"Biggest shithole you've been to Rafe?" Jaxon called out to his seatmate.
"Bethesda, but I'd say Paradise Falls is a close second."
"Fuckin' Jones, I'll give you that kid. But the Falls ain't so bad. Most of the slavers are in the trade for the caps. Now there are some vicious bitches there for sure. But not all of them."
"It's really reassuring that a Talon just vouched for the considerate nature of Jones' Slavers." Anais deadpanned from across the room.
"Oy, either commit to the conversation or go back to your brooding! No peanut gallery nonsense Anais!" Siobhan heckled from the dining table set up in Gibson House. The team was relaxing after the madness at Canterbury. Relaxing of course was defined as getting smashed at Gibson House with most of the team assembled.
Sledge and Ginny held the watch, while the ever reclusive Doctor was down in his basement clinic, which left the remainder of the team who weren't present at the meeting to enjoy partying hard.
As Siobhan leaned back into her chair she considered what on earth Vincent and the team's leadership could be discussing at the present moment. Rafael, Jesse, and Jaxon were her drinking companions for the evening, while Felix and Teo were engaged in a much quieter conversation in the house's kitchen. Anais was sitting to herself on the other side of the room drinking and perhaps contemplating the mysteries of the universe.
More likely she was just being anti-social.
"What about you girlie? Where's the harshest hellhole you've ever visited?" Jaxon asked, following his comment with a swig of irradiated beer.
"Crossing the Atlantic is pretty cocked up mate. Nothing but ocean, for days and days until you see land. The water is murky and if you look long enough you can watch shadows move underneath the wave. Distortion makes them look smaller than they actually are, so you never know if it's a big fish, or something that can swallow your boat whole."
"Sounds like good eats." Jaxon cackled back. Siobhan rolled her eyes.
"Still not as bad as Point Lookout." Jesse grumbled from his seat.
"Where the hell is that?" Rafael asked.
"You've never heard of the southern point?" Jesse asked incredulously.
"I drove the merchants north of the Potomac basin, not in the metro areas where that damn boat is everyone keeps talking about." Rafael shot back.
"The point… A'right, it's like home and hell at once: Swamps, tribals, 'lurks, ghouls, other critters… and then the swamp folk. Throw in some deranged tourists and hot, heavy air and you've got Point Lookout. Some days I miss the mires 'n the hollows."
The table sat quietly staring at their seat mate. "Sounds like a real piece of shit kid." Jaxon finished before the front door swung open.
Becca strode in, and pulled up a chair in between Siobhan and Rafael. Jesse tossed her a beer, which she caught deftly and opened with both hands. Siobhan caught immediately that she was distressed.
"Have fun entertaining the officers?" Jaxon asked crudely.
"Go fuck yourself Jaxon." There was little heat behind the words, but this was the first time Siobhan had heard the little scavenger deride one of the cowboys.
"What's got your panties in a twist?" Jaxon growled back at her, anger creeping into his body language.
"You know that bounty Nate found in the Antagonizer's lair?" Becca posed to the table. Siobhan didn't miss the subtle shift in Anais body language.
"The little piss-ant found some random crap, so what?" Jaxon retorted, still unimpressed.
"St. Stephen's Log was in that pile." Becca finished.
You could have heard a bobby pin drop. Siobhan recognized the name, but hardly the item.
Rafael and Anais were both staring at Becca, while Jaxon's face was embroiled in a battle between shock and disbelief. Jesse was on the same level as Siobhan, if a little more confused.
"What the hell is St. Stephen's Log?" Siobhan asked loudly.
Felix and Teo came bursting out of the back, limbs flailing and faces surprised at the news. "That's insane. The log was believed to be destroyed years ago."
Becca slowly shook her head. "I recognized it. My parents acquired it from the Scrapyard close to five years ago. They pawned it off on a man less than a week after owning it. My dad would swear for years to come that he was seeing the widow around the day he sold it to a caravaneer."
"Back the hell up here kids, tell the foreigner and the greenhorn here what this thing is."
Rafael was the one to speak up. "About a decade ago Scavengers began to recall tales of a Riddle Trailer-"
"What the hell is that?!" Siobhan sputtered.
"Erm, well it's a Riddle Trailer." An awkward silence descended on the table, as only three present members in the room had anything close to an education on pre-war terminology.
"And what is that exactly?"
"Erm… okay so it starts with a code that you solve in order to understand the message. Except the translated code is a kooky phrase or clue or some other shit. That leads to next code. These codes and their answers build on each other until they point to the direction of something."
"So… it's a treasure map?" Siobhan asks amusingly.
"A treasure map written by the devil perhaps." Teo quips from the back of the room.
Siobhan raises an eyebrow at him, interested at why he would think that. He continues, face less surprised and far more sheepish than earlier. "The legends around the wasteland dictate that-"
"Oh no you don't Brotherhood pretty boy, I get to finish the damn story first." Rafael barks from his seat.
"THEN GET TO THE DAMN POINT!" Siobhan roars back in frustration, causing her tablemates to take a reflexive step back. Taking a deep breath, Siobhan turns to Rafael and motions him to continue with the origins of this seemingly important document.
"All right, sheesh. Around a decade ago this book started showing up. It was filled with post-war information, like a log of who was in control of which locations in the wasteland, how many units they had, etc. The book passed hands with disturbing frequency." Rafael sits back, as though telling a campfire story.
"Get on with it you twat." Siobhan snarls, causing Rafael to carry on.
"After about a week, the owner of the book would be found dead. For the first few years after the book was seen no one could figure out how or why, but they would be found dead. Methods vary, but there was never a culprit found in any of the cases. Then a scavenger named Stephen got a hold of the book."
"Stephen was smart, more so than a lot of Scavengers, and he had an affinity for solving puzzles. See where I'm going with this?"
"He figured out that it wasn't just a log, but it was actually a Riddle Trailer. From there he started working out the solution. He held onto the book for two whole months before abandoning any attempts to solve it. He gave it to another scavenger to solve in his place years ago. After he died several months later they renamed the book in his honor. Stephen was a good man, and some smarter wastelanders even referred to him as a Saint."
Siobhan rolled her hand impatiently. "Yes yes, he was a good guy so they renamed the book St. Stephen's Log. How does this pertain to us?"
"Better yet, why don't those dumbasses just destroy the book? It's just a book, nothin' scary."
"One at a time: It can't be destroyed. The riddle trailer is apparently massive, and some speculate it leads to grand treasure. The worth is too great to just get rid of. Besides, the book seems to have a mind of its own."
"Books don't think." Jaxon countered.
"You've heard of Warrington right?"
"Destroyed suburb near Tenpenny Tower right?" Jaxon answered.
"I was there the last time a scavenger tried to destroy it."
"Left Hand Lew?" Becca finished forlornly.
Rafael nodded solemnly. "Lew made a big deal about destroying the book for the good of the wasteland. As he was about to destroy the book a .308 round took his head clean off his shoulders, and a sniper began picking off everyone who didn't flee the book. After that I heard it was lost in an explosion outside Friendship Heights."
"As for why it pertains to us, well we have the book. And either we can solve it or we can dump it off on the next person. The golden rule is that whatever we decide on, we need to keep solving it, otherwise we'll end up like it's previous owners. Of course, if you pass it on then you are penalized."
Siobhan nods, then turns back to Becca. "You said something about a widow?"
Teo interjects. "The longstanding myth of St. Stephen's Log is the Widow of Jury Street is seen by the owner of the Log throughout the time they own the book. Stephen himself confirmed that he would often see a woman or a figure following him. The talk is that the Widow is the executioner of the book's owner."
"Who is this widow?" Siobhan asked, her mind spinning with these strange stories.
"The Widow of Jury Street was a ferocious warrior whose gang controlled Jury Street over ten years ago. At that time the nearby raider fort of Evergreen Mills was owned by Krusher the King, a dim if territorial raider chieftain reknowned for his cruelty and skill at arms. Long story short Krusher lead his army to take Jury Street for himself. The widow led her gang valiantly in the fighting but lost both her gang and her lover until she was cut down by explosives."
"According to the story passed by those who've traded with the handful of older raiders who are less vicious than today's brood, two days had passed since the battle when Krusher was found cut into a dozen pieces in his bedchamber. Serious stuff Siobhan."
"How does a Brotherhood Scribe know so much about wasteland urban legends?" Siobhan inquired lightly.
Teo's sheepishness returned tenfold. "I… enjoy listening to the caravan traders and wastelanders around Arlington. Enjoyed." The last word falling with a note of slight sorrow.
Siobhan shook her head, more reeling from all of the madness that surrounded these revelations. While she empathized with Teo's homesickness, she also remembered specifically why she had crossed an ocean to the land beyond the Atlantic. Beyond such musings, she was curious about one other factor:
Why hadn't Vincent been the one to tell them?
As Becca left, Leon sighed and broke the silence of the remaining officers. Vincent and Lazarus were still seated, Palmer was now seated where Nate had been moments before, and Leon had moved to the bar to freshen up his drink. Moving around the bar, Leon took a languid sip of his scotch and motioned to Palmer.
"So, Palmer. Do you think that book is what I think it is?"
"It's a riddle trailer. What else did you think it is?"
"I think it's the Riddle Trailer."
"I-" Palmer stopped momentarily, looked to the door, then back to Leon.
"That… is a possibility. If so, why didn't Becca say anything?"
"Looks speak volumes Palmer. Becca not only knew what that book was, but what baggage came with it."
"Am I missing something here?" Vincent asked. Leon smiled sympathetically and shifted his feet.
Leon regaled him with the details of the Log. After a good ten minutes of patiently listening, Vincent stood up, refreshed his whiskey and then proceeded to sit back down.
"Did you know about this?" Vincent poses. Leon looks confused and goes to speak before catching the look on Palmer's face. Keep your mouth shut.
"I've been hearing rumors about St. Stephen's Log for years now. I confirmed them while you were gathering strength in the Metro."
"Any reason you kept it secret Lazzie?" Leon notes Vincent's posture: In a word, tense.
"You've already set forth the chain Vince. Better to have done it right than not at all. The moment Turchin picked up that book he set off a timer. Better to give our intention as placating than to sit on our hands and meet a grisly fate."
"Damn it Lazarus!" Vincent snarled. "I thought we were done with this shit! I thought that we were finished with the lying, the omnipotent crap you like to tout around as wisdom."
"And what would you have done in place of that Vincent? Say I told you about the nature of the riddle trailer and you decided to get off on one of those suicidal kicks like you did back in Delaware: What if you had waited to face the Widow of Jury Street-"
"There is no goddamn widow, it's a myth, a legend passed around to explain back stabbings and treachery!" Vincent snapped.
Three knocks interrupted the awkward tempest Leon found himself stuck in.
"Yes?" Vincent called from the couch.
"It's Haskel. We've cracked the first message. You're going to want to take a look at this Vincent."
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