There was an unease to the spirit of Feldbach that afternoon. Clyde was leading a group of curious folk down the thoroughfare before turning right to close in on the direction that he had been pointed; away from the immediate town and towards a smallholding framed with spring flowers, drooping their display’s in wet and puddled greys. As it became clear to the curious that the stranger was heading for the Council Priest the group began to disperse, and by the time Clyde was walking the muddy tracks to his home, they had gone back to their gossip. Clyde approached the front gate as the Council Priest opened the door. He was older than Clyde, also in black and beard.

There was a certain timbre of their coming together. However one might choose to word it, the tension came because it was true, or perceived to be, that one of these men had failed. And as followed, another had been drafted. Indignity belied their meeting, though mixed with the Priests’ feelings was relief.

‘Brother,’ he said, and came into the rain to take Clyde’s hand. ‘I had been expecting you to arrive early… come on in, we’ll rifle out a fresh cassock for you.’

Clyde smiled and pulled back his hood before they went into the house together, through a whitewashed entrance and into a spartan living space with closed windows and candles in all corners. There was a centre wooden table with manuscripts, some appearing to be stacked and some strewn, and a fire unlit against the back wall.

Clyde considered it a good space and thought well of the Priest then. Elena, the house servant and a lady of maturing years, came into the room with a tray holding two cups. The Priest took the tray and placed it on the table before quiet instruction that Elena should find a clean cassock. She looked over Clyde, nodded and made light steps across the room and out the door, returning quickly with the item as though she had barely left.

‘There is a spare room over there,’ the Priest said and pointed to a far door as Elena left through the other. Clyde looked at the door, considered passing on the offer but saw the trail of water that he had brought with him and considered again. ‘Take your time,’ the Priest continued, aware that his brother had travelled for days to reach them. ‘Have your tea with you and pray for as long as you need.’

There was a sympathy between them then. Both were together in this for the same end, and had been so for years. Clyde took his cup and went to the room. The Priest took a seat, sipped at his cup and waited for him to return. He did not look over his manuscripts, nor do anything else but sip and wait.

The door handle lowered after a little time and Clyde stepped back into the room, fresh but for wet hair, and took a seat at the table opposite the Priest. There was a quiet in the still air between them as outside the rain drove, and beyond, the trees called.

The Priest placed his hands together on the table.

‘I am sorry to have failed,’ he said, and Clyde watched him stare into the grain of the table.

‘I am sure you haven’t,’ Clyde told him in a low voice and the Priest brought his gaze up as if to judge his expression, but caught only the sight of Clyde watching his demon, which was close to the table and bored, not that the Council Priest could see. He sat back in his chair and holding a moment to frame how to begin. Then their eyes met.

‘I wouldn’t want you to think that we are not taking our defence seriously,’ the Priest said.

‘Then you do not miss any of The Hours?’ Clyde asked in return and the Priest shook his head.

‘No. We hold fast to them.’

‘Well, even so, there are still some conniving demons left out in the wilds, Father. I have been detailed about our man Christopher, and whatever of these has taken him, but I want to know if there was anything else? Anything that a Priest alone might note?’

Time took a sombre turn then and the Priest considered his options. He began to rub his palms before a sudden stop.

‘Nothing that I didn’t report to the Ark Bishop,’ he said.

‘Very well,’ accepted Clyde and the Priest looked at the floor; it was little more than a glance but it found the attention of the demon he could not see. Clyde clicked his fingers and the creature returned to his feet and drew the Priest’s attention.

‘You are welcome to ask anything else,’ the Priest said and Clyde’s features spoke that he was comfortable, but declined the offer.

‘I have read the details and am happy to allow Rubus to go through the civil duties when we convene with The Mayor.’

The Priest was caught in sudden, almost laughter at that moment, rich with an irony at the fate of things to come this township’s way.

‘I have reason to believe you have brought a Rhume to Feldbach,’ he said and a brush of levity came with it, brisk and moving like a sudden breeze through an open door, and not without charm to either men. Clyde smiled and gently toyed with his beard until the moment cleared and it was considered polite to respond.

‘I have brought the son, no less,’ he said, and the mass of that statement was recognized.

‘Probably some people would still like to kill him,’ the Priest said and the men caught each other’s eyes with the demon peering at them both.

‘Then probably they would be dead by him before they get the chance, Father.’

The Priest’s eyes didn’t doubt that, and a quiet took them as they considered further the meeting ahead, and then the night that would surely have to follow.

...

The Council Hall was large and of parochial Feldbach filagree. The town had remained prosperous on its own terms despite its lonely position close only to the mountains of Vaudeville’s North East. They remained outside the wider circles of Vaudeville’s trade but for the single river south-west of them which Clyde and Rubus had taken; Feldbach was an unknown to the rest of the island and their participation in siding with the merchants during the civil war a generation ago was still considered peculiar.

But an understanding of good order had been in place in Feldbach for many more generations before, so when The Mayor met with Rubus, Clyde, the Council Priest and Dunstan, he did so out of step with his dignity, and had them meet in a back room with running oil lamps and tables arranged more for cards than quiet planning. There was a sweet tang to the taste of tobacco in the air, which Rubus noted as the local variety as he took out his pipe. He had sat on the chair at the centre side of the table, and Clyde pulled out the chair to his left. Both men had freshened from travel and although Rubus remained armed under his inner jacket, the item was not primed and sat fast in its leather slip.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The Mayor sat opposite him directly as a display, but his eyes, sharp with some fading at their edges, knew above all other competition that he had approved the call for aid that had arrived. He was tall, though not quite so as Rubus, and appeared to be of farming strength. Rubus already liked him but waited for him to address them first and lit his pipe amongst the flicking lamps.

‘We are glad to have you,’ said The Mayor finally, and with a gesture of open hands. His eyes went to his right then. ‘Brother Barrbough, I can assume?’

Clyde nodded and then The Mayor’s eyes came to formally rest on Rubus; a member of the family Rhume in their midst. They both knew it, and it drew a smile from them equally, though both understood that now wasn’t the time. The Priest too looked at Rubus then, and caught his attention.

‘There is deep unrest amongst the souls here, Master Rhume,’ he said. ‘We have not witnessed an incident such as this in long memory.’

Rubus blew smoke down his nose and sat his pipe on the table, where its sound tapped into the surrounding tensions.

‘So take us through it, gentlemen,’ he said, leaving all prior identity behind. ‘Then afterwards we can agree on what’s going to happen next.’

The Mayor called Dunstan, and he approached with a file of notations and placed it on the table before the Mayor.

‘Let’s have some refreshments brought through,’ he said and Dunstan left the room as the mayor unfolded the file in the sombre light. Clyde, with the demon on his lap, watched him and his attention to detail. A charcoal drawing of the man in question was taken from the papers and the Mayor placed it at the centre of the table.

‘I assume you have seen this, gentlemen, but for our record, this is Christopher Bhron.’

Rubus and Clyde barely glanced over the drawing of the early middle-aged man as Dunstan returned with a tray of hot apple and cinnamon drinks.

‘We have seen a copy of this,’ Rubus said before taking a cup first for Clyde and then another for himself, which he sat at the table before taking up his pipe. The Mayor followed suit.

‘And regardless,’ he continued, ‘it is unlikely to be exactly how he appears now. If the demon is as you say, then perhaps goodness knows…’

The Mayor stared at them and then blew smoke.

‘He was a liked man, you see,’ he told them. ‘A good soul, and a good Chemist. A terrible thing with the passing of his wife and the newborn. He was prominent about here and the town felt deeply for him, that I will say. But then it began to happen and now here we are…’

Rubus placed his pipe down, took a sip of his drink, and then sat that down also.

‘Here we are… but take us through where we were in the weeks after his wife and child’s deaths.’

The Priest looked at the Mayor then before his eyes moved to Clyde, who in turn saw his.

‘You have to understand, Brother,’ the Priest said and shuffled in his chair. ‘You have to understand that Christopher was an unusual man from before any of this. He had unusual interests and was gregarious about them.’

‘We have met eccentrics before, Father,’ said Rubus and took another sip.

‘He lost his wife with the child at birth?’ Clyde asked then, and both the Priest and the Mayor nodded. ‘So he is feral, then?’

‘Yes,’ said the Mayor. ‘Perhaps more so now than when we first made request for you.’

‘And you said that he exhumed his wife’s body?’

‘I think it is fair to assume it was him,’ answered the Mayor, and the Priest’s eyes went sharp at the mention of such desecration, at the scarring of it upon the spirit of their township.

‘And they are not the only bones that he has been gathering?’ Clyde pressed further. The priest raised a quiet hand for attention, which he received.

‘This I saw first hand at his residence of work,’ he said to the group, but with eyes on Clyde. ‘He had smashed near everything beforehand, before he went into the wild I mean, but amongst the debris were bones of all kinds, some attached with pins. This was still five days prior to him attacking the farm hands at night; we did not know what schemes he had with the bones before then. The labourers had never seen the like. They have been skittish since, and they are broad men not taken to fear.’

Rubus turned his head towards Clyde and something of the matter was settled in a glance between them. They had heard enough details to be satisfied the report was true; the weeks of isolation and the subsequent dissolution of Christopher under the yoke of what both men were quietly certain was a wandering demon, one who had come close enough to Feldbach to taste delight in a man’s despair.

The Mayor also saw this between them and was happy now to hurry the matter along. It seemed suddenly unsettling to him to be discussing ghoulish activities before nightfall.

‘So what now?’ he asked them and all attention fell on him. Dunstan stopped shuffling at papers and Clyde’s demon sat still on his lap, flickering with wide eyes and sensing a juicier turn in conversation. Rubus breathed deeply into his nose and moistened his lips.

‘We will take a wander into the eastern woodland tonight,’ he said. ‘Clyde appears to have been granted Christopher’s whereabouts, so we will confront him there.’

The Mayor looked curious then.

‘And by what exactly do you mean confront?’ he asked. Rubus looked around again at Clyde. More than a breath was taken before Clyde ventured to give the answer which Rubus considered was his to give, although moments still passed before Clyde began to animate.

‘I am not the Lord of this Manor nor any other,’ he said. ‘What I offer to you is given to me. I have never failed a request, but certitude is not mine to give. Good men more holy than I have fallen more quickly, but if that power is given me then Christopher will be freed this night.’

The Mayor pressed his hands together.

‘And the fee?’ he asked, and a hush fell over the answer that both travelling men knew. It was the difficult answer because it was the compassionate one. Rubus went for his pipe.

‘Should Christopher survive,’ he said and let the thought fall for a moment between them. ‘Should he survive, we will return him and deliver him to your monastery. He must be tended over, regardless of how little might be left of him.’ He looked at the Priest then, whose eyes were filled with promises.

‘And what can we expect of his mind?’ asked the Mayor with an acid distaste in his mouth at the prospect. Clyde could sense him hoping for something beyond recovery.

‘He will not be your chemist again,’ he told him and his demon looked up with excitement. ‘Beyond that, what state his mind should he return… we will agree to leave him in the hands of your Abbot for some foreseeable years. That is the fee. Please understand, we have come to free him.’

‘And then there is the payment of our travels,’ added Rubus. ‘We will require funding for our next route.’

The Mayor smiled at this and was happy to do so. He looked at the younger son of Vaudeville’s most prosperous family, an old enemy now across from him and asking for money, and if it failed to trigger an understanding between them, it itched at old battlegrounds with an irony warm and sincere.

‘I am sure we can cover a Rhume’s account,’ he said, and held a hand up that it was for jest’s sake. Rubus returned the hand.

‘It’s fine!’ he said. ‘I killed far more of your side than any one man of yours did of ours. For the record.’

‘That’s probably true. It was shameful on both sides… repentance is long, as I am sure you understand.’

‘It is why I am here, asking you for money.’

‘And the town will give it, Master Rhume, with blessings. Please save Christopher.’

The demon smiled.

Rubus and Clyde finished their time with the mayor promptly thereafter and left with the Priest to join the keeping of The Hours’ prayer in the closest church, where their appearance was marked but not intruded upon.

At the passing of The Hours, Rubus looked to Clyde to confirm that the time was now. Clyde nodded and turned to leave from under an archway, and as they found the main entrance the rain lifted. By the time they descended the steps the Priest bustled from behind to meet them.

‘You are set then?’ he asked and there was silent agreement that they were.

‘Be ready for our return during the night,’ Rubus said and Clyde signalled with a quiet hand that it was time to leave, then they did so, towards the eastern high valley. It swelled ahead of them and a collection of the town watched them cross a small bridge and head in the direction of the passing clouds, a pierced evening sky set to their wake.