Captain Swing Rides Again part III

WITHOUT PREJUDICE

Dear Capt. Chevalier,

I am writing this note rather than seeing you in person for reasons which will become clear shortly. I also would like to apologise for the rude and boorish behaviour of my companions. Unfortunately such company is useful [and necessary] in the uncivilised and barbaric lands to the north and east of Montaigne. Some barely seem able to comprehend the art of reading let alone the higher concepts of Justice and the refined ideals of the musketeers.

I have known of you since I was a child. Your example among others led me to apply to join the musketeers. Rejection there has led my life along a different path. I do not have the talent for solving crimes so I present what we have done in the interests of Justice and the wider community. I now realise that the musketeers would be too high and demanding a life for your humble correspondent. I now present a chronicle of happenings since I last spoke to you. I hope you will be able to make sense of this and apply your forbearance towards us and resolve any public unintended consequences. My high esteem for your integrity leads me to frankly disclose to you this information.

We last met in the ruin of the Nike. I was appalled at the destruction and waste of life. After helping the survivors I noticed a folded card and picked it up. It seemed that the explosion had centred on the bar. Someone recalled a carter delivering some barrels just before the explosion. As we were checking that none of the other barrels were potentially exploding, you arrived. I was still somewhat dazed from the explosion and carnage and didn't have my wits about me.

It was not till later that I spoke to Pistol and he recalled bumping into a man who asked him where he was staying. He had said the Nike. This was actually across the road from Le Coq Sportif where we were staying but as he doesn't speak Montaigne this is understandable. It was only then that we realised the possibility that we were the target of the bomber. I had ordered some handbills for a public lecture in the old amphitheatre on The importance of educating the masses in three days time. This had seemed the only link between us and the evil bomber masquerading as Cpt. Swing. We passed by the printers as sleep was now out of the question that night. We noticed that there was no space for a cart at the printers. But there was a large door on the coal scuttle. Inside was a large black horse with a fierce temper which could have been the bomber's horse but we were unable to check closer.

We decided to move to Le Fils de Mar. We were rejoined by Signor Antonio. He went to the printers to pick up the handbills. We hoped that as they were both Vodacce that he might learn something useful. We have now learnt that Vodacce men only seem to notice a lady's attractiveness [which she was]. She may have learnt more. He said that we were helping the musketeers with their enquiries and she apparently interpreted this to mean that we were incarcerated by you. He was given half the printing job and was told to come back at sunset for the rest. He distributed the bills on the way back. We went and hired a covered wagon and horses for a week. This is to allow us to move around town without exciting too much attention by our large northern barbarians [and their huge swords]. If someone meant us ill I hoped this would reduce the risk.

We dropped Antonio two blocks away from the printers and he picked up the last half of the print run. He headed back to Le Fils de Mar. We looked for anyone trailing him but were reasonably certain no-one had. We returned there and the landlord charged us an extra 20 pistoles for having a wagon. Also he needed a little time to arrange the space.

We set off in the wagon as the revolutionary guards apparently charge citizens to leave wagons in the street. As luck would have it we drove to the printers. I pulled up outside to consider where to head to next. Pistol and Mordred went to 'water the horses'. Pistol announced to us that the printer's door was ajar. We looked for the ubiquitous musketeer and saw none. Fearing foul play we resolved to check things out. I noticed in the printing room a card under the press and left it there. The desk had been rifled in the office and some cash was over the floor. In the kitchen nothing was amiss. Pistol checked the open trapdoor down to the cellar. I heard the distinctive double bang of two firearms fired almost but not quite in unison. Pistol got both bullets in the chest. He had been shot by someone in the cellar. As he made a scene on the floor he burbled Captain Swing had shot him. We swung into action. Nobody paid any heed to Pistol; he is the most frightful ham actor and loves being the centre of attention [especially morbid].

Down in the cellar was the wicked black horse and it's evil master; tall, brooding and swathed in a black cloak. A wide brimmed black hat pulled low hid the features beneath. Signor Antonio drew his rapier. He is amongst the best foreign swordsmen I have seen but the style is tricky and overly nasty. He engages the evil bomber. The hat falls off as the bomber retreats. We are all surprised to see the lovely features of the printer. She was wearing elevator boots as well. Antonio's mouth hangs open and drool starts to drip from the corner.

Meanwhile the warhorse is lashing out at the rest of us. Mordred with his highlanders' distain of large beasts methodically cut off its head. It was a prize animal and I was sorry it had come to such an ungracious end. As it fell it cleared the way for us to capture the bomber. The bomber had other ideas and she dropped down a hole in the corner of the cellar. After a moment's hesitation we followed with Pistol complaining in the rear. We followed the trail through the phosphorescent excrement. I had a lantern and when we came to a four way junction I noticed a faint fingermark left by a quarry about her shoulder height. It was dark ahead and she was following the left wall and moving as quickly as possible. She was using her left hand to feel the wall as she went along. This made following easier and we pursued swiftly. Some time later I noticed that the fingermarks had ceased. I checked the left wall and found a catch that opened a secret passage. The passage beyond was dry, musty and dust was thick on the floor.

No-one before today had passed in a long time. Our quarry had left a clear trail but the dust when it resettled would cover it as well as fresh snow. We pursued for some time and reached some tattered drapes over the corridor. They were made of some unusual fibre maybe like a rough raw silk. There was an unusual odour getting stronger as we proceeded. Antonio tripped and almost fell on a skull. The old dry skeleton was wrapped in this fibre. I said it was a pity we didn't have some torches so as to have more light. Borstenn then produced some from his pack. Pistol and Antonio then carried a lit torch each. We kept on and we soon heard a regular toc toc toc sound. The sound could have come from someone vainly striking the bundles of threads or drapes that were becoming more common.

We emerged into a large chamber. The sound had been the striking of flintand steel. The bomber stood on the other side of the chamber smoking a cigar and with a strange object in her right hand. The chamber had many exits but they were barred by thick strands of drapes which looked like massive webs. She was close to three blocked exits on the other side. The bomber turned like a hunted beast and she had a mad gleam in her eye. What her intentions were we shall never know. For in the second that we saw each other it seemed to me that a flash of lightning lit the chamber and the device in her hand exploded.

I heard Borstenn swear in his mother tongue and the bomber dazed darkly at him. It was a gaze that would have killed all nine lives of a cat. The sound of the explosion in such a small area was deafening. As the smoke cleared and we brushed cindered organic matter off our clothes we could see that all that was left of the bomber was her elevator boots. Two small wisps of smoke hung wistfully over them. The previously blocked entrances to the chamber had been quite forcefully opened. We collected the boots as evidence. As our hearing returned we could hear a chittery clicking noises.

Unfortunately our hearing wasn't faulty. With a rush we were attacked by giant spiders. There were three each and they were two metres across and their fangs dripped poison. We were in a spider's lair and were surrounded. We desperately fought but the spiders had the advantage of knowing the ground and were able to surround many of us. Pistol was cut off as was Mordred. Borstenn and I fought back to back. Avon and Antonio had a wall at their flank. It was a fierce fight with no quarter expected. Holding the lantern high I could see the light reflected back from 24 tiny eyes. I thrust as well as I could. I heard Mordred call upon St Kolumba behind me and smelt Pistol throw his arms wide as he was engaged. Soon we all managed to dispatch a foe.

The monstrous spiders were only as heavy as a dog and their fangs were not overly large. They bit Avon a number of times. He seemed to be slowing down as if a poison was taking effect. Pistol also took a number of bites and his breathing was becoming loud and laboured. In the heat of battle I concentrated on the two fighting me. Behind me I heard Antonio swear and then Borstenn charged off to his aid shouting battle cries and summoning the help of his ancient gods. As I despatched the last of my foes I noticed Avon succumb to his wounds and slump to the ground. As I glanced quickly around Mordred charged past me. Pistol despatched Avon's bane. The rear and flanks appeared safe as I turned to the continuing melee.

My hearted quailed. It has never done so before. Filling most of the space at the far end of the chamber was a huge monstrous spider. Its legs were like young trees made of steel and it towered over us although its body was also low to the ground. It bounced slightly on its legs like a prize-fighter and it moved swiftly. Its pincer fangs wee large and dripped poison. It's eight black eyes were filled with malice and alien fury. It was fighting Antonio, Borstenn and Mordred. As I watched it deftly turned and sprayed web over Borstenn. I dashed forward and using some fine wine tried to stop the stands hardening or burdening Borstenn. I was only partly successful and a litre of wine doesn't go far. The huge monster towered over its one remaining spawn like a warhorse next to a rat. As I watched Antonio was bitten. The pincers driving deep into his arm. The poison lay black on his shirt. He kept going.

As there was no space for me I checked Avon was still alive and did what little I could to slow the poison. I continued to watch the battle with strangely clinical interest. I noticed that the zweihander and claymore are quite good against such large creatures and it allowed Borstenn and Mordred a little more distance from the oozing ichor of the monsters gaping wounds. Its hide was extremely tough and although each landed blow caused some discomfort; much of the force was taken merely to penetrate. Antonio lunged deeply with his rapier but even with his whole weight behind it the blade only slowly penetrated. He was sweating with the effort of penetrating and the added exertion of freeing his weapon.

The battle seemed to take hours but in reality was probably only minutes. Borstenn amputated its rear left leg and Mordred struck above the left foreleg joint. Antonio had repeatedly lunged in the one area and ichor now ran freely from a serious of holes that a man could pass his hand through. They had all been bitten and although their skin was a faint green pallor they continued. The wounds and poison was soon to much for Mordred and he wisely pulled back while his legs held beneath him. He slumped against the wall and lost his lunch. Pistol took his place before I could approach. The monster turned and webbed Pistol and Antonio.

They tried to dodge but to no avail. They were slowed by the strands and were easier targets for the monster. I mentally prepared myself for a last stand. The monster was so fast we had no hope to outrun it. Borstenn and Antonio were still in fighting form but if they got much more web we were fated to be monster food. They seemed to realise this and struck harder than ever. Two new gashes were opened up on the monster. Then the monster turned again. It scuttled away before we could react. I hope to never see such a fearsome thing again.

I am writing this to you from the springs of St Jude. As you know the springs are reputed to cure spider venom. I am happy to confirm that we have regained our savoir faire. The local residents confirm that the waters be taken for several days to be safe. As it turns out Pistol's bullet wounds were more serious than I thought; or the venom made them bleed worse.

The printer's shop was at No. 19 Rue de Boulangerie and if it hasn't been sacked by the city low-lifes you may still find a supply of the special silk paper used to print the cards used by the bomber. I still intend to give the lecture as the education of the masses is important to preserve culture and civilisation. What little we have regained since the Old Empire needs to be preserved and passed on. I am of course open to your guidance in this matter. I trust we have not compromised your duties and investigations too much but most of our activity was undertaken in self-defence.

With the utmost respect,
I remain most sincerely

*
Dandelion
21Quartus 1669
Springs of St Jude