Part 2 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, witnesses an unexpected demise.
The Skinner Co. Network
FP250 - The Tightened Braid: a Blackhall Tale, Part 2 of 6
[Music] Welcome to Flashpulp 250. This evening we present The Titan Braid, a Black Hall Tale, part 2 of 6, a sudden death. This week's episodes are brought to you by the Bear Crawling Podcast. [Music] So you know how you're flipping channels at night and you come across that late show with one of your favorite comedians on it. You know you're going to get a couple of things thrown at you, right? You're going to get those jokes that are just kind of off the cuff and fresh and they make you laugh. You're also always going to get that guest on there, but that's not really why you tune in, is it? You tune in for those moments where the hosts and the guests connect and the energy is just so strong, you get pulled in and become a part of that electric experience. That's what I do here on Bear Crawling Live. I focus on those experiences. It's not just about who I'm talking to, it's not just about me either. It's about us and the experience that we have together. And we do it every Thursday night, 9.30 p.m. here on Noah Genestry, bearcrawlingnation.com/nas and knowagendacheck.net with an easy to find replay Tuesday afternoon, 4 p.m. Come experience the ride along. That is a Bear Crawling Live show. [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, witnesses an unexpected demise. [music] As he tenderly prodded his fat lip, the young private seemed to find some relief in his admission. Fitz knew you were a duck in him, right enough, so he sent a chum on mine, Patrick, to sit and play bully. Patty could have done me the favor of not sprinting immediately away at the sight of you, but he's never been much good at maintaining a lie, with that broad open face of his. Anyhow, you thought you were being smart by getting out and about, but that's exactly what Captain Fitz he wanted. Your hands he french-shay, amongst others, were quick enough to gossip, so it was easy to quietly gather your doings from a mutually friendly third party. The lads spit on the floor, then, a mixture of mucus and blood. Word along the chain says that Fitz isn't quite right these days, that he works harder than ever, but never sleeps. It seems most often moody and distracted. In truth, it is his worsening condition, as much as the implications of our recent journey that drive me to divulge such information to you. I'm just a mudstomper, and don't much know what happens above my head, but Pat and I grew up trading each other's farm chores, and he gave me a look at the loot he was lifting from your room. I cannot guess half their infernal functions, but you ought not hide things under the floorboards. You mustn't have had any sisters with diaries when you were we, but any 12-year-old girl would have sussed your stash in a nance wink. Blackhall, having returned to his position by the rented room's door, frowned, but did not interrupt the boy's narration. It was your trinkets, you see. Fitz became aware you were prone to leaving them behind during your meanderens, so the longer off, they better to look over your toys. He has few favorites, he does, that dagger you are especially. Thomas cringed at the thought. He'd considered concealing the tools and talismans a calculated risk, as he knew little of the powers within the items he'd collected after the death of the Airmite. He had had no interest in suddenly facing off against an accidentally summoned gin, while occupied with the business of remaining alive in the Wildwood during an upper Canadian winter. Worse, the nature of his latest excursion had forced him to leave not only the stranger trinkets, but also the items he had practiced with for many years. For fear that the beast he and Shay had faced down might turn his own charms against him. When he was sure the recital was complete, Thomas asked, "Where am I most likely to find Fitz here at this hour?" "At dusk?" "In his office, like is anywhere," replied the lad. "I'm inkling enough of your business to know I've no want to hang about." "Well... well, I do believe the captain had the best of intentions in invading your chamber." Black Allowed himself a small nod. "Perhaps, but it seems all too often that our man Fitzhugh thinks he's more clever than he ought." Fortunately, there remains hope that he had not laid hands on all of my goods. While Thomas' mind wandered towards the local tannery, the youth but shrugged. "I've told you the truth now," he said. "So I'll thank you to release me without any further violence from your crippled yet high-strung companion." "I ask only that you make no mention of the sources of your information, and that you take your infernal gear and head back into the woods which delivered you." Leslie Shay, who had been watching the scene from behind lidded eyes, simmered at the comments regarding his temper and physical disposition. "Doesn't here you flip-cur? I'll happily give your pilfer and superior the same taste of the palm I gave you." "Right, have you two?" his rant was cut short by a sudden opportunity to carry out his claims, as the entry was forced wide, and Haggard Fitzhugh rushed the room. The captain was clad in a pair of civilian trousers and a loosely fastened coat, but it was the empty blaze of his pupils, which most caught Thomas' attention. Though Black Allowed was closest to the threshold, swinging door had thrown him off balance, and it was the unstable Shay who first came into arm's length. "Ooh, so windy as those two!" was as far as the intruder was allowed, before Wesley returned the favour of the interruption. It was a stinging slap, though far from disabling. The soldier did not take well to the insult, and motioned as if to draw a blade from his hip. Fitzhugh appeared surprised, however, when he discovered the weapon lacking. Instead, he squared his shoulder and tackled the fingerless man. The pair fell to the floor with a terrible momentum, and their limbs took to the furious process of seeking purchase within each other's defences. The struggle was frenzied, but even as Thomas moved to intervene, Shay laid both his ragged hands upon his attacker's collar and forced himself free of the melee. Attempting to pursue his quarry, the military officer endeavoured to retake his feet, but beneath his now gaping jacket, it was apparent his simple cotton shirt was greased with blood. "Damn nation!" said Fitzhugh. Then, with a quiet gasp, he fell dead. Flashpulp is presented by Flashpulp.com, and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons' attribution non-commercial 2.5 licence. Texts 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 stumbling. Here is the shadows I live with are stumbling. (upbeat music)