The Butcher and the Butterfly Read Online Free PDF Page B

the
coin; anything born that has the mutant strain is killed and
burned.
    The desert wind
wraps itself around Rockfall and it brings with it sand and heat,
life and death. The buildings have been sandblasted by years of
torment and even the dark tar that has been painted on the woodwork
is pale, dead, all used up. The mixture of heat, sweat and the
creosote gave Rockfall a strange odour; one that the Watchman would
never forget. It was a harsh alternative to the smells that he had
grown up with; thyme, rosemary, heather. Sadly even they had gone
sour like the rest of the world.
    Stephen, now
merely posing as a Watchman travels had been hard; tales to be told
another day, and this hole would be the start of his new life.
    Walking the raised
boards which outlined the main street he headed toward what looked
like the only bar in town. The streets were empty; sand whipped
through them and the sun shone through gaps in the stores and
houses. The urge to scream out ‘hello’ was overwhelming. There was
a pressure pushing him down in this place, squeezing him tight and
constricting his breathing.
    As he neared the
bar he heard two voices coming from inside a store to his direct
right. The voices were muted and muffled through the glass and wood
and he couldn’t make out what was being said. The store sold, from
the objects in the dusty window, some sort of metal goods and
ironmongery. The voices grew clear as the door to the store opened
and a man stepped out.
    ‘No worries,
Clive. I shall find the little pricks that branded yer mule and
beat the piss outta them.’
    ‘Brand em too.
Little fucktards!’ a voice from inside the store demanded.
    ‘Now, now, Clive…’
the man looked to Stephen and paused and closed the door. ‘Who are
you?’
    Stephen
outstretched his left hand. ‘Stephen La’ Point, Watchman of the
West.’
    The man who had
left the store took a step back and laughed. ‘Holy hell. You must
be fucking lost to be this far into hell.’
    Stephen smirked
but kept his hand outstretched awaiting the shake.
    The man, seemingly
pulling himself together quickly placed his hand into the
Watchman’s and both men shook hands in the dusty streets of
Rockfall.
    As they shook
hands Stephen said, ‘and your name, if it does please ya?’
    ‘Oh yeah, John.
John Drive.’ The two men stopped shaking hands. ‘Deputy John
Drive.’
    Stephen eyes
widened. ‘A fellow lawman. My luck must be in.’
    John rubbed his
fingers together and placed them by his sides. Stephen knew he
wasn’t welcome here and had put this so called Deputy into a
situation he had not expected. But he cared little for that.
    ‘Well, Deputy, I’m
guessing that up ahead is the only bar in town?’
    John looked behind
him and shielded his eyes from the glaring sun. ‘Yep. Travellers
Last is probably the only bar in about two hundred miles in all
directions.’ John looked back and Stephen could see fear in those
baby blue eyes. John continued ‘I take it then that you aint lost
and am here on business?’
    ‘Perhaps,’ Stephen
shrugged, ‘but that conversation is for another time. Right now I
need a crap, a bath and a beer.’
    The Deputy smiled,
but it was an uncomfortable one. ‘Well, follow me, Watchman of the
West, the owner of the Travellers is a personal friend of mine and
I shall see that she takes of ya.’
    2
    The two men walked
through the batwing doors and into the Travellers Last. It was big
inside, larger than Stephen had expected. It wasn’t well adorned
and was typical for this area. Dusty with the familiar scent of
stale beer and sick. Sawdust crunched under his boots as he headed
to the main bar.
    ‘Carry on with the
glasses now Susie, it looks like we have a couple of early patrons
to deal with.’ The woman’s voice was insanely common, but
underneath that common tongue Stephen noted a touch of his own
country. An undertone that didn’t shout Hey! I was brought up with
a silver spoon up my arse but instead mumbled of tones