The Butcher and the Butterfly Read online

  When Tommy had finished his rotten duty he got dressed, walked out of the hut and down a rough trail. He walked back into town not knowing what he had done, what was done to him but Tommy did know that he would get to see his only friend and that would make for a happy Tommy. Yes, a happy Tommy indeed.

  3

  Susie, now dressed, her hair pulled back into a ponytail and a glow about her person opened the door to Stephens room and turned to face what she hoped would be the man that would get her away Rockfall.

  ‘Anything else before I go?’ She bit her lip slightly and cocked her hip to one side. It was a tragic look.

  ‘I can think of a few things, Susie, but you have work to do.’ Stephen replied, winking and playing the game. The young woman laughed and went to leave.

  ‘Actually,’ Stephen continued making Susie turn quickly, ‘I am looking for someone. Tommy? Have you heard of him?’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah. I know him. Simple lad, harmless really. Why?’

  ‘Nothing bad. I have some things that I need doing around town and I heard last night that he can be trusted. Is that true?’

  Susie nodded. ‘I suppose. Tommy isn’t the brightest lad but he means well. You can find him walking the main street during the day running errands for the Sheriff or whoever needs him for the day. I’m sure he will do whatever you want him to do especially if he tell him what you are.’ Susie pointed to the holster placed neatly on the bedside table. ‘Show him that and I guarantee he will run your errands for less than a copper coin.’

  The Watchman grinned and standing; stretched out his still travel weary body. By the time he was ready to move on his body would have recovered but not enough to make the journey an easy one. He walked over to Susie and kissed her deeply. She released her grip on the door and used his body to prop herself up. When the kiss was she silently walked away and he closed the door behind wiping his mouth dry from her spit.

  He dressed quietly and efficiently; wearing the clothes he had worn the night before and he packed his dirty ones into his frayed backpack making sure to take out the rest of his belongings. His life was laid out on the bed and it was a depressing sight; shaving stuffs as well as a blackened bar of soap, six boxes of bullets for his weapon as well as the cleaning tools and oil required for its workings, there were a few packets of jerky, a tin mug blackened by the fires it had rested upon, an old map that was no longer of any use, spare laces for his boots, two shirts, two pairs of trousers and his badge of office which was dulled and no longer shiny. Though what he travelled with was worth a small fortune, especially the bullets, it seemed so little for a great Watchman such as him. Though he wasn’t a Watchman now, was he? His life had derailed somewhat since he set out after the Marksman, Martin Doyle. He travelled upon a different path now and though the title could still be carried with him until the great border came and his world faded into nothing he knew that soon the fear that his title brought him would be lost.

  But he wouldn’t be lost. What he was wouldn’t be lost and should the Sorcerers promises come to pass then what he would become would be feared more than he had ever been in the past. He wondered for a moment as he left the room what his new King had planned for him, what he had planned for the world and what his future would hold. But it was fruitless to think of such things for he still was unsure of what he was to do in the here and now. It wasn’t like it had been back home, his adult life was set in stone the moment he decided that he would follow in his father’s footsteps and take the oath of a Watchman. From that moment he had been trained, then tested and finally given the Badge of Office by the King and set about his tasks to defend the realm of his once great King. But those duties were petty, often meaningless. What Stephen head yearned for were the great battles that his father and his father before him had fought in. Stephen had dreamt of being in tales of wars and that would be told for generations to come but tales were told about Watchmen that set their guns against drunks, rapists and looters. No, Watchmen were meant for greater deeds than this and this is why he had followed the Marksman into the desert and then later followed the promises of the Sorcerer. His new King would set the world ablaze if he needed to and Stephen would be at the heart of it.

  Or so he hoped.

  4

  Stephen walked out of the Travellers Last giving a customary nod to Cathy as he left. The heat was building and with no wind; the main street of Rockfall was becoming a sweatbox. Standing outside the empty bar he scanned both left and right holding his right hand above his eyes to shield them from the glaring sun. The main street was quiet with only a few of the locals wandering from place to place stopping here and there to talk or to adjust their protective clothing. Knowing what was too his left, Stephen headed off toward the centre of town using the shadows of the overhanging shop fronts as a poor protection. The old boardwalk creaked and groaned with every footfall.

  He wandered past a few long since closed stores – Keefs Meat Emporium, Langs Hunter Wares, Rag and Bone Man (the O of the Bone a skull and crossbones) and an odd looking cattle market with nothing in the rusty stalls but a mutant goat and a half dead mule. The stench coming from it was horrific. Up ahead, surrounded by a rail to tie a horse or two at was a small water well much like the ones you would see in a fairy tale. He guessed that most days, cooler days, that this would be a meeting place for the locals to come to and was once a place of importance; especially when the black gold had flowed. But now with the numbers dwindling and the desert taking over the well was no doubt starting to dry up and the locals only came here when they had too.

  Stephen left the shaded boardwalk, the heat hitting him like a hammer to the face and headed over to the well. Rockfalls Main Street cut through the centre of town, with the well positioned at its end and the road encircling it turning back on itself. The Great Road, which once linked a majority of the towns and cities was somewhere off the east. It was odd that the main road through a town wasn’t the Great Road, but Stephen didn’t dwell on this. At the head of the Main Street and set back a little further than the houses was the Court House. The old symbol for law was bolted to its front, its once golden sheen sand blasted to a poor imitation. The court house was small, built of wood and was once a glossy white. But it hadn’t seen a lick of paint in what looked like decades. But such things as a fresh lick of paint were a luxury out here. It had though, unlike any other building that Stephen could see in Rockfall or had seen for quite some time; a copper roof. Only in Ritash had he seen such things and then only in the rich quarter. He admired it as his boots scuffed up the dirt of Main Street and the crickets played their instruments in the bleached long grass.

  There was no shade at the water well but the heat wasn’t too bad now that he had been in it for a few moments. He had, very recently, been through much worse. Just to be sure, Stephen lent over to check the water level.

  ‘Do ya need some help there, mister?’ It was an odd voice; childish but throaty and it came from a shaded area to the right of the court house.

  The Watchman looked over, again, shielding his eyes. He could make out the silhouette of a man hunkered between the court house and a rundown wagon stop.

  ‘Is there any water in this old hole?’

  ‘Aye. Bit milky, but-sokay.’ The silhouette stood up and kicked a stone against the wall of the court house. ‘It’s a long way down. For some coin I can save yer arm, mister?’

  Stephen wiped some sweat from his brow and looked about him; there was no one save the silhouette. A Watchman did the work himself for fear of losing face, but out here such things were trivial.

  ‘Be my guest, Mr…?’ Stephen knew, but best to be sure.

  ‘Tommy. You can call me Tommy. And yous?’ The silhouette walked forward, the darkness fading to reveal a tall man, thin and pale with large eyes and a long face. He scuffed as he walked, the boots he wore no doubt too big for him. Upon his head was a ragged bush of ginger hair which seemed to contain more dust than the Wastelands. He had long gangly arms
and on his back he carried a raggedy back pack with a small shovel looking implement attached.

  Stephen raised his right hand touching the first finger to his forehead; a simple salute from simpler times and one that dated back to the ancients who had once carried his gun.

  ‘My name is Stephen.’

  Tommy mirrored the salute and laughed as he did.

  ‘Cowboys do that. You a cowboy mister?’ He reached the water well and began to lower the bucket into the blackness. The rope looked almost threadbare and Stephen thought that if it were to break so too would the people of Rockfall. The iron workings squealed in pain as Tommy turned the wheel.

  ‘Not a cowboy, not as such anyway.’ Stephen grabbed the long shirt he was wearing, slightly unbuttoned at the bottom as to reveal the gun at his side. ‘I’m a Watchman.’

  Tommy’s eyes grew wider, swallowing up the world and he almost lost the bucket to the depths. ‘Well fuck a doodle dumb!’ He exclaimed and clapped his other hand against his thigh.

  The young man then began to sing a simple rhyme and it was one that Stephen had heard many times;

  ‘Riding on horses, guns at their hip, Rode the hard cowboys releasing the whip. They are men, not boys; they are strong and untamed. With hearts of Kings and talents famed. Be warned ye thieves ye rapists and curs, for a cowboy comes just listen for their spurs. Riding on horses, guns at their hip. The cowboys will kill ya and death be a trip!’

  Stephen and Tommy laughed together until from the water well there came the sound of the bucket splashing into the water.

  ‘Up she comes!’ Tommy yelled and began to turn the old wheel in the opposite direction.

  Stephen leant against the cool rocks of the well. Strange to hear such an old rhyme out here, especially from a simpleton such as Tommy. He was intrigued. ‘Where did you hear that, Tommy?’

  ‘Me ma, before she went up to see pops and sleep the long sleep.’

  Stephen nodded; it had been his mother that had sung that old song to get him to sleep and then had sung it to him when he was a bit older so that he began to understand what his father, what his grandfather did for a living.

  ‘My mother sang it to me too. Guess we all had the same dreams at some point.’ Stephen could tell that Tommy didn’t have a clue what he was talking about; he had turned his attention back to the task of lifting the bucket back up from its watery grave. But it was true; as boys didn’t us all want to be cowboys, lawmen or great warriors, our deeds told for generations our paintings hung in halls?

  As the sun beat down on the two men a couple of crows began to circle overhead, their cries like that of the dying.

  A final scream of pain from the wells iron works brought the bucket up to the right height for Stephen to grab hold of it and cup the cool water into his dry mouth. The water tasted fine, if a little milky in colour and he offered some to Tommy who drank almost as greedily as Stephen. When both had finished Tommy placed the near empty bucket on the floor and took some steps back; gesturing for his new Watchman friend to do likewise.

  ‘Watch, Mister Watchman.’ Tommy whispered.

  Stephen watched as the two crows swooped down, knocked over the bucket and began drinking the water that they had left.

  ‘Thirsty birdies.’

  Stephen smirked as when the birds had finished they gave one final scream toward the young man and then flew away crying as they did. It was the strangest act of kindness Stephen had ever see and seemed totally pointless. But yet he admired it.

  5

  ‘Whys you all the way out here, Watchman? Long ways from home.’ Young Tommy asked.

  Stephen lowered his voice and moved his head on close to. Stale sweat filled his nostrils. ‘I need your help, Tommy. I need you to take me to the witch.’

  Tommy stood back and shook his head. The movements were harsh his hair flopping like a rabid rabbit.

  ‘Come now Tommy. Will you not help a Watchman? Will ya not be my apprentice for a while?’ that perked the interest and Tommy ceased his shaking and replaced his grimacing face with one full of smiles and hope.

  ‘Really? A Watchman’s apprentice!’

  ‘Aye, Tommy. You have my word.’

  Tommy jumped up and down on the spot laughing all the while as he did. ‘Wowzers. Prentice to a cowboy. Do I get a gun?’

  Stephen chuckled, ‘Not yet, but maybe before I leave I will let you shoot a rabbit or two.’

  Tommy ceased his jumping and leant over clutching his knees and panting hard. He coughed for a while and Stephen lightly patted the young man on the back and said softly, ‘Now, will you take me to the witch, apprentice?’

  The young man looked up to his new master and grinned. ‘A-course I will. But don’ts be callin er a witch. She don’t be liking that. Just call her Patience.’

  Stephen gave Tommy the simple salute, ‘Thanks for the advice. Now, let’s gather ourselves together and I shall follow you Apprentice.’

  6

  The two men headed off, away from the centre of town, past the houses and small holdings until it seemed as though they were walking back into the Wastelands. Soon Stephen could make out a small trail ahead and it weaved itself away from the foreboding desert and off in-between two large mounds of dirt and long grass. The path went on for and twisted here and there. Across a few deep valleys, over devilishly sharp razor bush and through thick long grass. It would have been a hard trail to follow of it wasn’t for Tommy. Patience was well hidden out here.

  The sun was now high, the crickets had slowed their usual hectic song and only the sound of their combined footfalls on the hardpan could be heard.

  Ahead, Tommy stopped and scuffed his boots waiting for his master to catch up. The young man was quick on his feet and Stephen was grateful for the slight rest.

  ‘Much further?’

  Tommy pointed over the shoulder of Stephen. ‘Nope. Count yourself to twenty as you walk and you will see an old wooden gate. That’s her place.’

  Stephen sensed some hesitation. ‘You aren’t coming?’

  ‘Nope. She doesn’t care much for visitors. I only comes here when she sends for me.’

  ‘How does she send for you, Tommy?’ Stephen took a swig from his water bottle and offered some to Tommy.

  He grabbed the bottle and drank hard. As he handed it back he touched his forehead with one of his long bony fingers. ‘She calls at me from up here. Tells me what she wants up here.’

  Stephen nodded a silent acceptance. Then trying not to show his concern he smiled and patted his apprentice on the shoulder.

  ‘You have done well, Apprentice Tommy. Your next mission is to go back into town and buy me some dry food; enough for at least a month on the road, some wax for waterproofing and a thick blanket.’ Stephen reached behind him and grabbed a small money pouch that had been hanging there. ‘This coin should be enough. Whatever is left go grab yerself some grub and I shall meet you back at the Travellers this evening just as the sun sets. Understand?’

  Tommy stood upright, his chest out and his chin high. It was a comical sight but there was something honourable about this young man; some kind of light shone in this young man, a light that was missing from many others. Missing from him.

  ‘I understand, Watchman.’ He nodded and then within a heartbeat he ran off back the way they had come leaving the Watchman alone with the crickets, crows and long grass.

  He walked further down the path and counted to twenty until he came to a small wooden gate hanging free on one hinge the garden it protected long since left to die. Past the prickly bushes, overgrown grass, lavender and devil stick was an old hut; it’s dark exterior a harsh contrast to the white wash sky. Its wooden shell seemed to defy the notion of time and that all things must come to an end. The windows were boarded up and to the untrained eye, the hut could easily be mistaken for a unused store house or at best; somewhere to store animals during the hottest of days.

  Stephen walked past what was left of the front gate and as he closed in on th
e front door he brushed past the lavender that thrived out in these parts and its scent filled the air giving it a sickly sweet aroma. It was an unsettling sensation; to be surrounded by decay and ruin but to be filled with the smells better suited to one of the bath houses back home. He reached the door and carefully rapped upon its rotten centre and as he did the sky turned darker, the crickets fell silent and far off in the distance he could hear the crows screaming and they screamed and they screamed until the door creaked open.

  Tiny Clouds for Scurrying Rats

  1

  She had been awake since dawn. Sat opposite the door in her rocking chair, she went back and forth surrounded by the gloom of her once bright home. Cradling the orb in both hands her thoughts were as wild as the garden she had left to rot many years ago. She had viewed the Watchman walking from the town, helped by her little friend and now her old chest heaved in and out as she waited with baited breath for the knock at her door.

  When the knock came she glanced briefly at the door casting her ancient magic upon its weary frame. The door opened.

  ‘Come in, Watchman, if it would please ya.’ She croaked, her throat as dry as her old womanhood.

  Stephen entered the hut tentatively, unsure of what he might find. The building was rank, stinking of sweat, death, animals and old sex. The room he walked into was large, once it had been a living, dining and cooking area but now it was wretched, full of rubbish and decay. His eyes scanned the woman sat in the chair opposite the main door but she was hidden, her scrawny body in shadow, he could tell though, that she was hiding something beneath her shawl and she was holding whatever was under there tightly.

  Patience knew what he sensed and she raised her head, her eyes wide, and her mouth showing the beginnings of smugness.

  ‘Thank you, Patience. My name is Stephen, I am a…’