Chapter 8: Custom Work

Frankie

“Before you do anything stupid, I wanna say I respect the operation and I want to commission some custom work.”

Brannik Voss looked from me to Mara and the remains of my escort. One skeleton had finally managed to reattach its own head, though backward. Brannik lowered the hammer slightly.

“You crossed my road to place an order?”

“More or less.”

“There are seven lethal mechanisms between here and town.”

“Eight.”

Mara brushed leaves from her hair.

“The oil counted, in my opinion.”

I looked at her.

“We agreed not to discuss the oil.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, my lord.”

Her mouth quirked upward. It made my guts flutter for a second.

Damn indigestion.

Brannik’s mouth twitched, and he stepped aside.

“Come in.”

The inside of the forge looked like a machine shop had married a wizard’s tower and produced several dangerous children.

Hammers, tongs, and files covered the walls, along with things full of gears, crystals, or both. One bench contained what looked suspiciously like half a crossbow attached to a kettle. I decided not to touch anything. Brannik set his hammer against the wall. The floor groaned. Interesting.

“What do you need?”

I pulled the Colt from my holster. Brannik immediately reached for the hammer again.

“Relax.”

I ejected the magazine. Then worked the slide and caught the chambered round. I placed the cartridge on his workbench. Brannik forgot about the hammer. He lifted the cartridge between two enormous fingers and bent close.

“What is this?”

“A problem.”

Mara leaned against the bench.

“My lord, are you intentionally difficult, or is it just a recurring accident?”

“It’s just how my pa raised me.”

I pointed.

“Brass casing. Powder inside. Bullet on top. Primer on the bottom.”

Brannik turned it.

“What does the primer do?”

“Starts the powder.”

“How?”

“Impact.”

“What sort of powder?”

“That’s where things get complicated.”

Brannik adjusted the tiny spectacles on his nose. Mara caught me staring.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was thinking it.”

Brannik ignored us.

“You have more?”

I opened my jacket. The Thompson hung beneath it. His eyes widened.

“Much more.”

“Less than I’d like.”

I put another cartridge beside the first.

“Different size. Same idea.”

Brannik picked it up.

“How many do you possess?”

“Not enough.”

I thought about Kilkenny’s guards and the acolytes in Azrath’s ritual room. My supply kept shrinking.

“Every one I fire is one I ain’t getting back.”

Brannik looked at me over the spectacles.

“That is not a number.”

“I like him,” Mara said.

“You’re getting increasingly lippy, missy.”

“Lippy, my lord?”

“Yeah. Starting to understand why nobody around here lets you talk.”

She giggled. I ignored the resulting sensation in my chest. Brannik set the rounds down.

“I would need to examine the powder.”

“Fine.”

“The metal.”

“Fine.”

“The weapon.”

“No.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to reproduce ammunition for a mechanism I may not inspect?”

“You can inspect it.”

I placed the Colt on the bench.

“You ain’t taking it apart unless I’m standing here.”

“Why?”

“Because I know how it works and you don’t.”

Brannik frowned at the weapon, then nodded.

“Fair.”

Most craftsmen I knew would rather swallow a nail than admit somebody else knew their business better.

“I also need the tavern fixed. Frankie’s.”

Mara sighed.

“The Gilded Stag.”

“Frankie’s.”

“The Gilded Stag.”

“I bought it. I renamed it.”

“You vandalized the sign.”

“People oughta know who owns the joint.”

Brannik looked between us.

“Who decides what you pay me?”

“Me.”

“After I have counted the money,” Mara said. “You attempted to pay three times the value of the tavern.”

“That was one time.”

“You gave Elias enough money to buy three farms.”

“That was before I knew what farms cost.”

“You still don’t know what farms cost.”

I pointed at her.

“That’s why you’re here.”

She glanced down at the coin pouch, then stepped closer to Brannik’s bench.

“I know the usual rates for skilled craftsmen in town.”

Brannik folded his arms.

“I am not a usual craftsman.”

“No.”

Mara looked at the wreckage outside.

“You charge more.”

Brannik smiled. I looked between them.

“See? This is working already.”

A bell rang somewhere in the woods. Brannik’s smile vanished. I reached for the Colt.

“What’s that?”

“One of the outer lines.”

I frowned.

“We tripped all those.”

“No.”

Brannik grabbed the hammer.

“You destroyed most of them.”

“That sounds like the same thing.”

“It is not.”

Another bell. Closer. Brannik moved toward the door.

“Nobody reaches the second line.”

I followed him outside. Mara came with me. Of course she did. We didn’t have to wait long. Shiiruk appeared between the trees.

I almost shot him on principle.

Behind him came an orc I hadn’t seen before. He was broader than Shiiruk, though not quite as tall, wrapped in black ceremonial robes stitched with bone. His tusks had been stained black. Symbols had been carved into his face. Not tattooed. Carved. Five men followed in dark robes. Then came the skeletons. Ten, maybe twelve. Some carried spears. Others carried rusted swords. One still had dirt falling from its ribs. Brannik tightened both hands around the hammer. I looked at Shiiruk.

“How’d you get through?”

His swollen mouth twisted into a smile.

“The governor rendered the path safe.”

Son of a bitch. I’d opened the road for them.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The other orc stepped forward.

“Governor Moretti.”

Nobody called me Governor Moretti unless they wanted something.

“Who’re you?”

His expression darkened.

“I am Death-Priest Vorgath, Voice of the Undying in this parish.”

“Congratulations.”

His eyes narrowed. Shiiruk looked delighted. Vorgath turned toward Brannik.

“The western temple requires repair.”

Brannik said nothing.

“The roof above the sanctuary has collapsed. Three binding circles have failed. The crypt gate is damaged.”

Brannik finally spoke.

“No.”

Vorgath blinked. Maybe nobody had ever tried that word on him.

“I was not requesting your permission.”

“No.”

Brannik raised the hammer.

“I heard you the first time.”

Vorgath looked toward me.

“There. You see?”

“Yeah.”

“You are governor. Correct him.”

“Looks like he knows what he means.”

Shiiruk stepped forward.

“Frankie.”

That bothered me more than Sir Francesco.

“You forget whom you serve.”

“The same guy as this priest. Good for him.”

Vorgath raised one hand. The skeletons moved. Four surrounded Brannik. The artificer didn’t back away. Vorgath smiled.

“You defied Lord Kilkenny because he lacked the strength to compel obedience.”

Brannik’s knuckles whitened.

“That error has been corrected.”

Two cultists moved closer. Mara stepped toward me. I put an arm in front of her. Vorgath continued.

“You will repair the temple.”

“No.”

“You will restore the binding circles.”

“No.”

“You will rebuild the crypt gate.”

Brannik slowly removed his spectacles. He folded them and set them carefully on a stump beside the forge. Then he took the hammer in both hands. Vorgath laughed.

“You obey, or you die.”

I drew the Colt.

“Let him go.”

Silence. Vorgath looked at me. Then laughed again.

“He has chosen.”

“I said let him go.”

Shiiruk stared at me.

“Do not be foolish.”

Vorgath pointed toward Brannik.

“If he serves willingly, he may retain his life until the work is complete.”

Brannik lowered his stance.

“If he refuses, his corpse will serve just as well.”

The cultists smiled. Vorgath looked back at me.

“Once the temple is restored, Governor, I will grant you his remains as tribute. An artificer retains considerable usefulness after death.”

I shot him in the face.

The back of Vorgath’s skull disappeared. He dropped. I kept the Colt raised.

“You said it best.”

The first cultist reached beneath his robe.

“You obey, or you die.”

Then the world caught fire.

Green flame crossed the clearing. I threw myself sideways. The bolt hit the forge wall and exploded hard enough to shower us with sparks. Brannik roared. Something inside the hammerhead flashed blue. Three skeletons flew toward it. Bones scraped across the dirt as some invisible force yanked them into the hammer’s path. Brannik twisted. The hammer fired itself forward.

BOOM.

The first skeleton became a storm of dust. The second folded around the hammerhead. The third disappeared into the side of a tree. I stared.

“I want one.”

“No.”

“Had to ask.”

A cultist raised both hands. I put two rounds into his chest. Another started chanting. I holstered the Colt and swung up the Thompson. The short burst dropped him. Four rounds for one man. Too many.

I hated this place.

A skeleton charged. I shot it through the skull. It fell. Then its jaw started moving. Right. I’d learned this one. Before I could fire again, a shovel came down. CRACK. The skull split. I looked up. Mara stood over it with both hands on the shovel, breathing hard.

“What?”

“Good form.”

“I was a farmer’s daughter. I know my way around a shovel.”

Another skeleton lunged. I shot it in the knee. Mara brought the shovel down on its skull. CRACK.

“Huh.”

“What?”

“You’re pretty good with that.”

“I watched them invade my town. I remember what they did with those swords.”

A spear came at her. I grabbed her shoulder and pulled. The blade cut across my sleeve and opened my upper arm. Pain flashed. Mara’s face changed.

“Frankie!”

“I’m fine.”

I shot the skeleton holding the spear. Brannik’s hammer caught it before it hit the ground. A blue rune flashed. The skeleton was pulled sideways. Then the hammer propelled itself down.

There was a crater afterward.

I really wanted one.

Or maybe a magic twelve-gauge.

The fight got ugly.

One cultist caught Brannik across the ribs with green fire. He staggered. Skin blackened beneath his shirt. He didn’t stop. Brannik grabbed the man by the robes and headbutted him. I heard teeth hit the dirt. Another skeleton drove a sword through Brannik’s shoulder. He roared. The hammer flashed. The skeleton flew backward so hard its spine wrapped around a tree. Mara smashed the skull before it could start crawling home. A spear caught her across the thigh. She cried out.

I swung the Thompson toward the skeleton and fired. Three rounds tore it apart. Mara fell to one knee.

“You bleeding?”

“Yes!”

“Bad?”

“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out later!”

Good enough. Another cultist came at me as the Thompson snagged against a branch. I let it hang, drew the Colt, and emptied the rest of the magazine into him. Click. Wonderful. I dropped the magazine. Reached for another. Shiiruk hit me. Of course he did. I went across the dirt. My ribs remembered him immediately. The Thompson slid away. Shiiruk advanced.

“You murdered a priest of Lord Azrath.”

I spat blood.

“Yeah. He had one of those kill-me faces.”

I got one knee under me.

“I obliged him.”

He kicked me in the chest. I landed on my back. Christ. I missed Chicago. Shiiruk reached down. Then stopped. His body jerked sideways. Brannik’s hammer glowed. Shiiruk flew toward him.

“What the—”

The hammer hit him in the leg. Something broke. Loudly. Shiiruk screamed. He hit the dirt. I got up slowly. Around the clearing, the last few bones still twitched. Mara limped between them with her shovel. Crunch. Crunch.

Apparently we had a system.

The last cultist ran. Brannik raised the hammer. Blue light flashed. The man shot backward across the clearing.

“Oh, that’s useful.”

Brannik caught him by the throat. One punch. Done. I picked up the Thompson. Checked the drum. Not enough. Definitely not enough. Then I heard Shiiruk.

“Mercy.”

I turned. He lay on his back with one leg bent the wrong way and blood covering his mouth. He raised his hands.

Same as before.

Mara saw it too.

“Frankie.”

I loaded a fresh magazine into the Colt and worked the slide. Shiiruk swallowed.

“Sir Francesco.”

I walked toward him.

“Frankie.”

Mara limped after me.

“He surrendered.”

“I know.”

“Then spare him.”

Shiiruk nodded quickly.

“Yes. I am defenseless.”

I stopped over him. Looked down. I’d spared him once. Then he ran to Azrath and called me a traitor. Azrath had embarrassed him. Punished him. Given him another chance. And Shiiruk had used it to bring a death cult down a road I cleared so they could turn a man into a corpse because he didn’t want to fix their roof.

I raised the Colt. Shiiruk’s eyes widened.

“Fool me once, shame on you.”

“Frankie,” Mara said.

“Fool me twice, shame on me.”

Shiiruk started crawling backward.

“There won’t be a third time, Shiiruk.”

I fired.

Silence. Mara stared at the body. I lowered the gun. For a moment, she didn’t look at me. That bothered me more than I expected. Brannik leaned on his hammer. Blood ran down one arm.

“He surrendered.”

“Yeah.”

I looked at Shiiruk.

“Last time too.”

Brannik considered that. Then nodded once.

Mara didn’t.

Not yet.

I holstered the Colt.

“All right.”

Mara looked at me.

“All right?”

“You’re bleeding.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I got experience.”

“That is not how bleeding works.”

“We’ll argue about it later.”

Brannik sat heavily on the stump. Then remembered his spectacles were there and stood up again very quickly. He picked them up, examined them, and sagged with relief. Priorities. I liked him. We spent the next few minutes wrapping wounds.

Nobody was dying.

That counted as a win.

Brannik’s shoulder was ugly. Mara’s thigh needed stitches. My arm needed stitches too. My ribs probably needed a priest.

Unfortunately, I’d just shot the only one in town.

Brannik looked around the clearing. Bodies. Bones. Smoke. Then at me.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“You killed your own priest.”

“Wasn’t my priest.”

“He served your lord.”

“Lots of assholes work for the same guy.”

Brannik stared.

“You could have ordered me to obey.”

“Sure.”

“You could have let them kill me and taken my corpse.”

I looked at him.

“You said no.”

Brannik waited.

“That is all?”

“Should be.”

He said nothing. Neither did Mara. I nodded toward Vorgath.

“Guy asks you to do a job, you tell him no, that’s business. Guy says he’s gonna kill you and make your corpse do it anyway?”

I shrugged.

“I ain’t standing for that.”

Brannik stared at me for another moment. Mara said something too low for me to hear.

She shook her head before I could ask. I’d deal with that later too. I walked back toward the forge. Brannik followed.

“So.”

He stopped.

“So?”

“Where were we?”

He stared at me. I pulled out my coin pouch.

“What’s your rate?”

Brannik Voss looked more confused than he had when I’d shown him the Colt.

“You defended my forge.”

“Yeah.”

“You killed your own men.”

“Wouldn’t call them mine.”

“You may have made enemies of every death-priest in Lord Azrath’s territory.”

“Then I probably need those bullets sooner.”

Brannik stared another second. Then laughed. Big laugh. Deep. Almost hurt him. He grabbed his ribs.

“That was stupid.”

“I was never too good at school.”

Mara lowered herself onto a crate. Her shovel lay across her knees. The blade was bent. There was something gray stuck to it. She noticed me looking.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Frankie.”

“I’m thinking about getting you your own.”

She looked down at the shovel. Then back at me.

“No.”

“Worth a shot.”

Brannik put his spectacles back on. He returned to the workbench and turned the cartridge beneath the light. Outside, smoke drifted through the trees.

The road was full of dead men who nobody would miss soon enough to matter.

If Azrath asked, last I heard Shiiruk and his new friends had gone to visit the psycho artificer in the woods. I’d warned them. Place had a high mortality rate. Not my fault they didn’t listen. Brannik studied a scraping from the cartridge casing, then carefully removed the bullet. He smelled the powder. His eyebrows rose.

“I believe I can reproduce this.”

I straightened.

“How many?”

Brannik looked over his spectacles. Mara laughed. I sighed.

“We’ll work on that. Now come on, we got a lot of holes to dig.”

“You’re going to help me bury the bodies?”

He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Do you see anyone else out here? I’ve dug a lot of holes in my life. One guy, it takes forever. We got three.”

I nodded toward the clearing.

“Let’s get this done, then head down to Frankie’s for a pint. On me.”

Brannik studied me. Then picked up a shovel.

“As you wish, my lord.”

I sighed.

“Not you too.”

Mara giggled again.