Chapter 19

“What?!?”

“Do you want me or Timm as executioner?”

Timm grinned ... it was sorta like watching a wolf lick it’s chops knowing that it was your flesh that sparked its interest. She’d been on Chaos for seven long years. She might still be intact ... but the indignities she’d put up with? Holding horses for outlaws was the LAST thing she’d done ... and it was a step up.

Still, Timm was small ... and that gave our prisoner hope.

“What?”

“What are the rules?” I asked.

“Never give a sucker a break.”

“That’s one ... what’s another?”

This went on as we, Timm and I, learned the rules of banditry from the source. It got to be a game with him ... answer the questions and live ... keep quiet and die. He got all buddy buddy ... relaxing... I could get out of this. We could read it as plain as day ... he’d never make a poker player.

Finally, his buddy buddy attitude got him.

“Never leave a live enemy or victim behind. They have a surprising habit of recovering.”

“That’s the one,” Timm said.

“Choose,” I said.

“Timm,” he said. I mean ... how bad could it be?

I looked like I was pondering ... then I said, “Great! I’m bound by honor and I’d probably let you go ... but Timm isn’t.”

Timm said, “Let him go?”

“Well, I’d cut off his hands and feet first ... let him bleed a bit and slap a red hot sword to the stumps ... so he couldn’t follow us,” I said. Understand, I wasn’t suggesting, but Timm ran with it.

“Tongue too?” she asked.

“Hey, this is your party. I won’t help ... but I would gather firewood.”

“Too much trouble,” she said. With one two handed stroke his head splashed in a cowpie.

“Good shot, Timm.”

“Thank you,” she said. “We should be going. Bridgetown is just 20 miles south ... three days walking ... two by horseback. We have four good horses and whatever we find at the stables.”

“To the victor go the spoils?” I asked.

“Yup,” Timm said.

The stables were a treasure-trove. Mr. Hostler was in cahoots with the banditry ... and not just the not so dearly departed. No ... the things we found settled the disappearance of three quarters of the missing persons for twenty miles around.

Twenty miles is a great distance when most folks walked. Horses were for plowing.

Then you have to take into consideration who lived in the hinterlands. Most folks stayed home ... the roads weren’t safe ... even on a good day. By the time the locals realized that we had hastened the demise of the neighborhood scourge, someone just as bad ... or worse ... will have moved in.

When only the baddies have swords ... the unarmed are victims ... and they know nothing else. At the very best there are no Lords ... no church ... no one to take control of their lives.

No ... stay home ... don’t make a dust ... live.

Timm and I had already made a dust. We looted the stables, sold the excess to the blacksmith or the weapon maker and left the rest. If we didn’t put someone in charge, someone else would find the stables vacant and move in. We had no idea who would be trustworthy.

We scoured the place ... took what we needed or wanted and headed to Bridgetown.