

“Of course,” Rory smiled. “Always a pleasure, Chuck.”

The innkeeper seemed busy putting a chokehold on one of the brawlers. “Go ask Vivian for a key. We got stew tonight.”

“You have stew every night!” one of the street fighters complained.

“Cuz we knew you were comin’!” Chuck snarled.

Rory smiled and nodded. “Go in and get Bozy before he gets his member caught in something he can’t get out of. We have to get our stuff inside before anything happens to it.” Rafule looked positively terrified. “Alright, I’ll get him. But if anyone tries to take our things… well, kept your hands warm.”

Rory winked and walked away. The street was dark save the moonlight and torches lit at most corners, a stark contrast to the dusty red interior and tallow candle stench within the Bull & Gremlin. First class by comparison to the Broken Spoke in Appleton, this tavern’s food smelled halfway decent and the piano player—when he wasn’t busy drinking or pressing himself against one of the ladies of the house—was actually playing enjoyable tunes. Many of the visitors were topless, bottomless, or halfway between both, but the atmosphere was fairly peaceful, save for the fight that found itself moving outside.

Rory bumped into Bozius by accident, who was talking to some random harlot while attempting to drink from two handfuls of shot glasses.

“He there, Rory, this place is great,” Bozius smiled. “Let’s go unpack quick so I can get back to business. Did you get a room?”

“Sure did, Bozy,” Rory answered. “All is taken care of.”

“Good! Because me and Kim here—”

“Lisa!” the girl at his side corrected.

“Sure,” Bozius smiled. “We’ve got plans!”

“Another International Standoff?” Rory tried to recall the name of Bozius’s complicated sex act.

“Hell no, been there already!” Bozius rejected the idea. “I’m thinking a Reverse Griffin Wing! Maybe throw in some Wilting Tiger…”

“None of that sounds remotely appealing,” Rory smiled and nodded, when Chuck bumped into him, knuckles bleeding with at least a dozen bobbies in his hand.

“Your skinny friend seems to be having some trouble out there,” he said to Rory in passing.

“I’m gonna kill this kid myself!” Bozius exclaimed. “Betty, I’ll be right back!”

“It’s Lisa!” the girl repeated. “I think…”

Rory and Bozius stepped outside to find Rafule backed up against the mule, with three men squaring off against him. Two had barbed circles branded into their forearms, and another had the same branding on his shoulder.

“What’s going on here?” Rory asked.

“The kid was eye-balling me!” Shoulder-circle challenged.

“I doubt that, friend,” Rory offered, stepping closer to Rafule, though not close enough to get in the middle of the altercation. “He’s harmless.”

“I’m not your friend,” Shoulder-circle insisted. “And I’m not leaving here until I’m satisfied!”

“Let’s not get hasty here, fr—er, uh… guy,” Rory stumbled. If this guy fights Rafule the kid will die… or the guy will get burned to death but I would much rather sell the Golden Baby first… “I can totally understand, but how about—”

“I want an apology!” Shoulder-circle demanded. “And he better mean it!”

“Yes, well…” Rory suddenly considered what the brute actually said. “What?”

“I want him to say he’s sorry!” The branded thief repeated.

“Well, yes, of course you do…” Rory agreed. “Why wouldn’t you? Rafule, how about apologizing to this man?”

Rafule looked confused, but stumbled out an apology. “I’m… I’m very sorry? I hope I didn’t offend you, sir…”

The man’s face was a grimace, and a long moment of silence followed before he spoke again. “There, was that so hard?” He asked, and led his cohorts away down the street. “Why can’t people just be friendlier around here?”

His friends seemed to console him as they walked away.

“What in the wild blue hell was that?” Bozius asked, completely dumfounded.

“See, Raffy,” Rory mumbled, watching in baffled curiosity as the three members of the Circle walked away down the street. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

With that, the trio unpacked their mule and headed inside, where—somehow—the world seemed a bit more sane; debaucherous, but understandable.