TARN & BECK (4 page)

She knew nothing more would come out of their friendship, beside the camaraderie they shared. His heart lied in a different direction, perhaps buried in the past as well, and she was busy, so they weren’t compatible with each other. But it was still nice to have a friend like Tarn, even if only for a brief while.

At that moment, down on Willow Street, Beck carried several bags of his worldly possessions, including one small bag that noticeably jingled with the gold coins, to a postal coach waiting at the corner across from the Duke Boardinghouse.

Despite the trouble at the graveyard and the nightmare that Vampiric monster had given him, he managed to sleep a few hours during the night. But he awoke early, agitated by the desire to get going and leave Silvo as soon as possible.

The gold coins might have also fueled this desire and anxiety, for he didn’t want to lose them. That guard, Tarn, might have been willing to let him go and not take any blame for what happened with his friend Ralph or that Vampiric when Beck had saved his life.

But giving that gold coin to Tarn, albeit out of the kindness and generosity of his own heart, might have been a mistake. Tarn might have realized then that Beck was walking out of there with a full bag of similar gold coins and might want to take some more for himself.

So Tarn could very well inform the authorities that Beck was entirely responsible for what happened there that night, and take the gold coins for himself when Beck was arrested. Or maybe Tarn might decide to track Beck down himself and trap the man, taking the coins away and maybe even killing him.

Beck didn’t know what the man was capable of, after all, for he could be a fiend who acted friendly enough. And Beck’s first impression of Tarn was the man pointing a musket at him, so he could be capable of killing someone. Thus Beck decided to take the coins with him and leave rather than wait around and see what Tarn might do to him.

Several attendants loaded mailbags, packages, and trunks onto the top of the coach while the coach driver spoke to the owner of an inn nearby. Beck handed off most of his bags to an attendant to load up there, but he kept the small bag of gold coins close to himself.

He mounted the step into the coach, looked up, and stared in shock at the person sitting there. “Greg! What are you doing here?”

Greg, holding a small case in his arms, recoiled from Beck, afraid of getting punched by him again. Two soldiers, armed with swords, pistols, and muskets, watched the scene intently as they sat on the seat opposite Greg. One of the soldiers looked like he was prepared to shoot Beck, if necessary.

“What am I doing here? My job! Which you clearly did not deserve.” Greg told Beck.

Disgusted by Greg, Beck stepped down from the coach, careful not to alarm the soldiers on duty.

He drew the attention of one of the attendants. “Is there any way I can get on a different coach today, preferably one without that rat?”

From inside the coach, Greg called out, “Hey! You’re no king yourself!”

The pair of soldiers half chuckled while Beck grimaced and blushed. However, the attendant shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but you paid for that coach today and it’s the only coach you’ll get to ride today. Unless you want to pay another fare and wait until tomorrow to take a trip?” The attendant asked.

Beck hesitated, glancing at the coach with the hated Greg inside, and then back at the attendant. He didn’t want to pay extra for the fare when that meant he would have to spend a gold coin, having no money left of his own. He mourned to part with one single gold coin, which shone so brilliantly bright, and so he was reluctant to spend.

“What should I do?” Beck asked himself.

Chapter 4:

The Coach

Tarn raced down Willow Street, heading to Duke Boardinghouse as a small crowd of people gathered there, exclaiming over the break-in that had just occurred. With a few quick words to Beck’s landlord, Tarn was able to step into Beck’s apartment, which had been wrecked much like Nutmeg’s office, under the landlord’s supervision.

The furniture had been overturned with drawers pulled out and curtains, bedding, and seats had been slashed, obvious signs of Carroll’s gang searching for the gold coins. But there was no sign of the coins having been found or of Beck himself.

“You’re certain he left before the break-in occurred?” Tarn asked the landlord as he looked around.

Please let him be all right, not hurt like Nutmeg or killed like Ralph, Tarn thought. He couldn’t bear to have another person on his conscience.

“Definitely, he had all of his belongings with him when he left. And then they came storming in here, a whole crowd of them.” The landlord said. “They left not long ago. I have half a mind to track Beck down to pay for the damage. I’m certain he’s wrapped up in something.”

“I assure you it’s not of his doing.” Tarn said.

It’s all my fault, Tarn thought to himself, and I have to stop this before Carroll goes too far again.

At that moment, a middle-aged woman came up to the landlord standing in the doorway. “Beck! Where is he, is he all right?” She asked the landlord.

Tarn turned around and faced her. “Ma’am, are you Beck’s mother?”

Cecily frowned and turned to Tarn. “I’m not, though I did take care of him like one. Why do you want to know?”

“His life may be in danger. Some terrible people are after him.” Tarn said, almost pleading with her. “Please, I need to know where he is and what’s happened to him in case I can help.”

“They’re not going to find him. He’s already left, gone to--Dosile.” Cecily said.

The last word slipped out before she could stop herself. She might have distrusted Tarn, believing he was in league with those people who would harm Beck. But the way he spoke to her seemed earnest and he sounded desperate enough to have such a desire to help.

“Thank you,” Tarn said, striding towards the doorway to leave.

“Who are you?” Cecily asked as he slipped past her and the landlord.

Tarn hesitated, turning towards them. “A friend, I hope!”

He didn’t know Beck at all, but he would rather be the man’s friend than his downfall.

Tarn ran off and Cecily pondered this development as she spoke to the landlord now about what had occurred here. She didn’t know this man or how he was involved with Beck and this break-in, but she hoped that he truly was as genuine as he seemed, for Beck’s sake.

As the morning wore on, the postal coach thundered through the countryside along a farm road. The driver snapped the switch above the horses’ heads.

Four attendants also rode the coach, one seated by the driver, one hanging off of the back, and two sitting on top of the coach amongst the luggage. All of the attendants had a small pistol or musket, a necessary precaution to defend themselves from highwaymen.

Inside the coach’s cab, Beck sat across from Greg next to one of Lavonya’s hired guards, glaring at his old nemesis. Beck clutched his bag of gold coins as Greg clutched his small case, both of them greedy and protective of their possessions.

“I hope you’re happy, getting me fired.” Beck said.

“It’s not my fault you can’t take a joke.” Greg said.

“A joke? Who puts rats in people’s desks or in their lunch pails as a joke?”

The guards snickered amongst each other, but then quieted when Greg glared at them. They were paid to defend the Lavonya firm’s assets and personnel, not to laugh at or with them.

“All right, it might have been childish of me. But you’re the one who punched me in turn. Bloody violent, little man.” Greg said, looking away from Beck out the window.

Beck shrugged. “So I lost control, big deal.”

Greg practically thrust his finger in Beck’s face, annoying Beck once more. “It is a bloody big deal. We can’t have employees knocking each other’s heads off.” Greg leaned back in his seat. “It’s bad for business.”

Beck rolled his eyes. “Well, fine. I’ll keep that in mind whenever I find my next job.”

“Your next job? Good luck with that.” Greg grinned. “I’ll spread your name like wildfire or dung through the streets of Silvo so that you can’t get a job there.”

Beck grimaced and looked out his coach window. “Well, thanks to prats like you, I’ve had enough of Silvo. That’s why I’m going to Dosile.”

Greg clapped sardonically as the guards and Beck looked up at him. “Well, jolly good for you.”

“Smartass.” Beck muttered.

Meanwhile, Carroll, the hardened, brash bandit leader, the wizard, and Carroll’s gang of roughly thirty bandits rode down the countryside road. They chased after the coach as it headed into the forest. Most of the bandits had bandanas covering their faces, and they were armed with blunderbusses, pistols, and swords.

Inside the coach cab, Beck nodded at Greg’s case. “So you’re taking those bonds to the bank at Dosile?”

Greg shifted in his seat, shielding the case. The guards stiffened, glaring at Beck and clutching their sword hilts. Beck froze, realizing he had committed a serious faux pas.

“What’s it to you?” Greg said.

At that moment, the attendants on top of and hanging behind the coach, now traveling through the forest, spotted the bandits chasing after them and shouted in alarm. The coach driver whipped his horses in a frenzy to gallop faster as the attendant sitting next to him clutched his musket.

Inside the cab, the passengers heard the commotion and the guards sprang into action, like they were paid to do. One guard set up a post by a window, aiming his musket outside the cab.

The other guard climbed over Beck, nearly tripping, to set up his post at the other window, aiming his musket outside. Both were ready to defend the Lavonya firm’s bonds and personnel they had been entrusted with or die trying. They were paid enough.

Greg huddled down, curled into a ball, partly to shield himself and the bonds. Beck sat up a little and strained to look out the window over his guard’s shoulder, wondering what was happening.

Despite the coach speeding up, the bandits urged their horses to move faster, galloping down the forest road. The wizard raised his staff and chanted a spell. Suddenly the bandits’ horses got an extra spurt of speed, thanks to the wizard’s power, and started gaining on the coach.

Meanwhile, Tarn rode a horse of his own down the countryside road, following after the coach and bandits. He had resorted to stealing again, which he had promised he would never do. But maybe it was worth it to save another man’s life.

At that minute, the attendants on top of the coach aimed their muskets at the bandits and started firing. The guards inside the coach cab, leaning out the window, also aimed their muskets and started firing at the robbers.

Several bandana-wearing robbers and horses were hit by the bullets and fell. However, Carroll, the wizard, and the majority of the bandits remained seated on their horses and continued chasing after the coach. They were in close enough range now to start firing their guns at the attendants and guards on the coach.

The guard closest to Beck was hit by a bullet and slumped over, mortally wounded. Greg shrieked in terror and shirked away, guarding his case.

Beck, however, put aside his bag of gold coins and slinked forward to take the guard’s post. He gingerly picked up the musket from the dead man’s hands, uncertain what to do as he aimed it out the window, and attempted to fire it at a bandit.

The attendant hanging off of the back of coach had pulled out his sword. He tried to fend off the bandits close enough to the coach that they were attempting to board it.

However, one of the bandana-wearing bandits fired their pistol at the attendant. Mortally wounded, the attendant let go of the coach and slipped off, trampled underneath one of the galloping horses.

The bandits started jumping off of their horses onto the coach and started to board it. The guard, Beck, and the other attendants, including the one seated by the driver, continued firing their muskets at the bandits.

Farther back along the forest road, Tarn still rode his horse, chasing after them. He hoped that he might be able to catch up, but what would he do then? And what were those shadows he kept glimpsing off in the distance? It couldn’t be Carroll and his gang, they were ahead of him.

Meanwhile, the wizard raised his staff again and started chanting a spell, then aimed his staff at one of the coach’s rear axles. A magical blast of flame arched through the air toward the axle.

The rear axle, hit by this blast of fire, cracked, nearly shearing off one of the coach’s wheels, which was hanging on by a thread. The jolt from the blast and broken axle shook the guard, Beck, and Greg inside the coach cab.

Beck’s bag fell over, with a couple gold coins spilling out onto the floor. Beck looked back at the bag, horrified and nervous. Greg stared down at the gold coins in greed and astonishment before glaring up at Beck.

“Beck! You little thief! You rat!”

Beck shook his head. “I’m not a thief or a rat.”

Beck aimed the musket out the window and fired. Beck’s bullet found its target in the wizard, who slumped over and fell off his horse, much to Carroll’s horror.

Carroll growled and now turned to face the coach and Beck leaning out the window, the culprit of the wizard’s death. Beck leaned back into the cab, horrified by his actions as he stared at the musket in his hands.

Greg pointed at Beck as the guard glanced over at them. “You are a thief! You’re the one responsible for this misery! Those thieves are after you and your gold coins, which you probably stole!” Greg accused.

Beck stared back down at the gold coins, at a loss for words. “It can’t be true, can it?” Was this really all his fault?

Though shaken by the jolt, the attendants and bandits managed to stay on the coach and continued fighting each other with swords now. The coach had significantly slowed down with the cracked axle dragging.

One of the bandana-wearing bandits attempted to climb into the coach cab, hanging off of the side of the coach, until the last remaining guard knocked him off. Finally, the coach axle completely fell apart and the wheel tore loose, spinning away.

Out of control now on three wheels, the coach finally tipped over onto the forest road. The people on top of the coach fell off amidst the luggage and mailbags tumbling all over the place. The coach horses sprang loose from their traces, running away.

Carroll and his surviving bandits, roughly twenty or fifteen of them, pulled up their horses to a halt, the animals rearing and whining wildly. It was difficult to keep track of them all and count them, especially with the bandanas covering their faces.

Carroll held up a hand. “Patience! Let’s see what we have here!”

Close to the turned-over coach, the two surviving attendants and the bandits that fell off the coach moved off to the side. The attendants were held up now, hostage under the bandits’ care. Holding a blunderbuss at the ready, one bandit cautiously approached the overturned coach door and flung open its door.

“Come out of there if you’re still alive and want to live.” The bandit said.

Holding up their hands, unarmed with nothing in them, Beck and Greg emerged from the coach cab. They climbed out and landed on the ground under the auspices of the armed bandits.

The other bandit glanced into the overturned coach cab at the two dead guards, the case of bonds, and the bag of gold coins, with the coins scattered across the ground. “No more survivors. And it looks like the coins are all here!” The bandit said.

Carroll gleefully laughed and dismounted from his horse. He shoved his way forward and climbed into the overturned coach.

Standing off to the side with his hands still raised amongst the other prisoners, Beck winced as he realized that they were after him and the coins. It wasn’t a coincidence at all, but how was it possible? Greg glared at Beck.

“I hope you’re happy. Now we’re all dead because of you.” Greg said.

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Beck insisted as one of the bandits, still wearing his bandana, stood directly behind him, guarding him. “I didn’t steal the coins. How could they have known I had them? What is going on?”

“Somehow they must have found out.” Greg said.

Suddenly Beck gasped. “It’s Tarn! He must have--”

The bandit standing behind Beck shoved him roughly in the back with his musket. “Shut up.” He said gruffly.

Carroll sifted through the wreckage of the overturned coach cab, collecting all of the gold coins he could possibly reach into his bag. He sealed up the bag, and then grabbed the case of bonds, recognizing another treasure.

Carroll clambered out of the wrecked coach, still gripping his bag and the case tightly as he maneuvered about before dropping onto the ground. He strode across the road toward the group of prisoners and the bandits guarding them like an avenging storm.