The Butcher and the Butterfly (5 page)

Stephen noted the
Deputy winking at the blushing owner. The redness of her cheeks
opened up the possibility that Cathy had once been a beauty. Her
hair, now thin and dark brown had once been long and golden. Her
skin, now slightly pale and hanging would have been fresh with the
life of the young. Her features were slight, a not too crooked nose
and slender mouth brought attention to her big brown eyes that
seemed to water for no reason. She wasn’t fat yet but on the same
token she wasn’t thin either. Her chest heaved as she spoke and it
looked to Stephen, having seen women do this many a many, she
forced up her large breast to either lure men or frighten them off.
She was still attractive but time was certainly taking its toll. If
offered her services, Stephen would have no trouble in accepting
them and it looked as though the Deputy; his eyes almost transfixed
upon her, was getting some of it already.

The Deputy
continued. ‘She will find you a room for your time here with us and
supply you with all ya feeding, drinking and singing. Which I might
add; are all excellent.’

Another early
patron some ways to the back of the Travellers snorted with his
amusement and Cathy went on tip toes and tilted her head to one
side as she went about her daily routine. ‘Shut up, Morrie and fuck
off home to your wife. We aint open for another hour yet!’

Stephens’s eyebrow
rose up and a grimace appeared on his face.

‘Get used to that
my friend. She has wicked looks and an even wickeder tongue, you
mark my words.’

Cathy gave the two
men a sarcastic grin and then looked behind her to a doorway
leading behind the main bar. ‘For fucks sake Susie, hurry up and
get your pert little ass over here behind the bar and get cleaning
these fucking glasses, we open in an hour and I aint done half of
what I am supposed to do.’

John stepped
forward, his boots scuffing on the sawdust floor and he leaned in
close to Cathy; a closeness that looked too familiar. He spoke
softly, ‘The gentleman is a Watchman, dearest. Treat him so.’

Stephen saw
Cathy’s eyes widen like he had so many times before on so many
other faces.

‘Well fuck me. All
the way out here? Why?’

The Deputy stood
back and smiled. ‘All in good time, Cathy.’ John turned to Stephen,
‘In the meantime I hope we can call you Stephen, for such
formalities tend to be forgotten way out in the wilds?’

The Watchman
nodded. He couldn’t give a damn what they called him. By the Fates,
now that he was in some sort of civilisation he realised how dirty
he felt and he yearned for a bath.

‘Good. And now I
shall bid you all a goodbye. A Deputies work is never done.’ John
winked at Cathy and nodded at the Watchman, ‘I shall see you both
this evening after my shift is done.’ His gaze then shifted to
someone stood at the far end of the bar. Stephen looked, turned,
and followed Johns gaze.

3

Only his whore
lover, Clare, came close to the beauty that stood in front of him
at the Travellers Last. It was as if an Angel had appeared before
his eyes and all around her the filth and wretchedness of the bar
only made her shine more. Stephen was lost in an eternity of a
single moment and it was an eternity he would have loved to have
stayed in for the rest of his life. He may have been none weary;
his legs ready to buckle like trees in a gale but all that floated
away in an instant.

The Watchman
scanned her body like a painter admiring his work. He knew he must
have looked like but he couldn’t help it. Like his murderous skills
or his hunters talent scanning a beautiful woman and taking in all
her luscious curves came easily to Stephen. It was as in built as
all the others: she stood just shy of six feet tall with hair of
such a shimmering blonde it made him yearn to run his fingers
through its long locks. Her face was slender; her blue eyes were
like wells you poured yourself into, deep skies full of wonder. Her
neck was long and well-proportioned and her shoulders held a
feminine strength that he liked. Her green vest, dirty with the
day’s work, hung quite low revealing two pert breasts in their
prime, their milky whiteness Stephen begged to hold, to lick, and
to kiss. Her stomach wasn’t flat but had a fullness of health that
was pleasing to see. Her blue jeans followed the curve of her body
and just above the belt line a small tattoo revealed itself. Her
legs stretched down to the floor and it seemed to take an age to
follow them.

Stephen took in a
deep breath to control himself. She was truly a woman to love. A
woman to want. A dream. A vision. An ancient Siren who would beckon
sailors to their doom. Stephens’s fugue ended with a far off voice
echoing around the bar. At first Stephen didn’t pay any attention
to it. He only started taking in the words when the girl finally
reached the bar and started cleaning the glasses. Stephen took in a
deep breath and with a lick of his lips he gathered his thoughts
together and tried to think of other, more pressing matters.

Watching the
Deputy walk away he noted the glare between John and Cathy and knew
that tonight their lust for each other would be quashed and that
their sweaty bodies would entwine under the moonlight. Sunlight
from the burning disk in the sky reflected off a shiny ring wrapped
around the Deputies fourth finger.

Cathy brushed back
her hair and took hold of the dirty cloth which she had been using
to clean the dirty glasses as Susie moved behind the bar, her head
hung low a slight tint of redness upon her cheeks which seemed to
infuriate Cathy.

Stephen slid his
travel bag from his side and heard the salon doors swing open and
shut as the Deputy left the Travellers. He listened hard to the
footsteps as they walked along the dusty hardpan until finally they
vanished. It wasn’t long before the profanity began again.

‘Right then, girl,
you get on with the glasses and getting this fuckin bar ready
whilst I show this Stephen here up to his room and run him a nice
hot bath.’ She turned her head toward the traveller. ‘How does that
sound, sir?’

Back in Ritash
such behaviour would not be tolerated, such language frowned upon
by professional women and anyone when in the presence of a
Watchman, but John had been right, formalities have no place in
towns like this. Stephen nodded. ‘Thank you. A hot bath and a shave
is exactly what I require.’ He took a quick glance at Susie but she
was busy cleaning those damned glasses. He hoped she had been
looking at him and he was a little upset that she had paid him no
attention what so ever. But why should she; he was dirty, smelly,
unwashed and dishevelled. An odd sickening feeling filled his gut
at the thought of this girl not wanting him. It reminded Stephen of
being a spotty, horny teenager with a crush on anything with a pair
of tits; wanting to stick his perpetually hard dick into anything
that had a hole.

‘Aye. A good bath
and a clean shave is what ya need. The room will cost ya half a
gold a week, the bath is free and the meals and drinks we will
tally up at the end of ya stay,’ she turned her attention to Susie
quickly before Stephen could respond, ‘and Susie, make sure that
you clean yourself up before the dance tonight I don’t want ya
looking like some sort of fuckin vagrant whilst you is singing your
little ditties.’ Cathy turned her head back toward Stephen, an
eyebrow raised almost to her hairline.

‘Right then, if
you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you to your room and then get
the bath running.’

4

Stephen lit the
small smelling stick on the windowsill, walked over to the steaming
hot bath and carefully stepped in. He hadn’t spent too much time in
his room, it was as non-descript as the desert he had just waked
from.

The bathroom was
small, furnished only with a basin atop an old wooden unit, a
clothes rack and a towel stand. The wooden floor was smooth, walked
that way by hundreds of feet over the years. The wooden walls and
ceiling reminded Stephen of the old Sauna houses back home. If he
could call it home. The Watchman walked from the window, over to
the copper bath that stood in the centre of the room and carefully
stepped into it.

As he sunk down
into the deep bath, the water refused to permeate through to the
skin; the dirt of the Wastelands putting up a brown barrier of
filth. But eventually the dirt gave way and his skin was renewed
with the clean, how water. The steam filled his lungs and Stephen
knew that in a couple of hours he would have a deep cough to
contend with as the dirt and dust tried to free themselves from his
lungs.

The Watchman
closed his eyes and allowed himself to be drift away. He forgot
about all the things he had seen and heard over the last few weeks
and months. He had reached his first goal, and was pleased to be
off the track for a while. His mind cleared and he could feel the
sleepiness start to wash over him like a soft tide washing over
sand. For a moment he was alone and free.

If only for a
moment.

5

‘The water good
for ya?’

The voice Stephen
recognised but it didn’t take away the shock. He slid up the bath,
water sploshing from the sides and splashing his face and for a
moment he was blind.

The voice chuckled
at the sight, ‘That’s a Marksman and a Watchman I have surprised in
the last couple of days!’ the Black Sorcerer tapped the fidgeting
Stephen on the shoulder, a gesture to calm him and to poke fun.
‘So, how is it?’

Stephen, moving to
the right, leant over and grabbed a towel, wiping his hands and
then his face so that he could better see the man to his left.
‘How’s what?’ Stephen blurted out without thinking as he steadied
himself.

‘The water,
Stephen. How’s the water’ The Sorcerer stood back and gazed upon
the Watchman, awaiting his response it seemed with almost bated
breath.

Stephen sighed.
‘Fine, the water if fine. In fact everything was fine until you
surprised me!’

The Sorcerer
neither snarled nor grinned. His face, slightly obscured by his
cloak was blank. Only his eyes glistened and the Watchman was drawn
to them like a moth to the flame.

The Sorcerer moved
over to the window and careful began to play with the smoke rising
from the scent stick. Stephen thought back to the lonely miles he
had just walked and the unknown journey that lay before him and
that he owed this man his life. ‘I apologise if I have offended
you. Do you have word of my next task, Sorcerer?’

Samson swirled the
smoke between his fingers, his eyes seeming to contemplating the
meaning of life as he did. He remained silent for some time as he
played with the smoke. Just as Stephen was about to ask again, the
Sorcerer turned and from his cloak his removed the black orb.

‘Do you know what
this is, Stephen?’

The Watchman
looked at the black orb in Samson’s hands. It had a glow to it, a
fire seemingly burning at its heart. Something warm irritated the
back of the Watchman’s head, a burning pain that felt like the
coming of a storm.

Swallowing hard
Stephen shook his head.

The Sorcerer
smirked. ‘That’s surprising, Stephen, I thought you would have
heard of her.’

Stephen shook his
head as the burning intensified. He was becoming agitated,
especially at the burning itch on the back of his head. He voiced
his annoyance, ‘I don’t know Samson. Is it a magic crystal ball
like the old gypsy’s use in the forests?’

‘Don’t be so
obtuse, Stephen. This stone, this magic ball as you put it, is what
saved your life and what gives your pathetic life a fresh start and
fresh opportunities?’ Samson stepped away from the window and
toward the bath. As he got closer the room grew darker, shrinking
with each step, and with each step forward the baths water dropped
in temperature to a point where small ice crystals formed.

Stephens’s heart
began to race and he tried to jump from the bath before he froze to
death. All the while the room seemed to be getting smaller and the
light darker. Just as the Sorcerer was about to walk into the bath
he disappeared. Stephen looked about, still trying desperately to
climb from the bath, but he couldn’t see the man in black. Just as
Stephen was about to try one more time to free himself from the icy
grip of the water the Sorcerer appeared by the window, the room was
bright again with sunlight and the water was a warm as it had
been.

‘These stones are
everything, Watchman,’ Samson continues as if nothing had happened,
‘they are creation itself and hold the keys to ours and our new
king’s futures.’

Samson placed the
dark glowing orb back into its hidey hole under his cloak. The
irritation removed itself from the back of Stephens head and he
took a deep breath.

‘I take your
silence as an apology.’

Stephen
nodded.

‘Good. Your first
task is a simple one.’ Samson turned and pointed one old gnarled
finger out of the open window. ‘Go into this rotten old town and
find the lad called Tommy. He’s a simple thing but shall serve his
uses. Ask him to take you to the witch.’

‘A witch?’ Stephen
interrupted.

Samson looked back
to the Watchman and placed his hands by his sides. ‘She has a
weapon that you will need if you are to do the bidding of our King.
Once you have the weapon she will tell you how to get to the boy we
have spoken of and if required help you upon that path for it will
be shut to me.’

Samson stepped
away from the window and his eyes met Stephens. The once Watchman
sunk down into his bath, tried to remove his gaze from that of the
Sorcerer but found that he couldn’t. Samson continued, ‘Don’t fail
me, Stephen, this is a turning point in our journey, a pivotal
moment in our future and one you can’t fuck up.’

Stephen sniffed
and held his right hand to his heart, an old habit from an old
time. ‘I shall not fail you.’