The Butcher and the Butterfly (27 page)

With that the sky
turned grey and clouds rolled in. Thunder rippled across the desert
and Mike found himself in the Wastelands. It was hot and he was
alone, the man in the brown shirt was gone. Rockfall was gone. That
man, the pregnant woman, all were gone. Thunder roared above and
the ground shook and kept on shaking causing Doyle to fall upon the
hardpan. It was then that the beast of the desert, the demon that
lived deep within its heart and feasted upon the weary lost
traveller rose from the sand and consumed the helpless miner. Doyle
didn’t even have a chance to scream.

Doyle awoke, a
muffled scream in his throat, and found himself lying in his own
backyard the sun in his face his body wet with sweat. Swallowing,
he coughed hoarsely. Rolling onto his belly and retching hard he
vomited up a bucket load of hot sand which piled up on the grass
like sand dunes in the Wasteland; in its grain Doyle could make out
the face of the Demon which had consumed him.

7

Dotty had left
early on that Thursday morning and Ted awoke after sleeping in a
little to a quiet house. In the kitchen he found some jam on bread
and a mug of coffee that Dotty had made for him. The coffee wasn’t
cold so he drank it down and consumed the jam on bread
greedily.

By half past eight
Ted was in his fields tending to the animals. His farm was on the
east side of the river and the first set of buildings you come to
on the great road from Ritash and the surrounding towns and
villages. But being the first doesn’t mean the best and these lands
were hard to grow on. Crops continually failed and irrigation was a
key problem. The furthest field was perpetually dry and the nearest
to the forest would flood in bad weather. Being a farmer was hard
work, Ted knew this, was brought up with that persistently being
told to him by his father, but Teds farm had pushed him over the
limit. No crop was a guarantee. No livestock certain to reap a good
profit.

But soon that
wouldn’t be his problem. That problem would have been brought by
Mike Thatcham. This afternoon, once the cows had been fed he would
go into town and let Thatcham know of his intent to sell and that
Dotty would paint the picket fence, paint the whole god damned
house if he wanted too.

The sun was strong
this morning and Ted’s sweat was already pouring as he walked the
fields ensuring all was nice and tight. He scratched the back of
his head before bending down and picking up another loose rock in
the baron third field. All would be nice and tidy for when Thatcham
came to visit and see the land that was for sale. No loose rocks,
no weeds, no dirty machinery, no unhealthy animals.

Ted scratched
again at the irritation on the back of his neck and swiped away
anything that may have been there.

‘You can’t get rid
of me that easy.’ A woman’s voice said behind Ted and he jumped and
turned dropping the rock to the floor.

No one was there;
just the view of the river and the bridge and the city ahead was
all he could see. Shaking his head he reached down and picked up
the rock and placed it in the back of his cart with the other dozen
or so. The itch flared up again and he scratched at it hard.

‘I’ve got an itch
you can scratch, Ted.’ The woman seductively said.

This time Ted
turned but as he did he grabbed hold of a rock and held it up as if
to strike whoever it was that was there.

But as before; he
was alone. Only this time he looked out over the fields and in the
distance the forest bended into the horizon. Ted held the rock as
he looked about. The sweat on his brown was threatening to run into
his eyes and he wiped at it with his free arm.

He lowered the arm
holding the rock so that it rested against his thigh; then with the
irritation returning he scratched the back of his neck and returned
to the job in hand.

8

The voice was
silent for the rest of the morning and, as planned, by one o’clock
Ted was riding slowly into town toward the butchers that Thatcham
owned.

He past the farms
of Lawrence Gish and Varsity Williams as he rode in. Both farms
were productive and profit friendly with both men securing the best
machinery, the best labour and the best feed. Ted used to be
extremely jealous of these men but those days had past. All he was
jealous of now was the families that those men had. Families that
Ted would never have again.

Moving past the
farms the road swept through various storage buildings and
factories and then crossed the River Strain over a massive wooden
bridge constructed many years by the first settlers here. The river
was wide, just over a mile at its widest and deep; so deep that the
water black in places. The bridge spanned the river at one of its
narrowest points and the settlements had grown around it. The river
ran for miles and miles to the north were five rivers joined and
flowed west all the way to the Great Sea.

His horse trotted
its way across and he waved at the passers-by on the side of the
bridge as they ventured out of town. The river flowed fast under
the bridge its course unyielding. The water was green not the rich
shade of blue he remembered back when he was a boy. The tips of the
waves peaked white as the water rushed past the wooden struts
holding the bridge up.

When he was a boy
he had dreamed of sailing the Strain. Going from the mountains in
the east all the way to the Great Sea and the white beaches that
lay there, but his father had never allowed it. Told him to put
away such boyish dreams and to concentrate on the job in hand; on
the here and now and on the farm.

‘Boats are for
fisherman, not farmers, son.’ Ted said to the river thinking back
to his father’s simple but logical words.

On the other side
of the river the road junctions and goes here, there and
everywhere. The Great Road leads on through town and off into
unknown parts. The other lanes go to the various districts of
Christian Sands. Ted heads left which is the business district and
the heart of the city.

It doesn’t take
long for him to reach the main commercial road and Ted stops at one
of the many stables. The building can house up to fifty horses but
today there are only a handful inside so Ted finds the cleanest and
ties his horse up making sure there is enough fed and water to keep
him going for the next couple of hours.

Ted trundled down
what was called Main Street and his gaze didn’t drift to the
windows nor the stalls that passed him by. He noted some of his
friends as they walked by but he was in no mood to chat nor did he
have the time. He simply nodded and walked on. His work clothes
were scruffy and his hair a mess of tangles. He would have liked to
have been more suitably dressed to meet Thatcham but it just wasn’t
to be and most of his nice clothes were either damaged, being used
as dish cloths or just plain too small.

He reached
Thatcham’s Butchers slightly out of breath. Looking through the
window he could see two men working; neither of them Thatcham.

He opened the
door, the bell attached to the top ringing as he did. The smell of
dead meat was all around. The floor was covered in saw dust and the
tables festooned with cuts of meat for the paying customer. As it
was Ted was the only person apart from the two workers on the shop
floor.

‘Good afternoon,
Sir.’ One of the workers said. ‘What can I do for you today? We
have fine steaks; four for a copper coin.’

Ted looked at the
steaks on the table. His stomach crumbled as he thought of frying
them up with some fresh spuds. He smiled at the thought.

‘Sounds good.’ Ted
looked back to the butcher. ‘But not today. I am here to see Mr
Thatcham. He isn’t expecting me but if you let him know that Ted
Night is here; I am sure he will see me.’

The butcher nodded
and in his eyes Ted could see he was no message boy. But, none the
less, the man walked out back and into the storage area where
Thatcham keeps his office.

Two minutes later
the man returned and ushered Ted to the back.

‘Mr Thatcham is in
his office. He will see you now.’

Ted nodded at the
man as he walked by. The man stunk of sweat, meat and beer.

‘Second door on
the left.’ The man said as Ted entered the dark, smelly store room
and when he knocked on the second door he wasn’t surprised when he
was asked to come in by Old Man Thatcham.

Ted opened the
door and walked into Thatcham’s office. It was well lit by electric
light and the walls ordained with pictures of great landscapes,
machinery and animals. Books were housed in cabinets and files
rested upon files stacked high from floor to ceiling. Mike sat
behind a rather too large table and sat at a rather too large
chair. On his desk where various papers, pens, notes and a new
looking map of the local area. With a quick glance Ted knew his
farm was circled in blue ink.

‘Good afternoon,
Ted.’ Mike said as he nodded to Ted and ushered him to sit at the
only other chair in the room. ‘Could I get you a drink, or
something to eat maybe?’

Ted sat on the old
creaky chair. ‘No thank you, Mr Thatcham, I fine.’

Mike nodded and
his eyes looked at the tatty farmer. ‘Please, Ted, call me
Mike.’

There was silence
for a moment as Mike gathered together his papers and folded the
map placing it under the wooden desk in an unseen drawer.

Ted could feel the
weight of the room pressing down on him. There was something about
this office that seemed unnerving, he couldn’t say what it was or
describe it when he thought of it but there was something in the
office that put weight upon a man’s shoulders and made him crack
with the pressure.

Mike broke the
silence and Ted was grateful for it. ‘So, Ted, have you come to an
answer on my proposition?’

Mike was a large
man. Not fat but getting there. As always Mike was wearing nice
tailored trousers with a crisp blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
He had a full head of hair which had turned grey only recently. He
stood tall and was once a giant of a man. His face was very round,
with a chunky nose, set chin and wide eyes which seemed to shine in
the electric light. You almost feared for your safety when giving
Mike an answer you knew he wouldn’t like.

‘Yeah, Mike. I
have made my mind up.’

Another short
silence. Mikes eyebrows were raised.

‘Well?’

Ted sighed. ‘I
will sell you the farm, all in, nothing left.’

Mike clapped his
hands together and a smile beamed from ear to ear. ‘Excellent.
Excellent. I won’t see you poor Ted me boy, but what with the state
of the cattle price these days and the cost of land depreciating by
the second you must know I can’t give you top price neither.’ Mikes
eyes were firmly upon Teds; trying to read the situation.

Ted felt the
pressure squeezing him and he wished he had said yes to that
drink.

‘The price is
still one hundred and fifty thousand gold coin. No more, no
less.’

Mike held his
stubble chin in his right hand and breathed heavily as he thought
it over. Ted had to seal the deal.

‘Come on, Mike.
You know it’s worth it. Don’t make me beg,’ Ted stood up and paced
back and forward, ‘One hundred and fifty thousand is a good price
considering you are getting a farmhouse, four farm buildings, six
dozens chickens, forty pigs plus pens, four hundred head of cattle,
one hundred in sheep, eight horses one of which is a prize stallion
still producing and three thousand acres of land not to mention the
bees plus me and all my equipment, my know how and land it sits
on.’

Ted stopped, leant
over and put both hands on the chair. Pity was in his eyes.

Mike leant back in
his grand chair; thoughts of what happened that morning far from
his mind.

‘I thought we
discussed a figure much less than that not one month ago?’

‘We did, but that
was before I had time to think about it. Time to weigh up what I
had and what the farm can do for you. What we discussed before was
a poor evaluation. I, as you Mike, had enough beer to fell a beast
that night. It wasn’t an ideal situation to discuss such
things.’

Mike nodded but
kept his gaze on the farmer.

‘Let me think
about it, Ted.’ Mike stood and offered is hand, ‘Two days.’ It
wasn’t a question.

Ted took the
offered hand and shook it. ‘Okay, Mike, two days. One hundred and
fifty thousand gold coin.’

Releasing their
handshake Mike sat back down and Ted stood up straight. The room
felt less intrusive now, the pressure was relenting a little and
Ted was happier for it. It felt like a massive weight had been
removed now that the offer was on the table and with one hundred
and fifty thousand gold coins in the bag his worries would soon be
over.

Then Ted
remembered young Dotty.

‘Dotty will paint
your fence and anything else you need doing. Just name the day and
she will be there.’

Mike smiled.
‘Good, good. Send her over Tomorrow if you like. Say eight
o’clock?’

‘Eight is fine.
Just make sure the paint is there and don’t mention anything about
the sale to her; you know how Dotty…’ Ted looked to the floor in
shame. ‘well, you know how Dotty can be.’

9

Yeah, Mike knew
how Dotty could be, knew all too well how stupid Dotty could be.
Twenty minutes after their meeting had finished and Ted was well on
his way back to his farm Mike couldn’t stop thinking about how much
of a great man he was and how stupid Ted was being. Stupid like his
daughter. Stupid like everyone.

Everyone except
for him.

Even his own wife
had been stupid, but not anymore. She was long dead and that was
good. Life with her still around didn’t bear thinking about. She
had tried to foil Mike, tried to get him to buy things at their
proper value, tried to make him sell things he didn’t want and
tried to make him treat people with respect. But he was way too
clever for that and a suicide was the best way for her to go. A
very sad suicide with an even sadder suicide note just for good
measure.