Firstborn of the Frontier

Being the sole trustee of a village has its perks, but it ain't all sunshine and roses.

Think about all the things you gotta do around the house. Dust, sweep, and mop to keep things tidy on a weekly basis for a start. Then there's the monthly chores like window washing, gutter clearing, grass cutting, and weed removing. On top of all that, you got your regular maintenance. Broken fences, rotten floorboards, rusted hinges, and all that sort of stuff, to say nothing of the big-ticket items like the 39 separate Aetheric Dynamos in the village, ones attached to each house because these buildings have been around long enough that it was before we had the tools, infrastructure, and manpower to produce the larger Aetheric Dynamo's you'd need to power so many houses all by its lonesome.

There's a whole lot more to watch for, like ice and snow buildup, pooling water and mold growth, burrowing rodents and nesting nuisances, and so much more. Ain't all that bad if you just looking out for you and yours, but it's pretty much a full-time job once you scale it up to a whole village. Maybe more than a full-time job, as there's enough work for two or three people going at it full time, especially when you add in all the care the horses and cattle need. Now granted, some stuff don't need doing in the dead of winter, and things'll get a whole lot easier when folks are living in said houses and maintaining them themselves. Until such a time however, it's all on me, which means instead of kicking up my feet and settling in for a rest after a long and arduous trip, I gotta make the rounds to assess the damage and make sure nothing needs my immediate attention.

Would've happened even if I didn't suffer a series of break-ins while I was gone, but seeing what they done puts me in a rip-snorting foul mood. What sort of savage feels right trekking mud and snow all throughout their living quarters? Never did understand the American tendency to leave boots on indoors unless they asleep. Who wants to be sweeping and mopping all the livelong day? That's the least of it too, but feels the most egregious, because it's a mess that could've been so easily avoided with next to no effort at all, and the rest only serves to further sour my mood as I come across mess after mess after mess. Them labourers didn't just come in to take shelter from the cold; they done made themselves at home and had themselves a few parties from the looks of things, drinking and feasting on my property and even dipping into my pantry to boot.

The big house was secure, but I didn't do much for the other properties. Problem is, I bought up a bunch of food for the winter, but figured it'd be cheaper to store stuff long term in a cold cellar in an unheated house, as opposed to a freeze box in the big house that I keep warm. Sound logic, but instead of being safe and sound behind a whole bunch of wards, the bulk of my food was in the unsecured neighbour's house. Shouldn't come as no surprise to find that them vagrants broke the lock on said cellar and done raided everything inside. Makes them thieves and vandals on top of slobs and reprobates, leaving scattered piles of broken bottles, rotting bones, smashed tableware, and even the odd puddle of human excrement that done come out of both ends.

All of which feels like justification to go down to the docks and start breaking kneecaps, but I rein my temper in and count backwards from 10. Then I do it again, after reminding myself that I'm striving to be a newer, better, more approachable Howie as opposed to the fella who'd sooner kill a man than look at him. Don't mind being the Yellow Devil, just can't get too out of hand, though I feel it's all kinda bullshit. These folks done wronged me, and disrespected me to boot, so I ought to be allowed to teach them a lesson or three. I do that though, and folks will be going on and on about how the Yellow Devil of a Firstborn done bullied a bunch of honest, hardworking labourers who was only trying to keep warm in winter, and I guarantee won't no one care about the mess them labourers left behind.

Can't help but feel it's got something to do with race. If these assholes done this to Clayton, it might make a splash at the bar when folks tell stories of how he done knocked a few heads and loosened a few teeth. I do the same and it'll make headlines as another attack from an angry Qink, never mind how I been living here amongst Americans all my god damned life. That's the lesson my daddy tried to teach me without ever saying it outright, one I'm learning much too late. As someone who looks Qin, I'll always stand out from the pack, so best not to do anything that'll make me stand out more.

Ain't fair is what that is, and it only serves to fuel the fires of rage. I don't act on it though, and I admit it's not because of the new leaf I done recently turned. No, truth is, I'm just too goddamned tired to do nothing about it just yet, which is why I wrap up the rest of my rounds as quick as I can. Aside from covering broken windows, lashing broken doors shut, and cleaning up the worst of the messes that can't be left to sit any longer, I don't do nothing more because I shouldn't fucking have to. At least all the materials I done bought to build my house on the northern side of town are still sitting pretty in the foundations I dug, all covered in tarp and staked down tight to keep too much moisture from getting to the wood inside.

Even having done the bare minimum, it still takes me over 4 hours to get through it all, and the working day has come to a quiet end. Alls I want to do is eat a warm meal, take a hot shower, and fall asleep on my favourite recliner. As I turn to head back to the big house though, I stop in my tracks when I spot a good number of folks giving me the side eye as they go about their business. They all pretending like they ain't paying me no mind while watching my every move. Some to see what my reaction gonna be and get out of dodge right quick, but I bet a bunch of these idiots are just waiting for me to head home so's they can sneak in to one of my houses again. Seeing an opportunity to nip that in the bud, I stalk on over with my Mage Hands sitting on the Judges under my duster and slip my left arm out of the sling to give it a good stretch.

Hurts something fierce it does, but I can use it well enough to draw the Shortsword on my hip. Not quickly, but if these folks think to gun me down and try to cover it up after the fact, I'll disabuse them of the notion right quick. Don't got no Fireball available, but they don't got no good Aetherarms either, meaning the Force Barrier Spell I Prepped and quietly Ready will hold up against their low-powered Bolts fairly well and give me time enough to return fire. Here's hoping it don't come to that, though as I make my way over to where the bulk of the labourers are supposed to camp out, I spot plenty of nervous nellies keeping their hands close to their guns while they watch my every move like hawks.

Ain't a matter of courage no more, because odds this steep will make even the bravest gunfighter twitchy. I didn't come here to fight though, and these folks ain't here for it either. They might be plenty of scoundrels and wretches among them, but they ain't all responsible as a whole, so I keep that in mind as I head for a spot by the road where I can see the entire crowd.

"Spread the word," I say once I got everyone's attention, using Thaumaturgy to put a little extra oomph into my voice without having to raise it. "Any persons found trespassing after dark will be shot without warning. Don't care if you huddled up by the fireplace or asleep in bed. Seeing how I done just survived a Kill Team comin' after my head, I ain't in no mood to take chances. I spot someone on my property, and I will shoot first, shoot again, then shoot a third time just to be sure before heading over to see who I done killed, so unless you ready to throw down, y'all best steer clear of me and mine. We clear?"

No one answers right away, and I cast my gaze across the crowd until I spot one group of ne'er-do-wellers scowling something fierce. I can tell by their posture and manner of dress, with no care or respect for how they comport themselves with their dirty, haphazard clothes and unkempt appearances. More telling is the weapons they all carry on their persons. A handgun each is all, all concealed under their jackets and not at all easily drawn, but that alone is enough to make me suspicious because why would you want to hide your weapon instead of leaving it within easy reach? Then there's the way the other workers steer clear of the group, leaving plenty of room between them and the ruffians, with most of the crowd glancing towards them see what they'll do. Probably have them to thank for blazing a trail from the labourer's camp to my houses, with the rest following suit because why not. That's the thing about people though. Most are decent enough, but soon as they see one lawbreaker doing something without any consequence, the others will soon follow suit. That's why they say one bad apple will spoil the bunch, because all it really takes is one.

"This is bullshit," the leader of the ruffians exclaims, and I lock onto him with an intense stare. Gotta commit his features to memory so I can scan through the Recorded Video for his face come tomorrow. "You gonna shoot a man for trying to stay warm and dry in this weather?"

"I've killed for less." A cavalier response delivered with a shrug, all of which slips out before I've had time to think. I almost regret it after the fact, even though it's the truth. I've killed men simply for accompanying other men I wanted dead, and these folks here have done worse. They done broke in my houses, which ain't really my home but is the closest thing I got to it. Left a mess they expect me to clean up. Stolen food and drink out of my larder. Defiled and disgraced the place I have been tasked to keep. Hell, if it wasn't for the fact that I Warded the big house and workshop with non-lethal shocks and put up signs promising worse, I bet they would've raided my tools and weapons too, to say nothing of my ammo and Aether caches. Fact is, I'm about a hair's breadth away from marching on over and beating this entitled shit to an inch within his life for acting like I'm in the wrong. Could do it too, as I done spent the last week learning how to Conjure up a Spiritual Baseball Bat that won't kill you unless it cracks you right overtop the head.

I think them folks sense it too, because the leader pipes down right quick alongside the rest of the crowd, with not a one able to meet my eyes in the ensuing silence. It don't make me feel good though, not pleased as peach the way it would've a year or two ago. Before, I'd've looked out over the crowd and seen this display of fear as a show of respect, a sign that I done built myself up into a man not to be trifled with, but now I see the truth. This ain't the look of a crowd that done been cowed by my presence. This here is a herd of sheep all standing stock still for fear of the rabid dog among them, one who thinks his role is to protect, but might well snap and kill a sheep or three should the mood suddenly strike him.

Ain't a good feeling, not in the least, but I suppose now is a good a time as any to start making changes. To that end, I hold fast to the image of Uncle Art's doleful expression as he asks that I strive to be a good man, and give these fuckers a second chance. "Village is all wired up with cameras," I say, because now that I shown them the Big Stick, it's time to dangle the carrot while threatening them with a second, smaller stick. "I'mma comb through the footage and make a list of each and every one of you bastards who done trespassed and vandalized my properties. A list I'mma bring to the Sheriffs up in Brightpick, Silver Summit, Coal Crag, Ash Creek, and every other town on Rimepeak when I got the time. There, I will let it be known I will be pressing charges against each and every one of you for the aforementioned trespassing and vandalizing as well as theft and destruction of property, with plenty of proof to back the case."

I can already tell there are some who ain't all that impressed. Even though I got them dead to rights, I doubt the Sheriffs will care to give them anything more than 40 hours of community service and maybe a fine spread out amongst the lot to make me whole. Sure, that's tough for a working man to swallow since you not only gotta pay the fine, you also lose out on a week of work in a career where most are living hand to mouth. Even then, I can see a fair few willing to take their lumps and call it even, but that ain't good enough for me. "Once I got names to put to faces," I continue, "I'll be bringing that same list to my lawyer in New Hope, who gonna draft up a civil lawsuit in order to recoup my losses, one that will be brought against you and the companies you represent while here in my village."

That's much worse, because if the company gets their panties in a bunch, they'll blacklist the workers in a heartbeat and won't none of them be able to find work up in Rimepeak. Miners make a whole lot more than roadies and labourers, but they ain't down in the mines for good reason, meaning this here is the only job they can get. I hear plenty of plaintive whispers in the crowd wondering what in the hell they gonna do when that happens, with a good bit of angry muttering to boot. Mostly from the ruffians who got a dark look to them, but all's it takes to put them in their place is a flick of my arm to lift my duster aside and reveal the guns on my belt underneath. Silences most of the crowd right quick, which allows me to finally get to the carrot. "I'll be heading up this weekend most like," I say, giving the ruffians a pointed look and muted smile like I'm challenging them to lay in wait, and not a one dares to meet my eyes as they act all defiant with heads bowed. "Unless of course I find that the mess y'all left behind done been cleaned spic and span. Just the mess mind you. Leave the repairs, because frankly I don't trust the quality of your work, but I'll be damned if I spend the next week sweeping and scrubbing away at your mess because y'all a bunch of filthy fuckin' animals who don't got no respect for me and mine."

I spit, because if I say anymore I'm gonna lose the tenuous grip I got on my leashed temper, and it takes some seconds before I'm ready to speak again. "Two days to clean up after yourselves," I conclude. "That's all you get. Long as it's daylight, I won't shoot none of you fer steppin' onto my properties, not unless you there for nefarious reasons. Anyone who helps out gets a pass when I go see the Sheriffs." I let that hang for a moment or three so they can digest what I said, before showing them the stick once more. "As for the rest? Well, you best pray the gears of justice turn swiftly and you get your comeuppance right quick, because if it takes too long for my tastes, then I might come settle the score myself."

My piece said, I give a pointed sniff, look around to see if there any questions, then head on back to cook myself some dinner and comb through footage. No rest for the weary, because once it's dark, I gotta make good on my promise to shoot any fools who don't take me serious. Doubt I'll have to, as I feel like my message came across loud and clear, but maybe not as clear as it could've been considering I've picked up a tail, some hooded figure shadowing me from behind. Soon as I'm over the property line and close to cover, I draw the Shortsword from my holster as discreetly as I can before turning to confront the weasel skulking along behind me, a rangy, swarthy sort with a mangled face only a mother could love after it done been chewed up by some Abby or beastie.

My jimmies ain't a jangling, especially after seeing the fella leap up out of his skin, but you can't rely solely on Portent to keep yourself alive. It can get you out of a jam, but constant vigilance will keep you from getting into one in the first place, so even though I don't see no weapon on his persons or armed accomplices moving into position, I take cover behind the pillar I done put up at the edge of the village so I could tie off the road come evenings to show that ain't no one welcome after dark. Ain't nothing but a hollow gesture, since any fool could untie the rope or just walk around the pillars, but the message is on point and I haven't had time enough to do more. "I thought I made it clear, but I suppose it bears repeating," I say, facing down the mutilated man while keeping my eyes open and peripherals watching for any movement whatsoever. "Any persons found trespassing after dark will be shot. It's looking dark enough, and you friend are about five feet shy of trespass, so I would tread lightly if I was you."

"I-I was hopin' to get a s-start on the c-c-cleanup." Ain't fear that's got the fella stammering like a fool, as I know a real stutter when I see it. Comes with a facial tic that makes his mutilated features that much more frightening, but I ain't ever been one to judge by appearances even as he tries to hide his face inside his hood. "Won't get p-paid if I miss out on t-t-two days work, and I need the money. C-can't pay no f-f-fine either, so..."

He was hoping to clean by night and get back to his job during the day. Understandable, and it's enough to get me to relax a hair, though not by much. Thinking it through, I gesture at the last house on the lane and say, "Start there. Don't matter where you made your mess, because I can't be assed to track it. Should find cleaning supplies inside somewhere, or in one of the houses nearby unless your friends done ruined it all. I'll check on things in the morning, and if you do a good enough job, then you're off the hook. Keep the lights on in the whole house even after you done, and if you hear me coming, be sure to stand somewhere I can see you with both hands empty and in plain sight. You and anyone else who might think to help out alongside you. We clear?"

"C-c-crystal." The man don't look too pleased, nor does he seem all that frightened, though he do be a little scared. Notices the hidden gun in my hand too, judging by the way he keeps glancing at my left as he shuffles on by with a limp to get a jump on the work.

"Hey," I say, stopping him in his tracks as he freezes up in pure fear. All's I want to ask is, "What's your name?"

"G-gordie. Gordie Parry," he stammers, and I nod to hear it.

"You steer clear of the big house by the docks Gordie," I say, committing his face and name to memory, though I should probably write it down soon enough. Face I'll remember, but I'm terrible with names, and it takes some remembering to pull out Gordie' last name even though he done just told it to me. "Unless you care to get shot that is."

"U-u-unders-s-stood." Guess his stutter gets worse when he's scared, which I can't rightly blame him for. Almost makes me feel bad about press-ganging him into the work, but he done the crime, so he ought to do the time, even if it's just a few hours of lost sleep to make up for his woes. Little hard work ain't gonna kill him, not unless he got ulterior motives or does something stupid like sneak on over to the big house while I'm asleep. This is why I've been so leery about having neighbours come and hang their hats. I don't trust no one out here, and got no one to watch my back, so inviting strangers to live on either side of me is just a recipe for getting got.

By the time I make it back to the big house, I'm all hopping mad because I didn't get to hurt no one and my aches and pains are getting worse. Feelings like I'm clenching my right hand around a hot coal and can't let go, and it gets so bad I reach for the tin of Red Suns Balm I got from little Astrid. Frost-thorn tea won't do shit to take the edge off, and I ain't willing to ask for anything stronger, but soon as I spread a small line of the balm under my nose, the agony recedes just enough to ignore so long as I got something to distract me. And I do, as I get to making good on my promise to I.D every motherfucker who trespassed these last 3 weeks.

Going through so many hours of footage is about as fun as it sounds, which is to say it ain't. Only gotta pay attention to certain times of the day though, namely early morning and late evening when folks head in to take advantage of what's mine. Luckily, the Record Video Cores I raided from Mia's house let me cover enough angles of the village. Wasn't enough to cover the full perimeter, so I pointed them in at the village instead, giving me a good look at the backs of everyone's heads on their way in at night, and the faces come morning when they leave.

So that's how I spend my first afternoon home, scouring recordings for a clear shot of every face, marking down the time stamp, transferring a Photo of the recorded Video over onto a fresh crystal, then repeat ad infinitum. It's as boring and tedious as it sounds, but my best bird Stella keeps me company while the rest of the kiccaws settle in around my chair. They're feeling a mite unsettled by the constant changes of venue, and want to get in close because I'm the only constant they really understand. Soothing their nerves with snacks and scritches brings a touch of normality back to my life, because even though this ain't home quite yet, it's close enough for our sake.

That's why I'm so steamed about this. I ain't fallen in love with life at the quay, but it's all I got, and having a bunch of strangers trample on through here is a violation I will not abide by. Gotta do this all aboveboard though, which is why I set up my security camera system to record everything on two sets of crystals. This way, I got an untouched and therefore definitively unaltered crystal to hand over to my lawyer the next time I sees him. As for the Sheriffs, they'll have to make do with copies if they want them, because I'll be damned if I do it for them. Chances are they won't even watch the whole recording, and will be happy with the copied photos I hand over, or just not care at all. That's why the original goes to Mr. Tillman. He's the real ace in the hole, because even if these people get hit with more than 40 hours of community service, it ain't like that'll make me whole. In order to benefit from their labour, I'd have to put in a work order and pay the Sherriff's Office for the privilege, which to me sounds like benefiting from slavery with extra steps. Granted, you gotta give prisoners something to do in order to earn their keep, because if given a choice between slavery and giving criminals a cozy prison sentence, I'd hafta think long and hard for reasons not to go with the former.

A couple hours pass just like that, with me, my tin of Red Suns Balm, and a notebook to mark down when I seen who I seen. By the time I'm sick and tired of watching footage and too hungry to continue, I've reapplied the Balm thrice more and its well past midnight. Only then do I realize I done forgot to eat. The balm's doing, as it don't just blunt pain; it dulls most my senses. Add in how tired I am and it's a miracle I'm still awake. Luckily for me, Past Howie was smart enough to get a hunter's stew going before he got distracted by work, so a quick trip to the fireplace gets me all that I need and then some. Though I made enough for three meals at least, I scarf down two thirds of what's in the pot while lamenting the lackluster taste. Somehow, boiled meat and hardtack with fistfuls of pearl beans, allium roots, and crunchy caddishes don't cut it no more, not after three weeks of feasting like a king with Aunty Ray. Suppose I'll have to get back to cooking for real, and the first step is to scoop up the last portion into a big bowl and get rid of it right quick. Never one to waste food, even mediocre as this, I grab my gear while my Mage Hands hold the bowl and head out to the last house on the Northern edge of the village.

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Check every door and window on the way to make sure no one else broke in, but it's all clear right up to the second to last house, which is all lit up same as the last one. Erring on the side of caution, I draw my Shortsword and approach the closer building quiet as a mouse before peeking in through the front window, where I catch a glimpse of Gordie cleaning up a storm and really putting his back into it. Don't see or hear no one else either, and just to be sure, I sneak away over to the other house where I directed Gordie to start. A quick walkthrough shows he done a great job cleaning up, having gathered up all the broken glass and garbage into crates sitting outside the front door, while the midden heap out back in the ranch is full of all sorts of biodegradable filth. Man even got the laundry machine going, and seeing how it ain't overflowing with suds, I assume he knows how to use it unlike yours truly.

Embarrassing is what that is, being made a fool of by a machine that don't got no brain, but I got no earthly idea how it's supposed to work much less get my clothes all spic and span. That's why I wash everything by hand or just hit it with Prestidigitation. There's something to be said about soap and hot water though, as it cleans a garment in ways the Cantrip never can. Might just be the scent of the soap that makes me feel the clothes are cleaner, as the Cantrip don't leave no smell behind, but either way, I can appreciate a fella who goes the extra mile. Gordie has more than made up for his crimes of trespassing on my property, but rather than calling it quits, he's still hard at work in the house next door, which makes him aces in my book.

Almost makes me feel bad for bringing him my scraps, but I ain't about to whip up a fresh meal for him. Instead, I march on over and make lots of noise before knocking on the door to let him know I'm here. "Gordie?" I call, opening the door a tid while still keeping behind cover, because better safe than sorry. "It's Howie. I'm comin' in." Bless his heart, Gordie can follow instructions too, as I find him standing with his mop leaning against the wall and both hands up in the air like I'm holding him hostage. "You good," I say, giving him a nod to say I appreciate his compliance. "Made some food and figured you might be hungry. You want?"

"T-thank y-you." Gordie ducks his head down in thanks, then takes a tentative step forward before freezing in place. "I-I c-c-can't pay you f-for it."

"Didn't ask you to," I say, waving his concerns aside and sending my Mage Hands over with the bowl while we take a seat at the kitchen table. "Wouldn't feel right charging for it anyways, not slop like this." I say that, but I done ate two big bowls, and Gordie tucks in with a vengeance, so it can't be that bad. "You made some good progress already. I'm impressed."

Gordie nods, but takes a moment to finish chewing and swallowing before he answers. "My ma used to clean houses for rich folks back home, and she'd bring me along with to help. Some of my earliest memories are of helping her clean, so it's not so bad."

I notice he don't stutter while immersed in the past, which is interesting for all sorts of reasons. "Well, you been at it for a good six hours at least," I say, gesturing at the house around us and the one next door. "From what I seen, you more than done your part, so when you done eating, wash the bowl, leave it on the counter, and head on back to the camp to rest." While I appreciate his efforts, I ain't about to offer him a bed to sleep in, not when it means I'd have to clean up after him.

Blinking in surprise, Gordie takes a hot minute to process what I just said, only to ask, "You s-sure? T-there's a lot to clean up…"

And he don't think enough folks will show come morning. "Yeah, I'm sure. You done more than enough getting the better part of two houses clean." Waving him off, I say, "If no one else shows up, then I'll do what I can and add a few hundred onto the damages when I bring it up with the courts."

Judging by his expression, Gordie don't think much of the Justice system, and neither do I if I'm being honest. The Sheriffs won't be pleased when I show up to dump a whole bunch of work on their desk over what amounts to a petty nuisance. Good thing I'm petty as can be, and if they don't handle their business and my lawsuit falls through, then I'll take that as implicit permission to do as I please to balance the scales of justice. I got the faces of those who wronged me, and getting names won't be all that difficult considering they'll probably keep coming back to the quay week after week.

Because come hell or highwater, I will have my pound of flesh, one way or another.

Don't know what it is Gordie reads off my face, but he dips his head down and says, "I-I-I'm s-s-s-orry." Guess his stutter gets worse when he nervous or afraid, as does his facial tics which he does his best to hide under his hood even indoors as we are. "W-we sh-sh-shouldn't have c-come here, b-but it was-s cold a-and snowy."

"Taking shelter I could overlook," I say, after taking a deep breath so as not to get all worked up over it. "The mess though? I seen hoggidillas make less of a mess while rolling in their own shit."

Gordie don't got nothing to say to that, because he seen some of the worst of it. Instead, he tries to change the subject and says, "Y-you s-should think about opening an inn." As he gains confidence in what he's saying, he stutters a little less, though it never really goes away. "I-it would be real good money, w-what with all the caravans coming through. Especially once t-trucks and proper ships get up and running. The quay here is a direct route f-from Mount Rimepeak to the west coast, one that won't lose t-traffic even after a coastal port gets up and running to the north."

I shrug, because even though that sounds about right, I can't get excited over the prospect of running an inn or more visitors to the quay. I wouldn't say I hate people, but I like them like I like my ghosts. Unseen and unheard. Rather than say as much though, I simply shrug and ask, "I look like the type to go into hospitality services? If you think your mean mug can scare folks off, you ain't seen how fast I clear a room just by walking in."

For a moment, there's an awkward silence that hangs about in the air where Gordie doesn't react and I second guess what I said and wondered if I took things too far, but then he breaks out into a big belly laugh that is genuine as can be. "Yeah, you probably right," he says, laughing off his nerves and his stutter alongside it. "Won't no one be afraid of me if you're in the room with me." Gordie laughs a little too hard even, but it ain't nothing personal. I can tell his appearance weighs heavily on him, and the thought of my face being even scarier comes as something of a relief. A shift in perspective if you will, one that don't change nothing about his appearance, but makes him feel better all the same.

Which is a shame really. People are too quick to judge by appearances, myself included as I only recently discovered, and Gordie here seems like a decent enough sort. Ain't all that greedy, else he wouldn't have explained how lucrative an inn can be, and got the moral fibre to make up for what he done and even apologize for it. Seeing how that's the case, I say, "Tell you what. You almost done in here too right?" Gordie nods, so I continue, "Finish it up, and you can bunk up in here for the night. Just for tonight though. As for how this goes moving forward, we'll see. Maybe I set up an honour system or something. Long as you leave the place clean as you left it, then might be I ain't opposed to letting you and yours sleep with a roof over your heads."

"It'd be much appreciated," Gordie says, nodding like a kiccaw pecking grains. "Gets mighty cold out here by the lake, what with nothing to block the winds. Time was there were plenty of rooms by the docks, but the Church came back and burned them all down when…"

Gordie trails off into silence, and I pick up where he left off. "When they learned that Cultists were conducting their rituals underneath it." Or something like that. I ain't all too sure on the specifics, just that Luisa had an altar somewhere and drew power from it or something. Which is mighty intriguing, because if I could gain power from sacrificing criminals and reprobates, then I'd be all for it. Least then them slacker outlaws could contribute to society for a change, instead of being a drain on it and bringing us all down alongside them.

While I'm considering the upside of blood sacrifices, Gordie done gone real quiet until he finally opens his mouth to ask, "S-s-so it's t-true? T-there really w-were C-C-C-Cultists living h-here?"

"I suppose so," I reply with yet another shrug. "I'm told they was proponents of the Nahuatl Faith, and far as anyone can tell, had a deal with the Puglianos to help them dispose of any corpses by feeding them to Abby." That's why Mr. Mueller had such extensive contacts in Brightpick. Because when the Puglianos needed to disappear a body, those Cultists working in the morgue and around town would help get it to the quay, where Luisa and the rest of them would carry out their Rituals or whatever. Not sure if they themselves ever killed any gangsters or criminals, but I can imagine Luisa taking whatever vengeance she can get while playing the long game in pursuit of vengeance against the man who killed her son. Glad she got it, though I will say I almost pity Ignazio Pugliano, because last I saw he was still breathing and probably wishing things were otherwise.

None of which I share with Gordie, because he don't need to know. He do seem interested in the subject though, but not for the normal reasons. He ain't interested in stories, and it ain't curiosity driving him to ask more, but rather a need for information that I can't quite understand. "S-so they g-gave you their homes and ran, right? All t-these p-properties b-belong to y-you?"

"Yeah."

Still unsure where all this is going, but I figure Gordie done earned himself a few questions thanks to his hard work. "S-so if they c-come back, all l-legally and s-stuff, could they t-take b-back what's t-theirs?"

"Legally speaking? No. They done gave it all up, because if they hadn't, the Feds would've seized it all." I shrug again. "I helped them out some before I knew they was Cultists, so they figured since they can't take it with them, they might as well leave their homes in good hand." I hold up my wooden prosthetic to hammer home the joke, because for some reason I love making folks uncomfortable with my missing hand. Gordie don't miss a beat though, as he's all deep in thought and nodding along, so to satisfy his curiosity, I share a bit more. "If they did come home all legal like and not fugitives, I'd probably do my best to make them whole. I ain't much for religion, and even less so for Abby. Only good Abby is a dead Abby, and I'd say my track record ought to say more about that than I can, but them people who lived here? They done right by me, so I don't see no reason not to repay them in kind."

"Even though they was Cultists?" Gordie asks. The words must've slipped out before he thought better of it, because his eyes go wide in alarm, but I don't take it to heart. Lot of folks think that just because I benefitted from Cultists, I must be one too, but I don't care much for that kind of talk. Does make things harder though, because Mr. Mueller wasn't wrong when he said his surprise might not be all that pleasant. Pleased as I was to come into a whole bunch of properties in a time when I needed a place to live, time has shown it to be more burden than boon.

Not just because of the maintenance, which is draining to be sure, but I ain't ever been one to be afraid of hard work. No, it's the looks and whispers of folks who think I'm also a Cultist on top of being some murdering Qink. Makes things a whole lot harder, because even if folks are open minded to not care about the latter, the former gets most people's panties in a twist. Even Uncle Rigsby, as the Catholics got a long history of hatred against the Nahuatl Faith, one that's spread to the general population over 500 years of Cultists being the biggest, baddest boogeymen until the Nazis came along to displace them.

Thing is, the fact that that hatred was born so long ago makes me wonder if its still justified. Human sacrifice and feeding Abby is a terrible thing to be sure, but so was slaughtering the Native American women and children while their Braves were out hunting. That's what the British, French, España, and Portuguese did to the Natives of the Americas, all the Pope was calling for pagans and homosexuals to be burned at the stake.

Don't know one come out looking good if you go back far enough, as folks of all creeds and nations done a lot of terrible things in history. Let the past stay in the past though. If there ain't a man or woman alive who was there when it happened, then I say we call it water under the bridge, since there ain't no point in harping on it any longer. Even that seems long, as we done mostly forgiven the Prussians for the Nazi party and it's been less than 70 years. We all still collectively agree the Nazi's were terrible people who done terrible things, but we don't hold all Prussians currently alive responsible for it.

And believe you me, them Prussian Nazis did some crazy fucked up shit. Everyone knows about the Holocaust, and then they had Archmagus Stunde and his Thule Society conducting magical experiments on live subjects, while the Angel of Death Josef Mengele did the same with mundane means. Neither of whom were never made to pay for their crimes mind you, as they made their escape before the regime's total collapse and were never officially found.

Course, the Prussians weren't the only baddies of World War Two, just probably the worst. Nor were they all found on the side of the Axis, as the Allies committed their fair share of atrocities. The polite and well-mannered Métis to the north? They were so wild and out of hand during both World Wars, multiple laws in the Geneva Conventions were added after the fact just because of things they did. They was infamous for taking scalps before it was outlawed, and conducting brutal night raids using tactics that were deemed excessive and ungentlemanly. They also they threw canned food to starving Prussians in an apparent act of mercy, and when asked for more, the Métis started lobbing grenades instead. There's war, and then there's war, and the Métis don't fuck around when it comes to the latter.

The Federation ain't above it all either. The only reason the Aetheric Bomb ain't been outlawed is because there ain't a governing body on either world that has the power to do it. When the world made a stink about Aetheric Bombs, the Métis were happy to promise never to make any for their own use and stuck to it, but the Federation refused and continued to make more. In fact, they was so gung-ho about developing the tech, they conducted Operation Paperclip in which American Intelligence repatriated over 2,500 Prussian scientists, engineers, technicians, Arcanists, and Spellslingers in the aftermath of the war. Many of whom were true blue believers mind you, SS, SA, and Thule Society Officers, with some even later revealed to have worked directly under Archmagus Stunde. Fact is, it's widely believed that the author of the Liber Necris himself was quietly brought over to the Federation of United States instead of standing trial for his crimes in the Hague, which is just all sorts of wrong in my book.

So really, it don't make sense to hold current practitioners of the Nahuatl Faith for crimes committed by their ilk some 500 years ago. Or for the South American Cartels, some of whom are headed by practitioners while others are funded by them, but that's neither here nor there. The KKK consider themselves an American Protestant organization. That don't make every American Protestant a racist, no more than the Nahuatl Faith makes you a terrorist. No, doing terrorist shit makes you a terrorist, and while they did weird Ritual things under Luisa's Inn and probably in the cave under the barn them Catholic Inquisitors missed, that ain't enough to write them off.

I ain't just saying that because these particular Cultists ain't ever shown me nothing besides kindness and entrusted me with 39 households for free, though that do have a big effect. I just ain't convinced Luisa, Mr. Mueller, and the rest of them are irredeemable terrorists and traitors who're rooting for humanity to lose the war against Abby. Sure, there was all that talk about aspirations to become a Lord of the Night, but for all I know, that's just a ceremonial title without any need for human blood sacrifices to claim it.

Besides, I've had a lot of time to think, and while I still don't like how they done helped bring the first Deviant onto the Frontier, I kinda understand their motivations. Don't mean I agree with them, but they was only looking to protect themselves. I wouldn't say befriending Abby would've been at the top of my list, but it worked, so I can't really blame them for buying into the whole schtick. It'd be like if I had brung home a bonafide baby diamondclaw instead of sweet Elodie dressed up as one, and my neighbours got all upset about me raising what could well be a murderous floofy darling. They wouldn't be wrong, not exactly, and I could hardly blame them if they didn't want my sweet diamondclaw around, but I wouldn't give up on my magical murder machine without putting up a big fight.

So yeah, I think maybe Luisa and her ilk are wrong for bringing a Deviant onto the Frontier, but so long as they keep to themselves and froggie Matías don't hurt nobody that don't deserve it, then I say live and let live. Granted, a Deviant is probably several orders of magnitude worse than a diamondclaw, but I ain't about to tell no one how they can live so long as they ain't affecting me or mine. Should there come a day when they return and need a place to stay, I'll welcome them home with open arms unless Matías comes with them.

Again though, I don't share none of this with Gordie. I just give him another shrug and say, "Like I said, I ain't ever been one for religion, but I ain't one to hold it against a person either. If they tried feeding Abby, I'd put a stop to that right quick, but short of that, they free to worship however they like. Catholic Church says all those of Nahuatl Faith are apostates, while the Feds claim they're criminals at best, possibly even terrorists, but that don't mean they right. The Nazis claimed all Jews were less than human and had to be eradicated for the good of the Aryan race, and before that, they went after the Romani and Sinti, and we seen how history treats them. I ain't saying this is an apples-to-apples comparison; just that they ain't ever done wrong by me, so why shouldn't I do right by them?"

I must be starved for social interaction, because I normally wouldn't go on and on like this. While I love Tina, Chrissy, and Aunty Ray to bits, it feels good to talk to someone besides them for a change. Not just banter to cover up the silence or as preamble to a stern talking to, but a real honest to God conversation with no real stakes. That said, I realize I might've given away too much too freely, so I stop to ask, "What's your skin in the game in all this? You a reporter or snitch or somethin'?"

Delivered in what I would call a light-hearted manner, but it stops Gordie in his tracks right quick. "W-was j-just thinking is all," he stammers, gesturing around at the quay in general. "T-this is a nice p-place t-t-t-to live, and y-you got p-p-plenty of space, s-s-so m-maybe y-you m-might want t-t-to s-s-sell some of it or s-s-something. W-would be a great place to raise my boys, Cameron and Damien. They're fourteen and twelve, and they can help out with whatever needs doing." Seeing that I ain't entirely opposed, Gordie seizes the opportunity before him and continues, "I c-c-could k-keep hauling, or w-work in the inn if one is b-built. Could wash and clean and do basic repairs. I c-can also do l-lots of odd jobs, ploughing, smithing, and even a bit of Aetheric wiring if it's not too complicated. M-my wife Barbera though? Bakes the best bapple pie with the flakiest pastry crust you ever tasted, and her parents owned a ranch in the old world, so she knows horses. Was working at the stable until her boss tried to make a move on her, and now…" He trails off because he don't want to get into it, but then he sees me sitting across from him all surprised and silent, which he takes as a bad sign. His shoulders slump right down as he tugs his hood down even further, and I don't think he even realizes he done it. "I k-know I'm n-not m-much to l-look at, b-b-but I'll stay out of s-sight as b-best I c-can."

Which really puts a burr in my saddle, because that's just sad. "Ain't got nothing against the way you look," I say, holding up a hand to keep him from going on. "Ain't like you asked to be marked like that, and anyone who holds that against you is in the wrong far as I'm concerned." Shrugging, I add, "Thing is, I know I gotta sell the properties eventually, but I haven't really done anything about it just yet." Tilting my head, I look Gordie up and down a moment, then ask, "You ever consider opening an inn yourself? A flophouse at least, if not a proper bed and breakfast. All you'd need is a building with beds and blankets. The foundation on the edge of town would make for a great spot, and I got plenty of materials to build with." I'm talking about the plot that I done dug out and is mine to claim, and while the Feds won't recognize any new claims I make, I could easily have Gordie stake a claim on the other side of town and just trade titles with him.

Course, now it's Gordie's turn to look poleaxed, as he wasn't expecting none of this. I ain't really ready to talk shop either, so I say, "Think on it, and I'll do the same. If you don't got the cash on hand for a startup, I don't see no reason not to bankroll you as a silent partner until you earn enough to buy me out." Meeting Gordie's eyes with a dead serious stare, I let him know in no uncertain terms that this is serious as serious gets before continuing, "One thing to consider though. I wasn't joking about that Kill Team that come for my head, and they ain't the only ones who'd be happy to see me dead. I got a lot of guns pointed my way, so that there is a risk you and yours will be taking on by coming to live out here."

To my surprise, Gordie just gives a little shrug like it ain't all that. "C-can't be much w-worse than how it is up in B-Brightpick," he replies, which hits me hard right where it hurts in the heart. "G-got more t-thugs and g-gangsters r-roaming the s-streets than honest citizens t-these days, with b-brawls and shootouts b-breaking out e-every other minute. All s-staking out their t- territory and s-squeezing the businesses for every p-penny they g-g-got so they can f-fund their arms race and break the standoff between them."

While there's no accusation in his tone, I can't help but take this one personal, because there's no arguing that I'm directly responsible for the current state of affairs. Not saying I shouldn't have wiped out the Puglianos, because you gotta cut out the cancer while you still can, but I never expected things to get so bad in the aftermath. Can't rightly understand what the Rangers are doing, so I can't help but ask, "If your new Sheriff can't handle things, then why don't he call in for backup?"

Gordie snorts. "Sheriff Noel's b-bought and p-paid for s-six ways from s-s-Sunday. Charges the gangs a f-flat rate to look the other w-way, and if he's got to c-clean up their messes, he b-bills them for even more. Sics the Rangers on any g-gang that refuses to p-pay up, and p-plays each group against t-the others to keep them from joining up to take care of him."

"…And y'all elected him?"

Gordie shrugs. ""He r-ran unopposed after all the other c-candidates dropped out. One on the day of the election after falling out of a w-window."

Ah. Well that's one way to win an election, by defenestrating the opposition. That's one of my favourite words in the English language, but now ain't the time to say as much. It's stories like these that make me lose hope in the Federal Government, because they probably know good and well what's going on in Brightpick but ain't doing shit about it because the mines are operational and they don't want to rock the boat. Gotta get stone and metal for building walls after all, which I get, but ain't that the whole reason they started mining operations down by Redeemer's Keep? Mount Calvariae hasn't got as much iron, copper, gold, or silver as Rimepeak, but it got plenty of building materials which they need for them new settlements down there. Thing is, I hear development's been stalled for years now and only just gotten back underway, meaning they'll be fully operational by the time the Watershed is over and done with, or in other words far too late to be of any use at all.

Seriously, can't the Feds do anything right? Even with the Roman Catholic Church helping things along, it seems like they just keep screwing up left right and centre, so much so I'm starting to wonder if I should consider building a wall around the village proper. Always figured the Rangers would keep Abby attacks contained to the towns themselves, as it's a simple matter of drawing them in to be shot down from the walls, but now I'm thinking I ought to put some backup plans in place, that or dig out a big bunker to hide in.

A concern for another day though, because I got enough on my plate for today, tomorrow, and probably the rest of the week. "Well on that happy note," I say, slapping my leg and standing up in standard American midwestern tradition, "I suppose it's time I hit the sack. Get some rest Gordie, and think on it some. I'll think on it too, and get back to you when I got somethin' to say."

With that, I head on home in an introspective mood, one that's got my missing hand hurting and my fleshy hand reaching for that balm again. Glad as I am to have my first prospective neighbour, I don't love what I learned about Brightpick. Really goes to show that vigilantism don't do nothing, but to be honest, I didn't do what I did because the Puglianos were criminals. I did it because they done killed my Josie, so I went out and killed them. Simple is as simple does, but it don't mean I'm unphased to see things take a turn for the worse. Nor am I happy to have some extra work now, as I'll have to vet Gordie and his family. I said what I said and I meant it, but what if he's some deep cover Cultist looking to keep a close eye on me for Luisa? Or working for one of the mob families, or their rivals, or some other criminal enterprise wanting to take me out of the game?

Unlikely, but just because I'm paranoid don't mean I shouldn't take proper precautions either.

Plus, even though I said I could bankroll Gordie's flophouse or inn, I ain't actually sure if I can. Problem is, I'd probably have to tap into the Aether reserves I got banked at the mesa to fully fund and operate everything in the village out of pocket. Truth be told, I haven't really run the numbers, because I ain't all that interested in being a local land baron.

Don't get it twisted. Was real nice of Luisa and the others to set me up like this, and I appreciate it very much, but I ain't one for lording over others or collecting paychecks I ain't earned. While she wanted to make sure I was looked after, my daddy showed me how you gotta stay sharp to stay on top, and ain't nothing sharpen your edge like hunger. I'm not talking about empty stomachs or light wallets, but a hunger for challenge and adventure, which I got in spades, with money being nothing more than a means to an end. If anything, the village is actually slowing me down, because I can't rightly develop it while I'm out and about. That's why ain't much been done to the place since I moved it, because I'm so busy maintaining things that I got no time or effort to spare to looking for tenants.

That and the fact that I kinda liked the solitude up here, or rather I found it easier to wallow in self pity because of it. Ain't no need to keep up appearances if I never appear in front of anyone, but the trip out to the mesa with the family showed me that I can't keep living like this. Even if they ain't family, I have need for a community around me, because without one, I ain't nothing more than a boat adrift at sea without so much as a stitch of sail or a scrap of oar to me.

So I suppose this here is a step in the right direction. A small step that still requires a whole lot more steps after the fact to be considered progress, but a step all the same, so I head on back to the big house and settle in to my favourite chair with my best bird Stella and dream of a better tomorrow.

One without my Josie, our baby, or the rest of my family living alongside me, but somehow better all the same. Don't know how that's possible, but I'll make it work somehow, or I'll die trying. Either way, the problem will be solved, so I call that a win-win.