Before: Marie Thibodeaux

2: LE CHAMP DU POIS (2)

It had initially been harrowing enough, before, back when she was detained by the guards; even now, with that no longer a consideration, this was still a distressing assignment.

Pepe needed to be found: El Pepe, specifically, Diego “Pepe” Llulla, the greatest duelist in what was now a quite feudal Orleans parish. A Spaniard by birth, Pepe had grown up in the territory, and was, initially, a respected member of les aristocraties. Eventually finding himself expelled from the companies of the upper crust, Llulla then found himself to be something of a target. El Pepe’s consummate skills with steel blade had prevailed in duel after duel, his striking ebony hair framing the glare of his gaze. And when the bodies began to pile up in the wake of his many successes, he found himself sentenced to Le Champ Du Pois, this very place where Marie now sought him: her next successes relied upon his recovery.

She rounded the corner to a common area, more atrium than chamber, where a few pathetic souls still remained, largely forgotten. If they saw her, they took little notice, lost in madness either legitimate or circumstantial. So when she traversed from end to end without incident, it shouldn’t have surprised anyone.

Perhaps this time the search would be entirely uneventful? Marie rejected allowing herself such optimism.

Next was the galley: rotten, dead things hung out to dry way too long ago framed the entrance, and those that had been there even longer and dropped from their suspension listed acridly in the corners of the chamber. Crude tables and benches lined the floors, forming odd aisles. The aisles were further bisected by a trail through debris and ruin where monitors had plied their vocational cruelty, back and forth during the sad meals conducted there. It was now late in the day, and hours since the last shift, and hours before the next. Still, an afterstench of evilremained, which ordinarily would have reminded Marie to keep alert; however, in the wake of Selina’s…departure…it was beginning to dissipate. She noticed steps along the far wall of the chamber, leading to an exit. Ascending them, she took one final look, noticing movement in the shadows not far from where she had just stood, back at the hall’s entrance.

She had been followed, and not especially skillfully.

The game evidently still afoot, at the top of the stairs she turned a corner and found herself in the surgical gallery.

Perfect.

The room lent itself well to dealing with whatever it was that whoever was following her might have been planning. Given the later hour, it was darkened and empty, and as Marie entered, she found she was standing on the top floor of a colosseum-style“arena.” Rings of spectator seating also served as steps that down to a platformed surgical gurney. It was surrounded by crude, misshapen, rusted apparatus of assorted sizes, unified only by their inherent sadism. Stepping away from the threshold and into the chamber, Marie felt the stone underneath her give way, lightly, cracking and crumbling despite her slight frame exerting minute pressure. It might have seemed to be a solid foundation, but looks were, as always, deceiving.

She heard steps behind her. Whoever was trailing her had nearly made their way here.

She would be waiting.

When the doors swung open and her pursuer stepped forward, Marie was nowhere to be found. Capistrano was certain she had led him here; where could she be? He ran a grubby hand through unwashed, slimy, hair and surveyed the chamber. He was confident she had to be here, just as confident as he was that she would lead him from the Farm.

Perhaps she is down, in amongst the staging area? He took a step forward, and down one of the steps. As he did, it collapsed. Capistrano tumbled downward with a yelp, as deteriorated stone surrounded him in gravel, dust, and other, enormous blocks. Trapped under all the heaviness, he nervously sought out a leverage point, some way to push the sarsen away so that he could slip out. It was not an insignificant consideration: despite his frame’s diminutive height, he carried significant girth, particularly in areas that would be most sensitive when squeezing out from under the stones’ tonnage. This was additionally complicated by a running clock: the longer he struggled with this, the further away that hooded creature could go.

Despite many prolonged struggles, it eventually proved to be futile: Capistrano was most definitely stuck.

“M’sieur,” a female voice called from the darkness in front of him. “Perhaps you are in need of assistance?”

Before Capistrano could respond, there were clicking noises, and a seafoam-green hue filled the air around him. Within itwere carried the many bladed, dirty, rusted surgical implements that had been housed lower, near the platform. They now surrounded him, pointing towards him at all angles, where there appeared to be points.

“You will now identify yourself, why you have followed me, and why I shouldn’t leave you here to a pitiful death,” she said.

Capistrano’s nervousness now gave way to full panic.

“Oh please do not leave Capistrano here,” he pled. His voice had a nasal, natural wheeze to it. “We meant no harm, we only intended to follow you.”

That voice was definitely antagonizing.

“Capistrano cannot remain here, in this evil place,” he continued. “We are not meant to farm peas, or to perform…experiments.

“Take Capistrano with you,” he closed, finally. “We beg you.”

There was no movement within the darkness, and also no sound.

“Hello?” Capistrano called out, frantic.

“I am unsure you answered all of my questions,” she replied. “Again, why wouldn’t I leave you here? You most obviously cost me time and now effort.”

“Capistrano can guide you,” Capistrano answered, his voice still rife with alarm. “We have been here many years, and we know the way.

“We also have many other talents!”

There was laughter in the shadows.

“Indeed,” the female voice said. “’Talents.’ Such as..?”

“We are an excellent guide, renowned throughout The Farm for our sense of direction,” he began. “We move with the grace of the swallow, and we speak many languages, so should you encounter a foreign tongue, we can interpret! And, we are…lucky! Yes, lucky!”

“Your present, graceful, situation notwithstanding,” she observed.

“We are trapped, yes,” Capistrano replied. “But we fell not far from where you are, you who can help to free us.”

There was another brief pause.

“You do seem to possess some…cleverness,” she admitted. “You may prove to be useful.”

The surgical tools lowered, and then faded from view, all save for what appeared to be a crude scalpel: it sped directly at Capistrano’s throat, stopping just in front of it.

“But have a care not to cross, or delay, me,” she cautioned.

“No, madam, Capistrano is here to help,” he replied, as cheerfully as he could muster.

With that, the green energy reduced the rubble to sand, and another mighty, unnatural wind swept it away, and to the back of the room.

“Follow along if you must,” she sighed, stepping from the shadows. It was then they saw each other: Marie was tall, hooded, guarded. He was her opposite, disgusting and pock-marked.

Capistrano stood himself up, and began to slap residue away from filthy, tatty clothing.

“There is no time for that,” Marie admonished. “Someone is certain to have heard your fall.”

She turned to leave.

“By your command,” he wheezed, still feeling the effects of his imprisonment.

Their accord struck, the two made their way from the bottom of the gallery to the doors connecting it to the lower floors of the asylum. Once through them, they saw that the next area contained the stockades. Like most of the chambers here, it was dank, damp, miserable. Sickly lighting from meager gas lamps listed across stooped, stone archways; which in turn made low ceilings appear to be even lower. Convenient, given the numerous pillories’ clearance and occupants: several inmates were incarcerated here, appearing to sleep in place where they “stood.” That, or they were possibly unconscious, likely beaten senseless by now-off-duty guards before end-of-shift.

Marie turned to her guide with a disapproving glare buried deep within her robe’s hood.

“When will the next sentry return to this post?”

“Many apologies, my lady,” he protested. “But I have not been to this area of the Farm.”

“Some guide,” she spat. “Perhaps I should leave you here, but as I found you.”

Capistrano laughed.

“My lady is quite jocular.”

Marie continued her glare, but also continued her march with Capistrano in tow. She didn’t seem to notice his lingering gaze towards the pillories, where his look met with that of several of his fellow inpatients, who returned his glances from behind heavily-squinted eyes. Nearly imperceptible nods were exchanged, and the two exited.

Another long, dim corridor led to still another door which led them, oddly, outside, to the yards. Imposing stone walls were covered in moss, keeping intruders out, and inpatients down, It was here that the work assignments were made, and, handily, enforced, given its proximity to the Stockades. La Luisiana mud coated the entirety of the grounds, and Marie and Capistrano stepped prudently.

“Where is the guard,” Marie whispered, pausing. “We are nearly to the gates, here.”

“Listen, ma’am,” he replied.

A moment later and an awful rumble filled the grounds, echoing across the structure’s footings. A cross between a great beast drowning and the thunder of severe weather signaled the apnea, and slumber, of the guard in question; Marie need not have worried.    

They resumed their advance.

Immediately adjacent to the yards were, logically, the stables.Numerous stalls lined both sides of this section of the structure, with varying occupancy. The horses and other livestock present varied in size and constitution. Marie slowed her gait to survey her surroundings. Quickly, she turned to her companion.

“Wait here,” she told Capistrano. “We’ll need three horses. Two if you further disappoint me.”

Off the stables and yards was a door that was double bolted and swing-shackled, and clearly designed to keep whatever was on the other side of it, on the other side of it.

The cells.

From his station still well inside the stalls, Capistrano could only just make it out that Marie produced some kind of artifact from within her robes, and started to jerkily wave it generally in front of the catches. Had he been closer, he would have found the accompanying clicking sound to be distracting, and in his annoyance, would have been even more surprised when the latches hooked and the door, also jerkily, lurched open.

She stepped through it, and was immediately out of Capistrano’s sight.    

The cells were nearly all full due to the late hour. The passageway bisecting one series of bars from the other was rife with the sounds of pitiful attempts at sleep interrupted by the screams of madness and the cries of the infirmed. Between the faintness of the light and the distraction of the noise, it took Marie longer than she wanted to find the objective of her search.

As it was, it was nearly at the end of the cellblock.  Finally seizing upon her intention for all of this, she paused a moment to survey what lie within: a blank figure hunched over in the darkness, sitting on the floor with his heels to his thighs, his elbows resting on his arched knees, his head in his hands. Matted, albeit striking, ebony hair wisped in and out between his fingers. He wasn’t asleep, and he definitely was not at peace. But if he noticed the robed figure studying him in front of his cell, he did not acknowledge it; so she decided to for them both.  

“Swordsman,” Marie said. “El Pepe. I have traveled far north for an introduction.”

He said nothing. With a wave of her hand the barred door snapped from its hinges, its crash reducing it to scrap as it landed, and reverberated throughout the corridor. El Pepe’s collegial inpatients were all now awake with the ruckus. Ignoring them, Marie took a step into the doorway of the cell.

“Diego Llulla,” she called to him again. “We have been looking for you, for your return. We need you back in OrleansNouvelle.”

“Then your search was in vain,” Pepe said. “I will not leave this place.”

This surprised Marie, who said nothing, prompting him to continue.   ​

“The…witch…who runs things here?” he resumed. “She has placed a curse upon me.”

“A curse?” Marie probed. “Tell me of it.”

“I cannot lose,” Llulla replied. “I was good before, but now I am unbeatable, forever.”

“I do not understand how that can be such a bad thing for such a gifted swordsman as yourself,” she continued to question.

“No, you do not,” he said. “To never lose a dual is to never know death. This hex is a sentence, one where I must perpetually fight, must be perpetually vigilant, ever at the ready for the next conflict. For the conflicts will ever come, and I will forever answer. Never to know the relief of a final battle.”

Llullla sank lower into where he was seated on the floor.

“I am exhausted already,” he said. “Still more tired at the thought of what certainly lies ahead.

“At least here, in this cell, the opportunities for combat become somewhat, reduced.”

Marie thought for a moment.

“Even the final battle, with death itself,” she observed, aloud.

“Si,” he replied. “Even then. I am not to lose, not ever.”

She was quiet again, deciding to keep her information concerning the warden witch to herself. Eventually, she continued.

“What if I tell you I can lift this…curse?” she asked him.

With that, Pepe’s head cocked, slightly.

“You could do this?”

Marie nodded, affirmative.

Llulla began to pick himself up from the floor when he stopped as quickly as he started, and then situated against the wall as before.

“What would you want in return,” he said. “If you can even do it, if your magick can even approach that of the Warden, here.”

“Oui,” Marie said, and then smiled. “As with all things, there is a price. But I do not think you’ll find this one too dear. Non, I suspect you will quite enjoy its repayment.”

Pepe looked at her, incredulously.

“Do not think of it now,” she dismissed. “I will not be lifting the curse until you have assisted me with several chores I need performed.”

“Chores,” Llulla was intrigued.

“Oui,” she repeated. “Something like discarding some refuse.

“And,” she shot him a look. “It is garbage you will definitely recognize.”

“I do not underst,” Llulla began, but was interrupted.

Outside the cell, blocking what little light there was, stood Capistrano; at least, what appeared to be him. He had changed: he was now larger, and despite retaining his misshapen proportions, he had become…more. More grotesque, more disgusting. Grimy hair was now longer, and more soiled. Grubby hands now sported long, jagged, dirty nails. More sores and more cysts seeped through ragged clothing rent by the transformation. His lower incisors now extended out past his mouth, resting just short of his orbital bone, where slime glistened below what were now feline eyes.

A madness permeated throughout all of the features.

“You were going to leave us,” he cried, his voice, still obnoxious, but now a growl in timber. “We will not be left here in this place.

Marie was not impressed.

“Again,” she said. “’We.’”

“Yes, ‘my lady,’” he sneered in response, as he half-nodded towards his shoulder, daring her to look past him. “We.”

He’d brought friends.

Marie recognized the figures behind him as those they had passed when crossing in front of the pillories. One of the figures wore the tattered remains of an officer’s uniform, likely the source of the otherworldly snoring long minutes ago. And they all shared a bestial foulness, similar to Capistrano.

Marie and Llulla were clearly outnumbered. Realistically, she had no way to gauge whether Pepe was going to be any help to her: even if he was convinced he should join the battle at her side, given his shattered state, what good could he be? Even with him whole, he was still without his blade.

Her ruminations were interrupted as they were upon her. They moved fast for large creatures, almost too much so. She barely had enough time to retrieve her totem from within her gowns. Immediately, she held the simple construct, two bones in an “X” or “cross” formation, bound together with black string. Raising it over her head, she…

No.

Capistrano had anticipated this, and intercepted her talisman.Knocking it to the floor, neither of them possessed it, which he took as his advantage.

“You will find, ‘my lady,’” he said, his voice now growling. “That we are no simple door.”

He had remembered what he had seen.

Marie’s eyes narrowed, and she indicated her totem where it rested out of her reach.

“If you think that was my key to success, or, yours,” she began, “you are gravely mistaken.

“Not that you will have much longer left to live in which to regret your miscalculation.”

She began to gesture, meaningfully, but was interrupted.

“Senora, duck!” Unnoticed to the number, and camouflaged by the shouting, Llulla had fashioned a dirk or bodkin from one of the cell door’s broken bars, and, brandishing it professionally, had launched himself at the fray.

Capistrano reacted quickly, and ducked as instructed.

“Capistrano does not lie,” he growled. “We told you we move as the swallows.”

His friends, unfortunately, did not, and Pepe put down two of them with the uninterrupted stroke. As he did, they were reduced to putrid gas, lingering hazily in the chamber.

Llulla, rising back to his feet quickly, called out to Marie.

“It appears the battle is on,” he said, gagging on the stench. “We should probably win it if we are to discuss these terms of repayment.”

She was a little annoyed at this, but only a little.

“I thought you can only win,” she said.

“Si,” he said. “But, you..?”

“Do not worry about me, swordsman,” she chided. “Or whatever you are with that thing.”

Capistrano, opportunistically, positioned himself for a return volley.  

“Stop distracting me,” Marie instructed. “I must concentrate.”

She again narrowed her gaze, and seafoam green, as before, began to ooze throughout the room, beginning with the ceiling and working its way down.

“You should do more than the parlor trickery of a lightshow,” admonished Capistrano. With a grunt, he reached for her throat, missing.

“Agreed,” she replied, and directly, the surgical implements that had surrounded him earlier did so again, fading back into view.

Capistrano’s voice immediately reverted back to the nasal wheeze that had annoyed her from the beginning.

“Please, madam, do not,” he began to plead.

He was cut short as the rusted, occasionally dull scalpels, saws, and other devices began to render him into a bloody, messyheap, unrecognizable, and in many piles. He, too, then became gaseous, and still more nauseating.

She bent over, finally retrieving her talisman.

“We’re leaving you here, alright,” she called out, towards fusty ceiling. “Your miscalculation was most grievous, indeed.”

She clutched the totem.

“My charm is no more responsible for my gifts than the spoon is for the delicious stew.”

The surgical instruments dropped to the ground in place, their duty complete. Turning to aid El Pepe, Marie saw that he had finished off the others, the cell now fetid with their stench.

“Senora,” Llulla began, with flourish. “What was all this?”

She smiled at him.

“The appetizer,” Marie said. “Come with me, the main course awaits. Our horses should still be available, and we have a long ride ahead of us tonight.”

The two made their way from the cell and its corridor, and the wails of the judged resonated, haunting, in their wake. As they stepped outside the gates, Marie casually dropped her hand to her side, and flinched towards where they had been. Unnatural winds swept through: they cleansed the high ceilings of thenoxious haze, and removed the many doors beneath, freeing the inpatients to pursue revised futures.