TARN & BECK (2 page)

Beck stared, full of longing, at a patch of clear, blue sky amidst the gray smoke. He told himself that he didn’t mind losing his job and that he didn’t like working there anyway, which was only half true. The other half was that he had enjoyed some of the stimulating, challenging aspects of his work and that the pay he had earned was nothing to sneer at, even if it wasn’t enough.

Perhaps what stung the most, aside from losing the job and its pay, was that he had been dismissed in so callous and brutal a manner. Yes, they had eased him into it, and he was to blame for losing his temper and hitting the other man.

But at the end of the day, they had still fired him for reacting to an insult delivered against him. And it was only natural, really, to react against someone.

The degree of that reaction, the consequences and blame for it, laid with him. Yet he still couldn’t help feeling the Lavonya firm was to blame as well.

If he had been better prepared or trained on how to handle and deal with his coworkers or if the slip-up that had revealed his father’s occupation had not occurred, then none of this would have happened in the first place.

Beck still felt like something was owed to him for that mistake, for that lack of caring and oversight that might have led to a more successful, determined career for him. Instead, he was kicked around by his fellow coworkers until he was kicked out for his mistake.

Everything in his life was a mistake, Beck sometimes thought to himself. Full of rats and bullies that he couldn’t stand unless he was forced to, and right now he wanted something better.

“No, Cecily. Thanks, but I think I want to go.” Beck said.

Cecily looked up sharply, alert and concerned. “Go? Go where? Are you thinking about leaving the city like your father did?”

Beck turned to her, sad but determined. “I’m sorry. But I can’t stay here anymore. They know me too well.”

Cecily shook her head. “All because of one setback?”

Beck wagged a finger, trying to make a point. “There have been numerous setbacks and you’ve been there for all of them since I was ten.”

Cecily glared at him and then down at the counter. “I know you’ve had a hard life. Most of us have experienced something like it. But you can’t just give up and leave.”

Beck threw up his hands in defeat. “Why not? My father did. Maybe he had the right of it.” Beck crossed his arms, staring out the window again. “He was always looking for something, you know, beyond here.”

Cecily groaned in frustration. “And he vanished without a trace! Leaving you alone with just me to take care of you.”

“And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. More than you know.” Beck said.

Cecily had been his father’s girlfriend when Beck first met her years ago. He had disliked her at first, believing that she would put a wedge between him and his father and replace his mother, who had died when he was just a babe.

It must have been difficult for Cecily as well, meeting her boyfriend’s son and trying to find some common ground between them when Beck was firmly set against her. However, they were thrown together when Cedric, Beck’s father, left and Cecily had to take care of Beck in his absence. Otherwise, Beck might have been sent to an orphanage.

Things got worse before they became better, but eventually, Beck and Cecily had warmed up to each other. Beck considered Cecily to be the mother he never had, or could remember at any rate. She might well have been his mother if Cedric had stayed and married her, and Cecily felt the same way about Beck being the son she never had.

Cecily leaned forward to confront Beck. “Honestly, you should know better than to try the same.”

Beck leaned forward, attempting to convince her. “This will be different. I’m going to Dosile.”

“Dosile? That’s just across the border.” Cecily contemplated and then leaned back, astonished. “You’re going to another country? To Wostershire?”

Beck leaned back in his seat, trying to act confident with his hands tucked behind his head. “Far enough away that my past won’t haunt me, but close enough that I can come back if I don’t make it there.”

Cecily crossed her arms, eying him. “Sounds fine enough, I suppose. You’re taking a coach?”

Beck tried to act casual. “First coach tomorrow morning, I hope. Don’t want to wait too long.”

“In case you lose your nerve?” Cecily insinuated.

“I don’t want to delay.” Beck said, a little perturbed.

“Do you have enough for your fare? And what about your apartment, and all of your things?” Cecily asked, concerned.

Beck shrugged. “I’ll work something out.”

Cecily eased up. “All right, Beck. I suppose if this is something you really want to do, then good luck.” Cecily held out her hand for Beck to shake.

Beck smiled and clasped Cecily’s hand. “Thanks. You’ve been the best friend I could have hoped for.”

Cecily reached over and hugged Beck to her. “Take care of yourself. I’ll always be here if you need me.”

Beck patted Cecily on the back, hiding his concern.

Chapter 2:

The Graveyard Guard

That night, Beck fearfully approached the city of Silvo’s graveyard gate, a shovel slung across his back.

He whispered to the wind, to his absent father, “Why did you have to bury it?”

Many years ago, his father rented out one of the rooms in their apartment to lodgers to supplement their income. Most of these gentlemen weren’t particularly noteworthy, a blur of faces that passed in and out of Beck’s life.

They hardly stayed for more than a couple of months, looking for jobs in the city. Once they had found a steady position that paid well enough, they got a room of their own elsewhere and left.

Or they fell behind on their payment, and his father had to kick them out with his boxing skills on full display. Then the room was available once more and another lodger came into their lives.

Beck was used to it for the most part and didn’t mind the gentlemen. Or at least he didn’t mind having them around and occasionally glanced at the gentlemen, studying them slightly, before he looked away, embarrassed.

The gentlemen, for the most part, ignored Beck or treated him cordially enough as their landlord’s son. They hardly ever spent much time with the landlord and his son, except for the occasional dinner and check-up by Beck’s father on the room’s condition and rent payment.

However, one time, an older gentleman who always shook and trembled, clutching his bags tightly, got the room. Beck didn’t know how the older gentleman could afford to pay for it if he wasn’t well enough to work.

Maybe the man had saved up enough from previous jobs to afford a small room to rest in. Or maybe his father had taken pity on the poor, sick gentleman.

Whatever the case may be, the gentleman had settled down into their room, in the bed that all past and future lodgers had slept in, and never got out of that room and bed for the rest of his living days.

Beck and his father took turns taking care of their guest, feeding and talking to him, in exchange for a small fee in addition to the average rent.

Beck didn’t remember much about the conversations he had with the gentleman. Only that the man was quite interested in telling adventure stories he had apparently participated in.

Beck didn’t believe them now, but as a kid, he had lapped those stories up and was eager to hear more. Anything that might take him out of his ordinary life, and show him another world beyond his own.

However, on the gentleman’s final night, he was too weak to get up and talk much. He cried out and Beck’s father went into the room, telling Beck to stay out.

But Beck had peeked in and watched as his father sat by the gentleman’s bedside. Cedric, Beck’s father, was a hefty, stern man, who listened to the gentleman’s final requests and nervously glanced at a heavy, yet small knotted-up bag resting on the gentleman’s bedside table.

Beck sat vigil as well the rest of the night, contemplating everything, until the older gentleman died. Soon after, Beck caught his father inspecting a gold coin engraved with strange sigils at their kitchen table.

The bag of coins lied open in front of his father, brimming with wealth. Beck’s eyes widened in shock, wondering how much money the gentleman had bequeathed to his father.

“Is that gold?” Beck asked, entering the kitchen.

He had never seen its like before. He was eager for a moment, trying to figure out how many gold coins the bag might contain and what they might spend it on.

They might never have to work as rat-catchers again if it might be enough to afford a better life. He was grateful to the old man for leaving them with such a bequeathment, though it seemed odd the man had not spent it on himself.

Even if he was old and sick, dying, surely he would have spent the better part of his coins trying to find more comfortable, accommodating lodgings for himself? Somewhere he could spend the final days and hours of his life in peace and tranquility, not so close to the slums?

However, as Beck reached for a coin, Cedric slapped Beck’s hand, frowning at him.

“No. The coins are cursed. We bury them with the lodger.” Cedric said.

“What? But that’s not fair! We can be or do anything we want to with this.” Beck cried.

However, Cedric insisted and forced Beck to promise not to dig up the coins later on as they buried the lodger with the bag of gold coins stored inside his casket.

Yet all these years later, Beck wandered through the graveyard, searching for the gentleman’s grave.

“I kept my promise for as long as I could.” Beck whispered to his absent father. “But times are tough, and I need the money.”

Elsewhere in the graveyard, outside of the guard hut, Ralph, a bulky, gruff man, adjusted his helmet, part of his uniform. He practiced aiming his musket with its bayonet attached, a lantern hanging off of his belt.

Ralph always took care to maintain his appearance and look the role of a graveyard guard. He took his duty very seriously as it was the only thing he had in his life, aside from some charity work he did. And this evening’s business was an offshoot of that activity, taking another person beneath his wings and helping them out.

Ralph called back to the hut, “You alright in there, Tarn?”

A pair of booted feet stepped out the door, wearing trim pants, part of the uniform. Fingers adjusted the uniform’s buttons before taking off the helmet, smoothing down tousled brown hair before clamping the helmet back on.

Now with both hands taking hold of his musket with bayonet attached, he attempted to rest it on a shoulder like a soldier. The full figure of Tarn, a tall, grim, wiry man in his late twenties, was revealed, dressed like a guard, but still unkempt with stubble on his face from years of vagrancy.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Tarn said, a little nervous.

Ralph stood there, examining Tarn as the graveyard loomed behind him. He had to admit that Tarn cleaned up pretty well and almost looked the part, aside from the stubble.

“Sure you don’t want to shave a little bit more?” Ralph asked.

Tarn stepped away from the hut to face Ralph. “Why? It’s not like there will be anyone out here to see me.” Tarn indicated the graves.

“Maybe, but maybe not. Can’t be too careful on duty like this.” Ralph said.

Ralph marched out like he was on parade. He had practiced the steps almost every night, countless turns about the graveyard.

“It’s not like I’m--” Tarn hesitated to say anything as Ralph glanced back at him.

“What?” Ralph asked.

“Nothing. I’ll shave tomorrow.” Tarn began to march out like Ralph, both of them now in stride together.

“Good. You’ll get the hang of this, Tarn.” Ralph said. “A graveyard guard is not the most glamorous post, but it’s still worthwhile.”

Tarn and Ralph marched through the graveyard. Tarn knew how serious Ralph was about all this, but he hoped they didn’t look ridiculous. He was glad that no one was here to see them.

Meanwhile, Beck stopped in front of a plain gravestone, worn with age, a pauper’s grave. But it was transcribed with the lodger’s name and date of death and contained a wealth of gold coins buried underneath inside the casket.

Beck bent to scrape off dirt from the gravestone, checking to see that it was correct before he removed the shovel from the sling across his back. Beck started digging into the grave, grunting with effort.

Tarn and Ralph were still marching, though they had relaxed into a more irregular fashion. They scanned the graveyard with their lanterns held high to help them see.

“How many of these grave robberies have there been?” Tarn asked in a low whisper.

“Two this month so far.” Ralph said, also in a low whisper. “Thirteen in the past three months.”

“That sounds like a lot.”

“I’ve always tried my best. But it’s tough to patrol this place alone.”

“So that’s why you needed me?” Tarn asked.

Ralph nodded. “I figured you would be good. And you needed a boost.”

“Thanks.” Tarn owed a lot to Ralph, more than he could express then.

“No problem. Now we should split up. Cover more ground.” Ralph told him.

Tarn hesitated, not certain what he would do if confronted by a grave robber. Ralph had told him how to handle such situations, giving several good examples of what might happen.

Usually Ralph’s plan was to arrest the perpetrator and take them to the nearest constables’ station, and hopefully Tarn would be able to manage such a feat, if necessary. But he was also nervous about handling such a potentially violent situation and if he would be able to take charge of such a prisoner without force.

But he nodded, not voicing his concerns, and they separated, going in different directions through the graveyard. Tarn tried to reassure himself that he could do this.

Meanwhile, Beck heard voices and paused to check his surroundings before he went back to digging. He had dug fairly deeply into the grave, when his shovel uncovered part of the end of the casket. Beck dug a little faster then, and soon leaned over to pry open the casket.

At that moment, Ralph wandered alone through one section of the graveyard, scanning his surroundings. He heard a noise and paused, shining a lantern at a shadowy figure crouched over a grave in the distance.

“Halt! In the name of the law!” Ralph cried.

Beck had opened the casket, and grimaced down at the remains of the lodger. But he spotted the bag of gold coins lying at the foot of the casket, and so he reached down to grab the bag.

“That’s enough.” A voice said behind him.

Beck halted and raised his hands as he carefully turned around to face a tall, wiry man aiming a musket right at him.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Tarn said to Beck.

On the other side of the graveyard, the shadowy figure, crouched over another grave, rose fluidly in Ralph’s lantern light. Blood was splattered all over the figure, which appeared slightly inhuman and resembled a bird of death, pale with black eyes, an angular face, and long fangs. Jagged, chewed-on bones were strewn over the grave-site.

Ralph stared at the Vampiric monster in horror. “Help.” He said in a weak voice, realizing the danger he was in.

Back at the lodger’s grave, Beck gestured at the grave, casket, and bag of coins, careful not to upset Tarn and his musket. “In my defense, it’s not like he needs these coins. My father and I buried him and the coins at our expense. Technically we inherited it.”

Tarn shook his head, holding the musket steady. “What about the other graves you’ve desecrated?”

“What others? This is the only one.” Beck stared at Tarn, aghast.

Suddenly they heard a scream and gunfire in the distance. Tarn and Beck turned their heads at the sound Tarn recognized.

“Ralph!” Tarn cried.

With Tarn and his musket distracted and pointed in the other direction, Beck reached down into the casket, snatched up the bag of gold coins, and raced off. Tarn, startled, attempted to aim his musket at Beck once more, but Ralph screamed again and the gunfire was cut off.

Tarn groaned and gave up on Beck as he headed off in the direction of Ralph’s scream to see what was wrong. He hoped Ralph was all right and that this was a fluke of a scare, but that would mean he let a culprit go for nothing.

Meanwhile, Beck ran toward the graveyard fence for his life, the bag of coins swinging in his hand. When he reached the fence, he flung the bag over the fence into the bushes on the other side. Beck started to climb up the fence, but he paused at the top as he looked back over the graveyard and saw some terrible things.

The Vampiric monster had grabbed hold of Ralph, still screaming as the monster bit into him and chewed, blood splurting from Ralph’s body. Tarn approached, staring at the scene in horror. Yet he still aimed his musket at the monster and fired at it from a distance.

Tarn’s bullet managed to hit and wound the Vampiric monster, which shrieked and dropped Ralph, still bleeding from his wound. Angered, the Vampiric turned to Tarn, who fired his musket again at the monster, but missed.

Beck watched this scene from afar, horrified, yet he hesitated to do anything to help. He glanced back down at his bag of gold coins on one side of the fence in the bushes. Then he looked back at Tarn and the monster in the distance on the other side.

Though weak and wounded, Ralph had managed to reach out for the musket he had dropped earlier when attacked. He had to do something to stop this monster, it was his job. He turned toward the Vampiric about to lunge at Tarn, aimed his musket, and fired it at close-range at the monster.

The Vampiric shrieked, shot again, and turned toward Ralph once more. Ralph barely had any time to react or fire his musket again before the Vampiric lunged at Ralph, tearing into him. Ralph screamed one last time, dying with the musket dropping from his hands.

Tarn was now running toward the Vampiric and Ralph. He kept firing at the monster, shooting and wounding it a couple of times. But it still was not enough.

The Vampiric, absolutely enraged, turned to Tarn once more and tried to attack him. Out of bullets, Tarn attempted to stab and fend off the Vampiric with his bayonet, just like Ralph had shown him. It was how a real soldier would fight.