8: Striking the Match
8
STRIKING THE MATCH
Special thanks to
Codex
“Okay, champ, you need to settle down,” said Jackie impatiently. “Is this over the banana thing? I mean, seriously, that was ages ago. Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”
Tongs moved through the door of the cell at the back of the town gaol, swaying from side-to-side like a hot-cheeked lush. His horn glimmered and the metal door slammed shut.
“Naw, it’s just that I got a long list a’ names now,” he sneered, “an’ you’re the c-c-closest.” The deputy’s eyes looked sort of glazed over. The irises and pupils had merged into formless blobs of no real colour. The grin was like a Hearth’s Warming nutcracker. This mad caricature that had once been a unicorn made Jackie wince and step backwards. This was not just a silly face pulled to make ponies laugh. It was too sincere, which was a contradiction because that meant it was utterly devoid of empathy, compassion and mercy. It was honest-to-goodness, uncut, straight-up buggo.
Holy jumpin’ crud, Jackie thought, stepping further back as the monster lurched on. He’s outta his freakin’ gourd! His hoof clopped against the wall behind him. There was no more room to retreat into. It was a dead end, double-dipped in deep diarrhoea.
“Oh, criminy,” he said, which to Tongs’s ears sounded like the whimpering of a broken and terrified animal. Jackie was feeling incredibly nervous, true enough, but he was too proud to rely on begging for his life. Still, that did not rule out negotiations. “Let’s talk. The atmosphere’s kinda tense in here. How’s ’bout a game to lighten the mood? Hangpony? All we’d need’s a piece of chalk. Or what about I spy? You can start.”
“I ain’t g-g-gonna hurt ya, Nape,” Tongs stammered, his horn already charging up another spell.
Jackie wondered what he had said to prompt that particular response, and what the heck had happened to the deputy’s voice. It was like listening to one of those talking Smarty Pants dolls he had once seen on sale at the big toy shop in Manehatten and again at Harneleys, only somepony had taken a mallet to this one’s voice box.
“I’m g-g-gonna k-k-kill ya.”
Jackie felt the sudden rush of rising heat, and then a lightning bolt shot towards him. He yelled, darted to one side, and the interior of the cell exploded with light.
XXX
The sheriff offered Peacemaker a glass of something he called aqua vita, which the gun-pony accepted. Ramrod produced two glasses of the golden-coloured stuff and passed one to his guest. They drank quietly and civilly, wholly unaware of the Spell of Soundlessness in effect which prevented them from hearing what was happening in the adjacent hallway. Peacemaker could sense other matters hanging in the air between them. He watched the sheriff over the rim of his glass, but it was only after a long and contemplative pause that the big, ebony stallion finally spoke.
“I’m thankful we could have this here palaver,” said Ramrod. “I’ve been lookin’ forward to it, an’ to meetin’ you. Tell me your name, son, if it pleases ya?”
“I am Peacemaker, sai Sheriff.”
“Call me Ramrod, an’ yes, I thought I recognised the look a’ ya,” said Ramrod. He looked into his empty glass and poured himself a second dose. “Ya look an’ sound just as your pa did at your age. He was Gallowad’s dinh in days long past, aye?”
Peacemaker said nothing, but he did respond in a way. The bristles of his mane seemed to stiffen as if manifesting the electrical surge passing through him, or perhaps that was just the aqua vita hitting his system.
“Does it surprise you, Peacemaker?” asked Ramrod. “I mean, that I know who an’ what ya are?”
“A little,” the gun-pony admitted, “but I have met one other who surprised me the same way, so I fear the impact of your words may be blunted, sai.”
“Do you say so?” asked Ramrod, and his eyes seemed to indicate his own mild surprise.
“I say so,” said Peacemaker with a nod, “though it is with no ill intent. Are you also a gun-pony?”
“A matter for debate,” said Ramrod. “One I would very much like to settle. There’s not much room left in the world for our kind, or have you not heard? Equestria does not seek to wage war on its enemies. Warriors are considered unfashionable these days.”
“You say true, I say thank you,” said Peacemaker. If he was sorrowful of the fact, he hid it well.
“So I can’t help but wonder,” said Ramrod. He leaned across the desk, fixing his gaze on the young stranger before him. “What does a pony a’ your bloodline want in my peaceful little town, ’less there’s trouble fast a-comin’? Tell me that.”
“Gallowad is history, its territories scattered. My bloodline means little now,” said Peacemaker. He found the words to be bitter-tasting, but he was able to swallow his resentment. “I am naught but a drifter in search of work, which has been provided to me. I am a bodyguard to the overseer of the Summer Sun Celebration, nothing more. When she leaves, so too shall I.”
Ramrod’s eyes narrowed. Peacemaker hid his grimace behind his glass.
“A bodyguard,” said the sheriff. His tone became harder, and Peacemaker could detect a hint of challenge there. “With those guns? The old dinh held those in mighty high regard. I remember him tellin’ me so when we was babbies in the same ka-tel.”
Peacemaker recalled being very small and hearing of his father’s class of apprentice gun-ponies. His eventual tet had consisted of six members, each of whom had taken positions of great prestige once they reached stallionhood. He recalled each one of his uncles, for they were as close as brothers to his father’s heart, with perfect clarity. There was Sharpside, who was the finest surgeon in the kingdom, and dependable Dusty Trails, who was broad at the brisket and never without his favourite orange scarf. He knew the twins Wild and Free who were as famous for their martial skills as they were for their pranks, and how could one forget Carnival Game, the great storyteller who once defeated the giant worm queen with only his slingshot? He searched and searched again through his memory, but he did not hear or see Ramrod among their number at all. Only the group which was made six by the inclusion of his departed sire, the Light Lord.
“They are no longer my father’s guns,” he said. His voice was stern but without rudeness. “They are mine, and I have decided that they are justly employed.”
“As a bodyguard?”
“Aye.”
“An’ what body are ya guardin’ right now, or in yon waterin’ hole? Are ya not to stay close to your charge at all times, boy?”
“I’m close enough,” said Peacemaker. He pointed out of the window towards the library. “My hoof is quick, sai, and my father’s guns fire true.”
“Better hope so, son,” said Ramrod. “Look again.”
Peacemaker did, and he saw something that made him start. Three ponies were positioned around Golden Oak’s front door. They were clothed in dark from top to tail so as to resemble shadows, save for the rust-coloured gorgets clasped around their necks. A symbol of an eye was engraved into each of the gorgets. One of the ponies was holding a ball of smouldering flame in one forehoof.
Peacemaker reared up on his hind legs and drew one of his guns. Click! A second gun cocked right beside his ear. Ramrod had drawn a pistol of his own and had the young gun-pony in his sights. The weapon was smaller than Peacemaker’s dual widow-makers and crafted from metal as black as its owner’s coat.
“What is the meaning of this, sai Ramrod?” Peacemaker asked. “Who are those ponies, and why do you draw on your own kind?”
“I think it’s time we dropped the pretence and got down to business, son. You’re not one a’ mine,” said Ramrod. “Gallowad life wasn’t really for me. The stink of its arrogance was choking me. The same stink as on you.” His voice developed a bitter edge, “That’s why I set up shop in this happy, ignorant little backwoods burg.”
There was a small spark of lightning as something finally connected in Peacemaker’s mind, like a stuck railroad switch giving way before the train missed its pass. Yes, he had heard of Ramrod, or rather he had heard of a stallion fitting his description, spoken of only once in the gun-pony’s life. Not by his father or uncles, instead it was by his teacher in the days when he was learning the importance of the trial of stallionhood.
If the trial was passed successfully, the hopeful apprentice would best his mentor in single combat and prove himself worthy of the honour of carrying guns of his own, as a symbol of the continuance of what had kept his people alive in the dark times of Gallowad’s founding and the maintaining of the law during the centuries that followed. Failure, which resulted if the apprentice yielded to the teacher, meant immediate banishment from the kingdom. The loser was sent west and would never be recognised as a gun-pony. Although the father would never be blamed for his son’s transgressions, such an event would mar the honour of the bloodline forevermore.
“His greatest tragedy, he said,” Peacemaker mumbled.
“Say again?” asked Ramrod.
“My teacher once knew a colt as black as the night, who valued personal strength over ka-tet,” Peacemaker elaborated. “A colt with vast potential, until one day he got cocky. Something happened to him, like a madness or fever, and he challenged his teacher to single combat. The duel ended in half a minute, with the colt begging for mercy.”
Ramrod pushed the rim of the gun’s barrel against Peacemaker’s temple. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to mock me while I’ve got this against your skull?” he asked.
“I have no fear of you, sai,” said Peacemaker, “and as of now, no respect, because the story goes on. That colt’s father died days later of a single shot. A terrible tragedy. Yes, I can believe you were in their class, but you were no babby of theirs. Congratulations, your debate is settled.”
XXX
The acrid fumes from the blackened wood made Jackie retch. The cell was full of smoke, and tentacles of it were already curling out into the hallway. His eyes were full of tears and his ears were ringing from the explosion, which had catapulted him clear over Tongs’s head and dumped him against the wall. He tried to call out, but all he managed was a fit of coughing.
The deputy was suffering from the after-effects of his reckless spell as well. He was pressing himself flat against the floor to reach what clear air was left. Jackie crawled away from him, all the while hacking and sneezing as his body fought to get the pollutants out before they could permanently damage his lungs. There were no windows inside the cells, nowhere for the smoke to go. Very soon it would swallow everything and suffocate both ponies to death.
“Nape!” Tongs cried hoarsely. “Nape! Where are you!? T-t-tell me so I c-c-can waste ya!”
“You c-c-call that an incentive?” Jackie retorted, equally strained. “You fail d-d-diplomacy forever!”
The deputy realised he was being made fun of and let out a furious bellow. Jackie felt something whoosh past his head, something so hot that it singed his coat and mane. He cried out and dropped to the floor again. His legs became entangled with Tongs’s, making him realise how close he had come to being cooked alive, and the deputy landed right on top of him.
The last fireball had been a small spell. It had reached its maximum range and simply exploded. Its flames had petered out in mid-air, leaving only smoke and charred wood behind. This second one passed right by its intended target and hit the door at the far end, blowing it to splinters and dispelling the enchantment attached to it. Jackie struggled out from under the crazed deputy and hurled himself through the opening into the front office, where he landed painfully on his side.
He heard a cry that might have been the sheriff, and then Peacemaker calling out his name. A shot rang out, and then the gun-pony was reaching him through the cloud and pulling him to safety. The front door opened with a bang, and Jackie was dragged out into the open. He squeezed his stinging eyes shut and continued coughing and spluttering, but he did not need to look to see that the gaol was burning.
All of Ponyville was awake with activity in a matter of seconds. Everypony was pouring out of their homes to see what was happening and to lend a helping hoof. Hot House, the local watch commander, arrived with an emergency storm cloud to douse the blaze, and a perimeter was set up to clear the danger zone of civilians. Jackie opened his eyes in time to see three forms fleeing the vicinity of Golden Oak Library, and then he finally blacked out.
XXX
He awoke to the smell of antiseptic and the sound of his own breathing – no, that was wrong, not quite his own breathing. He was wearing an oxygen mask and what he heard was the flow of cleansing gas from an attached tank, which sat beside the bed he presently inhabited. The bright lights of the hospital room hurt his eyes and turned the insides of his eyelids the colour of sunset. He detected hoofbeats coming up the hallway, and the pitter-patter of paws close behind. Why did hospital floors always make walking so loud? Would it kill them to put in some nice, soft carpeting?
“There he is.”
The visitor’s voice was muddy, like he was hearing it from underwater.
“Jackie?”
This was from a second visitor, a feminine one who was older than the first.
He tested his jaws and throat. His own voice was raspy, but he could speak without difficulty. That was a good sign. “Who’s there?” he asked.
“It’s Twilight Sparkle,” the second visitor replied, “and I’ve brought Spike with me. Peacemaker asked us to check on you for him.”
The bed shifted with a creak of springs. He guessed it was Spike sitting at the end. “Brought you some things,” said the baby dragon.
“Can you turn the lights down?” he asked.
“Sure, hold on,” said Twilight. The sunset colour receded, and after a moment he dared to open his eyes again. The curtains were halfway drawn but he could see it was morning. The hospital room was characteristically featureless. The walls were a subdued beige that gave way to colourless white at the top and bottom. Twilight and Spike were looking at him with concerned expressions. He wriggled into a sitting position and moved the oxygen mask up onto his forehead. The flow felt oddly good against his mane. Spike poured him a glass of water from the jug on the side cabinet and passed it to him. If the pure oxygen felt good, then the water was fantastic, even though it was no longer chilled.
“Thanks, Spikers,” he said, sounding more like his usual self.
“Brought you some grapes and a bottle of soda,” said Spike, indicating the gifts on the cabinet. “Hope you like orange.”
“Mm-hmm,” Jackie mumbled with a nod.
“How do you feel?” Twilight asked him.
“Like somepony used the inside of my head as a kiln,” he replied. “What happened?”
“A fire broke out in the sheriff’s office,” said Twilight. That much he already knew from first-hoof experience but he kept his silence to be polite. “The building was lost, but the blaze was stopped from spreading. Peacemaker dragged you out, then went back inside to get Tongs. The sheriff was able to get out by himself.”
“Where’s Peacemaker right now?” Jackie asked.
Twilight and Spike both looked downcast. Jackie felt a weight in his stomach.
“Ramrod told everypony the fire was Peacemaker’s fault and he was arrested,” said Spike.
“Arrested!?” Jackie cried, shocked and outraged. “Why, that low-down, slimy-skinned son of a two-bit—”
Twilight placed her forehooves on his shoulders and pushed him down in his bed. “Whoa there, hotshot,” she said, “you need to concentrate on getting better before you go starting more trouble.”
“Trouble!” Jackie groaned. “If I hadn’t mouthed off in the saloon last night, this could probably all have been avoided! Heck, goin’ there was my idea the whole time! This mess is my fault!”
“Don’t be silly,” said Twilight. “I don’t know what’s really going on here, but I intend to find out. First off, I want to ask you a question. Does the name Gone Far South mean anything to you?”
“Far South?” Jackie asked. “Hmm…I think he’s some kinda big-time outlaw in these parts, but other than that, I got nothin’. Why?”
“That’s who the sheriff’s accusing Peacemaker of working for,” Twilight explained, “and a few ponies say they saw figures in dark clothes wearing this guy’s trademark fleeing the town.”
“I saw them,” said Jackie. “They were by the library. I didn’t really get a good look at ‘em, though.” He hung his head. “Jeez! Tongs tried to kill me last night! I mean really, seriously kill me, y’know? He’s the one who started the fire tryin’ to do it! Peacemaker was out the front with the sheriff when it happened! It doesn’t make a lick of sense!”
“I know, I know, it’s crazy,” said Twilight. “Listen, I’m going over to the mayor’s office to see if anything can be done for him. There’ll have to be a trial. We can put together a defence. The answer to this affair may lie with those three ponies you saw last night, if not with Sheriff Ramrod himself.”
“Just…” Twilight paused, formulating her next words.
“Just trust us, Jackie,” Spike finished for her.
“Right,” Twilight agreed. “Just trust us. The nurses want to keep you in for observation, so stay in bed until they discharge you, all right?”
“Fine, s’not like I got a choice or nothin’,” Jackie grumbled, and crossed his forelegs over his chest.
A pretty young mare with a blue coat and light green mane poked her head into the room. She was carrying a board with a checklist in one forehoof. “Good to see you’re awake. How are we feeling today, Mister Nape?” she asked. Jackie wondered if the way she batted her eyelashes was intentional or just a quirk.
He grinned slyly. “Suddenly a whole lot better.”
Spike covered his grin with a paw. Twilight rolled her eyes.
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This line, to me, came across as terribly snarky and I thoroughly enjoyed it. And I can't say anything herein is, as you put it, "out-of-character". In the books, Roland was perfectly capable of speaking at length, it's just that he rarely ever saw the need (as I see it). Roland speaks most when spoken to, so when paired with a character who speaks a lot to him about relevant things, Roland has shown himself perfectly capable of speaking well. I mean, the majority of the fourth book, Wizard and Glass, was basically just Roland monologing about his past (with a few interruptions).
Plus, Peacemaker isn't Roland. Based off him, aye, but as I see it, he's not Roland. And being that this is our technically first glimpses of him throughout this story, there's no reason a more verbose version of this bit could have been that OOC to what we've seen. He spoke at length with Granny Smith and Applejack, more or less, so there's that. As we've seen, this is just him reacting differently to different environments. And though Peacemaker is no Cuthbert (although, I do wander what The Dark Tower would be like if the Gunslinger was Cuthbert, not Roland), he has his moments of speech. So, were he to have been more verbose but to-the-point, it'd've just been Peacemaker's character being used.
Heck, on a sort of personal level, I wish that Cuthbert had survived, for the sole purpose of being more verbose, and thus more willing to explain background and worldbuilding to the rest of the ka-tet. That's just me, though. I love worldbuilding. Although Cuthbert and Eddie Dean in the same room... Hmmn... That itself might be so awesome as to destroy one of the beams, d'ya kenn?
That's my ten cents (which is worth $2.53 in change, so I hear)
3710660 You do raise a good point. Perhaps "verbose" was not quite the right word for it in my author's note, or simply not elaborate enough. The initial draft seemed a bit too flowery, it went on a bit too long and took away from the intensity of the scene for me as a reader as much as a writer. I just don't think Ramrod would be willing to let Peacemaker talk as long as he originally did in the scene, you know? It might be better placed in a future conversation. The details will return and it won't be too long before they do, but there's a better time and place for them than here. Letting a hero monologue runs the same risks as letting a villain.
Dark Tower crossover! Yes! You don't know how happy this makes me!