The Wayward Witch Chronicles

That coulda gone worse. Only by a wee bit, though.

A tense agreement not to get in each other’s way wasn’t what West had been hoping for when he’d sat down with Roman’s group, but at least they all knew where they stood.

West didn’t eat alone, though. Instead, he sat with the inn-wife by the fire. They chatted and laughed as he complimented her stew, learned the names of her children and grandchildren, and as the conversation drew on, asked about any adventurers that might have come by two months prior.

“Oh! Yes, it was a pair of women back then.” The innkeeper’s wife was all softness and sighs. “Neither of them a day older than your fellow Roman. One of the ladies had a mean streak, but the other was sweet as honey. Quick to laugh, I remember, even if she had a foul mouth. They left for wherever it is they all go. Never heard back from them.” Matilda’s lips thinned, and she added, “One of the boys in town though, he found their horses somewhere. Sold them to the stable.”

The innkeep watched the conversation with a nervous eye. “Probably sounds like grave-robbing,” he said, “but it’s not like nobody tried talking them out of going.”

“But Investigator–” The innkeep’s words turned suddenly sharp and overexcited. He swallowed, minding his tone. “I know you must have business at that place, and I sure hope it’s got to do with putting an end to this mess. But you ought to consider packing it in, don’t you think? Come back when you’ve got a couple more folks with you, maybe.”

The innkeep avoided his eyes. With the well-crafted bowl and spoon in his hands, West didn’t have to think hard to know why. The inn probably hadn’t seen much business before the rumors of treasure began drawing adventurers in. West’s work might staunch the loss of lives, but it would also end the family's good fortune. A sudden stop would put his family back where it had been before, scraping by on a trickle of business from stingy merchants.

The family’s laughing grandchildren punctuated his realization. The innkeep had a lot to lose, and West sympathized with the man’s hope to dissuade him from his mission. That didn’t mean he could do anything but shake his head, though.

“I suppose not,” the innkeep said. “Well, I’m wishing you the best of luck, then. I like to believe that the gods would favor a good fellow like yourself.”

“Well, thank ye fer the sentiments,” West said with a smile. “I’m hopin I’ll nae be needin’ any divine favors, though. Ye cannae be sure what ye’ll be expected to pay back.”

***

As dusk arrived, the daughters of the inn gathered their children and left for their homes, somewhere out on the country roads. Roman and his group turned in. When West paid up for the night, the innkeep set up a cot near the fire, offered the Investigator a final drink for the evening, then bade him a good night before retiring with his wife to a room beyond the kitchen.

Not ready for sleep yet, West busied himself mending a ratty fishing net. He hummed into the quiet as he worked. An old song nagged at the furthest reaches of his memory, and he could only remember how the tune began, but not where it ended.

Footsteps on the stairs brought his attention back to the room. “Still awake, huh?” Barros plodded down. “I suppose not everyone sleeps so soundly before action.”

“Oh, it’s nae like that,” West said, tugging at a fraying strand. “I cannae sleep as well as I used to regardless, and thought I’d get a bit o' fixin' done.”

“Mind company?” Barros asked, and at West’s welcoming nod, settled himself up against a wall near the fire. Finding a pitcher on the table nearby, he searched it for any leftover ale, then shrugged philosophically at the empty bottom. “You seem decent, Investigator. Not like most of the grunts I see workin’ for the Empire.”

“I’m takin’ that as a compliment, I think?” West chuckled, trimming loose strings from a damaged strand with a knife from his belt. “So, what brings ye down here? Or are ye one o’ those not-sleepin’ types?”

“Well, might be that’s part of it,” Barros admitted. “But I’m not sittin’ so well with Roman's cutting you out, is really what. He gets stubborn like that when he thinks he hasn’t got control over a situation. But there’s no reason you should be goin’ on by yourself when we’re headed the same way.”

West paused his work, looking squarely at Barros. “Well, I appreciate the thought. I dinnae suppose Roman's the sort what has his mind changed fer him?” Barros shook his head. West shrugged. “Well, it’s nae problem fer me. It’s you lot that I’m concerned after.”

Barros raised an eyebrow. “Sure you’re not bein’ full of yourself, Investigator?”

“Well, I’ve a long track record of o’ comin’ on top o’ this sorta mess.” West put his needle back to work. “I’ve jes’ one goal, I’ll nae be distracted from it, and once I’ve done it, I’ve nae intention of pushin’ my luck. All that adds up to a good chance o' livin'.” He tied off the strand and smoothed the net over his knee. "I’ve got a feelin’ yer group’s gonna dig as far as they can go, though, and it’s lookin’ like there’s been plenty o’ others who’ve dug in deeper than they could get out from again.”

Barros looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he deflated. "Might be." He stood from the wall. "Roman's a smart brat, and he's got a good head for where the next payday's at. Otherwise, he's a right pain in the ass who thinks he knows better than the rest of us combined, and he doesn't think about what others've got to lose when he tells us to do somethin' stupid."

"That right?” West thought he heard a hint of an autobiography, so he pried, “What's it ye've got to worry 'bout losin', then?"

"Oh, you know. Family." A casual pause. "... -ies."

West dropped his net to his lap. "... -ies? Famil-ies?"

"A couple. Three."

West rubbed at his chin, trying to imagine. "Three. Wow. That’s sure, uh." He pursed his lips. "Don't suppose they, uh–“

"Know about each other? Wouldn't that make life easy."

"Probably nae, or ye’d have told ‘em already." Smoothing out the lines of his net, West began rolling it for storage. "Most folks who've got even one family, they find some way they can settle down and be with 'em. I guess with three, though, ye've got good reason to keep to the road."

"Truthfully? I'd rather be splitting my time between them than scrounging for work on the road."

"Aye? So why're ye out here, lad?"

"Lad?" West felt Barros inspecting his youthful face. The axeman snorted. "Well, son, it's just as simple as this: Keeping food on three tables takes better than laborer pay. Unless I pick just one, and let the others starve, but–“

“But ye can't choose jes’ one o’ them, eh?” West aimed for the tone of a good-natured joke, but fell short into a tease.

"Don't put that tone on it." Barros’ frown curved over his prominent incisors. West ducked his head apologetically. Barros held his glare a moment longer, then sighed acceptance. "Look, I wasn't plannin' on things being the way they are. I wasn't pledged to any girl 'til I got the news of the first babe, and what was I supposed to do when news of the others followed? It's just my luck, three girls within a few months on the road....”

"So… what yer out here lookin' fer is the money to keep 'em all fed and happy, then. And if there were a better way, ye'd be takin' yerself elsewhere? Because I can't help thinkin' that I might know o' somethin'."

The cogs turned slowly. Barros’s beady eyes widened. “Hold on– are you offering a job?”

“It’s nae mine to offer,” West cautioned, “but I can write a recommendation to take to the Bureau headquarters o’er at Castle Steele fer a Messenger position. The work is thankless, but it’s steady, and they’re keen on keepin’ their people alive. No sacrifice without need doesnae mean never a sacrifice, but none o’ this throwin’ yer life away fer the hope o’ some coin. And if the worst should happen, ye can be sure yer kids’ll be looked after proper.”

“Bounty of Avdris! You aren’t pulling one on me at all, are you?” Barros stared at West with something like fascination. “You haven’t got a clue about me or what I can do. What makes you think I’d be a good fit?”

West shrugged. “Ye’ve got sense, ye listen even when ye dinnae like what ye hear, and ye’ve survived in a business that dinnae like leaving people livin’. I already know that I’d trust ye to get done what needs doin’ fer the right reasons, and we need folk like that. Look, give me a minute.”

Wrapping the rolled net with string and setting it on the ground, West flipped open his bag and produced ink, quill and parchment, along with a stick of blue sealing wax. “Here– soften this up, please.” Passing the wax to Barros, West smoothed out the parchment on a nearby bench and began jotting a note. Barros, rubbing at the raised scar on his head, took the wax to the fire and let the end get warm. West said, “There we are. Got that wax ready?”

“Yeah,” Barros said, handing it over.

Folding the paper smoothly, West stamped the wax over the edge. Quickly, he pulled his badge out from his shirt pocket and twisted off a cap on the bottom point, revealing a numbered sigil. He pressed the sigil against the wax, leaving a clear imprint of a pentagonal shield marked by a 16, W, and an arrangement of three small rays.

“Take this,” West said. “Show it at the headquarters. And if they’re fool enough not to give ye a proper look, I’ll be comin’ back within a week– two, if things get messy– and I’ll see that ye get one.”

“West. Are you doing this hopin’ that I’ll walk away tonight?” Barros asked, taking the letter. “Because I gotta tell ya, leavin’ those two in a lurch–”

“If they’ve got any smarts, they’ll be leavin’ themselves.” West grimaced. “But they do seem the stubborn sort. Ye gotta ask yerself: Is it best to head off now while yer all still in a safe spot, or do ye risk havin’ to go when the danger gets too thick and ye got yer families to think of? Or til it’s too late fer that, even?”

Barros considered. His brows drew tighter together, his frown deepening until, loosening up with a sigh, he nodded. “It makes sense, but... it doesn’t sit right. Not the leaving, and not the situation we’re walking into. Roman– damn his head– I’ve always counted on him to think it all through, but the more you were talkin’ today, the less it seemed like he knew what we were getting into, and– West, are you sure there’s something more goin’ on here than what he thinks?”

“I’d about guarantee it,” West said somberly. “Too many folks’ve come through and nae been heard from again. These weren’t green adventurers, either. And besides that, even Vera’s story doesnae make sense when ye get into it. Nary a peep’s been heard from the Vaari fer more than fifty years now, but the rumor o’ their treasure is only makin’ the rounds now?”

In the silence that followed, West recovered his net from the floor. Satisfied with the repair, he returned the net into his pack to wait for its next chance at adventure.

Barros didn’t seem to know what to say. Tucking the letter into his shirt front, the warrior hemmed and hawed and muttered and mumbled. Finally, with a troubled look, he grunted something that might have been a farewell and headed for the stairs.

“If it helps at all,” West called after him, “I dinnae plan on lettin’ those two head into that place on their own. So dinnae let that make yer choice fer ye.”

Barros paused with his hand on the banister. “Thank you, Investigator. I’ve got thinkin’ to do. Get some good sleep tonight.” His bootfalls disappeared up the staircase.