Barron awoke slowly and was promptly greeted by a wave of stabbing pain. It took his vision a few more seconds to begin to also wake up, and even when his eyesight did eventually return, it seemed to him like he was looking at the world around him through a puddle of wavy, bloody water. Barron groaned under the weight of the agony and he tried to gain his bearings.
“Earl! Earl! Ah think e’s wakin’ up!” said a gruff voice, laden with a thick lower-Manean accent, a dialect that sounds like one trying to speak with a mouth full of cotton. “Tough bastard,” the voice continued in a quieter tone. “Would’a been better ef yew’d stayed dead.” There was a note of sympathy in the voice. Barron’s vision finally found a focal point, and he found himself staring into the elderly, age-scarred face of Hinryck the Physicker, who returned his gaze and held Barron still with a stern, but gentle, hand to his chest.
Then the memories of the past day…Had it only been a day? Days? How long had he been out?...rushed back to him. Barron tried to sit up suddenly; an act that was met with an explosion of agony and cracking sounds, as broken ribs and bones shifted painfully under the stress of the movement. His vision dissolved into a kaleidoscope of blacks and reds and he flopped back down to the ground, as he fought off the urge to give in to the charismatic darkness; darkness that beckoned seductively to him, filling him with the tantalizing promise of freedom from the pain that ravaged every inch of his body.
“Well, well, well. I weren’t sure you was gunna make it, ol’ chum,” came a smooth, deep voice from somewhere up above him. “Ye just dun know when ta quit, do ya?” Earl’s voice served as an immediate remedy for Barron, and the aches and pains that ravaged his body were instantly washed away and replaced by a wave of fiery rage. Barron’s right arm lashed out and grabbed poor Hinryck by the throat and squeezed, and the aged physicker gasped in surprise and pain. While he choked the old man, Barron’s left arm grasped about wildly for something…anything…that could be used as a weapon with which to fight his way free. He at last latched on to the physicker’s medicine bag and hurled it forward as hard as he could into the side of the old man’s face. The bag connected soundly with the Hinryck’s brow, the force of the blow knocking the aged man off of him and sent the contents of the bag scattering wildly throughout the room.
Barron lurched to his feet, fighting through an explosion of pain that threatened to hurl him back into the waiting arms of darkness. He whirled around and tried to find the target of his rage and found Earl standing there, a few feet in front of him with a wry and impressed smile. He was flanked by a half dozen of his men, all dressed in their trademark blue and gold pinstripes; many sporting fresh bandages and bruises from the altercation that had brought them here to this point.
Undeterred by their numbers, Barron lunged at his former friend in a blind rage, forcing Earl to step back while two of the Dapper Jacks moved in to intercept his charge. Barron caught one – his name was Gallard, he thought idly in the moment – with a surprise left hook which forced the man to stagger back a couple of steps. Barron grinned in primal fury and tried to press to on to his main quarry, but the second Jack nimbly dove in and kicked his knee out from under him, sending Barron crashing painfully back onto the hard stone cobbles.
The rest of the Jacks were then on him in a moment and shortly had him kneeling in front of their boss, two on each of his arms and one standing behind him with an arm encircled tightly around his throat.
Earl’s smile widened as he slowly approached. “What did ol’ Hinryck ever do to you to deserve that? He was always quick and happy ta stitch ya up,” he said, looking down at the old physicker, who was only now beginning to stir. Earl turned his attention back to Barron, “I warned ya that temper of yers was gunna getya into trouble.” Earl knelt down so that he was nearly face to face with his former friend, who strained futilely against his restraints. “I always looked atcha like ya was a dog: good, loyal, dependable…tough – but a little on the slow and simple side, like any good mutt.” Earl put one hand on Barron’s cheek, prompting Barron to try to move to bite at it; but a sudden contraction by the arm around his neck held him still. Earl stared at Barron intently for a moment and continued, “And like a dog, when he bites ya, ya gotta beat it outta him. Or…ya gotta put him down.”
Earl then slowly stood up an beheld his former friend in deliberation for a moment. “No, I think we are gunna have to train ya…we have too much history ta just put ya in the ground.” Earl then slowly and deliberately opened his longcoat and pulled out a pair of dull metal hammers, admiring their heft and balance with feigned dispassion. “Now, I can tell ya, this is gunna hurt; but then, all good lessons do. Hold ‘im tight, boys, we gotta beat the bite outta this ‘ere dog…”