I climbed to my feet, though it hurt to do so. Knifey glared at me. I scowled right back at him, then grabbed my rod and used it as a crutch. My ribs hurt a spell, and both my shoulders were beat to hell.

  Fredders still held his knife, but he was in no position to use it lest he wanted to get riddled with holes and never be able to drink whiskey without it falling right out of him.

  Sheriff Whitman leveled the rifle at Fredders’ head. “You better drop it, friend, unless you want a bullet in your brain. Give me any reason at all. They’d give me a parade.”

  Knife man scowled, his nostrils flaring so wide that you could shove cherries inside. He dropped his knife as the sheriff had ordered and put his hands over his head. The sheriff nodded to one of the deputies, Mack, who went over to him with some rope. He wrenched the goon’s arms behind his back and tied his wrists together before kneeing him in the rear to get him marching.

  “Take him to the clink and have a messenger boy send for Mr. Lyles so we can see about getting this here hooligan’s cards removed.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Mack and one of the other deputies led the brigand away, who was cursing up a storm until the second deputy reached into her pocket and took out a bit of cloth to stuff into his mouth to silence him.

  Good riddance!

  “What a mess,” said the sheriff. He holstered his rifle on his back and padded forward, using his boot to push the faces of the knocked-out men. When he saw Thoman and Elryck, he had a mixed look of disappointment and disgust that flashed across his face as he shook his head. He flicked the top of his gray cap, the denim brim faded and worn, but the star on the center of it gleamed a bright silver, same as the one on his chest.

  “You haven’t gotten in trouble in a while, Griff, my boy. Why break that streak?”

  I spat blood out of my mouth—and a tooth. Damn. I plucked it out of the dirt and pocketed it. I would need to see Twellin and hope she had a potion that could regrow teeth.

  “Ain’t no trouble, Sheriff. I saw this lot being not-so law abidin’ and threatening that good man there,” I said, indicating the clerk that had come with the sheriff and deputies. He was still dusty and bloody, but he wasn’t shivering or sniveling, so that was a good sign.

  “Couldn’t leave it alone, sir. Had to do my civic duty.”

  “Civic duty . . .” the sheriff said. He chuckled, then walked right up to me. Sheriff Whitman looked me up and down, his eyes noting my card. “Good lad, finally got yerself a card, eh?”

  “Yes, sir, fresh as can be.”

  He nodded, smiling, his mustache wriggling like a chipmunk getting snug on his face. “You did good, kid, but in the future, I’d advise you to get some help. Next time, you might not be so lucky. You never know what cards some people might be packin’.”

  “I understand that, but if I’d left, there’s no way you would have gotten here before they killed the man.”

  “Hmm, maybe. All I’m sayin’ is, be careful. You got a good head on your shoulders. Try to use it as much as possible. Don’t be like those two clowns.” That last sentence he said as he eyed the unconscious bodies of Elryck and Thoman, whom another deputy was tying up. “We ought to just lock ’em in the slammer and throw the key away. They’re strong arms for the mines, and we rely on that output, but they ain’t even a bit useful when they’re on the wall. Ain’t got no aim, and even when they’re sober, they’re stupid.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, sir. You ain’t got to worry about me.”

  The sheriff nodded. “I know. Good luck out there, kiddo. It’s a hard and dangerous world, and it ain’t just the monsters you need concern yourself with. The people can be even worse. A lot worse sometimes.”

  I gave him a salute. He smiled, returned the gesture, and then he and the rest of his deputies hauled Web, Elryck, and Thoman back to the jailhouse. I watched them go. My heart beat so hard and my blood pumped so loud through my head, it was like church bells directly in my skull. I didn’t care about Web, but I did sincerely hope Thoman and Elryck would get their crap together.

  Otherwise, it would be the hangman’s noose waiting for them eventually. Or some Badlands justice. Neither would be kind to them.

  I was about to leave and head over to Granny Twellin to get some potions, but I saw the clerk-looking man was still there. Waiting for me.

  “You doing okay?” I asked him. “Hope they didn’t rough you up too bad.”

  He shook his head. “I will be okay. Thank you, stranger, I thought I was a goner. No one was going to come for me, not in this town and these parts, but you’re a good man.”

  I tipped my hat to him. “Don’t mention it, friend. What’s yer name?” He had a posh accent, which made me think, or rather know, that he was from back East.

  He pulled out a small case from his bag. Inside lay a fresh pair of glasses. It was smart to have an extra pair out in these parts. He wiped the lenses with a soft cloth, then put the glasses on his face.

  He smiled. “Melvyn Fellgroove, Esquire. I work for the Railway Commission. I travel with some others. We go from town to town inspecting the lines, making sure everything is running according to schedule, making sure no monsters or bandits have caused any ruptures in our operations. After all, without the lines, the towns of the Badlands would be isolated, and against a horde of monsters, you never want to be alone.”

  “I hear that. That’s some good work you do, but I have to ask. Why were they messing with you? In fact, what the hell were you doing in that dump? That saloon is for hooligans and brigands like them. You ought to be at the saloon or one of the taverns or the inns on the south side by the train.”

  He frowned and put his two index fingers together. “W-well you see, I, uh, I do tend to have a gambling problem. It’s the cards, you see.” He leaned in close as he rubbed his hands together conspiratorially. “I have a [Rare] grade [Luck] card. It’s on my hand, so it’s particularly effective with card games or dice, but not so much on things outside of my immediate vicinity. It also has a habit of diminishing if it’s discovered. And those ruffians might have found out. They felt I’d cheated them and wanted me to pay with blood.”

  I crossed my arms. “Well, you did cheat them.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “There’s no rules against [Luck] cards!”

  “Because they’re exceedingly rare and valuable, Mr. Fellgroove, and because that lot wouldn’t expect someone to be in their bar swindling them with a valuable card like that. But that doesn’t give them the right to try and kill you. Please be careful going forward. There won’t always be a kind neighbor like me to help you or even a deputy.”

  “I shall keep that in mind, Mr. . . . what did you say your name was?” He extended his gloved hand to me as he asked that.

  “Gunnar, Griffin Gunnar. A pleasure, Mr. Fellgroove.”

  We said our farewells, and then I watched him head back south to the train station where he should have stayed. I was sure he’d be fine, and I had other things on my mind.

  Now that the excitement of the fight and the aftermath was over, I felt fatigue like a locomotive ran me over. One shoulder was bruised and battered, the other cut deep. My ribs were bruised or broken. My cheek was bruised and my jaw hurt, but not in the way of someone whose jaw is broken. I’d seen that, done that, and I knew how much that hurt.

  I paid Granny Twellin a visit before doing anything else. First, she fussed over me and my injuries and cursed those drunks, but when she settled down, her demeanor was very cheerful. She was proud of me for finally getting a card, and she said she knew I’d find my brother. I hoped she was right.

  Parroia had a proper doctor with his fancy eastern learning and medical degrees, but I found a nice healing potion really did the trick. Plus, his learning couldn’t regrow a tooth or close your wounds all lickety-split. And he cost more. Granny Twellin charged fair prices. Heck, if you did her a favor or two, she might heal you and call it square. In this instance, she chalked it up as a going-away gift and didn’t charge me anything. In fact, she gave me some potions for the road as well as some standard medical supplies. I already had some squirreled away at the house, but you could never have enough.

  After saying my goodbyes, I ran around doing errands, which was mostly me selling things I didn’t need to get as much money as I could before leaving. I had a lot of canned goods and salted meat that I wouldn’t need for a while. I did pack some in my satchel and backpack, but the rest, I sold. I also had a mess of spices that I wasn’t going to take, so I sold those too. Some extra gauze and pens and pencils fetched me a few silvers.

  After selling my excess possessions, I remembered what the Card Master had told me and went to the Calbuck’s printing press and got a fragment conversion chart. I folded it up, thanked them, and went on my way. It was a long day, running back and forth, and I was exhausted, but the adrenaline and excitement of my upcoming journey propelled me forward.

  When I was finished, I went to see Master Elijah. Thankfully, he wasn’t busy. He was between forgings, so he was able to help me right away. He was a lot more put together and clean-cut than his brother, but he still had all the dirt and sweat of a smith. His face was caked in soot, and his hair greasy from smoke. He smiled when I came in.

  “I heard you’re leaving us,” he said.

  “Yes. Just need a good weapon before I go.”

  He looked me over. No doubt his inner systems caught my tattoo. I wasn’t hiding it at the moment, but I would once I hit the road.

  “Polearm, eh? Good call. I’ve fancied them myself, but my favorite is a good great sword or claymore. I just love making big swords.”

  I smiled brightly. “I’m sure most smiths feel the same way.”

  “How much you got?”

  The exact amount eluded me, probably because I’d been running around so much, my brain was in a tizzy. I produced my coin purse and counted out sixty silvers. It was less than I would have liked, but after paying for a card fragment, I was lucky to have this much.

  “Hmm, well, we wouldn’t want to leave you copperless as you go on the road, so I won’t give you my best items—not that you can afford them. But my lower tier items will serve you quite well.”

  “I’ll be happy with anything you can sell me, sir.” And that was the truth. It would be better than a metal rod meant for stabilizing walls.

  Master Elijah disappeared into one of his three armories. I waited patiently, though I was antsy. A minute later, he returned with a weapon that made my heart flutter. Because it was beautiful.

  It was a seven-foot staff of solid, dark wood, polished to a beautiful shine. On one end was a thick wrapping of black leather, bound tight. And on the other, a fat bulb of knotted wood like a small circular club that a troll might carry.

  He handed it to me, and I took it in my hands with reverence. “What is it?"

  “It’s called a bludgel staff. Essentially, it’s a quarterstaff with a small but dense cudgel on the end. You look like you’ve got enough strength for it, but if you were to get a [Strength] card and maybe even a [Speed] card, you’d be deadly. Just be careful if you’re using it around friends or a crowd. It’s great for crowd control, but you don’t wanna hurt someone on accident that you aren’t meanin’ to.”

  It was heavy, which wasn’t a surprise, but it felt good in my grip. It was heavier than the metal rod I’d used against the goons, but that made sense. It was longer, the length of a proper combat staff, and it had the thick cudgel at the top.

  “The wood is treated ironwood. It won’t rot. It’s water resistant and incredibly durable. Like the name would suggest, it’s nearly as hard as iron, and treated as it is, it will not break under a [Strength] card enhanced blow up to [Rare], Tier 3. If you’re facing someone with an [Epic] level [Strength] card, you’ve got bigger problems than your weapon, but I don’t suspect that will be a problem for a while.”

  “I certainly hope not. I don’t plan on going south.” The south was where the biggest Fissures opened, and it was where the stronger monsters and hunters congregated. I was worried that Gareth was down in the south somewhere, but I wasn’t ready to go there. Not yet.

  I shook his hand. “I love it. Thank you.”

  “That’s why I do it. I aim to please.”

  The bludgel staff cost me twenty silvers, which was not cheap, but compared to some of his other wares, it was a steal. And I hoped I wouldn’t need to buy a new weapon for a while. On top of the weapon, I bought a harness for it, which was only two silvers, and a vial of treatment oil and rags to keep the staff in good shape.

  He nodded and grinned. “Good luck, Griff! Make us proud out there.”

  My smile was bright, and my pride was even brighter. “Oh, I aim to, Master Elijah. Don’t you worry one bit.”

  Once I was done with the smithy, I finished packing extra clothes and supplies and was ready to hit the road. There was only one last stop I needed to make. I headed north to the lake to the small stretch of graves there. To say goodbye to Uncle Deebo.

  There was a larger graveyard on the east side of town near the mines, a necessity since a lot of men died from cave-ins, explosions, or noxious gasses when the canaries couldn’t detect anything. But there were a few smaller lots scattered around the outskirts of the town and a few more outside the walls too.

  Uncle Deebo was buried by the lake. Same as my aunt and my grandma, whom I never got to meet. Grandpa died somewhere out in the Badlands, so no telling where his resting place might be. And as for my ma’s side . . . hers was shrouded in mystery, according to Deebo.

  A few other headstones dotted the shore of the lake, some hidden in the shade of trees while others were out in the open where the sun could warm their eternal resting places. The lake was shallow, and the rain was sparse, so there wasn’t really any danger of flooding that might disturb the graves.

  I put the flowers I’d brought on his grave, then sat cross-legged before him.

  “I did it, Deebo. I earned my first card, and I’m headin’ after Gareth.” I swallowed and pulled out a wrinkled and yellowed parchment paper. I unfolded it and looked at the scrawled handwriting of my brother’s pen.

  “West to Mushyon Ridge, where it all began.”

  I’d read that a hundred times. A thousand times. I still didn’t know what it meant. I knew the town and how to get to it but had no idea what had “all begun” there. I had found the note amongst Deebo’s personal effects after he died, so I never got a chance to ask him. I did ask a few people around town, but none of them knew either.

  I stood and pocketed it. “West to Mushyon Ridge, Uncle. To where it all began. And then from there, I’ll find my way. When I return, I’ll have Gareth with me, and I’ll force that bastard to pay his respects. Heaven knows he probably doesn’t even realize you’re dead.”

  It was a promise, and I kept my promises.

  Holding back tears and with a lump in my throat, I laid a hand on Deebo’s grave one last time. Then I tipped my straw hat to him, turned, and walked away. I kept walking, my feet carrying me to the western gates, past the afternoon vendors and workers coming to and from the town.

  I passed through the gates, outside the walls that had offered me safety and protection all my life, left the only home I had ever known, and I was on my way.

  Heading west, following the sun, my boots kicking up dust as I put one foot in front of the other. West, to where it all began. Whatever the hell that meant.