FicWad

As another year dawns in Hell, unrest remains constant. The war continues to play itself out along the border. As with every year, the witches claim to want change and a complete overhaul and revamping of their government, yet do not legislate or vote for it. The Banshees cannot come to an agreement on government spending, preferring instead to argue amongst themselves in their legislative councils, despite pleas from the citizenry. The Vampiric Senate meets every day for three weeks in a row without a single bill going to vote, due to infighting, boycotting, egos, and bought votes. This leaves the military to hunt for itself and the doctors without supplies until the previous year’s budgets are approved by a default in the constitution. There are murmurs of revolution amongst the Werewolves, some wishing to stand alongside their Vampiric brethren in fighting tyranny and favoritism, not realizing just how poorly the original plan for the republic is realized and how impractical and dysfunctional it is. Any rumors of rebellion are quashed immediately by impressive displays of military might, and, though the majority of the citizenry are not happy, their thoughts are never voiced. Among the Demons, the unrest is over the war between the Vampires and the Werewolves. Policies regarding spying, skirmishes within their borders, monetary assistance of private citizens, and official neutrality weigh heavy upon their minds. In both the Vampiric and Werewolvish armies, morale remains somewhat low, despite the Vampiric recovery of Crosspoint around Yuletide. The old men have difficulty allowing the ghosts of past comrades die and accepting new soldiers, despite the dire need. Both sides have sustained heavy casualties, bolstered by disease and starvation. The Werewolves are in the midst of a severe drought and rely upon a wartime economy, and the Vampires are dealing with a budget crisis and interrupted supply lines. In Court City, Kerrigan is restless as well, restless to break free of her walled-in prison and to return to the life to which she is accustomed, a busy life, even if she must bring her son with her. The life of a lady at court is not ideal for her, and her husband’s obsessive, possessive desire to keep her close, especially after what happened in Crosspoint, further serves to add to her discontentment. Her home is nothing but a lavish prison, and, though she is free to leave it, her husband dictates that she must be accompanied unless visiting relatives living on the same street and must return by nightfall.

In Bridgeton, ice-bound streets almost make the old city, the poor shantytown, look magical, as if it were a painting, if viewed from a distance. Walking through it, the cobblestone streets are slick and lined with icy mud. The sparkle is only seen from a distance, and the beautiful snow-covered rooftops are more of a nuisance than an artistic wonder with the realization that snow is heavy and often aggravates the collapse of already fragile, rotting beams. Most residents do not truly have enough to eat in the best of times during the harvest, but toward the end of the winter, when the last scraps remaining from the autumn harvest are nearly consumed and the bounty of spring greens and hares are far from being realized, despair and starvation set in yet again, though this year, the harvest was only slightly below average. Schoolboys lament over having nothing but bread and dried meat to eat, and mothers lament at going hungry themselves in order to feed their children. Disease and starvation are widespread, and many houses have frost inside as well as out, since many families lack the money for firewood or coal. There is little joy outside of the taverns and bars, where the men drink away their memories and the day’s wages.

It is a bleak day near the end of January when Rose-Marie Callahan and her three youngest sons arrive in Crosspoint and return to their home. The oldest, Devon, had to be ordered by his father to return home with his mother and attend to his studies until his sixteenth birthday, but the middle child, Brian, is delighted to return home to his familiar neighborhood and his friends. The youngest, Killian, wonders why the man that his brothers and mother have been calling his father is not with them and why he can’t see Conan anymore. The older two boys return to school, Devon with much reluctance, the next day. Killian is still too young to attend school. He will begin on his fifth birthday, which is rapidly approaching. Rose-Marie worries about her youngest son. She knows that a five-year-old who scarcely knows who his father is must be suffering greatly, though he says nothing to her about being confused or wondering where his father is. He is a strangely quiet boy, more interested in observing than participating. He is unlike most of his brothers. Only Conan was ever similar in any way. Killian seems destined to be a solitary and despairing child, despite his mother’s best efforts to show him love.

He has a surrogate father, of sorts, in James Dwyer, the Werewolvish refugee who has been staying with them for nearly the last two years. He is a dependable, quiet bachelor. He works all day, helps with the chores, cares deeply for the boys, and never brings women to the house, but he is a very calm, quiet man, nothing at all like Keegan Callahan. Keegan is typically slow to anger, but he is strict with his sons. James Dwyer is seemingly impossible to rile, even though the boys try very hard to get some kind of reaction from him. He keeps to himself most of the time, and, though he goes to the pubs on Friday nights to meet with his fellow refugees and old friends, he never returns to the house drunk, either not drinking very much or waiting for sobriety before returning. When he does return late, he is very quiet and never wakes Rose-Marie or the boys. Keegan is a loving, strict father, but he is also a loud man who drinks far too much and often comes home late at night, despite his wife’s pleading and protests. She wonders if, perhaps, her sons would be more comfortable with their own father, despite his habits, and she wonders if it would make Killian happier.

Laura is a solitary woman. She has been forced into adulthood very quickly, and she is not entirely comfortable with her lot in life. Shane is very kind to her, but she misses her family and her homeland. Unlike Shane, she lacks fellow refugees to keep her company. She cannot live in Highton with Lynn, Shane, and Mary. Because of her refugee status, she is not free to live where she pleases. Senator Invernus refused to allow her to live in District Five, so she spends her time toiling on a farm that technically belongs to Jack outside of Bridgeton in District Thirteen, though he does not make her pay rent or a share of the crops. The fields have been fallow for years, and she can only do so much alone. She ploughed a small area and brought in a tiny harvest this year, but she now has Angela to care for, a mouth she had not expected to have to feed. Shane is a well-liked, highly sought-after bodyguard among the District Five elite, and yet Laura, his dear companion, cannot even work or live with him, thanks to one of those very people. With her fields frozen, she lacks even mindless labor to keep her busy. The neighbors avoid her because of her race, and the other refugees avoid her because she is a woman and not in the city. Women have a very humble, subservient status in Werewolvish society, and, though Shane’s friends are fairly open-minded, she is not comfortable approaching any man other than Shane. It is not her place in society. She worries how she will be able to support little Angela alone, though she loves the girl dearly, as if she were her own child. A turf fire burns in the fireplace of the little stone cabin. Shane was kind enough to thatch the roof for her, though the house is quite drafty. It was the first house Jack ever owned, and it is in rather good repair for having been left empty for so long. It was never particularly warm, as it is a simple stone and thatch cabin in the middle of an open field, but it was his home, as it is now hers and Angela’s.

Shane tires of Highton society. He makes his living escorting wealthy businessmen into Bridgeton, acting as both driver and bodyguard. He occasionally escorts them on longer trips, though he does not cross international borders anywhere near as often as he once did, before the war began. He has always done such work because of his fierce, though slightly subservient nature. He respects a true alpha personality, such as that of his elder brother, but most of the businessmen he escorts are as afraid of him as they are of the men from whom he is protecting them. It is not his way to judge, but he knows that, if left alone, most of the men whom he protects could not safely pass through the cities, especially through the dangerous cities, such as Bridgeton and Glenworth, where much of the local economy is dependant on providing for and stealing from travelers. Without his figure present, they would certainly become victims because they either do not have the sense to hide their identities and to blend inn a crowd or their egos and desire for status symbols prevent them from doing so. For him, the challenge is not in providing security, it is in dealing with the personalities of men who have titles and many generations of inherited familial wealth to their names and in saving them from their own stupidity.

He yearns for the simple days of his childhood, spent lying in the fields and watching the clouds. It could be miserable in the rain, but at least it was quiet and peaceful. His current occupation prohibits such a carefree lifestyle, and he misses the simple joys of his childhood and the country. He misses hearty country women and strong country men. He cares deeply for Lynn and Mary, but the wafish figures of high society do not appeal to his tastes. His nephew’s wife is a reminder of the women he likes, though she is not the type of woman he likes best. She is reliable and hard-working, but she is much too thin, in his opinion. He misses his dear Laura, and he wishes he could bring her to Highton. He cannot help but feel guilty when he lies awake at night in Jack’s manor, thinking of Laura and their adopted daughter Angela trying to sleep in the little stone cottage outside of Bridgeton. He knows how cold they must be and how lonely Laura is. He wishes that he could do more for her.

Shane writes a letter to Kerrigan asking her if she could reason with Senator Invernus on behalf of Laura. He knows that Senator Invernus has children of his own and that he hates the cold weather, so he hopes for sympathy. He personally lacks the social standing to request a hearing with Senator Invernus, and Jack is much too far away to do so. In addition, Senator Invernus and Jack do not agree on anything. They are bitter rivals in the Senate, and the most kindness that has ever passed between them was when Senator Invernus accompanied his slaves and Shane’s unconscious body the last few miles to Jack’s manor over two years ago. Jack was barely able to convince Senator Invernus to allow Shane to remain in Highton and had to resort to unethical dealing and threats. Kerrigan, on the other hand, though she is a mother figure to Jack, is on fairly amiable terms with Senator Invernus, largely because he aspires to someday attain social appointments with her husband and father, who are very powerful men. Being unable to do so himself, he relies upon her for his attempts to raise his own social status, so he speaks with her on polite terms and can be convinced to do as she says, even though she is a woman, despite the fact that he has little respect for women in general.

When Kerrigan receives Shane’s letter, she immediately writes one to Julius asking him for a favor. He is always reluctant to help anyone related to his political rivals, but he is easily bribed with money, and Kerrigan has a fortune. Though she rarely gives bribes, she feels justified, since the ultimate goal is to give legal aid to someone who is in desperate need of it. Kerrigan is extremely grateful that her son was well-cared-for, first by Annemarie, then by Jack while she was hiding in Crosspoint. She cannot help but think of the poor, unfortunate soul that is young Angela, a product of a terrible, unjust act upon her mother, who suffered and died so that her child might live. She is grateful that Laura is a willing surrogate mother for the girl, who, although she is small and lacks breast milk, is thriving. Angela is a fighter, and Laura is mature far beyond her years. She is a responsible mother, despite her youth and inexperience. Kerrigan knows that the girl will need a father to steer her morally and to discourage any young men from ignoble behavior towards her in the future. She knows that Shane is the best man for the task and that he and Laura frequently spoke of marriage and having a family of their own. Kerrigan is forbidden from leaving her home, but she realizes that she can still be of service in some way, so she does the only thing she has the power to do in bribing Julius to allow a young mother and her adopted child to move to Highton to live with the proper father for the girl in Jack’s manor where they will be safe.

Kerrigan receives a reply from Julius delivered by one of his most trusted slaves after only a few days. He accepts her bribe, and she promptly writes a letter to Shane, telling him the good news and giving him both the documents for Laura’s residence in District Five and some money for a wedding and for the child’s expenses. He replies in person, visiting her at her home and thanking her warmly for her aid and discretion. She tells him that she could not bear to see a child suffer and that it is now his duty to that child to raise her as if she were his own. He promises to do so to the best of his abilities, and she promises him she is sure that he will do quite well with this task and that children are much easier to influence than wealthy heirs, who were born with a sense of entitlement and are set in their ways.

In the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry, there is never any rest. There is seldom a chance for the unit to enjoy a moment of respite and each others’ company, for they have far fewer men than they ought to have, and replacements from Bridgeton are slow to arrive. So many men are dying or resigning their term after their mandatory five years that there are nowhere near enough replacements to fill the bunks they leave in their wake. It takes longer to train the replacements than it does for the men to die, so the unit’s numbers, which have been small since Crosspoint was captured, are still shrinking. Colonel Callahan writes letter after letter to the Generals and to the City of Bridgeton asking for more men and begging to either train men in anticipation of empty places or to send the untrained men who volunteer to him and allow him to train them in combat. Even his father is seemingly powerless to help his plight. There is little cause for celebration with victory, since it means more men who are now dead or injured and therefore cannot fight. The unit that once carried the Revolution in Bridgeton is now a sad shell, falling apart faster than its leaders can restore it to order. Colonel Callahan sincerely hopes that he is not going to be the last Colonel of the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry, and he fears having to live with the shame of being the man who allowed the unit that his father once commanded to fail. The unit is under direct orders not to promote any men to officer’s ranks until there are men to fill the ranks below them, except in the case of men arriving from the Bridgeton Military Academy, who are guaranteed the rank of lieutenant upon joining the Army upon completion of their studies. There are too many officers in the unit because too many officers have resigned their commissions or died, and too many men have been promoted to fill the vacancies, leaving far too few enlisted men for them to command. Promotions are nominally based on ability and seniority, but having a close relative in a position of power is a guarantee that a man will be considered for promotion sooner rather than later.

Captain Boland is content to know that his wife and son are well. He had not seen his wife since they were married, and he had never seen his son, so her surprise trip to Crosspoint at Yuletide was a wonderful gift to him. Liam, on the other hand, regrets having left Mary in Highton. He is torn between being a dutiful soldier and a good husband. He wonders if he, like Captain Boland, will soon have a child conceived on his wedding night, but he doubts it. Liam has always wanted to be a father, but he does not want to face fatherhood while serving in a unit that his own father believes is about to collapse. The Thirteenth Bridgeton has become the target of mockery from its sister units due to its high casualty rate and inability to recover from one battle that happened months ago. Liam has considered putting in a request for transfer several times. He would not mind if he had to transfer to another army, just as long as he does not remain in the Thirteenth Bridgeton Light Infantry, since there is a disaster waiting to happen there every day. It has the dubious distinction of being the intact unit with the most casualties since the start of the war. Every other unit that has surpassed it or come close to it has been disbanded, but the Generals are determined to keep it intact because so many of them served in and commanded it in the past. Nobody will help the Thirteenth Bridgeton succeed, but nobody will allow it to fail, leaving its men in a predicament where they cannot possibly win, due to lack of men and assistance and where they are all fated to die before their superiors are willing to admit defeat.

Colonel Callahan sends Major Fitzmaurice, Lieutenant Hackett, and Sergeant Callahan to District Six in the far north with money and a list of goods he wants. Major Fitzmaurice has known for months that the Colonel would do this, but he was hoping that it would not be in mid-January, when Newport is plagued by constant sea storms that dump feet of snow at a time. The temperature is well below freezing, and their rooms are in an improbable place, being in the hold of a bar called The Skull and Bones. The Skull and Bones is an old ship that was put on a foundation at the end of a pier. All guest rooms are in the hold, and the hold is below the water line. The water outside is as cold as ice, though it is not completely frozen, due to the fact that it is very briny saltwater and the tides are violent, with a rise of more than twelve feet between high and low tide on a normal day. The inside of the inn, despite having wood burning stoves in the rooms, is never very warm. Lieutenant Hackett, who was raised here, does not mind the cold and storms, but Major Fitzmaurice and Sergeant Callahan, who were both raised in Bridgeton, are not entirely fond of the storms. Bridgeton natives are accustomed to freezing temperatures and heavy snow, but, since the City of Bridgeton is so far inland, they do not see sea storms. When it snows in Bridgeton, it is predictable. In Newport, a storm can come in with only a few hours’ notice and is only preceded by aching bones and the fishermen bringing their boats into harbor and anchoring them offshore, taking only rowboats onto land, since the tides during the storms are so extreme that they can send the fishing boats crashing into the piers and damage them. Although the hospitality of the area is legendary, people rarely visit during the winter because of the weather, driving prices down in the markets, which, as Major Fitzmaurice figures, is probably the reason that Colonel Callahan sent him in January. Regardless of the reason, he does not like being in Newport at such an odd time of year, since the weather is unpredictable. He is thankful that Lieutenant Hackett is with him and can serve as a guide to the area and that Sergeant Callahan is there as well, since he desperately needed to get away from his three older brothers in the Thirteenth Bridgeton.

After they return from Newport, they are to go to Bridgeton and then return to Crosspoint. The journey from Newport to Bridgeton to Crosspoint is a long and arduous one in the winter, especially traveling over land on snow-covered roads and transporting goods. They cannot take the rivers as they would in the warmer months because most of the rivers are frozen at the surface or have a prohibitively large amount of floating ice in them. They will not return to Crosspoint until mid-February, having taken a week to arrive in Newport, staying a week, taking a week to travel to Bridgeton, staying a week, and taking a week to travel back to Crosspoint. Sergeant Callahan does most of the driving, though the horses hitched to the cart belong to the two officers. Major Fitzmaurice spends most of the journey asleep in the hay in the back of the cart, which is being used as food for the horses, beds for the men, and protection for the goods they are transporting. Major Fitzmaurice wonders why he must be involved on such a menial and tedious errand, but it gets him out of combat for five straight weeks, so he is not truly as bothered by it as he pretends to be. The Colonel’s original plan was to send only him and Lieutenant Hackett, but he asked for permission to bring Sergeant Callahan along, under the guise of having a third driver and a more intimidating looking man for protection, knowing that he would find a man at The Skull and Bones who, like Conan, has only one working eye. The man is known throughout coastal District Six for his skill at dueling and his former command of a whaling ship. Major Fitzmaurice met him when he was stationed with the Northern Army and visited Newport. When Conan lost the use of his eye, he was determined to introduce them.

Richard Beamish is not a particularly large man, nor does he seem particularly powerful. He has light brown hair and dull grey eyes that never seem to show any expression. He has a long scar down the right side of his face, and his hands are large, strong, and rough, being covered in scars and calluses. At first glance, nobody would notice him in Newport if he were not well-known locally. He might be a bit of a sight in Bridgeton, but in Newport, he might as well be any man on the street. He is around Major Fitzmaurice’s height, a few inches shorter than Conan, and he is of wiry build. His grip is surprisingly strong and his handshake powerful. Because he is best known for his command of a whaling ship, everyone refers to him as “Captain,” regardless of the fact that he has not been to sea in many years. Sitting in the galley of The Skull and Bones, which is the area that serves as a public house, he seems to take up an entire shadow, always choosing the same corner, his eyes immediately jumping to the hatch which serves as a door every time the bell attached to it rings and someone descends the ladder into the bar. He is not mistrusting, but he knows to be wary of strangers unless he is properly introduced to them, and he knows that certain locals are untrustworthy. He has a thousand stories to tell, though he always waits for someone to ask for one before he presumes that they are interested. He is one of the few men in Newport who actually enjoys southern whiskey, which Major Fitzmaurice brought to him as an offering in exchange for his company. Major Fitzmaurice asks him to explain to Conan how he lost sight in his right eye, and Conan listens eagerly, grateful for the chance to be away from his brothers and Crosspoint and grateful for the chance to hear an interesting story from a strange man who shares his predicament.

“Sor, if ye don’ mind me askin’…how’d ye lose your eye?” asks Conan.

“I didn’t lose it…I…well…’twas…ye see…” asks Captain Beamish.

“Aye?” asks Conan.

“Ye say that in Bridgeton, Fitzmaurice?” asks Captain Beamish.

“He does. Frequently. Watch,” replies Major Fitzmaurice. “Conan, fetch us another round.”

“Aye, sor,” replies Conan dutifully.

“Ah, ye needn’t abuse ‘im like that, Major,” says Lieutenant Hackett. “’E’s just a boy…”

“No he ain’t. He’s eighteen now. He’s been in nigh on two years,” answers Major Fitzmaurice argumentatively.

“Has it been that long?” asks Lieutenant Hackett.

“It has,” replies Major Fitzmaurice.

Conan returns with the drinks and cautiously says, “Here ye are, sors. Rum for the Captain, whiskey for Major Fitzmaurice, an’ half o’ the two for Lieutenant Hackett.”

“Thankee, Sergeant,” says Major Fitzmaurice, who still has not finished his previous whiskey, intent on having one to keep himself occupied during the stories that are about to be told.

“Caught ‘twixt the north an’ the south are ye, Lieutenant?” asks Captain Beamish.

“Aye, Cap’n,” replies Lieutenant Hackett.

“Ah, but ye’ll never get yourself a southern accent like Fitzmaurice here’s got, will ye? Ye know, your father was the same way, Hackett. The very same way. Torn his whole life ‘twixt south an’ north ‘e was. Ne’er once did I hear ‘im talk like the rest o’ us. Ye’ll always be caught ‘twixt two homes. Newport an’ Bridgeton. Jus’ like your da’. ‘Tis the northerner’s curse,” says Captain Beamish.

“Captain, what two homes are ye torn ‘twixt?” asks Conan, making Lieutenant Hackett roll his eyes.

“The land an’ the sea, boy. What’s the matter wi’ ye? Ain’t your father ne’er taught ye the way o’ the sea? Ne’er leave a shipmate on the ground an’ all that? No? ’Course ‘e hasn’t. ‘E’s a right fool, ‘e is,” replies Captain Beamish, looking toward Major Fitzmaurice.

“I won’t argue,” replies Major Fitzmaurice smugly.

“He’s a General, sor,” says Conan defensively.

“Aye, but ‘e’s still a right fool what didn’ teach ‘is sons nothin’ ‘bout the life o’ a regular Jack Tar. A lily-livered landlubber ‘e is. Jus’ like the lot o’ ye.”

“So if ye hate us so much, then why are ye sittin’ wi’ us, Cap’n?” asks Lieutenant Hackett.

“’Cos I likes the Major, an’ ‘cos your daddy was a good man, Hackett. Would’ve made a right good sailor, aye, ‘e would’ve.”

“Can we hear the story, Captain Beamish?” asks Conan.

“What story?” asks Captain Beamish. “Sorry, boy, I be loaded to the gunwales. I started drinkin’ round ‘bout noon.”

“How ye got to be blind in one eye,” reminds Conan.

“Oh…that story…’tis funny ye should ask…See that scar? Aye? Well, the man what blinded me gave me that too. ‘E was on me crew for but a single voyage. ‘E was a rotten son o’ a biscuit eater, ‘e was. Anyhow, ‘e was on me crew on’y a single voyage, an’ I was glad to be rid o’ him when he…well…’e didn’t survive that voyage. Ye see…I don’t hate southerners. I’m right tough on everyone, but that’s a cap’n’s duty. Southerners don’ get no special treatment, though I had to lock one in the brig the rest o’ that particular voyage after what happened. Ye see, a lot o’ northerners really do hate southerners. Most can hold their tongues, but some…when ye give ‘em a bit o’ grog…well…they can’t. I’d jus’ one such man aboard that particular voyage, aye I did. Aboard ship, it gets mighty lonely, if ye gets what I mean. Ye’re also stuck wi’ the same men day in an’ day out. An’ sometimes, a cap’n don’ pick ‘is crew right. That’s where the trouble started. I didn’ know ‘e hated southerners so much, otherwise, I’d ne’er’ve let ‘im aboard ship wi’ the man I’d already hired. Hated ‘im from the first day out, ‘e did. Anyway, a few months in, an’ not a whale fish in sight, I gives the crew their fair share o’ grog one night, an’ the scurvy weevil jumps on ‘im wi’ ‘is knife. I jumped in to break it up, an’ I got knifed in the face for me trouble. Bleedin’ an’ cursin’, I saw the two o’ ‘em have at it. The pox-riddled sea-wolf kicked coals in me face for darin’ to help a southerner, an’, when ‘is back was turned, the southerner, Liam, his name was, kicked ‘is own knife out o’ ‘is ‘ands an’ gutted ‘im like a fish, ‘e did. Had to send ‘im to the brig after that, but I couldn’t blame ‘im. I’d’ve done the same thing. Let ‘im go free when we got back to shore. Ain’t seen ‘im since.”

“Liam Shepherd?” asks Conan.

“Might’ve been. I jus’ knew ‘im as ‘Liam,’” replies Captain Beamish.

“That must be him,” says Lieutenant Hackett. “Without doubt.”

“Aye, well, ‘e saved me life, an’ I had to punish ‘im for it. That’s me story. Now, as for how I learned to live wi’ one eye, alas, that’s another story for another night.”