He came across the four of them sitting around a campfire. He dismounted and flung

his closed cape over his shoulder so he could get to his weapons that much easier.

Three years on the road, and the warrant cards tucked in his belt had pulled him south

to Bern.

The four gibbered at each other until they saw him. They had something in a fire. The

gibbering seemed to be over who got the final piece of dinner.

The eight eyes seemed to think he was another piece of meat.

“You wouldn’t happen to have room for a stranger riding through?,” said the man

with no name.

The four conversed in their strange lingo, turning to block their faces from being

seen. He had an idea they wanted to place him on the fire next.

“Maybe you four can help me,” said the man with no name. He pulled out the black

warrant cards that pointed him to the people he needed to track down. Four of them

glowed with blue fire. He pulled them out of the pack and put the rest up. “You

wouldn’t happen to have seen a group of cannibals, would you?”

The four monsters stood on their side of the fire. He stepped back to give himself

some room. The lavender dog on the end of the line bulked up into a dire wolf as he

watched. The heavily cloaked gnome in the middle raised mittened hands beside the

dog. The third thing, a tall skinny man, drank from a flask as he stamped his boots.

His skinny arms didn’t seem that strong but looks could be deceiving. The last one,

a boy with wild hair and triangular teeth, bounced in place like a monkey. Sparks of

light denoted animals arriving at his call.

The dead man pulled the pistols he had found in his gear with his horse. Hellfire

blasted out four times as he fired at his four targets. The dog wolf blew up. The kid

on the end ordered his monsters to block the flames heading his way. The gnome

went down, hole in his middle. The blond jumped the campfire and evaded the blast

meant for him. He grabbed his opponent’s arms to keep him from shooting at them

again.

They struggled for control of which way the pistols should point.

The dead man leaned back so the other missed a bite to the neck. He leaned forward

with a bit more speed. His hat fell off as their heads met. The cannibal staggered

back, reaching up to his forehead. A hellfire blast made it just the two left.

Beasts made of shadow charged the gunman. They snapped their jaws as they reached

for him. He didn’t take notice of what animals they were supposed to be imitating. He

sprayed hellfire across the battlefield as he moved back from the onslaught. He found

a space and took a shot at the monkey thing jumping up and down. He paused as the

shadows looked at their creator burning up in front of them. They popped like dirty

balloons.

The gnome started to sit up. It looked down at the hole in its body. Then angry saucer

eyes glared at the dead man.

The gunman took the last blue glowing card and threw it at the gnome. The

underworld paper touched the other’s chest, then leg. Blue light took him downstairs.

The man with no name holstered his weapons, and let his cloak drop down. He picked

up his hat and brushed it off before he put it on his head. He grabbed the reins for his

horse.

He had seven more cards to take care of in and near Bern. Serving them would be a

pleasure.

He had dug himself out of the ground three years ago. He had found his horse waiting

for him. His gear and clothes had been stored in saddlebags for him. Since then he

had put down four other monsters out of the hundred he had started with before

reaching the campfire.

Every one of them had deserved the harsh measures he had meted out in his opinion.

He needed to get in the city and hunt for the seven roaming inside the walls, before

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heading further south into the Rhiem. Then he could start his way up to Lobster Bay

and into the Mansions.

“Come on, Stupid,” said the dead man. “Let’s see what Bern has to offer us.”

The horse shook its head, but walked along placidly at the dead man’s side. It hadn’t

been out of the Underworld before, and the vistas of the living had been satisfying so

far.

On the other hand, serving warrants and chasing troublemakers wasn’t its job.

They let the leg in the fire burn. There wasn’t anything they could do for the owner,

and a decent cremation didn’t seem out of place.

The pair of revenants came across a furry giant standing next to the road ahead. Wide

eyes seemed amazed to see them. How many other travelers had been killed by the

four cannibals before they had been served? The pooka put a human grin on its

rabbity face.

“We’re heading into Bern,” said the dead man. “Any problems with that?”

The pooka shook its head slowly. It raised an arm and pointed at a grove of trees. It

made a sound resembling a long fake wolf howl. The trees parted and city lights stood

out in the dark.

“Thank you for the passage,” said the dead man. “Hopefully I will be able to return

the favor one day.”

The pooka nodded once. It pulled an umbrella from its fur and opened it. A wind

picked its furry mass up and it floated into the air. It vanished into the night sky after

a few moments.

The man with no name mounted and rode down the new trail toward the city. He

surveyed the lay of the land as he approached the sprawl in front of him. He needed

to find the streets marked down on his warrants, and then the addresses, so he could

deal with his targets.

He might need a local guide if he wanted to take care of his business in a few days.

He had been lucky to snatch up the four he had come across while they were together.

He couldn’t count on that holding for the rest of the eleven on his list.

And he doubted they would come along easily. If they were bad enough that the

warrants had been issued, they were bad enough to think they could stand up to him

when he came calling.

The dead man rode down into the city, wondering at the lack of walls and the rails

running next to the road. The road had been cobbled over with tan bricks from what

he could see. He heard a whistle, but didn’t see the cause.

He rode under lamps with fiery wisps floating in them. They regarded him with eyes

made of flame inset in their fireball bodies.

People crowded the stone sidewalks. Horse riders, horse drawn carriages, and

horseless carriages shared the paved roads. Swords, axes, and clubs seemed the

favored weapons from what he could tell. He spotted several men, and one lady, with

weapons that were close to what he carried.

He decided to ask directions for the first name on his list. That was better than

wandering around until he happened on it.

“Hey, mister!,” he called. “Do you know where Dibbons Street is?”

“It’s four streets down, then a right, one street, then a left,” said the man. He pointed

at the direction of travel.

“Thanks,” said the dead man. He let Stupid have his way. The horse was smart

enough to follow the directions without anything said to it.

Once he had bagged the first name on his list, the rest should follow pretty fast.

The only exception he could think would be the Alvas. There wasn’t an address listed

on his warrant card.

How many Alvas lived in the city? He had a feeling he was going to find out before

he was through.

Stupid carried him to the designated street, halting at the corner. The dead man pulled

out the warrant card for his quarry. He looked up and down the avenue. He directed

the horse into a left turn.

“We’re looking for Campton Yellow,” said the dead man.

Stupid made a snort of understanding. He was just there to carry his rider. It was up

to the other to take care of business.

The horse stopped in front of a yellow house embedded in a street full of other houses

that seemed poured out of a giant mold one at a time.

The dead man dismounted. He looked things over as he patted the horse on the neck.

He didn’t see any signs of trouble.

He decided to inspect the grounds before charging up to the door. There might be

some kind of protection put in place.

He wanted to take his quarry with as little of fuss as possible. He didn’t want magic

spells and fell beasts loosed on the neighbors while they were fighting.

Ideally, he didn’t want a fight at all. He just wanted one clear shot to the head.

Then he could move on to the next warrant he had to serve.

He didn’t see any defenses around the yellow house. He wondered if he had come to

the right address. He decided to knock and see what happened.

The dead man noted what looked like an electric eye to one side of the door as he

walked up the two stairs to the low stoop in front of the door. He knocked on the

wooden barrier as casually as he could.

He wanted his mark to step out where he could see him. Kicking down the door was

the last resort as far as he was concerned.

“Who is it?,” asked what sounded like someone talking with their nose.

“I would like to talk to Montague Pythonic,” said the dead man.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” said the nose. “Go away.”