The Butcher and the Butterfly (31 page)

The stranger
nodded. ‘For now, why?’

‘That there is
probably the most influential well liked and most powerful man in
this city. You have just killed the fucking Man Jesus as far as
most people in the Sands are concerned.’

The stranger’s
eyes widened. ‘Most people?’

‘Well yeah, he’s a
bit of a penis if you ask me, and a few others come to that. But a
powerful penis none-the-less.’

‘Not the first
penis that I have felled.’

Ted smirked, the
stranger though did not.

Then something
clicked inside Ted’s memory like a familiar smell linking you to a
childhood dream.

‘Did you say
Marksman?’

‘Dad, the blood is
coming into the garden.’ Dotty shouted and he heard her shuffling
and mumbling. Ted turned and waved a quieting hand at her. Dotty
poked out her tongue but continued to shift from there to there
like a child needing to piss.

Ted returned his
gaze to the stranger.

‘You said
Marksman, right?’

The stranger
sniffed, blinked and scratched his age old stubble. The man was
younger than at first Ted thought, much younger, barely twenty, but
those eyes. Those lifeless eyes gave him an air of authority,
dignity and something else. Something Ted couldn’t put his mind
too. And then it hit him like a shovel to the knee. Those eyes had
seen, witnessed as it were, the lives of men fall and most of them
by his hand. But there was still something else about those eyes.
They were familiar to Ted like a friend not seen in years or a face
seen in a misty dream.

‘My name is
Martin, Martin Doyle. Marksman of the Crescent Moon and Holder of
the Sacred Oath.’ The man looked behind him, along the path he had
just travelled. ‘Well, at least I was.’

‘Was?’

‘It’s a long
story. And one I care not to tell.’

‘Well,’ Ted said,
‘That makes things a bit easier.’

Like a face seen
in a misty dream.

‘Wait a minute.
Wait a sodding minute.’ Ted leaned in as if to get a better look at
this Marksman. ‘I don’t believe it. It’s you. It is you.’

The Marksman took
a step back. ‘Have we met before?’

‘No. Yes. Well
sort of.’

Far off in the
distance another rumble of thunder rippled through the air.

‘You were in a
dream. You and another man. A man in a black cloak.’

The Marksman
looked to the ground and shook his head. When he lifted it back up
he began to laugh.

‘What’s so
funny?’

The man continued
to laugh and walked over to Ted, small dust motes flickering the in
the dying light. He carried on laughing, stepped over the body of
Mike and placed his right arm on Ted’s shoulder.

‘That fat penis
over there is the least of our worries. Let’s get inside, have a
coffee and a smoke and let’s treat a while on your dream and what
we are going to do next.’

Ted nodded,
dumbfounded.

Dotty continued to
shuffle from there to there and seemed not to give two hoots to the
man walking into her home. She kept watching the blood pool until
the sun was almost set. Her friend was talking to her again. Her
friend wanted to play.

16

Ted recalled his
dream, his meeting with Palaluka, to the Marksman as they drank
coffee and smoked roughly made cigarettes. They sat in Ted’s
kitchen oblivious to the fact that the sun had set and that their
time was running thin.

The Marksman had
listened, had asked no questions and repeated parts as if to
confirm acceptance. He seemed little fazed that Ted had been
watching them, that he had talked with Palaluka.

The Marksman
stubbed out his cigarette and threw the burnt end into the filling
ashtray. He sipped on his coffee while he eyes scanned the room.
Placing the mug on the wooden table he looked Ted straight in the
face. It was a look Ted has seen before and one he would not become
used to.

‘It seems as
though we are intertwined, me and you, Ted. Our fates have been
connected by a man that I am now hunting.’

‘The man in
black?’

‘Correct, Ted. He
is a powerful man and one that must be stopped. I fear that if I
fail that the world we live in will cease to be.’

‘But how? Such
things are stories to scare children to remind them of deeds long
past.’

‘Something evil
stirs in the darkest parts of our world, Ted. The stuff of
nightmares. The man in black, Samson, is part of it. He works for
it and will help bring it to power. The old machines of the ancient
world shall be put to work and we shall burn in their wake. He has
told me that the people of this world shall be like the walking
dead, mindless zombies acting out the New Kings wants.’

Ted shook his head
in disbelief. The world has moved on since those tales were even
close to a recent memory. The only evil left in the lands was that
of the likes of Thatcham and a few others like him. Greed
controlled the world now. Money was the true law of the land.

‘Surely we are
safe here?’

The Marksman rose
and paced to and fro. ‘The world isn’t rainbows and princess
stories told by the fire Ted, you know that. The world is a crappy
place, always was and always will be. It will chew you up and spit
you out. I am here to try and bring order and make your life,’ Ted
pointed to the front door, ‘and the life of your daughters a bit
more pleasant. Sadly though, there is still some ancient relics
that haunt our lands, some are magic some are not and it’s one of
these relics that I need your help finding, Ted. I need you to help
me find something that has been hidden for centuries but I have it
on good word that it is here.’

Ted scratched his
balding head and exhaled hard. He was struggling to take this all
in, to digest this flood of information. Magic, ancient machines,
darkness in the darkest parts of the world. What in hells name was
this Marksman going on about? Maybe he was mad. His mind lost in
the Wastelands somewhere never to be found again.

‘I am trying to
believe you, Marksman, I am. But it all seems too much. A vision is
one thing, but ancient relics, old machinery, zombies and the like?
We all know the liquid that fuels them is long gone, that the
knowledge has been lost for generations and will not return for
generations more. It is as dead as the witchcraft you speak
of.’

Martin drew his
gun making Ted leap from his chair. The chair teetered, and then
clattered onto the floor; the noise echoing around the kitchen. Ted
raised his hands instinctively.

‘I’m not going to
shoot you, Ted,’ Martin said softly and gestured Ted to lower his
hands, ‘But understand that what I tell you is the truth no matter
how odd it sounds. This gun is ancient, created by men hundreds of
years ago but still it works and will go on working as long as it
is cared for and there are bullets to fill it. Do you not have the
steam industries here, the ability to turn woods and metals?’

‘But that
gun…’

‘The same
principles go for the ancient machines that lay dormant throughout
our lands. Trust me when I tell you that there are men with the
knowledge, the skills and the materials necessary to run those
machines. I have learnt that there is nothing too old, nothing too
rotten that cannot be fixed either with force or with
engineering.’

‘But…’

Martin slammed the
gun down on the table. Plates rattled in their shelves and Ted
thought for a moment that his bowels may relieve themselves if not
careful.

‘Ted. I am not
here to discuss the matter. Only to ask for some help. Give me that
tonight and I shall be on my way and you and your daughter can go
about your daily business believing whatever the fuck it is you
want to believe in.’

Martin holstered
his ancient weapon. ‘Will you do me the pleasure?’

Ted swallowed hard
and nodded. He thought about the body that lay outside his
door.

‘Aye, Marksman.
But you will have to answer for the dead penis that graces the
front of my house.’

The two men
laughed.

17

Outside in the
starry night, under the soft glow of the full moon, Dotty drew
butterflies on the pathway with the dark red gore that oozed from
the body of the late, great Mr Mike Thatcham. Varula was playing
again and she wanted Dotty as her playmate. She wanted the Marksman
too.

18

I wants that
Marksman my little butterfly and from the ear wigging I know he is
looking for me. He means to harm me little Dotty like he harmed Big
Daddy. I know I can takes him, easy prey, but I need you to help
me. I need you to bring him to me.

‘But where are
you?’ A concerned Dotty asked.

I am at Big
Daddy’s place. In the shed under a blanket where Big Daddy thought
I would be safe.

‘I shall bring him
to you. I shall go get him now.’

Be quick my
butterfly. There are men coming, big men with big guns that will
try and kills you all. I can’t stop all of them.

Dotty got up from
the floor and wiped her bloody fingers on her jeans. She looked in
the direction of Thatcham’s house. ‘Can we play after? Can we play
again?’

Of course my
sweet. Of course. Now tell him you know where Varula is. Tell him
of the big men that are coming and after I have had my fill we
shall play long into the night.

Dotty charged
through the front door and into the kitchen where the stranger and
her Dad were both laughing. They stopped, both looking at her deep
concern and sweaty brow.

She had to get her
Dad out of here. She did not care for the big stranger man and what
Varula was going to do to him, but she did care for her old Dad.
The big men coming would hurt him and she doesn’t want that. No
sir!

‘They are coming,
Da! Big men are coming with guns!’

Her Dad stepped
forward, his caring arms out stretched but Dotty didn’t want any of
it and she pushed him aside. The look of shock on his face was
almost comical as he almost fell to the ground Dotty’s strength
being so great.

‘No, Da. They are
coming and they will kills us all.’

‘Who is coming,
child and how do you know?’ The stranger with the lifeless eyes
asked.

‘Big men with the
big guns.’ She spat and then pointed at the stranger. ‘The girl you
are looking for told me to tell ya, she did. She told me to come
get ya and to bring you to her. I know where she hides.’

‘What the hell are
you talking about Dotty?’ Ted asked as he scrambled to his
feet.

The stranger moved
in between Dotty and her father. ‘You speak of Varula?’ The
softness of his voice reminded Dotty of her father when he spoke to
her when she was ill or hurt.

Dotty responded
similarly, her eyes as wide as the moon that hung in this evening’s
sky, ‘Yep. She is my friend and I knows where old man Thatcham hid
her. She wants to help you, us. She is scared.’

‘Dotty, what are
you going about?’ Her Dad seemed angry and Dotty knew why. He never
believed in fairies, or witches or unicorns. He would always roll
his eyes and move the talk onto something else. Dotty didn’t like
that. Especially now when she needed him to believe her.

‘Da, I know what
you is thinking, but trust me. We have to get out of here and get
to Thatcham’s house. Even if you don’t believe me the men are going
to hurt us, we killed him Da, we killed him.’

There was a brief
silence filled only with Dotty’s heavy breath and the crickets
thrumming their final song of the day. During the silence Dotty
watched the stranger walk toward the front door and poke his head
out. She looked to her father, unsure of what he was doing and her
father shrugged his heavy shoulders.

Dotty turned to
face the concerned voice coming from the front of the house.

‘Ladies and gents,
we have ourselves a posse. Best be on our way and quick about it
to.’

19

The three figures
ran out of the farmhouse, hurdling the fallen body that lay in the
street. Ted imagined Thatcham’s hands reaching out to grab or trip
him, but they didn’t and he ran with his daughter and the Marksman
across the road and into the fields gleaming a mysterious silver
grey in the moonlight.

They headed across
the fields, over the hill that Doyle Cartwright had used for his
own vantage point and back down into the valley that led to
Thatcham’s place.

The Marksman
couldn’t believe his luck, but knew that luck had nothing to do
with it. The orbs want to be found and when freed from there bonds
they will seek out their victims and their master as though their
lives depended on it.

It seems as though
the Angel of Death would have the orb quicker than was expected and
hopefully easier too. Martin only knew one way to trap the sisters
and that was to feed them. To give them souls, fresh meat to feast
upon is the only way to sedate that endless thirst for power.
Martin hurdled a fence and followed Ted and the girl down into a
darkening valley. He was tired, by the Maker, bone tired as his
teacher would have said. But there would be no rest tonight, not
until what had to be done was done.

One problem did
perplex the Marksman.

His mind called
out for the Angel of Death, but he didn’t know if that would work.
He had no clue of how to contact the winged terror and thought
himself foolish for not asking when he had the chance.

All three of them
traversed one last fence and arrived outside the seemingly lifeless
home of Mr Thatcham breathless and panting hard but weary of what
might be coming up behind them.

Martin pointed to
the house. ‘This is it?’

‘Aye, Marksman,’
Ted responded still trying to catch his breath, ‘And I guess
whatever it is you are looking for is over there.’ Ted pointed to a
large out building to the right of the large house. It was deep in
shadow, the moonlight unable to bathe it in its glory.