Part 6 of 6
Read the full text, as well as the show notes, at http://flashpulp.com
Tonight, Thomas Blackhall, master frontiersman and student of the occult, suffers a sudden reunion.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP254 - The Tightened Braid: a Blackhall Tale, Part 6 of 6
[music] Welcome to Flashpulp, episode 254. This evening we present The Tightened Braid, a Black Haltail, Part 6 of 6, The Beginning. This week's episodes are brought to you by Groggy Frog Massage. Live in Toronto, root for the leaves. To ease your inevitable sadness, you should talk to Kim from Groggy Frog about a Thai Massage. Find her on Facebook by searching for Groggy Frog Thai Massage or point your browser towards http colon slash slash bit dot l y slash groggy frog. Capital G, Capital F. [music] Flashpulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, Thomas Blackhall, Master Frontiersman and Student of the Occult, finds himself in unexpected company. The Tightened Braid, a Black Haltail, Part 6 of 6, The Beginning, Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and Narration Biopopanex, and Audio-produced by Jessica May. Before he could bring his occult ship fully under control, Thomas had moved well beyond the knot of Fitzhugh's and the crone and his beloved Mary. Beneath his northward bound hull, the trees rolled ever onward, allowing ample latitude with which to practice the control of his strange tool. The forest, he found, rose and fell like any sea, though the crests were determined by the vagaries of sunlight and soil, rather than wind and gravity. For some time, there were but the sounds of creaking timber and its steady pounding. Eventually, Blackhall rode over an ocean of pines, which seemed in the moonlight, to stretch outside his reckoning. He understood by then that his speed was determined by the meter of his drumming, and that his direction was readily alterable by aiming his impacts towards the edge of the instrument's head. And so, thus confident in his course, Thomas allowed himself a moment of consideration, as the Wildwood bent to meet his bow. It had been his intention, until that point, simply to escape. Once free of pursuers, he'd reasoned he could devise a method of extracting his storm gear. For, without his equipment, he had no doubt as to the outcome of a confrontation with the witch, just as he had no doubt as to the inevitable result of the current contest. He did not look forward to some day overtaking the dead column, and encountering the gaunt face of his former comrade. Would Fitzhugh's likeness be duplicated a dozen times along the parade of cadavers? It was also the matter of the dagger. Misuse of the arcane blade had obviously drawn the crown, and it was a surety that its ownership would pass into her hands. Despite the carnage it had caused, Thomas knew it would be far from her most powerful talisman. He took some small comfort in the fact that Fitzhugh had discovered the proper use of only one of the charms. And yet, he worried that even the captain's unsuccessful experimentations would be enough to bring the hag to Perth. It was this thought, and the realization that he faced a shrinking opportunity to regain his relics, which shook black all from his reverie. His hands had become numb from cold in use, and his coat had taken on a layer of snowy frost, but he now set about redoubling his tempo. The witch would not dare approach the settlement Thomas knew if he were once again in possession of his tools, and so it was a race. There were few landmarks at this great height to reckon how close he returned to the battle site, but his staccato carried him wide of the mark. It was only as the trees thinned at the cusp of civilization's assertion that he realized he was under-trained in the mooring of his ship. His rhythms slowed, and so too did the vessel. Judging his rapidly diminishing momentum, he aimed for a final colossal maple, which marked the boundary of a farmer's field. With measured arms, he let his craft brush the bulky limbs, then ceased his tattoo. As if a Sunday cruise encountering a friendly jetty, his sprouted boat came to a bobbing stop. There was little time to enjoy the victory, as the bench, which had held him, immediately commenced to crumble. He required quick action and steady feet to exit with the drum before the green ship's leafy planks became fully unglued, and fell away to the ivory turf below. Once firmly on the ground, however, there remained some distance to walk until a black hole would encounter the lopsided shanties that marked perts' furthest outreaches, and as he progressed over the drift-covered croplands, the enormity of the task ahead began to weigh at his mind. It was not a mystic problem, but one of mundane logistics. There would likely be at least a pair of burly centuries, innocents at the captain's quarters, and who was even to say that Fitzhugh would be full enough to store the artifacts where they might so easily be reclaimed. Possibly even more pressing, Thomas was unsure of his status in relation to the bloodied corpse he'd left on the floor of his rented room. Was he a wanted man? The question guided his course upon reentering the town's limits, and his initial destination was a lingering stroll past the darkened windows of his former place of lodging, the Buckingham Pony. He was there that he received his last surprise of the evening. Leaning against the public house's rough planks, with a satchel at his feet, was a figure whose upturned collar and low-knit cap prevented immediate identification. When the form detached himself from the structure and approached, black hole allowed his right hand to drift to his saber's tilled hilt. As the distance closed, however, Thomas recognized the stranger as the quiet lad who'd driven the slave for himself and Wesley Shea, but a few hours earlier. "Come! Come!" said the youth, and so the frontiersmen did. As they stalked the empty boardwalk that lined the street's shops, the boy's feet and tongue moved with anxious energy. I waited too long to follow, and I must apologize. I did run, but by then you were well gone. From a distance, I watched a band of Fitzhugh's flow from between buildings and gather in a sleigh brought round by yet another. If they noted my presence, they paid me no heed. After they were gone, all was silence. It was as if I were forgotten. Despite the pace, black hole sees the excuse to retrieve from the depths of his coat, his Virginia tobacco, and fine Spanish papers. "I am certain," he replied, "that your captain would have a well-sharpened word with you when he returned, if it were not for the delays he encountered." With white-filled eyes, the private nodded. My duty in acting as a spy has been marked officially as leave, so when I reappeared I wasn't much noticed. I ventured to my bunk to try and sleep, but I was left feeling as if matters were unconcluded, and rest was elusive. There's well lying there, with my nerves being worn away by the lack of resolution, that your damnable tale came to me. For whatever purpose you revealed to me a world that I couldn't have known existed, a world beyond this colony, beyond home, beyond the entirety of the Blessed Empire. The power you've shown me is too much to rest in the hands of those with so narrow a goal as world domination. And as such, the speaker halted at the entrance to the town's meager post office and turned to squint on black hole. No, first, tell me, what designs have you with the tools you've carried here? Thomas, who completed the construction of his vice, raised a brow with a question, but answered honestly. I wish only to retrieve the roaming corpse of my wife, so that I might lay her body to rest, and her spirit as well. The response brought a smile to his companion's lips. A romantic, eh? I wouldn't have guessed it. I long held that anyone desiring a position is likely not the best candidate for it. Here, then, are your goods. I played my last card with my chum, telling him that Fitz himself had asked for the retrieval. Blokes watching the door near his face didn't think hard on the move, that he'd been doing it for weeks during your comings and goans. There'll be plenty displeased to find a lie the thing, though, so it's probably best that they are not allowed an opportunity to inform us as such. Black Hole thought the boy was bound to suggest a partnership, that the satchel had held supplies necessary for their imminent departure. He hadn't expected this turn of events, and as he accepted the extended gift, he found it necessary to clear his throat before he could provide his reply. Considering the efforts you've undertaken on my behalf, I feel quite beggarly in admitting, I do not recall your name. Shae made it known to me when we hired you on, but it has been lost in the chaos. Furthermore, if I am truthful, you may be my only living human friend in this bedeviled land. Worse, I have favours, I must ask. Favours which will draw you near to the types of uncanny danger that have thus far hounded our association. Little did Black Hole realize the import of his words, nor the nature of the remarkable partnership he had just proposed. The Queen likely won't have me back, so I can't see that I have anything better to occupy myself with. He pled the oath, as he buried his hands in his jacket pockets. I feel bound to help, and I will do so happily if it might save the curiosity my mother long warned would be the death of me. Oh, and the name she gave me was Montgomery. Montgomery Smith. They spoke on in the hush, forging plans. Then, at dawn, they began their journey north. Flashpulp is presented by Flashpulp.com, and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skinner@skinner.fm, or the voicemail line at 206-338-2792. But be aware that they may appear in a future flashcast. We'd also like to thank the Free Sound Project, found at freesound.org. For a full listing of effects used during the show, as well as credits for the users who provided them, please check this episode's notes at flashpulp.com. And thanks to you for listening. If you enjoyed the show, please tell your friends. [music] Sunday is gloomy, my hours are stumbled. Here is the shadows I live with are stumbled. (upbeat music) (upbeat music)