Chapter 12
Markem sat, cramped and nauseous, in the rickety carriage as it lumbered its way through the city walls of Dallas. He couldn't wait for this abominable ride to end. The stench of unwashed bodies were bad enough by themselves, but he doubted the torn and stained fabric covering the three person bench that now supported five sets of ass had ever been cleaned. Markem grit his teeth as he was sure that never in the history of gouging, had anyone ever been charged twenty silver pieces for such meager accommodations.
Trying hard not to lose his temper and kill the man sitting next to him for his insanely loud breathing, Markem instead focused his gaze out through the windows, taking in the sights of Dallas. There were your typical shops in various stages of disrepair, and a variety of wares being hawked by stubborn, ill fed shopkeepers. Ladies huddled near a three story building that had obviously been built by the ancients, displaying as much skin as they dared in attempt to lure in a paying customer with promises of warmth...in more ways than one.
A new and unique odor entered the coach as it rumbled by a tannery a few blocks later, with many animal skulls festooning the walls and a single stretched hide as a sign indicating the shop specialty. In a place like this they were probably the only ones who weren't starving. Markem wondered what could drive so many people this far north, and then realized that most were probably like him, outcasts on their last hope. A wretched hive of scum and villainy. He would have to be cautious.
Just as he was beginning to wonder what his last silver and two coppers would buy him, since he hadn't eaten for two days, when the miserable thief of a driver pulled off the main road and into a post station. The mules pulling the cart came to an abrupt halt, throwing the already overcrowded passengers against each other. Having had enough of this misery Merkem kicked the carriage door open, snapping the lock frame, and tumbled out into the slushy street. The driver must not have heard the door slam open, but Markem didn't wait around. Turning he stormed off towards the brothel they passed a few streets ago. Even if he didn't have enough coin to rent a girl for the evening, he would still enjoy looking at them as he came up with what to do next.
Markem trudged his way down the street keeping an eye on the alleyways that he was sure sheltered many a waif, and looked for an area that wasn't occupied and relatively warm. Just in case.
He stopped briefly in an inn, and asked the grimly looking lady behind an equally grimy counter if she knew where he could find work. The barkeep ran her fingers through her tangled and matted hair, tucking the errant strands back into the grease that seemed more a part of her scalp than her hair did, and eyed him up and down.
Subconsciously Markem straightened and adjusted his once pristine coat that was now more rag patches than blue military dress.
"That's a cute coat you got there pretty boy. Matches your nose real nice like" the bartender said with a sneer. Markem touched his crooked nose self-consciously, '
heh, could have been the other guy'
.
"The tanners always need a hand cleaning out the barrels of piss, though I'd hate for you to get your pretty boots dirty. If you're looking for soldier type work check with the sheriff on the north side of town. There might be work guarding caravan."
After a quick set of directions Markem set off to find the sheriff. '
Fuck you if you think I'm going to clean up piss and entrails. I was a captain in Lord Aldridge's personal guard. I could kill everyone in this god forsaken backwards town without even breaking a sweat.'
It took him nearly an hour of walking to get to the north side of town where rickety wooden facade on a leaning stone building was labeled as "Sherrif". A faded and poorly depicted badge was painted on the roof, completing the pathetic ensemble.
'
Wow. The fucking people are so stupid, I'm surprised that they don't forget how to breathe. Wouldn't surprise me if they beg me to be sheriff after I show them what I can do. I'll be running this damn town in a week.'
Markem swaggered over to the front door and threw it open with a bit more force than he intended, slamming the handle into the wood paneling that constituted the inside walls of the rather unimpressive and dingy office. A series of small desks lined the walls, and a typical iron bar cage sat at the back, empty of any guests.
The only desk that was currently occupied had a small female hunched over several sheets of paper rubbing her temples as if to stave off a migraine.
Marching over to her desk, he looked down and saw the sheets were filled with numbers separated into columns with small neat notations having been added in the margins. '
Must be a secretary'
Clearing his throat, in case she missed the door slamming open, he said "I need to speak with - "
Without ever looking up from her papers, the lady extended a single finger telling him to wait. Markem glared daggers at the top of her brown hair, and considered briefly grabbing her by her ponytail and forcing her to look at him. She continued making small corrections and notes on the sheets before her, occasionally referencing a ledger book.
After nearly five minutes Markem was incensed. Slamming his hands down on the desk to get her attention he shouted, "Look, bitch..." but he didn't get any further. Before he could continue his tirade, he quickly found himself staring down the barrel of a hand cannon the lady seemed to summon as if by magic. It was inches from his face, and had a barrel that a small pony could get lost in. She never even looked up from her writing.
"Ok listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot."
The distinctive sound of the hammer being cocked back on a double action revolver convinced Markem that perhaps she was busy, and it would be polite to wait for her to finish. Slowly, he lifted his hands off the desk and stood back.
'
I should give her some space. She seems tense. Probably on her time of the month, and me without sweets. Yeah, back here is probably best.'
Several more minutes went by without the woman looking up from her work or lowering the cocked pistol from its position, until at last she nodded to herself and in one smooth motion, swept the papers into a neat pile for later sorting, and holstered the gun back under the desk.
Looking up she finally met his gaze. Her brown eyes narrowed at him and her already pinched face formed more frown lines. She looked at him as if he was something stuck to her shoe.
"What didya want?" She said in a hoarse voice, probably from years of screaming at...well everyone.
"I need to speak to the sheriff. I'm new in town and looking for work."
"Ain't got no work. There's the door."
"I'd prefer to speak to the sheriff if you don't mind. I'm sure I can impress him with my qualifications."
"Oh? You can impress him can ya?" A small smile crossed her face as she looked him from sunken eyes to soiled boots. "I don't think I want to waste the sheriff's time with some two bit has been soldier. No matter how many ruffles his coat has."
'Damnit Lord Aldridge!'
"Look miss," he started slowly conscious of the gun she had somewhere, "I really need to talk to him. Do you know where he is or when he'll be back?"
