Mad Ben Crowley And The Strider

Chapter 10

I walk briskly through the echoing hall, following the captain as closely as I can. A pair of soldiers walk on either side of me, and have been since we arrived at the large manor. The place seems to have more guards than the Tower of London, and not for the first time I wonder if I am being rewarded, or imprisoned.
"Stay here, I will be but a moment," the captain instructs me, and walks inside a room, closing the door behind him. I stand in that hallway for a half an hour, waiting on pins and needles while the two guards stare me down. Suddenly, the door opens, and the captain walks out.
"Well then, I will be on my way," he says, and begins to walk out. I stare after him in shock.
"Wait, captain sir!" I yell after him, "what is happening?" I could not believe he would leave me like this. I do not know the captain, but at least his face is familiar. He waves at me without even bothering to turn around.
"Honestly I do not know sailor," he says, "such things are kept from me." Then the guards push me forward into the room and shut the door, locking it behind me.
"Are you Harvey Anderson?" A steely voice asks behind me. I gulp nervously and turn around. It is a small room, a study of sorts. At the other end a man sits at a desk, a book open in front of him. He is tall and powerfully built, but appears to be past his prime. The tips of his black hair are tinged with silver, and his face is just beginning to show its age. But his eyes are like nothing I had ever seen, they glint with a certain cunningness and power. I note the pistol laying on his desk, pointed in my direction and easily within his reach.
"Yes, that's me," I say quietly. He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, and I sit down nervously. We sit in silence for a long while, and I can feel his eyes looking me over, striping me down and seeing who I really am.
"You're scrawny, but I can fix that," he mutters, and I am taken completely off guard by his comment.
"I beg your pardon?" I say. He ignores me, and continues his analysis.
"I heard about what you did," he says finally, "and quite frankly, I was impressed. There are few men who can do what you did, and you did it with very little training."
"Where is all of this going?" I interrupt. He smiles.
"Straight to the point, I like that," he says, "but if you interrupt me again, I'll have you flogged. Understood?" I gulp nervously, and nod my head.
"Good. Now, where am I going with this? Well to put it plain, I am the leader of a small team, with a particular set of skills. These are talented men, deadly men. And I would like you to join it." I just stare at him, not believing what I am hearing.
"You want me to... What?" I say.
"This team is an elite unit," he continues, again ignoring me, "sent by the king himself on assignments of great importance. I have been gathering soldiers for a great while now, but I have been unable to find a final man. You will require training of course, extensive training. It will not be easy, it will be dangerous and deadly. But you will be doing a great service for your country, and it doesn't pay bad either." My ears perk up at the mention of money.
"How much money?" I ask. He shrugs.
"Enough for you to never want again," he says simply.
"And this training you mentioned," I say, "when I am done, will I be a real soldier?"
"The ultimate fighting machine," he affirms.
"Will I be stronger? Strong enough to protect the people I care about?" I demand.
"If that is what you wish," he answers warily, looking at me differently, as if he had missed something in his analysis, "you will be powerful enough to do what ever you want." I think for only a moment, before nodding my head.
"When do I start?" I ask.
"Right now," he says, and leads me away. I follow him through the manor and out to a court yard. Scattered around is every weapon imaginable. Targets line the far side, riddled with musket ball holes and long slashes from swords. Several racks of guns lean against the wall, and next to them is what seems to be enough shot and powder to win a war. Past that, all types of swords and daggers lay, just waiting to be used. In the center of the yard, three men practice.
"Soldiers, fall in!" My new commander yells. They immediately stop what they're doing and get into a line in front of us.
"This is your team recruit, know them well, as this in your new family," he instructs me.
"He looks pretty scrawny to me," the larger one at the end mutters.
"We'll sort that out," the commander says, then looks back at me, "First, let me introduce you to our little squad. The one in the glasses, that's Doc. He is our weapons expert, has more experience in the art of metallography than anyone else in England. Then there's Hunter, expert marksman. He could take your hat off at a hundred yards with a pistol."
"That's an exaggeration to be sure," Hunter says, "but not by much."
"And what about him?" I ask, pointing to the larger man at the end, lazily twirling a dagger between his fingers.
"My name is Thorn," he says, "I'm good with daggers and poisons. That's all you need to know. And what is it that they call you recruit?"
"Harvey," I say, "Harvey Anderson."
"Not any more," Hunter says, "a name is a powerful thing. When you become one of us, you are not the same man you used to be. Harvey Anderson is dead, do you understand? That is not you."
"Then who am I?" I ask. They seem to consider it for a moment.
"Well, you sure walk fast," Doc comments, "noticed that when you came in."
"Perfect," Hunter says, "we'll call you walker."
"Nah, that's to general, doesn't mean anything," Thorn says, and ponders for a moment before snapping his fingers, "I got it! We'll call him the Strider."
"Alright, Strider it is," the commander says, "Thorn, get him a sword, he's supposed to be a master already. See what he knows."
"Yes sir," Thorn replies, and leaves. The commander also goes to leave, but I stop him.
"Wait, commander sir," I say, "what do I call you?" He pauses, then replies without turning his head.
"You can call me Fox," he says, then goes back inside, leaving me to my training.

"So what is it that you've gotten yourself into?" Martha asks again. It has been three months since joining the team, three months of hard training. But my work is showing, and I am in better shape than I had been my entire life. I am stronger, faster, and a master swordsman. Through my work, I can now wield a blade as if I had been training with in since birth, I am a natural, and can defeat anyone on the team with a blade. I've also become a decent marksman thanks to Hunter, though am not nearly as accurate as him, and carry a pair of pistols as well. Thorn taught me to throw a knife, which I keep in my boot, and Doc has provided me several smoke bombs that I keep in a small satchel I carry with me. Taken together, even Martha can scarcely recognize me.
"It's an elite team, sent by the king himself. I'm a real soldier now Martha, a real hero! And best of all, I'm being paid. And not just a few shillings here and there, I'm earning hard gold, real money Martha! In time, I'll be able to get you out of these slums, and into a real home!"
"How much time?" She asks quietly. I'm struck by her tone, the hint of sadness in her voice.
"A year I reckon, two at the most," I say, "Martha, what is it? I thought you would be happy."
"Harvey, I'm happy when I'm with you," she tells me, "and now, not only have I learned you will be gone even longer, but you're going right into the heat of battle! It's dangerous Harvey! All the money in the world can't help me if I lose you." Suddenly she begins to sob, and leans into my shoulder. I take her in my arms and stroke her hair reassuringly.
"Martha dear, it's don't cry. I'll be safe, I promise. And I'll only be gone a year, and then I'll come back home to you, safe and sound." Martha regains her composure, and looks up at me with her beautiful eyes.
"Do you swear it?" She asks. I smile down at her.
"I swear it," I say, "I will come back to you. I always will."