Chapter 6

Thank whatever gods there be that the livery stable was just a two block trot.

The hostler was all grins and giggles.

“I see you deceased the local bad guys,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Wanna buy these horses?” I said. “I wanna sell.”

“Got plenty,” he said.

I looked at the dozen or so empty stalls. The floors were swept but the place smelled of old occupants, stale piss and dusty straw.

“They’re out,” he lied. Straight faced, too.

“Well ... I’ll be moving along, then.” I said. “The next town might be more hospitable ... and need horses such as these ... with tack.”

“Hold on there, youngster,” the liveryman said. “I might maybe could.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” I said, straight faced as I lied right back at him.

Of course I wanted to put him out ... Chaos is like that ... yes it is. Every businessman is in the business of business ... buy low, sell high. Or ... sell to me, it’s junk ... sell to you, it’s priceless.

When trading you both need to feel you got the better deal.

“Tell you what ... I’ll keep these two,” I nodded at the the linebacked dun and the buckskin ... I’ll take a shell for the other two and two pinches for the tack ... each.” I paused, he might have had other ideas but I moved downwind. It takes a lot to gag a Chaosian ... but the leathers proved equal to the task... “And the haymow for the night,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a wench about. It’s been a powerful long time and I have a full load.”

“Happen I do ... she’s yours for the night ... four pinches,” rather pleased with himself, he grinned at me.

I was reluctant ... but ashes hauling is ashes hauling and I professed a powerful need.

You see ... the wench was Holly Homemaker and the hostler was her captor. When Val said this one was easy ... she wasn’t kidding.

I already knew the stable owner was the most dangerous man in town. I was waiting for him when he stepped off the ladder, dagger in hand.

That settled, I said, “Holly Homemaker, I’m Hero David and I’m here to take you back to Crossroads.”

“I hope to the gods that you clean up better than you are ... otherwise ... you can just leave me here. Aren’t you a little young for this?”

The ride to the bank ... What? You want me to walk in that shit? Ain’t happening. The ride to the bank was reasonably bothersome ... seems the Innkeeper wanted Holly ... and so did the Tanner ... and the Smith ... and the Banker, the farmer just in town for a few supplies ... the ... well ... you get the idea. Holly was a peach.

Holly Homemaker was a whole hell of a lot more distressful to me than she was to herself.

We were wallowing in bodies half way to the bank. The horse was barely able to walk ... I had to get down so the horse could carry the loot.

The teller was in.

“I need a box a woman long and half a woman deep and waist wide,” I said.

“Three pinches a year,” said the teller.

I said, “See here young man, that size is a pinch a year ... I should report you to your superiors.”

“You want a box or not?”

Damn ... I needed the storage ... as it was I was leaving the horses.

“Done,” I said. The protocol required me to place my finger in a hole on the counter. Damn if it didn’t feel like someone had my finger in a vise and was sawing at it with a dull knife.

I tried to pull out but the hole had other ideas.

In the vault, there was another hole. A finger in ... a displaced air pop ... I stored my shit and shoved the box in the hole.

“Honey! I’m home.”