FicWad

Knowing full well that the next day might bring death, Jack drinks and dances at his wedding hoping that he will not arrive too late to save the campaign. Jack cannot survive his wedding night without alcohol, least of all when his friends are handing it to him by the bottle. Mentally he is screaming every curse he knows. He knows he is married to the army and must leave Lynn to defend her and so many others. He hates the prospect. If it could be any other way, he would be grateful. The air smells like coming snow. It will not be a pleasant journey, but at least he will be with Kerrigan, who has an unmistakable worried look in her eyes through the entire night. Morietur holds her tightly to him the entire time just as Jack holds Lynn. Lynn begs to go, but he tells her that it cannot happen. It cannot happen until her safety can be ensured. After everyone but the family leaves, Jack is up all night packing charts into a briefcase and uniform shirts and pants into a trunk with his claymore sword and three knives, several bottles of whiskey, and a decent amount of money. The next morning, an icy snow falls like so many frozen teardrops. There is about a foot and a half on the ground before Jack leaves. He bids his sister farewell first, as she comes to see him while he is packing the last of his things in his suitcase to give him his morning tea and small protective articles that she fashioned herself. Even his winter-weight dress coat is not warm enough. He packs his pea coat and dons his black wool trench coat and cloak before bidding adieu to the twins. He then bids farewell to Shane, whom he asks to help with Jason and to help Lynn with the animals and crops while he is away. He gives his trunk and briefcase to a corporal who was sent to bring his and Kerrigan’s things, the other officers having left either the day previous or after the wedding, depending on their attendance. Jack says goodbye to Lynn, who is in tears, promising to return as soon as he can. She gives him her clamshell mirror to remember her by and he puts it in his chest pocket lest he lose it on the journey.

He goes outside and wakes up Spectre and Spook and saddles them. They are not happy to be aroused at such an early hour on such a cold day, but they get over it quickly when they receive two apples each. Jack returns to the house to retrieve his sons. He bundles them up in their warmest clothing before bringing them outside. He gives one of his green scarves to Jason and promises to write letters and visit as often as he can. Jason does not cry. He is, after all, his father’s son. They leave for Maire’s manor, Jack carying John. When they arrive, Jack helps Jason dismount with his free hand and hands Spook’s reins to the stable boy who comes out in pajamas, a winter coat, and riding boots. They then proceed to the front door, which Maire herself answers, much to Jack’s surprise. She invites him inside, takes John into her arms, and asks Jason to fetch a package from the kitchen. She puts John in a bassinet that, in Jack’s opinion, is far too lacy for a baby boy, and unexpectedly hugs Jack, telling him not to get himself injured. Jason returns with the package just as Jack is starting to feel conscious of his boots leaving muddy prints on Maire’s white marble floors. Jason hands the package to his father, who opens it, though he knows it is a glass bottle of something from the shape and weight. He is surprised to see that his ex-wife, who once shouted at him at least twice daily for drinking, gave him a bottle of brandy. He thanks her and hugs her goodbye before bending down to kiss John then Jason and telling Jason to behave. He then leaves and Jason goes upstairs to sleep.

Jack sets out alone into a blizzard headed for Kerrigan’s vacation house. Death answers the door and wishes him luck. He can hear a tearful parting going on upstairs. He stands in the spacious foyer trying not to drip on anything, which is considerably easier there than it would be in the drawing room. Jack fusses with the contents of all of his many pockets. When he gets to his innermost chest pocket, he finds Lynn’s mirror. Kerrigan and Morietur come downstairs. Morietur pulls Jack aside and asks him to keep an eye on Kerrigan and to make sure nothing happens to her. In return, Jack asks for Morietur to check in on Lynn. They exchange a glass of whiskey over it from roughly-hewn oak cups that seem very out of place in the elegant house. Kerrigan kisses her husband goodbye and dons several layers of thick wool to protect her against the whipping winter wind before saddling Pyro and riding off to war with Jack. They head down from the hills into Bridgeton, the city which straddles Districts Thirteen, Five, and Twenty. Jack spent many years in the District Thirteen side of Bridgeton. Many of the best military men he commands come from there. From the very streets and alleys where they now ride, the sparks of the revolution that bore freedom from an unjust king on its back were born. They stop at The Hawk’s Nest on their way for breakfast and a little warmth. Two doors down, Mike Crane is on the roof of his pub lowering the flags to half-mast. He climbs down and opens the door to his pub. His sons march out one by one from oldest to youngest to salute Jack and Kerrigan. Kerrigan holds Mike’s daughter to her for a moment as if she is trying to hold on to normalcy as long as possible. Mike’s pub is closed until the evening, so he and his children follow Jack and Kerrigan into The Hawk’s Nest for a final adieu before they leave for an as yet undetermined amount of time.

Once they have warmed up, they leave. They stop again at the outskirts of Bridgeton on a steep hill by the river. Built into the top of the hill is a large, extravagant, old house. Despite the hour, the Three Kings is still open. Daniel stands behind the bar, but he does not mechanically pour Jack a whiskey. Instead, he comes out from behind the bar to bid Jack good luck and to offer them both a drink on the house. Jack looks out from the door upon leaving. The storm has cleared up for the time being, but he can see another heavy bout of snow on the way in the distance. He looks out over Bridgeton where so many of the events that shaped him happened. He can see the Senate House with its sparkling, white-marble exterior almost hidden among the snowdrifts. He can see further into the hills above the city in District Five. He can see his manor silhouetted against the dark forest. He wonders what Lynn is doing. He can also see Maire’s manor. He can see a light on in a room on one of the upper floors. It must be Jason’s room. He wonders if his sons will be alright without him around.

Once outside of Bridgeton, they pass by a house that Jack still technically owns. It is a little stone cottage with a thatched roof and a fence made from branches bent around thicker branches. The door is a heavy piece of wood placed over the opening with no hinges or lock. The fields have lain fallow for years, the roof will need to be thatched again within the next five years, and the fence is already falling down in some places. The abandoned scene is incredibly decrepit and foreign. Jack remembers building the cottage and fence and plowing the fields. He also remembers a time when the fields were stained with blood in two of the great battles of the revolution. The ground is marshy. While the peat soil is wonderful for growing things, it is certainly difficult to keep dry enough that the seeds and young roots do not drown or wash away. Much of District Thirteen is similar. Many streams and rivers twist between the bogs and forests. A low chain of hills rises like a spine in the center, and the only real mountains are in the very southernmost corner along the Vampire-Demon border. This desolate country has no mercy for the weak or mediocre. It is a tough land, and the people who live there are tough, as they must be to survive. They have contempt for those who are born wealthy and never help others. Many have a grudging respect for Kerrigan due to her tendency to ignore economic factors, and a deep admiration for Jack because he is the one who escaped. Their homes are small and somewhat run-down. The farms are small and the people are poor, but they are always willing to share what little they have with those less fortunate or with a weary traveler. They are a proud people and would never think, even for an instant, of stealing from anyone, let alone a traveler passing through. Even through the whipping winds and blinding snow of the blizzard, the two travelers are noticed. A fairly muscular woman in a blue and gray plaid dress comes out of one of the little houses and beckons them inside. Jack looks over his shoulder to Kerrigan for an answer. She nods.

The house is small, yet pleasant. It is made of uneven rocks, but it is solid and hardly drafty. The thatched roof keeps out the moisture and cold. A turf fire burns in the stone fireplace. Five children run around examining the visitors. A sixth child sits in a corner while a seventh lies in its mother’s arms. The father sits whittling by the fire. It is obvious that they have very little. Still, the man offers Jack a shot of home-brewed liquor and a roughly-hewn wooden chair by the fire. Jack cannot stand straight up except in the very center of the one-room cottage for fear of hitting his head on the thatching. He sits in the chair and flips back the hood of his traveling cloak, revealing his brilliantly orange hair tied back neatly in its usual fashion under his black ivy cap. The father sitting near him stops whittling. Jack knows that he has been recognized. His ears turn red immediately. The house falls silent except for the occasional popping noise from the peat fire. The children stand on their tiptoes to see, crowded around behind their parents.

“B’Jaysus!” exclaims the father. “An’ is it yourself?”

“Aye.”

“Senator Shepherd, here in our home?”

“Aye. Senator Sheehan’s wi’ me.”

The entire family slowly turns to look at Kerrigan, who pushes back the hood of her cloak to reveal her pale features and black-and-white hair. The man only says “B’Jaysus” again, quietly, and puts his whittling on a small stone outcropping above the fireplace that could be called a mantle. He stares in admiration, which makes Jack shy away slightly; he is not the type of man to seek admiration. The children venture closer to Jack and Kerrigan than their parents will at first. Their curiosity outweighs the quiet admiration they have been taught to have for Senators. Of the eight children, five are girls. The third child, who is a twin, the sixth child, and the baby are boys. The middle boy walks over to Jack and looks up at him in silence. His parents are too surprised at the thought of having two Senators in their humble home to pull him back.

“How old’re ye?” asks Jack.

“Four, sir. Almost five.”

“Same age as me own son.”

“Michael, get over here! So sorry for the trouble, sir,” apologizes the mother.

“No trouble a’ ‘tall. Is there any way I can pay ye back for lettin’ us warm up by the fire?” Jack asks, knowing the answer before the father can say it. The people out here do not accept charity or want pity. They are the purest of warriors. They do not kill except to protect their families, to whom they are infinitely loyal, but they also fiercely proud and expect nothing in return for simple hospitality, especially not money.

“Don’ worry yourself ‘bout it. Jus’ think ‘bout them kids when yez get back to the Senate some time, eh?”

“Not a problem, sir. Promise I will. Now, I fear, we must go. We need to make it to Armorton before ‘tis too dark to see.”

“Armorton is a long way off.”

“Not so far as we need be by sunset tomorrow. We’ve the need to be at Crosspoint.”

“Crosspoint? What for?”

“War.”

“Shite… pardon me language, miss. So, they’ve come?”

“Aye. Ye’re lucky. Ye live all the way back here. I feel sorry for the ones a’ the border.”

“Aye.”

“Well, we’d best be off. Thankee.”

“No trouble a’ ‘tall, sor.”

Jack and Kerrigan leave. They stop in a village called Sráidbhaile na Leamnhán. Not a soul speaks proper Vampire, save the magistrate. The town is barely on the map. Including the outlying farmland, it is home to around six hundred people. There is a center square with a stockade and a single gallows tree and a fair number of stalls for merchants. Most of the residents scrape their living together as farmers. The tradesmen of the town include a tanner, a cobbler, a carpenter, a mason, a tailor, a blacksmith, and a tinsmith. A tinker travels through every other week, as does a peddler. A stream runs nearby, and there are enough forests in the area to provide meat. There is a small church, a one-room school, and a tavern near the town square. There is one guard assigned to the town, and he is off duty. The two priests are inside by their fire. Most of the residents are at home waiting out the storm. The only place open on such a cold day is the tavern, the name of which is unreadable.

Jack walks in, Kerrigan immediately behind him. They are met with stares. The bartender looks up, surprised by the sudden decrease in volume, and sees the travelers. “I don’ serves women,” he says.

“Pardon?” asks Kerrigan.

“I said, I don’ serves women. Get out. Yer kind ain’ welcome here.”

“Do you mind if we warm up? We’ve come from outside Bridgeton, an’—” begins Jack.

“Her kind ain’ welcome. I don’ serve no cailíns. Get her out an’ ye can have a drink, sor.”

“She won’t drink. We jus’ need to warm up by your fire.”

“No. Get the wee wench out.”

“I will be alright, Jack. Honestly, I will,” says Kerrigan.

“No. This is wrong,” insists Jack, full of masculine pride and moral outrage.

“Let us simply leave.”

“No.”

“Listen to your woman,” says the bartender.

“D’ye ken who this woman is?”

“I don’ care if she’s the Princess o’ Hell, she’s a woman, an’ I don’ serves women.”

“Matter o’ fact, she jus’ happens to be the Princess o’ Hell.”

“I stick by what I said. I don’ serves women. She’s got to go.”

“I’ll make ye a deal. If ye can lay one hit on me ‘afore I drops ye, she goes.”

“Sor, I don’ wan’ to fight ye.”

“’Tis for the lady’s honor. Unless ye’d rather serve her.”

“Fine. I’ll be over in a minute.”

Jack removes his ivy cap, cloak, wool trench coat, and officer’s dress uniform coat. He is careful to let everyone see the insignia and medals on the coat. The bartender removes his apron and leaps over the bar, rather than going around the side, to show off his skill and dexterity. The locals cheer the bartender on. It is not every day that a fight breaks out in the village, let alone one with a traveler passing through. Travelers, are, indeed, a rarity here. The two combatants step outside, the men in the tavern pressed to the windows fighting for spaces so that the view from the outside is that of a sea of faces. Jack does not turn his back to the tavern. He would be a fool if he did. Instead, he stands in the road waiting for his opponent to exit. Kerrigan stands by the doorway, somewhat interested in her friend's doings, somewhat flattered by the thought of a fight for her honor, and somewhat disgusted by the blatant display of masculine bravado and the unnecessary violence. The world disappears to Jack. He sees only his challenge. He must drop the bartender to the ground before a hit can be laid upon him. He has done this hundreds of times. He is practically an artist. The winter sun is finally starting to raise itself over the horizon. In the golden light of dawn, Jack’s red hair shines like fire silhouetted against the gray sky. His face is dark to his competitor, who can see only the glint of ice-blue in Jack’s eyes and the fire of his hair. The bartender looks golden and glowing, from his golden hair to his brown trousers and boots. Jack nods. The barman does the same. The barman lunges at Jack who quickly sidesteps all of the blows. The barman is much faster than Jack anticipated, but he adjusts, and landing one powerful blow to his opponent’s side, Jack brings the barman to his knees. With a second, equally powerful blow to the chest, the man is on the ground, not having landed a single blow.

Jack helps him up and says, “I’ll have a double shot o’ whiskey, an’ Miss Sheehan’ll have the same.”

Kerrigan catches Jack’s sleeve before he can get inside, pulls him off to one side, and says, “Jack Shepherd, you are a fool.”

They warm up inside, Kerrigan drawing stares the entire time, and leave. Kerrigan drinks more than Jack does, so by noon, when they stop in a similarly small town called Gráig ag Abhainn, she is fairly tired. It is a quiet place that is not even on Kerrigan’s map. The town is incredibly unaccustomed to outsiders. Jack goes looking for food and drink. The only tavern in town is closed. There are no accommodations for travelers. He sits on the steps of the church meekly like a lost child. A small child takes Kerrigan by the hand. She calls across the square to Jack. They are led into a small house with two floors, not unlike the Malones’ four-story house in Bridgeton. Unlike the Malones’, this house is not situated on a dark narrow alley, the windows are not broken, and the entire family gets along. The family is sitting in the kitchen, which is also what passes for a parlor. They are obviously poor, and the little house is very crowded, but it is not unpleasant. There is a grandmother bobbing around the room. A grandfather is sitting in a chair by the fire. Three women bustle about telling their sons to mind their manners and their daughters to help out. Two are obviously daughters of the couple; the third obviously married into the family. A fourth woman, a few years younger than the others and obviously the elderly couple’s youngest daughter, sits playing the only luxury in the house: an upright piano in the corner. She is unmarried. Three men sit about waiting for the storm to clear so they can return to work. One is the elderly couple’s only son. He laughs gaily at a joke the visitors did not hear. The men are drinking whiskey by the fire. Upon seeing the visitors that his little daughter brought, the son stands and strides gracefully to the door. Their clothing is simple wool, cotton, and leather. Their house is not run-down, but it shows signs of wear.

“Welcome. We are the O’Rourkes. I am Kiernan. Over there are Billy McRae an’ Frank O’Keefe. The ladies are me wife Kate, an’ me sisters Maggie McRae, Laura O’Keefe, an’ Kelly O’Rourke. There’s me ma’ an’ da’ Colleen an’ Dave. An’ who would ye be, then?”

“That’s Kerrigan Sheehan. I’m Jack Shepherd.”

“Really…”

“’Tis true.”

“The Senators?”

“Aye.”

“’M a doctor meself. There’s not a soul above sixteen that don’ have to work here. Even the young’uns’re apprenticed. Half the family’s in printing… some’ve the women bind and stitch an’ make endplates. One’ve the boys makes covers another’s a printer. The other thing this town’s famous for ‘sides pretty books is beer. Pardon me terrible speech… I’ve had one too many. Try the ale. ‘Sgood.”

Though Jack and Kerrigan are not habitual beer drinkers, they try the local brew. Even Jack, who is a staunch whiskey drinker and hates to be reduced to ale, admits that it is good. The O’Rourke household, for it is governed by the patriarch Dave O’Rourke and his wife, are all interested in what the city is like, for only Kiernan has ever been to a city, and, to someone accustomed to Bridgeton, the city he went to is hardly a town. Kerrigan and Jack would much rather discuss the peaceful rural life of the O’Rourkes. Jack is very much nostalgic for the simple country life he lived on Earth, and Kerrigan finds other peoples’ lives fascinating, not as gossip, but as stories to record in the annals of Hell’s history. They have a lunch of pork stew and ale at the O’Rourkes', after which they continue on their long journey to make Armorton before it is too dark. The O’Rourkes even offered food for Pyro and Spectre. Jack knows a Bobby O’Rourke, as well as Dave O’Rourke, the patriarch, as they are brothers who fought in the revolution, originally from District Six in the far north.

They stop for tea in a town called Cill Broin. It is far larger and more affluent than the villages they had stopped in previously. Jack charges himself with the task of finding some kind of tea. In a town this size there has to be at least one tavern, restaurant, or inn that serves women. He finds one almost immediately. Despite the hour, it is still cold, and the whipping wind and blinding snow are not helping matters. Once inside an inn called An Chéirseach ar Meisce, they enjoy hot tea and little tarts. Jack’s nerves are visible to Kerrigan, though to someone who does not know him well, all would seem fine.

“Are you sure you are not too worried about Lynn?”

“I’m sure.”

“Morietur will be checking up on her. She is older than I am. She has been through far worse in her days than being separated from her husband.”

“I still worry.”

“I know. I think she worries more about your safety. After all, it is highly unlikely that she will be shot at in that mansion of yours.”

“Then there’s Jason.”

“Jason will be alright for now. He starts school in a few days. Even if you were home, you would hardly see him. Maire is convinced that he should be in boarding school.”

“She decided that the second she knew she was pregnant wi’ the lad. She don’ like me ‘round ‘im. Says I’m a bad influence. She don’ like me drinkin’, me way wi’ women, or me fightin’, an’ she’s convinced that if Jason hears me talk he’ll have an accent an’ he’ll die poor an’ alone because’ve it. She’s a wee bit daft, in me own opinion, an’, like it or not, Jason does have a wee lilt, so she can take her stupid obsessions an’ shove ‘em up her arse.”

“Jack, please mind your tongue, for we are in a nice restaurant, and I can assure you that nobody here wants to hear you curse about your ex-wife.”

“Ah, sorry now.”

“I understand that you worry about your son. I suppose you do not believe me, but I worry about my children all the time, both the ones born on Earth and those born in Hell. I even worry about Death.”

“Can Death die?”

“We do not really know, but he can certainly end up in prison or badly injured and has done so on many occasions.”

“How’s that possible?”

“He drinks. He is also foolish. He would try to drink more than you, though he, and everyone else, knows that he has no tolerance for alcohol whatsoever. He gets that from his father, who can only drink if he himself pours. There is something about Air and Water Demons and making alcohol weaker. Like my husband, my son is, at times, unapologetically foolish. I love him very much, but I worry that one of these days I will not be able to get him out of what he has gotten himself into. Oddly enough, I worry the same about you.”

“Me? I’ve hardly been in trouble in Hell a’ ‘tall.”

“Seven stints in prison in a century and a half is not 'hardly at all.' Especially when you realize that I am not counting the times you were held overnight on charges related to drunkenness for which you were released in the morning. Consider also the fact that I said 'century and a half,' though six of them happened in the first century you were here. Also consider the fact that there would have been many more had I not been with you to explain things, bribe people, or make excuses for you, and the fact that sometimes you are not arrested specifically because you are a Senator or the officer who would otherwise arrest you owes you money or favors.”

“So? That don’ mean I’d get meself in trouble I’d not be able to find me way out of.”

“Jack, all that I am saying is that you, my husband, and my son Death are fairly similar in that none of you seems to have a capacity for knowledge of your own limitations, and, because of that, I worry about all of you.”

“Like ye said, on’y one’s been in the last fifty years.”

“That is true, but it was recent. They let you have your alcohol, so I doubt you remember it.”

“Aye, I on’y counted six.”

“The seventh was just after Samhain. You were sentenced to thirty days for assault, which, let me remind you, is a very light sentence, especially for someone with six major convictions and numerous smaller violations, and you served half for relatively good behavior, though you were repeatedly escorted to court in order to settle the last bits of your divorce with Maire, and to the Senate for meetings.”

“Why was I there? What did I do?”

“You went into a nice bar in the District Five portion of Bridgeton, and you started the biggest brawl that that part of the city has ever seen.”

“Over what?”

“I was not there. I have no idea. Nobody seems to know.”

“I’m sorry for the trouble that must’ve caused ye.”

“I have seen worse, but please, do not do it again.”

They leave Cill Broin immediately after tea and stop for dinner in a town called Hilton, which is nestled amongst the southern hills of District Thirteen almost on the Vampire-Demon border. Hilton and its sister town Felding are only two hours’ ride south of the city of Armorton where they plan to stop for the night. They have a dinner of ale and cold chicken with two shots of whiskey each and a small slice of pumpkin pie between them before they head north. The blizzard, which died down in the middle of the afternoon, builds up again in the twilight. They reach Armorton around the time the city’s gaslights are being lit. Kerrigan leads the way. Jack is too tired, stiff, and sore to argue. Somehow Kerrigan finds lodgings almost immediately. The inn she finds is fairly nice. They agree to share a room in the strange city. This means sharing a bed, but Kerrigan assures Jack that she does not mind. She ties the horses to an iron ring in the front while they go inside to arrange the accommodations. She does all of the talking. Jack stands behind her looking completely worn out from the long journey. Kerrigan follows the proprietor closely and deems the room satisfactory before putting the horses in the stable personally. When she returns to the inn, Jack is sitting at the bar downstairs drinking whiskey by the pint. She joins him. Calm as she seems, she is inwardly terrified.

After a surprisingly short stint, the two of them are drunk, though more from the fatigue caused by the day’s exertions than from the alcohol. Jack carries Kerrigan upstairs for no particular reason and puts her down gently by her side of the bed. Neither of them brought much on horseback. Kerrigan has only a messenger bag with a few personal items and a spare set of undergarments. Jack has roughly the same, though his items are, by nature, different from those of his traveling companion. He cannot help but watch Kerrigan undress to the dressing gown that she will be wearing as a nightgown, though he can only see her back out of the corner of his eye. He brought flannel pajama pants in his messenger bag, so he puts them on carefully, so as not to disturb Kerrigan, who is already in her woolen gown. At the end of the bed is a trunk full of blankets. She pulls them out and buries herself beneath them. Jack smokes the only cigar Kerrigan will allow him to smoke in the room that night. He then blows out the candle and crawls into bed next to the pile of blankets surrounding Kerrigan. His leg brushes up against hers by accident and he feels that her skin is as cold as ice. He pulls her close to him, though he is terrified of the possible repercussions of doing so. She does not object, fight, or fuss. Instead, she falls asleep lying in his arms.

In the morning, they go downstairs for breakfast. Jack, for all his money, never bought himself table manners. He makes fast work of a huge breakfast of sausage, bacon, toast, corned beef hash, fried potatoes, oatmeal, black coffee, and two double-shots of whiskey. Kerrigan, on the other hand, daintily eats oatmeal and sips tea. Jack insists that Kerrigan take the first shower because he worries about her freezing. He also lies down on the bed wishing he had not bothered with breakfast. They buy a few bottles of whiskey each off of the tavern owner, for they know they will not stop that day. Whiskey will be in short supply at Crosspoint. Due to their rank as Senatorial Generals and Kerrigan’s gender, they will be lodged in small cabins in Crosspoint, but the town is seriously lacking in consistent shipments of supplies. It is the last town before the wasteland that serves as a border. On that wasteland lie thousands of troops. More will arrive in the coming weeks. Jack purposefully left a weak spot in their border defense at Crosspoint. He had to fight for it, but he explained that to the Werewolves, a weak spot in a poor area with lots of open space would look like the perfect place to attack. They would be guaranteed to fall for the trap when they became ready, rather than launching a possible attack anywhere along the border. Julius thought it horribly foolish to create a weak point, but he went along with Jack’s intentional folly for his own amusement. After all, he thought, what would an Irishman know about fighting? Jack’s plan had worked. There were plenty of troops within a day’s journey and nobody who had been nearby had suffered casualty, save one man who broke a finger when his charge exploded. His men had lured the Werewolves into a valley where they could attack from the high ground. Kerrigan and Jack take a desolate country road that travels past many farms but no towns. No one invites them in because all of the residents are busy cleaning up the aftermath of the blizzard, with a gentler snow expected for the evening.

By the time they reach Crosspoint, Kerrigan can hardly move. A guard meets them at the gate of the city. He takes them to the very center and the little cottage where the mens’ things are. Tem, Var, and Julius have already moved in. There are four beds crowded into the small space, a closet that is inaccessible, a bookshelf over Var’s headboard, a liquor cabinet over Tem’s feet, a desk to the left of Julius’s head, and a closet behind Jack’s bed. Kerrigan’s cottage has an extra bed, a little kitchenette, a table, two chairs, a small bookshelf, and a remarkably small liquor cabinet.

Within half an hour, a fight breaks out between Jack and Julius over the kind of soap most appropriate for the shower. Julius is determined that olive-oil-based soap is the most pleasant, while Jack is convinced that lye soap does the best job. Then they move to armor. Jack thinks armor ought to be worn under the uniform, while Julius prefers his over. They then argue about who gets which drawer of the little desk. Julius, who has been there since yesterday but was kind enough to wait for Jack to arrive to sort things out, has been drinking wine glass after glass all day. Jack pulls out a bottle of whiskey when he can no longer stand Julius and drinks the whole thing in seemingly one pull. They go to bed inebriated and angry. When Julius begins to snore, Jack, being very tired and sore from two full days of riding, throws a pillow at him from across the room. Julius wakes up when the projectile meets with his skull. He returns fire with a heavy leaden candlestick from on top of the desk which hits Jack squarely in the chest. Angered and gasping for breath, Jack picks up his empty whiskey bottle and throws it as hard as he can sitting up in bed at Julius. It misses but hits the wall above Julius causing a shower of broken glass to rain down on him. Julius grabs a knife out of his bag and throws it, narrowly missing Jack’s left eye. The fuse on Jack’s temper finally burns out and he leaps across the room on top of Julius and drives a shower of blows into Julius’s face and upper body. Julius rolls Jack off of him and onto the floor where he takes away Jack's advantage by switching from boxing to wrestling. Jack slips out from under him and kicks him three or four times in the ribs before Julius goes for a pistol and shoots in Jack’s direction in the dark. He grazes Jack’s foot, but there is no serious damage done. Var and Tem stay out of it. Jack throws the few things he has out into his messenger bag, slings it over his shoulder, grabs his trunk with both hands, loops his suitcase into the bottom of one hand, kicks the door open, and marches across the street where he proceeds to bang on Kerrigan's door with his foot. She answers quietly wrapped up in a flannel nightgown and a blanket and helps Jack with his suitcase. He puts his trunk under the spare bed and slides his suitcase in next to it. She heard every word of the argument.

“D’ye mind?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Good. I can’t live wi’ the man.”

“Come here, Jack. Let me sing you a lullaby.”

“Wait, I need a cigar first. I’ll go outside.” He spends as little time smoking as possible and returns to the warmth of the cabin, heated by a small fireplace. Kerrigan has already begun to sing before he sits down on the bed next to her. Halfway through one chorus, he is already fast asleep next to her.

Dún do shúile a rún mo chroí
A chuid den tsaol is a ghrá liom.
Dún do shúile a rún mo chroí
Is gheobhair féirín amárach.