This is the eighth chapter of the Fang & Bone serial; click here to visit the previous installment of Fang of Triseria. Please share your thoughts on the story in the comments, or visit the project hub for more information.
Erryl stood by the raised wooden deck that wrapped around a portion of what appeared to be the mayor’s house. It was a curious construction, the stairs leading up to a raised and covered walkway, complete with railings. In another land, Insanara, he had seen a similar style of construction and believed this was called a porch. The homes there were raised off of the ground due to frequent flood seasons. This construction seemed more concerned with status.
Given the other buildings rested on split logs, sealed with tar, or stones fitted together and filled with mortar, this home stood out – it was for a mayor at the very least.
Fang stood near Erryl and grumbled slightly, sniffing at the air.
“Are tlowers a bit overwhelming for you, friend?”
“You know my nose is sensitive, prick,” said the Wolf.
Erryl chuckled to himself as he continued to study the building.
“Curious home, is it not? I believe they call this a porch.”
“Yes. Had them in the old kingdom.”
“Did you, now?” Erryl knew little of Triseria before the fall.
“Triseria wasn’t always a wolf’s den.”
Erryl spent a second considering how little he knew about a place that had changed so much. “Fair enough.”
Fang stared at the raised wooden platform. Erryl noticed his companion consumed in thought.
“What is it?”
Fang glanced at the wooden planks that wrapped around the porch. He leaned forward and down, seeming to take in the construction of the platform, the vertical beams, and the roof. He measured his height to the railing and studied the wooden rods that rose from the deck to the railing.
“Defensible.”
“And?”
“Smash the stairs and no ghoul can climb up. Gaps in the supports are good for pikes or blades. Could survive a siege here. Pick off the dead.”
Erryl glanced over the details that Fang laid out. He stepped back and took in the whole of the home. Or was it a fortress?
“The prick lives in a fortress.”
Fang snorted – perhaps in agreement, or perhaps not. Werewolves had too many little gestures and quirks to take in. At least, Fang did, as the only werewolf Erryl had met that hadn’t tried to kill him.
Erryl continued, “One would hope his constituents could fall back to this position given the shambling corpses nearby.”
“Doubt it,” Fang’s voice was a low grumble.
Erryl agreed, saying nothing. After a moment, he began to climb the stairs. He found it curious that he towered over Fang as he turned back to glance at the wolf, who stood stubbornly in the dirt near the steps.
“Are you coming?”
“Not welcome.”
“I insist. I need you there to make me look legitimate.” Erryl stepped onto the deck and toward the door.
Fang glanced around. If Erryl didn’t know better, the wolf appeared nervous. After a moment of apprehension, Fang’s heavy, padded foot met the first step with a sharp creak. He winced and pulled his foot back.
Erryl tapped a toe impatiently. “Hurry up.”
Fang took a step again and the creak became a crack as he placed his weight on his left foot. He grunted and cleared the stairs in two steps, the first step audibly splitting the wood at the moment his weight was fully on it. Fang shifted uncomfortably on the groaning boards of the deck and glanced at the first step, a dark fissure splitting the board and leaving it uneven.
Erryl smiled. “Dear me, I seemed to have split that first step.”
Fang looked to Erryl for a moment, his brow furrowed in apparent confusion. After a moment the fur across his brow evened out.
“I see.”
The Barber rapped at the door. Fang sidled up behind him, but Erryl gestured him away.
“Not until the door is open. For dramatic emphasis,” he whispered.
Fang grunted and stepped to the left, out of sight of the door.
After a few moments, a raspy voice called out from inside.
“Who the bloody hell is it? Egg? Egg is that you?”
“We bear no eggs, we are but humble travelers who have done you and your constituents a service, good sir.”
There was silence on the other side of the door and an audible creak of the presumed mayor shifting his weight.
“I won’t be having solicitors.”
“Then it is good we are not solicitors.” Erryl took a chance. “We were sent by the Innkeeper to make good for our service to the town. You have a bit of a pest problem in the woods and he sent us your way.”
There was another pause. There was more creaking.
“Fucking Nathan! That son of a whore!”
The door swung inward and a round man emerged. He smelled of liquor, sweat, and snuff. His eyes were wide, which only served to make his puffy lids billow outward. His thick mustache’s twirled tips were uneven and his thinning hair appeared to have once been combed over, but now it flopped angrily and leaflike over a reddish, wrinkled forehead.
“That son of a bitch can’t be making unilateral decisions like that without my – wait, who the hells are you?”
Erryl snapped his fingers on his left hand which dangled at his side. He pulled his hand up and rested it on the hilt of his rapier. Fang’s massive frame emerged from behind him silent and strong.
“Why, Mr. Mayor. We’re the solution to your ghoul problem.”
The mayor’s eyes did not leave Fang and Erryl felt he might as well have been invisible. The message of his and Fang’s presence was pointedly clear.
“Er, fine. Come in. Leave the beast outside.”
Erryl felt a heat radiating behind him from the wolf, but it quickly subsided. Erryl wouldn’t press the issue, Fang had played his role for the present. Erryl would fill his companion in later.
Erryl glanced back to Fang, who towered over him and gave a quick nod. Fang slowly turned and walked toward the stairsteps. He stood with his back to the door and folded his arms, pushing up his shoulders and giving them even more volume than they normally had.
The Wolf would keep watch, just outside the door.
Erryl noticed that the mayor’s eyes were still wide, yet his brow simultaneously pressed down on the fat above his sockets in some sort of seething anger or resentment. This was good enough. He had proven an easy read.
Erryl brushed past the mayor and stepped into the door. The mayor did not take his eyes off Fang. After a few seconds, he finally closed the door and began to lock it.
Erryl coughed.
“Do you think that would be any help? I assure you, you have nothing to fear from us.”
The mayor stopped, sighed, and undid the initial lock.
“I suppose you’re right there, mister…”
“Nick. Erryl Nick. Barber-surgeon and member of Fools’ Errand, at your service.”
Erryl bowed deeply with the flourish of his free left hand darting above and behind him. His right hand rested on the hilt of his rapier, the pointed end reaching upward, much like his free hand.
The mayor responded. “Corrigan Gorval, duly elected mayor of New Gordhurst.”
Erryl promptly cut the bow and returned upright, hand still on his blade.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a little tobacco on you, would you, Corrigan? I must admit I am rather nervous, I’ve spoken to very few men so above my station and I don’t wish to misstep in my proposal. A nice smoke would soothe my nerves.”
The mayor stomped past Erryl past a bannister and stepped into a doorway to the left. Erryl followed. The mayor grumbled.
The room was a sitting room with a hint of pretension. The furniture was clearly the nicest that could be found in New Gordhurst. This space held what few things had been recovered during the assumed calamity, or things traded for in the time since. The desk was once ornate and delicately carved with floral patterns but now appeared scuffed and dusty.
Much of the room was dusty. Not much official business done here of late, it seemed.
Erryl watched the mayor rustle through a couple of desk drawers, grunting and muttering. He glanced around the room for a moment and huffed at the recognition of something. He shuffled to a shelf and picked up a small box, opening it and holding it out to Erryl. Erryl’s pipe was at the ready, plucked out from a vest pocket.
“Not tobacco, but mirebloom. Bit stale. Don’t smoke much. Will this work?”
Erryl took a couple of pinches and packed them into his pipe.
“Absolutely. Thank you.”
Erryl patted his pockets, unable to find a match. The mayor struck one and held it out, and Erryl lit his pipe, taking a few quick puffs to get the bloom to smolder. The mayor gestured sharply to a pair of threadbare couches in the center of the room. Erryl nodded and took a seat and the mayor slumped into the opposite couch, clouds of dust rising and falling for a few brief seconds.
“How can the town of New Gordhurst help you, Mister Nick? You said something of a pest problem?”
“Oh, of course, Corrigan! Yes, specifically, ravenous dead lurking in the woods around the town.”
The mayor coughed.
“Ah, that. Well, I understand your concern. Appreciate it even. Oh, I believe I failed to mention my name as Corrigan Gorval.”
“Oh, no, you mentioned that immediately.”
Gorval huffed.
“Well, I do appreciate your concern, Mister Nick, I am not sure what use a barber is to us. Or the beast for that matter. We have things well under control with the, er, pests. I am sure you saw our defenses on the way into town.”
Gorval paused for a moment. “Speaking of which, I am sure you have someplace more important to be than our little town. I can understand if you and your… friend… need a place to spend the evening. I am sure Nathan at the inn can accommodate you. Beyond that, I am unsure of what business we may have.”
Erryl puffed away.
“Oh, I can understand you have your defenses, but I must say that my companion and I had an encounter just outside your town with a trio of nasty things.”
Erryl shifted on the couch grabbed his small bundle and spilled the teeth onto the table between the couches. They clattered against the wood.
Gorval grimaced at the sight of filthy ghoul teeth on the dusty surface.
“We encountered three ghouls on the way in. Surely as the leader of this town, you would want to ensure safety for travelers, correct?”
The mayor said nothing as he stared at the pile of broken teeth. The man’s countenance had changed. There was a twinge of something that Erryl could not quite read on the man’s face, which was cast downward at the table.
Curious.
After a few seconds of silence, Erryl took a quick puff and continued.
“Tell me, Corrigan, just what is the source of these local ghouls? You ask what business a Barber and a Wolf have with your town. We are here to help cleanse the infection… for a small fee.”
Mayor Corrigan Gorval said nothing. He simply stared at the teeth.
Click here to visit the project hub for Fang of Triseria; click here to read the next installment of Fang & Bone.
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