Chapter 16: The Treasure

"They came at us at dawn," says the matchman. "Three men killed in their sleep before we could fight back. And we had no cannonballs, so we couldn't use the gun on 'em. Those bastards couldn't've timed it better if they'd tried."

I look back at the Hellion. She's clearly enjoying our misfortune, but at least she has the good grace not to laugh. Just listening quietly.

"Four of them," he continues. "A dozen of us, and we got done in by four fucking guys. Asshole with an axe and hook, and some woman with a crossbow. And looks like they might've cut a deal with the cultists, cause they had a man with 'em turned into a beast when we fought. Terror to see."

He shudders, and I take a moment to leer at the Hellion.

"Still feel like working with them boys at the Hamlet, huh? When they got a freak with 'em ain't even natural?"

"He can't be all that bad," she deadpans, "considering who he was fighting."

"The last man," rasps Rodin. "It was Dismas, the fucking traitor. He was with them."

I whistle. Never personally knew Dismas, but he and Rodin used to run in the same crew a few years back. Dismas didn't have the stomach for it, and left. Coward like that, usually it's the last we hear of 'em, but lo and behold, back he comes a year and a half ago, working now for whoever it is that's running things up at the Hamlet. Rodin's wanted him dead ever since. Hell, most of us do – one of the other bosses, Vvulf, he's put the word out there's two thousand pieces of gold in it for the man brings back Dismas' head.

"Well, look on the bright side – Dismas' adventuring days are done," says the matchman grimly.

"Yeah?" I ask, impressed. "You killed him?"

"Clairwil shot him down," says Rodin. "Blew his fucking brains out from twenty yards." He spits on the ground. "Good riddance."

"You get the head?" I say, thinking of Vvulf's promised gold. But Rodin shakes his head.

"There was no time."

"Damn it," I say. "What a waste."

"Crossbow woman got killed too," adds the matchman. "Rodin got her. Snuck up behind her and put a blade in her neck."

"Good riddance to her too," Rodin scowls. "But that's still two for twelve. Cold comfort."

"Clairwil fought like a demon," the matchman continues, ignoring Rodin. "Shot every bullet he had, then put on his bayonet and mixed it up hand to hand. No fucking fear. And he was the one who saved us, too. When they'd taken the gun and it was just the three of us left, he didn't flinch – just ran right at them, screaming bloody murder. 'Run!' he called to us, right before he did it. 'Save yourselves! I'll hold them off.'"

"I take back all the bad shit I ever said about Clairwil," admits Rodin. "Man was a fucking hero. It's thanks to him the two of us got out alive."

I nod and do my best to look respectful. Personally, I think Clairwil's an idiot for getting himself killed: the three of them could've just booked it and they'd maybe have been okay. Credit where it's due, though: I'll admit I'm impressed he took out Dismas. Least there's one bright side to this fuckup. Still – right now, we gotta focus on the living.

"What do we do now?" asks the matchman.

"We finish what we started," says I, grimly.

The Hellion raises her glaive again, as if expecting treachery.

Let me level with you. Keeping my word to the Hellion's the last thing I want to do. I want that bitch fucking dead, all the trouble she's caused. Last night, I spent half an hour thinking about what was gonna happen today, and this isn't how it was supposed to end. There was supposed to be a fight. Closure. Vengeance. What was supposed to happen, see, was this.

I lead the Hellion to the road. A little before we get there, we run into the boys – Clairwil, and Rodin, and a bunch of the others. Yeah, I get they'd never have both been in one patrol, but fuck you – this is my fantasy.

I hear 'em calling my name, and Bressac's, and Guy's – looking for us, see. Hellion realizes it when it's already too late.

"You bastard," she says.

"Hey, Hellion," I taunt. "Have you ever been fucked before?"

Then the boys come screaming in.

The Hellion fights us tooth and nail, and she dies bravely. But still: she dies.

"That's for Florent!" I yell, pushing my knife into her neck. "And this," I say, pushing it into her stomach, "is for Jean! And Guy! And Bressac!" I go on, stabbing her once for each name. "And this," I tell her, as she falls to her knees drenched in her own red blood, "is to teach you some fuckin' manners."

Then I push the knife up under her jaw. Later, we hack off her head and spike it to her own glaive outside of camp, as a warning to anyone else might try and fuck with us. That night, we get drunk off moonshine and listen to the matchman sing us The Highwayman – always a crowd-pleaser, that one – with Clairwil accompanying on the harmonica. Each of us thinking all the while on what we'll do with our share of the treasure.

"One kiss, me bonny sweetheart," I drunkenly sing along, leering at the Hellion's severed head. "I am after a prize tonight…"

Like I said, all that's what's supposed to have happened.

It didn't happen. Never will happen, now. But fuck it. Like I said: I'd rather get paid than get even. Career as a bandit, you learn which fights to pick – any man who'd get in a big, dramatic fight instead of cashing out while he's ahead is an idiot. So I'll keep my word to the Hellion. I'll give her what she wants. And I'll get mine.

"Relax," I tell her. "I promised to take you to the road, yeah? Well, there it is. All I gotta do is tell you which way's north and you can make it to the Hamlet on your own. All I want's the treasure you promised me."

"Fuck your deal," interrupts Rodin. "And fuck this bitch. We oughta take the treasure off her carcass."

"I'd love to see you try," she grins. "Then again, maybe I'd better leave you alive. You've done a better job of killing brigands than I ever could have."

"You stupid cunt, I'll fuck you bloody!" he snarls. She just laughs.

"Come on and fuck me then," she goads, with a lewd wiggle of her hips. "If you dare."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Shut the fuck up, both of you!" I roar. Surprisingly, they do.

"I've had enough of your shit," I go on. "Use your fuckin' head, Rodin. We can get the treasure right now, no fight, no fuss. Think enough men have died for it as it is. And as for you, Hellion: you're gonna hand over the treasure real quiet-like, just like you swore to me on all your precious honour. And we're all gonna leave, and go home happy. Yeah?"

They're both silent, glaring at eachother.

"Yeah?" I prompt again.

"Fine," spits the Hellion, looking disgusted. "Let's get this over with."

"Yeah," grumbles Rodin after another second. "Treasure's what matters."

"Good," I say. "Here, hold this," I add, passing my torch to the matchman. Once he's taken it, I theatrically pull out my compass and check it.

"North's that way," I point. "Now hand it over."

The Hellion smiles blandly. "You kept your promise, brigand. I'll keep mine."

She reaches one hand into her furs, groping for a pocket inside. After a second, she pulls out a small bundle wrapped in rags.

"One piece of treasure, as promised," she says, and tosses it to me.

I raise my hand and snatch it out of the air. It's wrapped in a piece of coarse blue cloth I realize came from Blondie's coat – Hellion probably tore off a strip to wrap the treasure in. I hastily unwrap it and dump the contents into my left hand.

After a moment, I hear someone come up beside me.

"Well?!" demands a voice – Rodin's. "What is it?"

Wordlessly, I show him. He takes it outta my hand, and stares.

It's a small, turquoise-coloured stone with a vague magical aura about it. A small design like a bird's wing etched into one side. I seen these things before – holdin' one makes a man move a bit faster. Useful enough magical effect, but ain't that strong. It's only worth a thousand pieces of gold, tops. Hell, that ruby in my guts is probably worth about as much.

"A fucking speed stone," says Rodin, his voice soft.

"No," says the matchman, his voice cracking. "No, no, no…"

"All these boys dead," Rodin continues, unhearing. "All this shit we went through. We done all this for a fucking speed stone."

I look up at the Hellion. She's got a smug, superior smile painted to her face, enjoying every minute of our agony. If I didn't hate the bitch so much, I'd admire her callousness. She really would have made a great bandit.

"Fuck!" screams Rodin.

"Fuck!" screams the matchman.

I look at the speed stone again, then back up at the Hellion. Despite everything, I can still see the funny side of all this. And I just start laughing.

"Fuck," I chuckle.