UPDATE: This chapter has been updated as of January 11, 2019.

Favors

Chapter 4

Murlyn's Merry Boyz

The Twenty-Eighth Day of the Third Month, the Month of Nets, 1837

Wrenhaven River Patrol, Watch Station 37

...

...

A Lower Watchman sat behind the duty desk trying to make notes on the daily roster as the two young women waited in the hallway of the outpost. However, the fidgeting of the smaller girl upon the metal bench made this difficult.

"Please be still," he said, his thin face twisting into a grimace. "The sergeant will return momentarily."

"Thank you," the taller of the two visitors said with a pleasant smile as she lay a hand on her comrade's knee to still her movements.

"Dinna know if I'm likin' this plan," her younger companion muttered under her breath, low enough so only her friend could hear. She glanced nervously about the Watch Station, a place she spent a great deal of her life trying to avoid. "Dinna like comin' 'ere neither."

"It'll be fine, Erin," Etiennette assured her. It had barely been five minutes since the two of them made their inquiries to the duty guard, though time was of the essence.

"Maybe 'e's not 'ere?" the Morlish girl whispered. "The officer we be needin' ta find, I mean."

"No," the blonde girl said with a slight shake of head, trying to maintain her confidence in spite of her growing concern. "He's going to be here. It's, what's the word Mr. Tuddleston would use? Imperative? Yes, it's imperative that the officer is here."

Erin gave a quick nod.

"Bein' worried, I am." She leaned back against the wall, and drew her legs up onto the bench. "Only them four 'gainst the rest o' Murlyn's boys."

The courtesan looked over at her as she continued.

"Put a dent inna gang fer sure, we did. But still be way more'n a dozen of'em left, so says those two we nabbed." She rested her chin on her knees. "Our lads be havin' a rough go at their hideout."

"Yes," Etinnette agreed quietly as she glanced at a small, square piece of red paper in her hand. "The odds are not in their favor this time." She unfurled the paper, noting the distinctive symbol on it: a small triangle within a larger inverted triangle.

James had told her to take the slip of paper and show it to a Lieutenant Rolline of the Wrenhaven River Patrol stationed in this area. He'd given her specific instructions of what to do and what to say when she met the young officer. Instructions that in her worried state, she dreaded she might forget.

"Helped'em I could've, but the boss be tryin' ta keep me safe sendin' me with you," the Morlish girl interrupted her thoughts. "But whose gonna keep them safe? Addie…" she paused for a moment, "an' well, the boss an' the others too. Bein' outnumbered fer sure."

A quick smile appeared on the courtesan's face at Erin's hesitation. Though concerned for all of her fellows, it was quite evident how much the urchin adored the ex-Overseer. However, the young girl wasn't the only one who had someone she cared a good deal for heading into danger.

Etinnette's smile vanished as she looked down the hallway to where the Watch lieutenant should appear, but still there was no one. Rolline needed to be here at the watch station, otherwise the Undertakers chances would be slim indeed.

Their chances were slim indeed.

As dawn threatened to break over the horizon, Tuddleston expertly steered the motorized coach through the side-streets toward their destination. James glanced at his Undertakers, their features barely discernable in the early morning light.

Valiant Ademar, clever Rollo, and loyal Tuddleston.

James nodded to himself. With these three at his side, he knew that however slight it may be, they may just have a chance.

"I still say we shoulda waited and tried contacting the Tyvian," Rollo grumbled as the carriage jostled down the uneven road. "Could snuff any spotters this gang might have. Lickety split."

James glanced back at him.

"With eight men missing from his gang?" The seaman shook his head. "No, even Murlyn would realize there were problems. He still has enough reserves to beat us. Our only hope now is to hit them quick and hard. Before they know the danger they're in."

"We're just trustin' the word of them two we caught, ya realize that, don'tcha?" The short man smirked in derision. "And then ya let'em both live? Yer gettin' soft."

"They had no reason to lie at that point."

"'Cept them bein' criminals and all."

"Rollo. Enough."

Tuddleston slowed the vehicle.

"We're near the point you decided upon, James," the scribe announced.

Their leader nodded and focused on Ademar who was strapping his weapon belt to his waist.

"As we talked about, okay? Keep to the shadows as much as you can."

The young Overseer gave a half-grin as he reached for his mask.

"Skulking about the back-alleys like some ne'er-do-well is not what I was trained for." He glanced over at Rollo for a moment before addressing James again. "Perhaps others would be better suited to the task?"

Before Rollo could balk at the comment, James leaned forward and replied. "You know why I need you to do this. Why you must use stealth."

The Overseer slid the mask on, and nodded. "It shall be as you have asked," he said, his voice muffled behind the golden face-plate. "You have my word."

"Now, Ademar," Tuddleston interjected.

The young man gripped the railing on the back of the front seat, stood on the carriage's side-step and braced himself. As the vehicle neared an alley, he pushed off and landed on the cobblestone path, taking a few steps to reduce the impact from leaving the coach while it was still in motion.

James watched as his companion glanced about for a moment to make sure that he hadn't been spotted, then the dark-clad Overseer ducked quickly into the alley. The navy man turned forward with a satisfied look upon his face. One more step in the plan was accomplished. Soon they'd be at the villains' lair.

"Huh, well look at that. Spotters," Rollo groused triumphantly from his hidden location.

The three Undertakers were pressed close against an abandoned shop across the way from the hideout of Mr. Murlyn and his Merry Boyz. Their den, once named Ichadol Tannery, was a large set of buildings close to the Wrenhaven River. Near the front entrance was a small shed, upon which sat a sentinel smoking a cigarette while another slowly patrolled the empty street in front of the tannery.

"Yes," James agreed dryly. "I'm very glad you're not going to crow about how correct you were." He turned to look at his companion. "Especially seeing as how you need to take them out by yourself. As quiet as possible."

"Anythin' else, boss?" came the sarcastic retort.

"Yes, leave them alive," the navy man replied. Before Rollo could complain, he continued on. "As you were quick to point out, Jenko and Bradley are criminals, and may have been lying. If need be, we'll have to question those two if our previous information was wrong."

Rollo harrumphed as James smiled.

"It was you who said we shouldn't trust our prisoners," James reminded his short companion. He wasn't quite certain, but it almost sounded as if Rollo growled lowly before disappearing into the shadows.

Tuddleston moved up and readied his blunderbuss rifle.

"Be prepared," James warned as he quietly drew his own pistol. "Rollo's good, but things could still go awry."

He retrieved an odd blade from a side compartment on his belt. The weapon was seven inches long, four of which were the blade itself; the remaining length was a unique hook rail that the navy man slid quietly along the underside of his pistol. The attachment clicked into place, resulting in the blade's four inches protruding just below the pistol's barrel, like a miniature version of a rifle's bayonet.

The two waited in silence, the sky overhead slowly becoming lighter with the passing minutes. Finally, they noticed a small, furtive figure leave the shadows and dash towards the foremost building of the tannery. He tucked himself neatly into a doorframe and waited until the patrolling guard was out of sight, then he dashed forward again.

Without a sound, the short figure made it smoothly to the shed atop which the sentinel sat. Putting out his cigarette, the sentry grabbed a bottle of whiskey and uncorked it as the intruder leapt up and caught the edge of the roof. Hoisting himself quickly, the small figure made it onto the roof and behind the sentry before the unaware guard finished his drink. A quick movement and suddenly the guard slumped over forward, unconscious.

"Hey Merks, what say we try fer a hand of Nancy afore we head off ta bed?" came a cry from the patrolling guard as he headed back toward the front entrance.

James cursed under his breath. Of course.

"Merks? You didn't fall asleep up there did you?" The patrolling guard paused as he looked up.

No answer.

"Merks?" The guard put his hand to the pommel of his weapon and moved forward slowly.

As he got closer, the short figure on the roof popped up and flung an object toward him.

"Hey, you're not-"

-criish-

The sentry's unneeded whiskey bottle smashed fully into the guard's face, both silencing him and stunning him at the same moment. Before he could recover, the attacking figure leapt off the roof and landed squarely upon him, driving him into the ground. A quick thump to the head and the guard ceased all movement.

James and Tuddleston left their hiding spot and quickly traversed the distance until they all stood in front of the tannery. Rollo tilted his head towards the unconscious man.

"Battered but alive, just as ya wanted."

James smirked then knelt down and quickly went through the man's pockets. He found bits of copper wire no doubt salvaged from some old machinery and a few loose coins, but nothing else.

"He doesn't appear to have the key," he mused aloud. "Guess the one up on the shed has it."

Rollo nodded nonchalantly in agreement, then his eyes narrowed.

"Oh and let me guess which of us gets to climb up there again and retrieve it," the short man grumbled.

Before anyone could reply, a quick clacking sound came from inside the front door of the main building. The three companions had no time to vacate the area before the door promptly swung open.

"Alright, you louts, shift change," muttered a grizzled individual who immediately paused mid-stride as he spotted them hovering over the body of one of his gang. The man was quick-witted though and instantly drew his pistol.

-thunk-

One of Rollo's heavy throwing daggers imbedded itself into the thug's neck before he could either utter a warning or aim the pistol. He stumbled backwards into the doorway and fell heavily to the ground, his pistol discharging as it hit the stonework.

BLAM!

The three Undertakers exchanged furtive glances with each other at the sudden loud noise.

"Perhaps they didn't hear?" Tuddleston offered.

"Alarm, you knackers!" came a cry of warning from deeper within the complex. "We're being attacked!"

Rollo drew another dagger as well and one of his own pistols as James plunged forward with a shake of his head.

"Never can be easy, can it?" the navy man complained to no one in particular.

Despite being fully attired in his Overseer's uniform, Ademar made little sound as he crept the dark alleyways. This part of the Schauke Dockyards saw little traffic at night as a good percentage of the buildings were abandoned, making stealth even easier.

He glanced around quickly to get his bearings, nodded once to himself, then advanced with purpose to a wooden edifice set back from the main thoroughfare. He spotted a lamppost, currently unlit, and then he turned to his right to face a worn bulletin board. Notices and posters hung discolored and aged from exposure to the elements, their tattered corners catching the slight breeze in the area. To the immediate left of the bulletin board was a tall but narrow wooden fence, maybe seven feet high and three feet in width.

A low grin worked its way to his lips as he spotted the secret entrance that their captives had revealed. With a firm grip on the far sides of the fence he gave a quick yank, pulling it free and exposing a long, narrow corridor that trailed off into the darkness. Setting the fence aside as quietly as he could, he gingerly made his way down the confining space.

His overcoat occasionally scraped the close walls as he had to turn his body to make any reasonable progress. He was beginning to grow concerned at his tenuous position should melee break out, when the corridor opened into a larger and thankfully wider back-alley.

Trash and debris lay scattered about the area. Broken barrels and carts, empty crates with faded print, and even a busted basin were in various stages of clutter and disuse. The most disturbing adornment was a lone male corpse slumped partially inside a recessed doorway, large black flies buzzing about him.

Ademar muttered a quick, silent plea to the Abbey for the unknown man's spirit, that he may become one with the Cosmos and avoid ensnarement by the Outsider. He paused a moment during his soundless entreaty and wondered at the unfortunate man's fate. No dried blood about the eyes, no blistered lips; he hadn't succumbed to the plague, apparently. What then had befallen the poor-

"Hand it over, Drot, you chuffer," said a grumpy voice from the shadows.

Ademar turned at the sudden noise, his hand quickly grasping the pommel of his sheathed sabre. He assumed a low, half-crouched stance and moved as quiet as he could to the source of the noise.

"Blow off," a reply came from a second voice higher pitched than the first. "Get your own."

"Ya both need to piss off," muttered a third. "I'ma one who bought the rum."

"Hah," the first voice said with a laugh, "George, you ain't purchased nothing in your life, you thieving bastard."

Ademar approached soundlessly as the three disembodied voices argued over their drink. As he drew closer, he spotted a low glow of a small lamp near the base of a flight of metal stairs set along the row of the tightly packed houses. Vaguely outlined in the glow were three figures.

He smirked behind the gold plated Overseer's mask as he stood to his full height.

"I need directions, good gentlemen," he said in a loud voice, startling his audience. "I ask that you provide them to me."

"Wussat?" the second voice grumbled.

The air vent of the lamp was adjusted, brightening the flame and illuminating the area. A tinge of light revealed him to the three alley-bashers.

"Outsider's Eyes!" exclaimed the third individual, a short, solidly built man.

"Don't mention the Outsider, you idiot George," the first man admonished. "Don't you see that there's an Overseer."

Ademar took a step forward.

"I do not have time for your quarreling. I need to know the location of the secreted exit of the Merry Boyz." He glanced about the area and indicated the gantry lining the second stories of the houses. "I've heard there's a doorway on the next level above that leads directly to their domicile."

"Oh is there?" the second man said with a cruel smirk.

"Yes," he replied and focused his gaze upon them again. "And you will show it to me."

"I'll show you this," the man said and lunged forward, a short club in his hand.

Ademar easily side-stepped the man's clumsy attack, and slapped him soundly in the back as he went by. The added momentum propelled the thug forward and he stumbled and fell hard onto the ground.

Turning back to the other two, Ademar slid the sabre, still sheathed in its scabbard, out of his sword belt. Though necessary to slay some of their attackers when the Merry Boyz assaulted them at the Withers' Grocery, James had wanted to avoid as much additional bloodshed as possible. Ademar would do his best to oblige his friend.

"Get'em George!" the first man exclaimed as he suddenly rushed forward. "He can't get us both!"

The man moved to tackle the tall Overseer. Just as he closed the distance, Ademar swung the pommel upward, connecting solidly with the brash attacker's chin. With a grunt, the man stumbled back and collapsed unconscious in a heap.

Ademar approached the final man, and slowly drew his blade free. Leveling the tip at the thug, he spoke.

"Now then, George. About that entrance."

"U-up the stairs and three ta the left," George muttered. "Three ta the left."

"The Abbey thanks you for your assistance."

…

…

The battle inside the Merry Boyz' hideout was well under way by the time the secret door gave way to Ademar's heavy boot. He quickly took in the scene.

The doorway through which he entered led to a gantry platform. The platform was attached to the western side of a large room, once an operational tannery, and afforded a commanding view of the fight going on down below. Illuminated by whale oil lamps, combatants were already scrambling about madly, pouring forth from a common area to the north to engage the trio of invaders that had entered via the double doors to south.

"Let none circle past!" James ordered his companions. "Rollo, to the right!"

The short criminal gave a nod and fired off his pistol, hitting one of the defenders in the shoulder. The wounded enemy stumbled back, his morale broken.

"Mr. Tuddleston, clear out that group behind the table!"

"As you say," the heavyset scribe acknowledged as he brought his huge blunderbuss to bear.

-KWOOM!-

A small end table had been turned on its side to provide partial cover for three of the Merry Boyz. After Tuddleston's blast, however, the table became only so many splinters and the crouching thugs were knocked over and showing wounds not only from the shot but from stray wooden fragments as well.

Ademar's eyes narrowed as he watched the conflict transpire ten feet below him. A quick count of their enemies indicated a higher number than those suggested by James' captives, Jenko and Bradley. Then again, not all of the defenders seemed to be members of the Merry Boyz. Some wielded the cleavers and dressed as the common thugs that compromised the gang, that much was true. But there were other individuals as well, with lighter weight clothing, and bearing small axes or hatchets.

A clatter on the steps leading up to his platform drew his attention. Three of these hatchet-wielding enemies had apparently noticed Ademar, and surged at him, their battle frenzy overcoming the common sense of attacking an armed Overseer.

He drew his pistol and shot the first man in the leg. The attacker screamed in pain and crumbled to the side, his weapon falling from his grasp. The second roared a war cry as he came forth. Ademar flipped the pistol in his hand, gripping it by the barrel. He caught the offender's hatchet blow with his firearm and punched the man in the face with the pommel of his sabre. The man collapsed back and fell down the stairs.

The final attacker leapt deftly over her comrades' bodies before closing the distance and presented a much different target than those he had seen so far. She was a tall beauty, with smooth tanned skin, full hips and a trim toned body. The blue scarf tied about her forehead held her long, dark brown hair away from her face while bits of bone and shell woven into small braids clinked as she moved. A tattoo on her bare right shoulder showed a pair of crossed black hatchets similar to the pair she currently brandished.

"Now you face Markessa the Golden," she bragged as she swiped at him. "Wielder of the Twain Hatchets."

Markessa was a known pirate captain in the league of Jerrod of Caltan, Hangin' Dan, or Lizzy Stride. She was a vicious woman and a formidable adversary known for her skill in combat.

"Never heard of you," Ademar lied derisively as he went into a defensive posture.

Her dark brown eyes flashed in fury.

"Aye then, you'll know me intimately in a moment," she said, swinging the right hatchet. "I've killed two of your kind before, Overseer."

Ademar parried the blow with his pistol and twisted away from her. She swung the left hatchet downward but he was able to catch it on his sabre and push her off.

The pirate leader backed away and regarded her opponent for a moment. His position on the platform didn't allow her to flank or circle around him, so she lunged again, this time leading with the left hatchet. He moved to the side, but the woman slashed viciously at his mid-section with her right weapon. He barely managed to pull back as the blade tore through his jacket and removed one of the buttons.

"Hah!" she taunted as her lips twisted into a perverse grin of triumph. "All men fall to the fury of Markessa the Golden!"

She pressed her advantage and led with the left hatchet again, but this time Ademar parried its descent with his sabre, twisting their blades and locking them together. As the woman brought her right weapon around, he readied his pistol again, stopping the blow and locking that weapon as well.

He extended his arms to either side, using his superior reach to stretch her hatchets away, and consequently drawing the woman closer to him.

"Pardon my methods, my lady," he apologized. "They are a bit uncouth, but I don't have time to waste on such a skilled opponent."

A look of perplexity shown in her dark eyes at his comment. She didn't have long to ponder his words, however, as he tilted his head back then shoved it violently forward, smashing his heavy golden mask into her unprotected face.

She immediately dropped both her weapons, stumbled back a step on unsteady legs and stared at him as her head wobbled a bit. Then suddenly her eyes rolled up into her head and Markessa the Golden collapsed unconscious at his feet.

"Good job, Ademar!" a cry came from below.

The Abbey-man turned to see James looking up at him, a smile upon his face.

"We've routed this batch, but there seems to be more coming," the navy man announced, indicating a large door situated in the northern wall. The sounds of men running and calling threats emanated from behind it.

"Rollo!" James said, turning to the short criminal. "The barracks are situated to the east according to our captives." He indicated a doorway on a platform on the exact opposite side of the room from where Ademar was standing. "Make sure none of the Merry Boyz are there. We can't risk being flanked."

"Fine," the man grumbled and quickly clambered up the flight of stairs.

"I wonder why they weren't in their beds to begin with," Tuddleston wondered aloud, as Rollo vanished into the side corridor.

"It seems they had visitors this morning," James replied, indicating the wounded and unconscious men attired in the light clothing and armed with the hatchets. "Pirates I'd say, by the looks of them."

"Our task has just become eminently more difficult," the scribe muttered.

"More difficult, but not impossible," their leader said as he reloaded his pistol, and indicated to the others to do the same.

The northern door suddenly burst open as another gang of the ne'er-do-wells charged forth.

"Heave to, my friends, and prepare to ride out the rest of this storm!" James exclaimed as he aimed his pistol at the first Merry Boy to come within range.

…

…

Rollo had barely made his way down the side corridor when the sounds of pistol-shot and swordplay resumed from the tannery behind him. He readied one of his own pistols and for a moment considered going back and helping his comrades. But James was correct; he needed to investigate this part of the complex and make sure it was vacant of any hostile forces.

He drew a long knife with his right hand, and used it to gently push open the first door he came across. The hinges were blessedly silent and he aimed his pistol to cover the room's interior as he peered inside. A series of small bunks and footlockers greeted him, but none of the Merry Boyz were present. A quick nod of satisfaction to himself and he was off to the next door.

He investigated three similar rooms along the hallway. All bunks and footlockers. All empty of enemies.

A final door remained closed at the far end of the corridor, this one a heavy metal thing with iron hinges. Flickering light filtered underneath the frame, indicating either a whale oil lamp or a large candelabrum – most likely the latter judging by the rapidity of the flickering. As he drew near, he heard a light rustling, like a chain moving perhaps, coming from beyond the closed barrier.

He scowled and held his pistol level. Creeping forward, he tucked his knife away for a moment and gently turned the doorknob. As the latch bolt scraped out of the door frame, he pushed the heavy door open, took a half-step inside the doorframe, and aimed his pistol at the sole visible occupant.

His eyes widened in shock as the figure whimpered.

"Bleed me dry," he half-muttered as he lowered his gun.

There against the far wall, on a large metal-framed bed was a young woman of perhaps twenty years of age. Her dark tresses tumbled in a mess across her face and partially obscured her eyes which looked on him in horror. Her white and light tan clothing was dirty and disheveled, and she seemed to have no shoes at all. Her most disturbing adornment was a metal collar around her neck which was bolted to the far wall via a thick chain.

She shivered as she pressed against the far wall, trying to stay out of his reach.

"Please don't," she sobbed quietly with a shake of her head.

He overcame his initial surprise.

"I'm not here to hurt ya, lass," he tried to assure her from the doorway. "Me and my lads, we're dealin' with these Merry Boyz. Lickety-split. We'll, uh, free ya in just a moment. Alright?"

The girl cowered against the far wall.

"Um, okay then," he said. "I'll try and find a key and be right back fer ya. Let ya outta that thing, okay?"

The girl seemed uncertain and her eyes darted about the room, then finally she shook her head.

"I can't do this anymore," she muttered, appearing to come to a difficult decision. Worry mixed with the slightest amount of hope upon her face as she leaned forward. "There's two of them hiding behind the open door," she whispered.

Rollo blinked, unsure if he heard her correctly, when suddenly the large door - which he hadn't checked behind - swung towards him.

"Wha-OOOF!" he cried out, as the iron barrier slammed into him. Despite his initial surprise, he twisted his body and managed to push his way fully into the room as a previously concealed thug charged him. His opponent was a short dark-haired man who was tackling him to the floor before he could bring his pistol to bear. Stronger than he appeared, the thug gripped his wrists and pinned his arms against the floorboards.

Another hidden thug, a tall blond man with a brutal sneer upon his face, moved not to assist his comrade with Rollo, but instead made his way to the shackled girl upon the bed.

"All you had to do was be quiet," he hissed, as he held a four foot length of chain in his right hand. He lifted the chain up as the girl shook her head, raising her hands protectively in front of her. The man slammed the heavy chain down on her and she screamed in pain, unable to flee. He raised the chain to assault his collared victim again.

"Ya damn blighters!" Rollo shouted as he struggled to throw his attacker off. He couldn't raise his arms or aim his weapon at the man holding him. With a dark scowl, he twisted his left wrist, and managed to cock the hammer back on his pistol. He aimed as well as he could, not on his personal attacker, but at the man beating the girl, and then he squeezed the trigger.

BLAM!

The metal slug caught the blond man in the back of his left calf, crippling him and dropping him to the floor. The sound surprised the dark-haired thug who had been holding him down, and his grip loosened as he leaned back.

It was the opening Rollo needed.

With a quick surge, he pushed up and threw his attacker off. He quickly drew his knife and attacked, plunging the blade repeatedly in the dark-haired thug's face and throat. The thug fell onto his side, the knife buried to the hilt in his neck.

The blond man started to recover, but Rollo scampered to his feet and lunged at him. The two fell to the floor once again, and Rollo scooped up the length of chain that the thug had dropped.

"Like ta beat on the helpless, eh?" he cursed the man as he wrapped the chain around his throat. "Known bastards like you all my life. Always the big man. Always attacking the smaller, the weaker."

He tightened the length of chain, the links biting deep into the man's throat as he lifted and slammed the thug's head into the floorboards over and over.

"Not so tough when ya face someone who can fight back now, are ya?" he growled as the man gurgled and struggled beneath him. He tightened the chain even further. "Answer me, ya bastard! Answer me!"

After a moment, the man ceased all movements and slumped to the floor, dead.

"Didn't think so," Rollo muttered as he released the chain with a sneer. He sat staring at his victim, catching his breath, until a slight rustle on the bed drew his attention.

He looked up to see the girl eyeing the dead thug.

"Sorry. Ya shouldn't have seen that." He pushed off the body and looked away from the girl. "Ya suffered enough as it is."

He moved to retrieve his pistol and knife.

"I'll fetch the others. They'll, uh, know what to do with ya." He nodded to himself then moved toward the door.

"No, please!" the girl beseeched him from the bed.

He turned and looked at the dark-haired girl who had tears in her eyes.

"What if more of them come?" she asked, indicating the two deceased thugs. "Please, don't leave me here. Don't leave me alone."

The short man paused at the girl's words, then finally he nodded to her.

"Alright lass," he said quietly as he sat next to her.

He reloaded his pistol and pulled out three of his throwing knives, readying them on the mattress within easy reach.

"It'll be alright, lass," he repeated, as he gave her his best reassuring smirk. "Ol' Rollo's got ya now. Nobody, and I promise ya nobody, is gonna hurt ya again."

…

…

"Press them!" James called out as he and Ademar fought the Merry Boyz. "Keep them from flanking us."

Ademar nodded as he swung his pistol, catching a man on the temple with the heavy weapon and dropping him.

James parried a wild swing by a thug wielding a knife. He turned the man aside and punched him in the face with the pommel of his sword. The man slumped back, unconscious.

Another blast from Tuddleston's massive rifle scattered what little courage the remaining gang members had.

"Outta my way!" one of the Merry Boyz screamed, tearing past his fellows. His companions followed suit, exiting the large room and fleeing out of the front entrance to the south.

Ademar looked at James, eager to pursue them, but his leader shook his head.

"Not yet. Reload your weapons, check your blades." James turned to Tuddleston. "How many shots do you have left for that monster of yours?"

"Four," the large man said, trying to catch his breath. He'd been caught twice with minor wounds, and leaned heavily on one of the iron support beams in the middle of the room.

James gave a short nod, recognizing that his friend was not used to such physical efforts.

"Rollo's not back yet. Mr. Tuddleston, stay here. Guard the south entrance. Keep it locked and let none of these blackguards come back to catch us from behind."

"I will do my best to comply," the scribe agreed with a nod of his own, appreciative of having a chance to sit.

James himself had been slashed once across his left shoulder by a lucky blow, but the wound seemed superficial at best. He turned to the ex-Overseer.

"You alright? Did they strike you? Any debilitating wounds?"

The ice blue eyes narrowed behind the golden mask.

"I hope you're not serious," the young warrior said in a sardonic tone.

"Very well," James replied with a smirk. "We should press our advantage. But that means it'll be just the two of us. Murlyn's still unaccounted for. I doubt there's many of his Merry Boyz left, but these…" He tapped his boot against an unconscious man lying upon the floor bearing a tattoo of two crossed hatchets on his shoulder. "Seems our Mr. Murlyn is into smuggling as well."

"I've dealt with their leader," Ademar said, pointing to the crumpled form of Markessa by the gantry stairs. "Hopefully their morale will be fragile without her."

"Agreed." James headed north towards the doors from which their opponents had emerged, Ademar a step behind. Pushing aside the barrier, the two military men proceeded cautiously.

This new area seemed a storage room or small warehouse. Supplies of various types, both dried and canned foodstuffs, bolts of cheap cloth, numerous tools, and crates of different sizes were all piled within. Nothing seemed particularly important or valuable, so they pressed on through to the large door to the north, a broad single slab of steel designed to rise vertically.

"Dock entrance?" Ademar asked in a subdued tone.

"More than likely."

They searched in the dim light for a moment, and found a chain hoist-and-pulley system operating the door.

"They'll hear for certain," James whispered as he eyed the heavy device.

Ademar offered his pistol.

"I'll raise it and you deal with any enemies."

James nodded, gripped a pistol in each hand and crouched low, as Ademar began hoisting up the door. Iron grated on iron as the heavy barrier moved slowly upwards. The navy man aimed quickly, scanning the area underneath the door for any movement but there was none.

Raising the door up about four feet, Ademar hooked the chain on a large steel nail protruding near the entrance. He retrieved his pistol and then drew his sabre once again.

The two ducked under and continued on, stepping onto a small boardwalk that followed the tannery and the buildings on either side. Large stacks of crates obscured their immediate view of the Wrenhaven and a short wooden barrier prevented any movement to the direct right. Ademar indicated the path to the left and James nodded in consensus.

The two crept along the wooden walkway, coming to a short flight of stairs. Descending, they scanned the area carefully, trying to make out any movement in the early morning light. Deep shadows and the lapping of the water along the boardwalk were all that greeted them.

The path split, one way heading north which had a vague outline of ship, a trawler but the look of it, docked at it. The other continued hugging the buildings that made up the water front.

Ademar turned back to him, as if inquiring which way they should go. James was about to respond, when a small red light flickered to life on the deck of the trawler. A floodlight came on a moment later, bathing the two military men in its beam.

"Thar they are!"

"Move!" James yelled as he shoved Ademar forward.

A whirling mechanical noise emanated from the ship as the young Overseer stumbled ahead. James turned to head back up the flight of stairs and slipped on the wooden walkway.

"Thar splittin' up!" a cry came from an unseen person on the trawler. "Fire! Fire now!"

The navy man needed no more urging. He scrambled to his feet and bolted up the short flight of stairs as a repeating sound of -toom- -toom- -toom- echoed off the ship. A moment later the area Ademar and he had just vacated was engulfed in volatile fire.

He dove in front of the large stack of crates as the dock was briefly illuminated by the explosion. He started climbing to his feet when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He instinctively rolled out of the way, but not quick enough to avoid a vicious slash to his upper left arm.

He tumbled into a waiting crouch and locked his gaze upon his assailant. Outlined by the fire behind him was Mr. Murlyn, leader of the Merry Boyz, a short sword in his hand. A trail of blood trickled off the blade and dripped onto the deck as the gang leader sneered.

"Come to try and take what is mine, eh?" the man in the burgundy jacket said with a growl. He jerked a thumb at his chest. "I've cleared this area. Me. I'll not let another usurp my place."

James tightened his grip on his pistol but the wound Murlyn inflicted upon him, which was deeper than he initially thought, sent shocks of pain at the effort. His aim would surely be compromised. Mindful of his injury to his left arm, he slowly rose to his feet and drew his own officer's blade with his right.

"I'm not here to usurp your position," he said slowly, making sure each word was clear. "I'm here to end your little reign of terror. To prevent you from threatening any more innocents with your savagery."

He leveled the sword's blade at his opponent as Murlyn cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh damn me," the criminal said, "you're one of those? Oh my." He shook his head and laughed. With a look of disappointment he moved into an en garde stance. "C'mon then, bring me to justice or whatever nonsense."

Behind him, James could hear the mechanical launcher on the ship's deck as the crew repositioned it.

"The man, the Overseer, he's thar!" came the cry again. "Fire quick!" Another volley sounded, followed by another series of explosions.

A shot rang out and suddenly the floodlight went dark.

"The blighter's done shot'er out! Watch fer'im, lads! Watch fer'im!"

Murlyn scowled as James nodded at Ademar's quick thinking. The navy man led with a vicious overhead slash intending to finish his foe quickly, but the criminal sidestepped the blow. He moved in, and swung again, aiming for the mid-torso, but Murlyn pulled back. With a grimace, the criminal taunted him.

"I thought you'd be a problem," he said as he swung his own sword, a quick slash which James neatly parried. "But you had me, I'll grant. Posing as another like me. Posing as someone wanting what's mine."

"It was never yours," James growled, disdain and impatience getting the better of him. The dock was rocked again as the trawler continued to fire upon his unseen friend. He needed to end this fight as soon as possible so he could aid Ademar, but Murlyn was more skilled with the blade than he had suspected.

"Then whose was it?" the gang leader taunted. "I put forth the effort, and had to relocate to this pathetic stretch of the city. And still I turned a profit." He seemed particularly proud of his efforts.

"The innocents who make this area their home," James returned as he lunged forward. Murlyn backed up once more, into the stack of crates. "Those who spend their whole lives toiling for little to no reward. Those like the Withers."

Murlyn's eyes widened in surprise, then disgust overcame his features.

"That old pair?" He shook his head again as understanding dawned. "Never learn do they? Well, when I'm finished with you, I'll be sure to pay them one last visit. There's not much profit in revenge, but a good deal of satisfaction to be had for certain."

The military man continued to press ahead, thrusting at his opponent. With little room to maneuver, Murlyn was barely able to dodge the first swing, but the second caught him on the left shoulder. Another quick slash and the gang leader was bleeding from the forearm as well.

The area abruptly brightened, drawing the attention of both combatants. A second later, a voice boomed forth, broadcast over a portable loudspeaker.

"Attention, you on the vessel! This is Lieutenant Rolline of the Wrenhaven River Patrol. Cease and desist any hostile action or suffer the might of the City Watch!" The sound of several mechanized heavy gun batteries swiveling to take aim followed. "This is your first and final warning!"

Relief flooded over him momentarily. Etinnette and Erin had not failed him; they'd managed to get to Rolline in time, and the young City Watch Officer made good on his debt.

Murlyn was not so elated.

As cries of panic and shouts of "I surrender!" echoed from the pirate trawler, the leader of the Merry Boyz cursed.

"Damn you! Damn you and all your kind!" he shrieked as he stabbed at James. The navy man was ready though and blocked the blow, locking their swords and leaned forward, pinning the criminal in place.

Murlyn spit in his face.

"The Void take you!"

James was stunned at first, but anger soon took hold. Anger led to fury and fury overcame pain. His left hand tightened on his pistol again and he thrust the weapon upward, driving the four-inch blade attachment deep into Murlyn's side.

The gang leader squawked in pain, then paled visibly as his eyes went wide. His grip loosened on his short sword, and the weapon fell to the hard wood of the deck.

The leader of the Undertakers withdrew the blade and stepped back, the motion causing Murlyn to collapse to his knees.

"M-mercy," he stuttered, a hand to his gut, trying to stem the blood loss.

James cocked the hammer back on the pistol. His fury giving him the strength needed to hold the weapon steady. He aimed the barrel at the criminal's temple.

"Mercy?" he said, his lips curled in revulsion. "What mercy did you give the Withers when you beat them? When you ran the railcar over the old man's arm? When you inflicted pain on the innocents?"

An image flashed in his mind - a memory, dark and buried. The beautiful face of his dearest friend, his cousin, grey and silent in death as she lay stretched on a cold stone slab.

"What mercy was she given by those who took her life?"

His arm shook with barely contained rage as the criminal quivered at his feet. Then slowly, inexorably, calm returned. Training took hold, and control once again was his.

"No," he said, with a shake of his head as he lowered the weapon. "You'll not get a quick death from me. The hangman's noose, or maybe even a firing squad. But it's a death you'll have to wait for. That you'll know is coming. Something you can think about alone in your cell."

He stepped back and turned to catch the attention of the Wrenhaven River Patrol when he spotted Ademar standing quietly behind him. The ex-Overseer's ice blue eyes regarded him solemnly through the slits in his mask.

"And how long were you there?" he asked as he cocked his eyebrow.

"Long enough to give you aid should you require it," the young warrior admitted, his voice muffled by the golden face-plate.

"You weren't going to stop me? From denying him mercy?"

"I saw no need," his companion replied. "I knew you would do the right thing."

James chuckled.

"You have more faith than I, that's for certain."

This time it was the young man who chuckled.

"I knew your actions would be just. It's why I follow you." He nodded. "It's why we all follow you."

"Fair enough," James said. Weariness from the early morning's activities began to take their toll, as he finally spotted Lieutenant Rolline and some of his men coming their way. "Then let's gather the others. It's time to go home."