Deadman

It was easy to tell when you were getting close to the seat of the Iron Horde. The air begins to taste more like smog, and the rumbling of engines becomes more and more frequent. Patrols began passing us as we continued along the road to Fette. We were mostly ignored, undertaker business was sanctioned by the Khan himself after all. Those times when I had the reins of the wagon, I tried to keep track of what types of convoys were coming and going. I noted the usual influx of young men and women, likely those with jobs like soldier and cop, along with more heavily guarded convoys with those I assumed were mechanics. Choosing those jobs was the quickest way into the Khan’s service, but that service was not optional. I’d seen more than a few mechanics drawn and quartered for trying to stay in the settlements they’d be born in. That was the way of the horde. You do what you’re supposed to, pay tribute and follow the laws, and you were pretty much left to your own devices. Break those laws though, and the punishment would be swift and unforgiving.

I’d heard that the STARS to the west were different. They had a hand in every settlement, and managed every aspect of their people that they could. I wasn’t sure I cared much for that either.

By late afternoon, Fette came into sight. Aside from Pott’s, this was the only settlement I’d ever seen that could actually be called a city. Old shattered buildings had been covered with tarps to make them usable again, and those tarps were decorated with intricate patterns that were painted in oil. Massive metal buildings had been erected to be used as forges and smelters, all dedicated to keeping the horde’s vehicles running. Next to them were garages and fuel stations. Between the stations ran tubes that had been filled with oil, pumped from their drilling station, the source of their strength. Men and women covered in tattoos of gears and flames and wearing thick leather walked around the streets patrolling, and other men and women, with lugnuts for earrings, and screws in their noses, carried fuel and tools to and from the different production buildings.

Our wagons rode directly toward the center of the city. No group could go about their business until they’d presented themselves to the Khan. He lived in the center of all that production, in the only building that wasn’t built atop a ruin. It was a massive structure of steel, roofed in leather, and covered with decorations of all kinds. Men wearing thick metal and decorated with both the tattoos of the guards and the screws and bolts of the workmen, stood guard at the entrance, which was wide enough for multiple trucks to pass through.We rode our wagons directly inside. Deux needed to coax the horse a little bit, the smog was bothering him, but a small bribe of meat helped to coax him through.

The inside of the building was almost like a miniature version of the outside. There was a fueling station, a small fleet of vehicles, and a workshop. Though these were all better appointed and maintained than the ones outside had been. In the center of the building, through all the other work, was a podium with a massive table at which sat a man, and roughly a dozen women.

The man was massive, taller even than me, and covered in thick muscle. He had a well trimmed beard that was broken up by a scar that ran from the middle of his chin up across the side of his face in a wicked curve. He was eating and drinking while a woman read from a stack of papers. After she finished reading a document, he would gesture left or right, and she would sort the papers into different piles.

We pulled up our wagons and all. Everyone but the caretakers filed out. A few Undertakers stayed with the horses, a few more gathered the bikes we’d retrieved from the raiders, and Deux, myself, and the rest, went and stood before the Khan.

He didn’t acknowledge us for quite some time. Instead, focusing on his food and the documents being read to him. Eventually his eyes drifted to us, our wagons, and finally the bikes. He stood abruptly, lifting a cloth to wipe his face, and holding up a hand to stop the woman who was reading.

He leapt down from the podium and approached the bikes directly. Deux said nothing, instead staying still, so I followed his example. The Khan examined the bikes closely, eventually actually turning one on and revving it. He looked over all of us.

“Where did you get these?” he asked. His voice was booming, and easily carried over the maintenance being done.

Now that we’d been addressed, Deux spoke. “We were attacked by raiders riding these. We’d hoped to treat it as tribute to you.”

“Raiders…” he ran his finger along his scar. “These were originally a part of the horde. One of the lesser warriors stole them. Have all the raiders been killed?”

Deux nodded.

“Good. But this is not a tribute. They were mine, and now are returned to me. What else do you offer?”

I squeezed my hands into a fist, and was grateful my scowl was hidden under my bandana.

Deux however, didn’t miss a beat. “Of course.” He gestured and a few of the deadmen that had brought the bikes went back in and returned with boxes full of a number of different items. Food, electronics, processed cloth, and other sundries. Things that had been made in Pott’s or traded for along the way here.

The Khan looked at them and grunted approvingly, gesturing at the table of women. Several of them left, and I could hear conversation behind the podium where they’d gone. The Khan himself leapt back onto it, and started to go back toward his food.

I stepped forward, about to introduce myself, when a woman approached the Khan and whispered in his ear for a long time. He stopped, and turned, looking directly at me.

“You,” he said, pointing. “Step forward.”

I took another step toward him.

He looked me up and down, sizing me up. “Remove your face coverings.”

I hesitated, but complied, pulling down the bandana and goggles from my face. The Khan’s expression didn’t shift..

“My wife tells me you match the description of someone who's been causing trouble on the fringes of my territory.”

I looked him in the eyes. “Sounds like me.”

“She tells me this man, a courier, killed more than thirty raiders near Boon and freed their slaves. She also mentions a similar man, a marshall, who killed the mayor of Kind.”

“Same man,” I said.

“A deadman marshall… strange.”

“I’m as surprised as you.”

He let out a barking laugh. “I don’t like any law in my territory other than my own.”

I took off my hat. “That’s why I’m here. To present myself, and make sure I’m doing my job properly.”

“Hmmm. You will stay. The rest of the undertakers may leave.” He snapped his fingers and a number of carts were moved into the room, pushed by women I’d just seen at the table with the Khan. Inside the carts were baby deadmen. All of them seemed well fed and cared for, I counted almost a dozen. The Khan pointed at two of them.“Two of those are mine. Raise them strong.”

Deux nodded at the Khan and as the babies were loaded up he walked over to me. “Good luck. Don’t offend him. We always pick up quite a few of the newly dead from Fette, and they’re always well taken care of.”

“Does he always have two of his own in the mix?”

Deux nodded. “Sometimes more. I think that’s why he’s always dealt with us so fairly.” He clasped me on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself. Return to Pott’s sometime. I can’t cover for you forever.”

I nodded to him, and he smiled and climbed back onto his wagon. Once they were fully loaded up, they went on their way. I saw Rhea peek out of the back of the last wagon, holding one of the young. She gave me a little wave, which I found myself returning in spite of myself.

I returned my attention to the table. The Khan and his women were all seated at it once again. Looking at the women again I noticed that they were all what normal humans would consider attractive, though each of them in a different way. The Khan himself was picking at his teeth with a chipped piece of bone. “So, a courier and a marshall?”

“Yes.”

“I’m giving you a job.”

I noted that he said, giving, and not, offering, this was not optional. I just nodded.

“I’ve lost more than twenty men recently. Men patrolling along the black woods.”

“Why?” I asked. The entirety of the black woods was a deadzone. No one who entered it ever left. I hadn’t explored it myself, but by all accounts even the outskirts of it were incredibly dangerous.

“The why is not important. You will travel there under guard, and then you will determine exactly what happened to them. Bringing any who survive back to report to me.”

I had an answer already. They were almost certainly dead.

“Do this, and I will grant you authority to act within my territory. Refuse, and I will have you quartered for the trouble you’ve caused me.”

“I accept.” This was probably the easiest decision I’d had to make in a long time.