The Last Philosopher

The Merrywither gaff

As Earl rode up along the tall hemp-field on the slope below the Merrywither gaff. Nelson was dragging his feet coming over from the other side of the dirt-road. Where some of the goats were grazing. The animals were a common sight since they ate even the hunger grass that no other creature would touch. Approaching him, the farmer forced a smile. Earl'd spent a lot of time frowning at the burly man over the years, more than he deserved.

"Marshal," Nelson said giving him a curt nod

"Nelson." He returned the greeting.

"It's a grand day for dryin', ya out for a gander?"

"I wish, I need to speak to you and your boys. They close by?"

"Whatever it's about, I'm sure they ain't done nuthin' marshal, they're gud boys, really they are."

Nelson was a decent man, perhaps even a good one. Still, he could never bring himself to see his brood for the menace they were. His seven lads were accomplished mischief-makers. It'd gotten some of them into more than their fair share of trouble over the years.

Especially the eldest, Sam, had a real mean streak. Earl reckoned the non-gentleman farmer had buried the idea of his oldest son's nastiness. Now so well hidden, Nelson wouldn't have been able to find the idea even with map with a big mean red dot. But he kept his face neutral, not betraying what he thought. Even so, he'd have to keep an eye on the Merrywither boys during this hunt.

"Don't worry Nelson, I'm not here about anything they've done." The farmers husky body relaxed a bit. "I'm here to ask for help on a manhunt."

"Well then marshal, I'm sure we can 'elp ya there. As I said, they're gud lads. They're helpin' the neighbour round up some runaway goats, ba they shud be back soon. Is about lunchtime. Mi boys ain't much for missin' a meal, ya know."

"Sounds good, but they might have to eat on horseback. I'll need them to ride out to the nearby farms and get everyone over here."

Nelson was about to object, but Earl got there first. "I know it's short notice, but I meant to be here sooner."

As they were speaking, Earl had pulled out Rascal's rock from his saddlebag. As he threw it into the air in a high arc, the dog's short legs took of running and caught it with a teeth-crushing clonk. A few of the smarter goats started bleating. And Nelson, whose eyes had followed the stone, took a few guarded steps back.

"Yeah-no, tha' sounds serious marshal. Ya better come up to the old gaff an' we can talk. Wat's the problem anyway?"

They headed up the famine road, as Agalians liked to call the road up to a farm house full of food.

"It's about that string of thefts that's been going on lately, I reckon Fenmark is where the next one'll take place, could be as soon as tonight."

"Ya mean the p-word," the big man whispered.

"Come on now Nelson, I thought you were a sensible man? You know better than to listen to rumours."

Nelson must've heard he shouldn't listen to rumours, but the rules about spreading rumours in Agalian custom were a lot fuzzier. Earl's neighbours were mostly good people. Even so, he was often disappointed by their plain lack of sense. East of the Vargreeks, where he came from, their reputation was sketchy at best.

"Hm, maybe ya're right marshal."

Updated: 06.11.2023