A Tale of Two Warlocks - Part 2

The next town arrived by afternoon. Everyone turned to see what the wind had blown in as Kazimir hesitated in the doorway of the town’s saloon. Their intense stares made him uncomfortable. Surely he was not the first stranger to have dared enter their presence.

Kazimir found a seat in a far, hopefully dark, corner, double vodka in hand. From this vantage point, he could observe the entire room. Hats pulled over eyes and furtive glances betrayed the patrons as a secretive lot. Was everyone an outlaw here? If so, he reasoned, he needed to acquire a more suitable look. Glancing down at his clothing, he grunted. He looked more preacher man than outlaw. Perhaps some ass-kicking boots would do the job. And a black hat – there had to be a black hat.

The bartender told him where to find the tailor. After explaining what he was seeking, the tailor cocked a suspicious eyebrow.

“Money is no object,” Kazimir told him. While not exactly true, he did have enough to keep him going for a bit - hopefully until he could find some way to support himself.

When he walked out of the shop, he was a new man, complete with a broad-rimmed black leather hat, black pants, black coat and a red handkerchief. He was shooting for dangerous, not ridiculous, and wasn’t quite certain which he had procured. Never the less, the ladies of the evening eyed him up and called out to him as he passed by. Why not, he thought darkly.

After downing half a bottle of vodka in a cheap room he had acquired at the local inn, he realized that night had fallen. Time to play. Walking rather wobbly, he found himself out on the street, eying up the girls who wanted to be his this night. He found his eyes taken captive by a tall, lithe, raven-haired vixen. She could have passed for Sophie’s twin. Agreeing to pay her due, he took her back to the inn.

Slapping some coin on the counter, he slurred, “I might be staying here for a while.”

The clerk sneered at him, showing what was left of his few rotted teeth as he took in his female companion. “You can stay forever, if you have the coin.”

Throwing several more on the counter, Kaz headed for his room, the lady of the night giggling and clinging to his arm. He ravished her the minute they got into the room. What started as a sexual release soon turned ugly as all his pent up anger and frustration with Sophie rose to the surface.

When he came up for air, he noticed she wasn’t moving. Passed out cold, he thought cynically. She would no doubt wake up later and leave his bed. He didn’t care. He was too exhausted and emotionally drained to care.

Morning’s light crept in through the threadbare curtains as Kazimir yawned groggily and licked his chapped lips. His mouth was dry and tasted of old breath. Damned vodka. Stretching, his hand touched something in the bed beside him.

“You’re still here?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. The sight that met them was confusing. Her clothes were disheveled and partially ripped off her body. Her long, dark unkempt locks covered her face.

Shaking her gently, he whispered, “You need to go now.” She did not stir.

Fear gripped Kazimir’s heart. Brushing her hair from her face, he shied away in horror as he noticed the bruising on her neck. He thought back to how upset he had been the night before - at Sophie, at himself, at life. Dread consumed him as the realization struck him that he’d taken out all his anguish on this poor creature. Gently touching her face, he jerked his hand away from the coldness of her skin - skin that had been so warm and full of life the night before.

Pacing around the small room did nothing to help his circumstances. And so, eventually, he dressed and left, stopping by the desk to say that no one should enter his room. The clerk nodded.

His stomach’s growls forced him to find food. A nearby dive offered him a plate of unidentified slop, but it filled his belly. It also had cost him his last coin.

He glanced around the room, sizing up its occupants. Some of them looked to be workers. He asked the fellows a table over if they knew of anyone looking for a hired hand. They shook their heads, no, but then a man in the corner said, “Why don’t you go see Nurev? I hear he’s looking for someone.”

Kazimir did not ask what kind of work this Nurev might be seeking. In truth, he did not care. The man lived just past town limits in an old, falling down shack, he was told. Kazimir didn’t care as long as he could pay.

The ramshackle wasn’t hard to find. He walked to the door and knocked. “Who’s there?” barked a gruff, if youthful, voice.

“I’ve come about employment,” Kazimir replied.

The door opened a crack, revealing a dark brown eye and a lock of black hair. “What are your qualifications?”

Kazimir grinned. “What are your requirements?”

After a second, the door swung open. Just inside stood a tall, dark-haired youth with a blinding white smile, his youthful innocence betrayed only by the barrel end of a flintlock pointed directly at Kazimir’s chest.

In a flash, Kazimir pinned Nurev to the back wall, sending furniture and debris flying. This Nurev wasn’t very heavy – in fact Kazimir thought perhaps he should have brought him some food. He was skin and bone and was easily pinned a good foot off the floor.

“Woah,” said his would-be employer. “I meant no insult. You can't be too careful these days. Such criminals running about!” Apparently amused by himself, the boy fell into a fit of nervous laughter.

Kazimir lowered him to the floor and jerked the pistol from his hand, placing it in his sash. “Never point a pistol at a man unless you’re prepared to use it. What is it that you need me to do?”

“Perhaps we should begin again,” Nurev said, walking across the room to pour a drink. “Want one?”

Kazimir nodded, taking in his new acquaintance. He was much younger than Kazimir, just a kid really. He stood slightly taller but aside from the unkempt hair and wrinkled clothing, they might have been mistaken for brothers.

Nurev poured out what looked to be vodka and handed it to him. “May I know with whom I am speaking?”

“You can call me … Kaz.” New life. New bad-ass name. It made sense.

“Honored to make your acquaintance, Kaz. I'm Dmitri Nurev, but you probably already know that.”

Kaz downed his drink in one swallow. “Enough small talk. What is it that you would have me do?”

Dmitri grinned, showing more teeth than Kaz thought necessary. “It’s a simple matter, really. A man owes me some money and I require someone to go and collect.”

“Consider it done,” Kaz said. “Where might I find this man?” Dmitri drew a map on an old yellowing scrap of paper he retrieved from the floor. A big X marked his destination. Kaz looked at the paper and then at Dmitri. “What do I get for doing this?”

“You’ll get half of whatever you manage to recover.” Kaz mentally reached out, attempting a psychic walk around the younger man’s head. He, too, was a warlock, but other than that, he was giving away nothing. His attempt at mind-reading yielded nothing. Dmitri might seem young, but he was no stranger to darker magic. If his new acquaintance sensed his probing, he did not make mention of it.

Kaz returned to the hotel to fetch Midnight and, together they made the trip to the X on the map. A scowling man answered the door. He was much shorter than Kaz, yet twice the bulk. No wonder Dmitri had asked for help.

“May I come in?” Kaz asked nicely.

The man snorted his disgust. “Why in the hell would I let you in? I don’t even know who you are.”

“Dmitri sent me.”

The growling brute attempted to slam the door in his face, but Kaz was faster. He grabbed it with both hands, pushing against it with his full weight. The man stumbled backwards and reached for his gun. Bad move. Before the man could pull his weapon, Kaz had Dmitri’s pistol up and ready, threatening to obliterate the left side of the man’s face.

“We can take care of business without unpleasantries if you cooperate,” Kaz said. "I'm just here for the money." The man put his hands up in a gesture that indicated he wasn’t going to try anything further. Kaz motioned with his free hand for the man to give his gun to him. Hooking it in his sash, Kaz lowered his gun, but did not stash it. “It would seem that you owe Dmitri some money and I am here to collect it.”

The man laughed, then coughed until he wheezed. “Is that what he told you? I won the pants off the kid in a card game and now he wants his money back. That’s rather amusing.”

“Hmm,” said Kaz. “That is an interesting take on the situation. But as I’m the one with the guns, perhaps you should reconsider your answer.”

The rotund ruffian raised his hands in front of him. “No need for violence. You can have the damned money. It’s in the desk. I’ll get it for you.” Slowly, the man backed toward an old wooden desk on the far side of the small room.

Raising his pistol once again, Kaz watched as the slovenly oaf of a man opened a drawer in the desk. The whizzing sound of a knife flying past his ear startled Kaz, who reacted by pulling the flintlock’s trigger. Obviously surprised, either that he'd missed or that he'd been shot, the man fell to his knees, clutching his chest. Damnation! Two murders in one day. Kaz thought for a moment that he should feel bad about that and perhaps someday he would. But not this day. This day he did not feel anything at all.

ooo

If you'd like to start at the beginning: Part 1