The Butcher and the Butterfly (8 page)

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.