Chapter 2: Lonely Lookout

Passers song, approximately year 250, unknown.

We fled the war in, our homelands

Left our river and, all that we had

Crossed the desert in, our little bands

Left behind our, mom and our dad

Now we, build Whybarr’s houses, and fight in her wars

Drink her cold beer and, sweep up her floors

Passers dying, on the road to Caul

Passers dying, no one cares at all.

We crossed the mountains, keep to the west

Pay the toll at the, Pesa span

If you’re broke you, swim with the rest

All a part of the, greater plan

Now we, build Whybarr’s houses, and fight in her wars

Drink her poison and, sleep on her floor

Passers dying, in the shadows of Caul

Passers dying, no one cares at all.

We cross the sands, fight the rattlesnake

Stop at the lookout, have a drink

Our very last coins, the ladies take

The City Cauls lies, just over the brink

And we build Whybarr’s houses, then kill in her war

Drink her poison and, die on her floor

Passers living, in the shadows in Caul

Passers dying, no one cares at all.

Sam hurt all over, his back, his legs, his head, but most of all, his arm. The sun streaming in the window didn’t help any. “What happened?” he growled, not really expecting an answer.

“Here, lie back down, I’ll go get the innkeep.” And with that, whoever had been in the room with him was gone. The speaker should have pulled the curtain or closed the blinds or something before he left, but instead, Sam had to sit back and close his eyes. The last thing he could remember was the explosion. The heat and the noise had been tremendous. He thought back to the attack. Who could have been attacking them? The Paso army was in no shape to march across the deserts and mountains to strike at Whybarr, and even if they had, they would have had to pass other outposts. There should have been some warning.

The innkeep strode in and Sam opened his eyes. The landlady looked old enough to be Sam’s grandmother. She leaned over the bed Sam lay in. Her breath smelled of dill and onions. “Well, he’s alive.” Her face carried a mild disappointment. Pearcy entered and she turned to him. “That’s better than how I thought this would turn out when you drug him in here last night.” She walked across the room to a little shelf and pulled down an old wooden bottle. The cork in the top was stuck, too tough for her old hands. She handed it to Pearcy. “Open this.”

Private Pearcy pulled it off with no small amount of force, then handed it back. “He’s alive, but is he going to be OK?” Pearcy's armor was bloodstained and his cloak was in tatters.

“I said he’s alive.” She tilted the bottle over a big rusty spoon. For a few seconds, nothing happened, then a thick, black syrup began to peek out of the bottle’s mouth. Sam wasn’t so sure he liked the looks of it.

“What’s that?” Sam's voice was weak and hoarse.

“It’s a lot of things.” The old lady said, no hint of mirth in her voice, “but mainly it’s native tea and myrtle oil, with a few odds and ends.” She shook it with a wild sling and a big dollop fell into the spoon. “Here, take this.” She shoved the spoon into Sam’s mouth and scrapped the medicine off as she pulled it back out. The sensation Sam felt couldn't be described as taste alone, though the pungent flavor of 'odds and ends' forced itself on his tongue. A smell also came into play, something of the burnt hair variety, but his most unnerving reaction to the concoction came from a tactile impression, like an electric shock mixed with a gag reflex. The tonic was viscous enough that sheer gravity drew it down his throat. The innkeep nodded and turned back to Pearcy, handing him the bottle. “And you take this with you, it will only lose its potency here.” She stood, fished a rag from some unseen pocket, and whipped her hands.

Pearcy took the bottle, but stopped and looked up at her. “He can’t travel yet, I’ll go, but he has to stay until he’s well.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Likely as not, he never will be well. Then what!? I’ll tell you what, then I’ll have a dead man in my bed and no big strong soldiers to carry him out of it, that’s what! So you carry him out of it now!” Sam labored to swallow the remnants of bitter paste in his mouth so that he could speak, but Pearcy spoke first.

“Just let us wait a day, he might be well enough then, but if we travel now.” He paused just long enough for her to speak.

“He survived you dragging him up here, he can survive you dragging him back out. Now I’ve already bartered with the Passers to take you with them.” The old woman had slipped out of Sam’s view, but he noticed something in her voice he hadn’t picked up on a moment ago. Fear.

Pearcy stood straight and turned toward her. “And I’ll go with them, just let him stay here, as soon as I get to Caul and tell them what happened, they’ll send a transport down here to pick him up.” The Private’s voice quavered with exasperation.

Sam called to him, but he still had a thick film hanging in his throat from the concoction the innkeep had given him. His voice was drowned out by her response. “No, whatever hit your base, I don’t want any part of that. I don’t want any transport down here, and I don’t want you down here. I don’t want whatever blew up Rattlesnake blowing up the Lonely Lookout too.” Her demeanor changed, she had admitted her true reasons for wanting them gone and relaxed. “Now, I’ve patched up your friend as best I can, and kept you under my roof a night, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go. Leave with the Passers or leave on your own. You cannot stay here.”

Pearcy opened his mouth for another rebuttal, but Sam finally found his voice. “We’ll go.” He rolled to his side and swung his feet off the bed with a grunt. “No need to bother this fine establishment any longer. Get us some clean clothes, and we’ll go.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “Tell the Passers we’ll be down as soon as we’re dressed.” Pearcy’s mouth still hung open.

If the old lady was surprised by Sam, she didn’t show it. She turned and walked out the door, muttering as she went. “Now they want clothes, next will be breakfast in bed…”

Pearcy closed his mouth just long enough to swallow. “Sir, you’re in no shape to travel. I doubt you can even stand.” Sam leaned forward.

“I can if you help, come here, lend me a hand.” Pearcy obliged, pulling the Lieutenant to his feet. “You know, I don’t remember your first name, Private Pearcy.” He wobbled a bit, and there was a good deal of pain, but neither of his legs seemed structurally damaged.

“Jim, well James, but everyone calls me Jim.” The Private stepped back like he’d just stacked up some blocks. “Sir, maybe we could find a place…” Sam closed his eyes and waved his hand.

“No, we’ll go with the Passers. Is there any water?” Jim stepped across the worn wooden floor and took a pitcher from the basin, pouring a little into a cup that sat next to it. “What happened Jim?” The Private held the cup out toward him, and he took it with his good hand. It seemed to be working correctly too.

“You mean last night?” Jim asked. Sam nodded, slowly letting the water trickle down his throat. “Well, you sent us down to take a look, me, Wagner, Holt, and Sergeant Webster. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, Neil and Presley were posted at the gate to the stairs. They were spooked, said they’d been hearing funny noises off in the distance ever since their shift started.” Just then the innkeep burst back in. Jim nearly dropped the water pitcher.

“The Passers are leaving in ten minutes. Here, here’s some clothes for you.” She tossed them on the bed. She turned, leaving the door open when she left.

Sam took the picture from Jim and hobbled to the wooden basin. Hanging from the wall behind it were the remnants of a broken mirror. The right side of his head was wrapped in dirty bandages. “So you made it to the bottom of the stair with Webster and the rest. Then what?”

Jim picked up the top garment she’d thrown down. “It was spooky, but we shrugged it off. It’s always kind of spooky outside of the fort at night. We started off along the base of the wall, headed toward the drain.” He unfolded the shirt and then held it up for Sam to see. “It’s a Lieutenant’s uniform.” The brown shirt had a single silver bar on each plain epaulet.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

Sam nodded, “Help me get this one off. I don’t think my shoulder will let me do it by myself. How bad is the wound under here?” He pointed to his head wrap.

Jim Pearcy set the shirt down and walked over. “It’s bad, there’s a big chunk of skin missing, hair and all.” Jim helped him pull the shirt over his head and off his injured arm. Sam soaked it in the basin to use as a sponge. The private turned to see what other clothes there were while same washed himself with his good hand. “Anyway, about the time we rounded the corner, the arrows started flying everywhere. Holt went down, and I think Webster was hit too. I hit the ground and kept my head down for a minute. When I looked up, there’s an army charging at us, swords drawn, spears levelled.” The uniform pants were there as well. Jim set them aside.

The other shirt was made of a fine white canvas, with fishing line draws. The pants were well made also, black tweed with matching black leather braces sewn on. Pearcy shrugged off his armor and the torn uniform. “The thing is, and I didn’t realize it then, but only a hand full were coming at us. The rest went up a bunch of ladders they had hauled up. Really tall ladders, like nothing I’d ever seen.” He slipped on the white shirt and the pants. They fit a little big in the waste, but Jim had to loosen the braces. By the time he was finished, Sam was ready to put on his own shirt. Jim helped him, it was tighter than he normally wore, but had a flattering fit. “But the ones that did come, they came at us hard. Wagner charged a bunch of them. Me and the Sergeant just kind of put our backs to the wall and waited. I think Holt was trying to get back to the stairs, but I never did see where he wound up. Wagner either, he just waded into them, then disappeared.“ Sam handled the trousers himself. “Do you want my armor, to go with your uniform?

“What happened to my armor?” The Lieutenant slipped on his boots, but didn’t lace them.

Jim chuckled, “Well sir, it’s a long way from the outpost to the Lonely Lookout. I tried to carry you with it, but it was just too heavy.”

Sam nodded, not feeling good enough to share a laugh. “It is too heavy; leave it here, as payment for the innkeep’s time.” He looked around the room, searching to see if he left anything, then realized he didn’t know if he’d brought anything. “Jim, did we bring anything, are we all set?”

“The only thing I brought was you and my sword. She made me leave it at the front.” Jim stood, shrugging his shoulders, and fidgeted.

“Good, now, one last thing before we go. Who attacked us? What army, from which nation?” Sam looked at Jim and motioned with his hands.

“Ah, well, it was dark. I didn’t see any guidons or flags. I, ah, well none of them had on the same uniform.”

Sam nodded. “And none had the same weapons or armor, did they?” He nodded and reached his good arm across to rub his injured one. “Well, let’s get going, our ride is waiting.”

The soldiers made their way through the narrow hallway and down the dark stairs that let out near the front door of the inn and tavern. The innkeep waited there, handed Jim his sword, then shut and locked the door as soon as they stepped out. The Lonely Lookout stood behind them, a rusty hulk along the giant’s road. It was a beautiful spring day, and the breeze blew Jim’s long blonde hair.

Before them was another hulk, slightly less rusty but no more appealing than the one behind. “What’s ‘radio flyer’ mean?” Jim asked as they walked toward the cart.

“It probably means ‘coyote’ or ‘smuggler’ in some eastern Passer language.” Moving around made Sam feel better; good enough to joke; just not good enough to joke well. Passer was the common slang for an immigrant leaving Paso. The people who owned this wagon weren’t actually Passers, they were coyotes, people who transported Passers on their migration.

Jim hadn’t slept and wasn’t keeping up. “Coyotes? I thought maybe it had something to do with that girl that blew herself up flying over Cauls. Besides, these guys are using prairie dogs.” They had come to the gangplank of the wagon and a big, important looking man was coming down.

“Jim, don’t believe everything you hear, ok.” Sam turned his attention to the man stepping down to meet them. “Good morning, sir.”

The coyote wore a thick, grey woolen cloak and a wide-brimmed hat. “Nearly afternoon soldier. Please, let’s get underway. We can speak pleasantries and terms in the wagon.” He motioned for them to follow, pausing halfway up to yell commands to the driver. “We’ll take the wood and gravel path up the cliff. It will be longer and rougher, but we won’t have to cross quite so close to your former home.” The wagon had wheels taller than any man, but if there had ever been any covering on them, it had long since worn away. Its body was rust brown, though it might have once been red, but the white lettering on the side had been repainted within the last few years. Poised at the harnesses were ten big prairie dogs, two across and five deep.

Jim pointed them out to Sam. “See, not coyotes.” Sam looked until he realized what the Private was concerned with. “Pearcy, I don’t think the name ‘coyote’ comes from the animals they use to pull their wagons.” They stepped through a door at the end of the gangplank and into a big wooden cabin built on top of the ancient wagon.

“No,” The big man said as he led them down a short flight of stairs and into a hallway. “They call us coyotes because we are clever, tough, adaptable, and because we live off what we find along the way. And now we have found you.” His smile might have been pleasant in a well-lit pub, but in the dark corridor of the wagon, as his crew hoisted the gangplank behind them, it was sinister. He took off his cloak and hung it in a closet, revealing a bright red overshirt beneath. “Please, follow me.” Two doors down, he turned out of the hall and into a room. As Sam followed, the wagon lurched to life and began slowly rolling forward. They stood in a large lobby of sorts, light streaming in from a hidden window above. The room was plain, with white-washed wooden walls, obviously built to be rugged. In the corner nearest them sat a desk with a few chairs around it. “My name is Benjamin Salazar. I understand you are Whybarrian soldiers?”

Sam spoke, “Yes sir, I’m Lieutenant Samuel Farmer, this is Private James Pearcy. We are in need of a great deal of help and have been led to believe you are in a position to do so.” Mr. Salazar directed them to sit on the near side of the desk.

“Please, sit. Yes, we can help. We can take you to Cauls, feed you as we go, and even care for your injuries. However, this is not a charity. I can put you on a credit plan, but I need your assurance that the Whybarrian Army will be willing to square up your accounts when we get to Cauls.” He pulled his hat off and hung it on a peg in the wall behind his desk before sitting as well. "And that if they are unwilling, you will personally pay".

Sam nodded, “I can assure you that, even if the Army fails to give you your due, I will repay you, but please understand. There’s been an attack on our outpost. As there’s no vessie that’s come to look for us yet, I can only assume word has not yet reached Cauls. We must get word to them as soon as we can.” Sitting hurt worse than standing and the short walk seemed to have sapped the little strength he had.

Benjamin smiled the same halfway scary smile. “Thank you for your assurances. I understand the dangers that the attack on Rattlesnake represents. Please understand, this is not a transport vessie, with a fancy giant engine. This is a Passer wagon. The trip from here to Cauls takes 3 days, whether you’re in a hurry or not. Prairie Dogs are great beasts of burden, but they are not racing rabbits.” He paused and looked a little concerned. “But first things first, let’s get the doctor down here; you’re getting paler by the minute.”

Jim was at his shoulder, taking him by his good arm. “Here sir, why don’t you lie on the floor until the doctor comes.” Sam agreed, a fresh wave of pain and nausea washing over him. He lay on the floor and the edges of the ceiling looked dim. He could taste the innkeep’s potion in the back of his throat.

Same began to babble, then shake. The doctor came running in.

The wagon had stopped, and the sun was waning, when Sam came to. There was a smell of cooking meat and fresh rain. He sat up and looked around. Jim sat next to him, sleeping in a padded seat, with his hands in his lap and his head hanging down in front of him. The pain was still there, but nowhere near as bad, and his head felt foggy, but not actually painful.

There was a movement on the other side of the bed and Sam was startled to find he and Jim weren’t the only ones in the room. A slender, dark-haired woman, maybe ten years older than him, sat there, staring at him. “Sam Farmer.” She whispered to him. “How are you feeling?”

Sam whispered back, though he wasn’t sure why. “Better, thanks. Are, you the doctor?” He was trying to make sense of it all but couldn’t quite get it right. He was on a wagon, but why? And where was his shirt?

“I am, and I need to ask you, Sam. What were you saying about barbarians when you fell ill this morning?” She leaned forward, her sleek black coat folding and bunching as she did.

“Ah, this morning?” He wasn’t completely confident in what he was saying now, how could he possibly remember this morning? “I couldn’t, possibly, completely, now, this morning.” That hadn’t come out the way Sam wanted it to and the doctor narrowed her eyes.

“Sam, this is important. What do you remember about the attack on your outpost.” She leaned in, an arm behind her back, the other resting on Sam’s injured arm.

“You were there, I saw you there…so go ask yourself.” Something occurred to Sam, but it left him so quickly he had no idea what. “Go ask yourself?” The door to the little room opened and the dark-haired lady sat up straight.

A tall man entered dressed in a pristine white coat, with a handbag marked 'FIRST AIDE' in bright red letters. Sam cocked his head to the side. "You are who?' fell out of his mouth back first.

“I'm Doctor Esperanza.” He turned to the lady. “Thanks for watching them while I ate, Mrs. Brave.” He still had a crumb in his waxed mustache.

“My pleasure Doctor, but I really ought to be going.” She slid toward the door and slipped halfway through it to wave.

“Thanks again, have a pleasant dinner.” The doctor smiled at her as Mrs. Brave left and closed the door. Jim stirred, then stretched as he woke. The doctor turned his focus to Sam. “Let’s have a look at you, shall we.” He leaned over the Lieutenant, “How are you feeling?” He asked as he began to unwind the bandages on his head.

“Ah…confused.” Sam couldn’t say what he was thinking, and even if he could, he wasn’t thinking clearly. “Who’s that?” Sam asked as the doctor gently turned his patient’s head to get a better look at the wound.

“Your friend?” Esperanza vaguely motioned to Jim.

“No doctor, I think he’s wondering who just left.” Jim stood and looked over the doctor’s shoulder, with a puzzled expression on his face as well.

The doctor leaned in for a closer look. “One of the passengers, Mrs. Brave. She happened to be passing by and I asked her to watch over you while I ate my dinner, as you were both asleep.” He wrinkled his nose, then began rewrapping the wound. “Your head is healing nicely, much better than I would expect.”

Jim took a step back. “That’s good, doctor. All the same, I’m glad I already ate.”

The doctor nodded. “It looks worse than it is. It should heal very well. You’ll always have a scar, but the hair might cover it.” He leaned back in the chair. “What’s not particularly good is that I’m not sure what the medicine you took at the inn actually contained. I’m also fairly certain it had gone bad, sitting there as long as it did. I honestly don’t know why the innkeep didn’t just come get me. All she had to do was walk over to the wagon.” He stroked his mustache, knocking the crumb to the ground. “Let’s do a little exercise, OK Lieutenant Farmer?”

Sam nodded, even though he wasn’t clear on what Esperanza meant.

“What’s your name?”

“Samuel Farmer, Lieutenant.” That was harder to get out than it should have been.

“Good.” The doctor paused now as if he were confused. “Where are you currently stationed?”

“Rattlesnake.” Sam decided to keep his answers short. He felt less likely to mess them up.

“Good, now what day is it?” Jim was a rapt observer, though Sam wasn’t sure why.

“Ah…Today?. Is Friday, I think. Been sleeping a lot, you know?” Sam flushed a little, and his headache, while not quite back, was probably on the way.

“Good, and who is the king of Whybarr?”

Sam didn’t hesitate. “Uncle Lucky.” He was proud until he remembered he was wrong. “I mean, Matthew Debacca. King Matthew the second.” Doctor Esperanza nodded.

“Well, let’s see how you do in the morning.” He turned to Jim. “Take him to your room, give him a drink from this bottle, then make sure he has all the kiddie wine he wants. And get some rest, you both look like death.” He helped Jim get Sam on his feet and escorted them to their room.

Jim lit the lamp and went about making sure the Lieutenant had his medicine and was ready for bed. Once Sam was tucked in, Jim prepared for bed himself, changing clothes and washing up. He was just about to blow out the lamp when Sam stopped him. “Jim, what does the name on that uniform shirt say?” The Lieutenant’s uniform the innkeep had given them had a name written in ink, inside the collar. It was a common way for a soldier to mark their belongings and, in doing so, deter theft. Sam had been staring at the shirt for a long time, trying to focus enough to generate a clear thought.

Jim walked to the chair he had hung the shirt on earlier in the day and picked it up. “It says 'Brave'. Why?”