Hour of the Wolf – Chapter 1

As the wagon creaked and wobbled, Baxter's fingers drummed on the wooden case sitting on his lap. Rain fell across the windows and the only thing that he could see looking out of them was the old cobblestone road within the orange circle with black stripe shadows cast from the lanterns hanging from the front of the wagon. Their driver was out there, braving the elements with nothing but a thick travel cloak, and he felt for him. But he was also happy to be inside the wagon and not out there himself.

“Cease that prattling, boy,” he heard the coarse voice of Master Payne roar.

His fingers stopped immediately, but as he looked towards the older man, he saw that his eyes had never left the page of the thick tome he was reading. His fingers slid through the centre crevice as he read each line and occasionally frowned as if displeased with some of the texts of the tome. Baxter admired his ability to read without sickness when the vehicle wobbled so much from side to side. Their luggage was placed on the roof no doubt making it top-heavy, which didn’t help with balance, but they had been riding on it for days and hadn’t toppled yet, so Baxter had no choice but to accept that his fear of them turning over was not fully rational. He opened the wooden case laying across his lap, in theory to make sure everything was in place, but he knew that he was just killing time.

Placed in indentations on wood covered by a red felt, lay the stubby breechloading pistol, a pair of daggers of steel and silver, a mallet and a pair of stakes, crosses and the vials containing holy water, salt, silver dust, sulphur and a few other useful alchemical elements like aconite extract and a red liquid that Master Payne claimed to be demon’s blood. Each had its own space within the case, nestled by felt and leather straps within the wooden frame beneath, and placed like a perfect puzzle to make the most of all the space available.

“Lost something?”

Once again, the veteran hunter spoke without lifting his eyes from the book, but he seemed to be paying close attention still, somehow, to what Baxter did. The young man closed the case and snapped the latches back, shaking his head.

“No, nothing, Master Payne.”

“Good, then keep it shut and see that you don’t.”

“Aye, naturally, master…”

Baxter was silenced as he saw the icy stare from the old man’s blue eyes, finally lifted and focused on him. Gideon Payne was a professional hunter, but not one to hunt wolves and deer. His prey was of the more exotic and dangerous persuasion, and while there was no shortage of people who looked with scepticism to his profession, the young man had seen enough to know there were things out there that people preferred not to think about, that were not less dangerous just because they were not believed-on.

Gideon was in his fifties, and he eschewed facial hair, unlike most of the men of the time, except for a small patch of hair growing from his chin. He had thick eyebrows with a hint of salt and pepper on the otherwise charcoal-black colour of his hair. He used it long, falling across his neck and tied only on the end by a ribbon. His black wide-brim hat with a flat top was beside him on the wagon’s seat, which revealed the balding spot above Gideon’s forehead, two entrances that led almost to the top of his skull. But his hair was still abundant on the sides, and that patch was easily hidden when the hat was on. He wore a dark brown coat over his black vest and white shirt, which gave him a dignified and sober appearance. Resting on the seat of the wagon near his hand was his mahogany cane with a round head shaped like a human skull that was missing the jaw. Baxter always found that a touch macabre, but when he inquired about that particular choice, Master Payne had only replied to him with two Latin words, ‘Memento Mori’ and left it at that. The apprentice hunter decided not to question his master’s attire after that.

They were now heading through the old roman roads across the moors and forests towards the deeper parts of the countryside. Away from the capital and any major settlements. In the relative isolation of these distant farmlands and homesteads, there had been reports of attacks on livestock, mostly sheep, during the night. The animals had been mauled and devoured by something that was far too voracious to be a mere wild dog, too solitary to be a wolf, and too cunning to be any mere beast. At least that was what the reports said. Seemed like the peasants were unhappy with whatever aid, if any, the local governance had offered on the matter, and pooled together their silver to hire a professional.

Unfortunately, their small hamlet was located more than a day’s ride from the nearest rail station and so, the pair of hunters had to grab a stagecoach for the final leg of their journey. And with late summer already taking the first timid steps to turn into autumn, the rain wasn’t wholly unexpected, but it did make their journey even slower. That was the only reason they rode at night. After about eight hours inside the coach, Baxter could not wait to step outside of it and stretch his legs, eat some warm food and not have to hear the constant creaking and the hoofbeats that had been with him for the best part of the day.

After the chiding gaze from Gideon, he looked back to the closed case and placed it aside, to entertain himself instead by peering out the window and watching the occasional tree pop from the darkness, lit by the coach’s lantern before it disappeared back into pitch blackness. He wasn’t sure how long he did it, but he must’ve fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he knew, a finger was tapping on the glass of the window right next to his face, and he was waking up startled.

A face with a thick moustache and a black beret stared at him from the outside, inches away, and as he recoiled back in fright before he could think of what was happening, Master Payne was donning his hat and picking up his cane.

“Come on, boy, carry the case for me. We are here.”

In the hazed state he had gotten into after sleeping, he took a moment to realize where ‘here’ was, but as he blinked and the door of the coach swung open, it was obvious. The Golden Hind Inn looked like it might have been at some point the hunting lodge of a local minor noble, given its size and solid construction, though it was clear now that it served that purpose no longer.

It was now a place of respite for wayfarers and travellers seeking rest and respite from the rigours of the road. The plaster and wood exterior with an overhang spoke of the time of Tudors, though the large red brick chimney rising from the side seemed to be more modern than that. The building had two floors and an attic, judging by the mansards, and was located on the top of a small mound, rising from the road. The rain had stopped now, Baxter realized when he stepped out, but his foot still sunk into an ankle-deep cold puddle. As he cursed under his breath and walked away, holding the heavy wooden case with Master Payne’s tools, Gideon was already talking to the moustached man that had come knocking on their window.

“You must be the mayor?”

“What passes for it around these parts… Master Payne, I presume?”

“The very same.”

“I’m Harland Fletcher, Mayor of Heatherdale,” the moustached man spoke with a note of humility as he was looking towards the wagon and the heavy trunks on top which the driver was now working with untying. “Do you require assistance with your luggage?”

“No assistance is needed. My driver can take care of it.”

Baxter felt a pang of guilt at those words, looking at the driver and taking a couple of steps towards him, to help him untie the large wooden trunks from the top of the coach when he heard Payne’s voice calling from the distance.

“Come on, boy, you’re letting my case soak.”

And with an apologetic look to the coach driver, he turned around and walked up the small steps made of half logs placed on the grass, leading to the Golden Hind’s entrance. The lower floor of the inn was a large open area broken only by thick wooden pillars that connected to the beams above them. Black wrought iron chandeliers with a handful of candles on each worked in tandem with the very large fireplace to cast some light on the interior. There were three or four patrons, spread at different tables, but given the size of the Golden Hind, that made it appear deserted. Behind the wooden counter, there were several large kegs of drinks, some of which looked positively ancient, and a set of stairs leading to the wooden mezzanine above. On the second floor, several doors opened to the short walk between them and the wooden ledge. Baxter guessed those were the rooms available for travellers.

Mayor Fletcher and Master Payne had taken their seats around a small wooden table, very near the fire, and Baxter hurried there, placing the case by Gideon’s side and then walking closer to the flames, to remove his wet boot and pull a stool, hoping to help his pants and foot dry by the fire. He was still within earshot of the two men, of course, in case his help was needed.

“I thank you for coming, Master Payne. I’m afraid we had no other recourse but to call on someone of your skillset.”

“Yes, well… That’s often the case when I’m called. Can you tell me exactly what’s the problem?”

“It’s been happening a lot lately. Sheep have been killed; people have been attacked…”

“People?” Master Payne’s voice sounded a little annoyed at the revelation. “Your letter made no mention of attacks on people.”

“The first one happened two weeks ago after the letter was sent, I’m afraid.”

Master Payne paused for a moment, bringing his cane up to study the skull-shaped head and how the light of the fire bounced off it. His thumb passed through the round top of the skull in what, to Baxter, seemed like a caress. The mayor was silent for a moment, and then Gideon lifted his eyes to nod.

“Proceed.”

“Well, as I said… A few people claim to have seen the beast, or glimpses of it. A really big wolf, fur black as night, with bright red eyes…” Harland said, “a group of hunters rounded a posse to go after it a week ago. They found no lair or hiding hole during the day, and the beast solely acts in the night… So…”

“They tried to organize a night hunt?”

“Yes, Master Payne. Not all of them, but three of the younger and more foolish…”

“Often the case as well… Did they come across the beast?”

“One of them. He claimed to have sighted it and set out in pursuit with one of his hounds. He ran into the beast, the hound was killed, and he took a shot, but either missed or it wasn’t enough. The beast had him down on his back when the sound of footsteps from the other hunters drove it off, he tells us. They came as they heard the shot, and the beast fled. God knows what could’ve happened to him otherwise.”

“Seems like he would be the one who got the closest look at this creature.”

Master Payne lowered his cane again, turning to Baxter, who smiled awkwardly as he was caught stretching his bare foot towards the flames and wiggling his toes in hopes to help them dry, and then adjusted the sleeves of his own coat and turned to the mayor:

“Too soon to say what may be plaguing your village, but this is no mere wolf or a rabid dog, else you wouldn’t need my services.”

“Safe to say,” Mayor Fletcher agreed.

“I have my own methods to find out what this creature is, and what it is not. But they will require time.”

“I already talked to the Grovers, who own this inn. The towns will cover your fee and offer room and board, as long as you stay here to help us.” 

“Towns?”

“Well, yes, Heatherdale isn’t the only hamlet plagued by this beast. It happens mostly in the hills around the farmlands. There’s a couple of smaller hamlets that pitched in so that we could call on you.”

‘Smaller hamlets’ caused Baxter to suppress a snicker. He hadn’t seen much of Heatherdale, but considering how far from everything it was, and how empty what was likely the town’s main, if not only, inn was, it wouldn’t surprise him if less than one hundred people were living there. To think that there were even smaller settlements around it, which would make Heatherdale some sort of regional centre, was a humorous notion.

And then his snickering was quick to die, even suppressed, as Gideon turned to look at him, staring daggers. He was surprised the old man could hear something so quiet. He turned back to the mayor and nodded.

“Rest assured, I shall track this beast and bring it down,” he promised the pleading public leader.

“Any suspicion of what it may be?” Harland asked, nervously adjusting his own sleeves.

“A few,” Gideon said with a shrug. “I rather not speak of it until I’m more certain.”

“Of course, Master Payne.”

“Pray that God sends us better weather. Rain washes away tracks, but if it ceases, the mud is rather good to keep them.”

“I shall pray for that tonight, then.”

After that, Baxter stopped paying attention to the conversation as it seemed to be mostly about Master Payne’s fees, which were none of his concern. As his apprentice, his payment was to follow him along and receive room and board wherever he went. It wasn’t an easy life, but it was better than any work he had had at the orphan house before Gideon rescued him from that.

His foot felt mostly dry and the boot, while still a little damp, was at least not absolutely soaked as before, and warm. He wondered if he could ask the innkeeper to keep it by the fire that night so that it had a chance to dry. Was that a thing people did in inns? As much as Gideon taught him about hunting creatures of the night, he had taught him precious little of everything else, and as a consequence, Baxter had always been a rather shy boy. To be fair to Gideon, he was already shy before he was adopted, but he had a vague hope to grow out of it, which didn’t happen. Now he was staring down at his twentieth birthday in a month, and he was still terrified of interacting with most people if he wasn’t interacted with first.

This was why he was thankful when a lovely young woman with wheat blonde hair and freckled cheeks approached him with a warm smile. She was wearing a simple peasant dress of sky blue and white and wearing a stained apron in front of it, which told him she was working in the inn. She was about his age, so he deduced she must be the daughter of the owner.

“Excuse me, master…?”

“Not master, not yet. I’m just Baxter. Baxter Payne.”

“Oh, I see… Young Baxter, would you like a bowl of tonight's stew?”

“Aye, I would like that a lot, and some ale, if you have it.”

“We certainly do,” she said, standing in front of him.

And it was just then that he realized how awkward that scene must’ve been, of her talking to him while he sat on a stool near the fire, one bare foot still stretched towards the flames. He lowered it, and she giggled softly before walking away. Baxter felt his cheeks blushing as he watched her go just for a second. She was beautiful, no doubt, but there was no room in his life for the thought of settling down and marrying. No wonder Master Payne never had children of his own and trusted Baxter with his surname. Which suited him just as well, for he was always a little disinterested in women in a way that he couldn’t quite articulate, but he felt wasn’t really shared by most men around him. A feeling that was made stronger by moments such as those, where he caught Mayor Fletcher’s gaze lingering on the girl’s hips for a couple of seconds before he turned back to Master Payne, getting up and extending a hand.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, master. I shall come here on the morrow so I can show you around town and you can talk to the villagers about their sheep.”

“Aye, the pleasure was mine, Mayor.”

Payne and the mayor shook hands and the latter grabbed his hat and cloak by the door on his way out, venturing then into the cold night. At about the same time, their driver arrived through a side door, carrying two heavy wooden trunks with the help of another young man. He looked much like the girl who came to offer Baxter food, same freckles and wheat hair. But Baxter estimated him to be a bit older than her. His shoulders were wide and his arms thick from intense work, and he carried one of the heavy wooden trunks with ease while the driver struggled to pull in the next. The way the tight shirt he wore clung to his muscles caused Baxter to blush slightly, and he felt a light flutter on the bottom of his stomach imagining the sort of intense, sweat-breaking work that lad got up to on a daily basis, and how his shirt likely glued even tighter to his muscles when his chest was wet.

And then he shook his head to push away those silly thoughts. What was it to him if the boy got sweaty or not? He chided himself for getting caught in such fantasies as he heard the recent arrivals talk.

“There you go, I said it would be easier to bring things from the stable than from the front, yes?”

“Yes, much easier, thank you,” the driver said still pulling with some difficulty on the large trunk.

“Leave it there, I’ll take it to the room upstairs later,” the tall and strong lad offered.

“Are you certain?”

“Very, now come, let me help you release those horses so they can rest properly until the morrow.”

And the lad passed a friendly arm around the shoulder of the driver, that seemed a bit uneasy with the touch. That was something Baxter had noticed between the folk from the countryside, and especially far-flung places like that, and the folk from the cities; the urbanites preferred to avoid all contact beyond a handshake, and even those were brief and formal, while the folk in the countryside tended to have looser concerns in that regard. Baxter much more preferred the comradery of the country than the civilized ways of the city, but Master Payne was much his opposite in that regard.

Baxter placed his boot back, finding it to be sufficiently dry and with the mayor no longer sitting with Gideon, he moved to take his seat next to his master. Gideon had a leather ledger open and using an ink-pen, he scribbled notes away. He had pulled his foldable spectacles from his pocket, balancing them on top of his nose and squinting as he wrote.

“So, master, any idea of what we are facing here?” Baxter asked, taking his seat on the chair previously occupied by Harland Fletcher.

“Were you not listening to it, boy?”

“Aye, I was, I just reckoned…”

“That you’d eavesdrop on a conversation and then waste my time with questions you already know the answer to?” Gideon asked, never lifting his eyes from the ledger, and barely slowing down his writing.

“It’s… Hardly eavesdropping, master, I was just…”

“Yes, yes, yes… I know all of it, boy.” Gideon waved his left hand impatiently as he finished a line and blew over the yellowed pages. “So, do you have anything of worth to ask?”

Most people might think Gideon to be a bit callous and short with his apprentice, but Baxter knew that despite his curt manners, he had a genuine care for him. He was the closest thing to a father figure Baxter had ever had and cared for him many times during their years travelling together. And while he wasn’t quick to give a kind word or show affection, he never faltered in his care for his apprentice. He never let him go cold, hungry or sick without tending to him. And that had to count for something. Baxter always thought Gideon's curt ways were merely the result of his time in the army, and then his time on the road, hunting things most people in the cities didn’t even believe were real.

“Well, you told the mayor you had several theories, but no fixed idea and you rather not share until you did,” Baxter began, “the wolf-like appearance seems to suggest we are dealing with a Warg or a Direbeast… Neither of which is too common in the country.”

Gideon allowed the strict line of his mouth to curve upwards into a very subtle smile before dipping his head. He brushed his thumb over the ink after blowing on it again, making sure it was dry before closing his ledger.

“Or something sinister still… But you’re right, boy, those are my leading suspicions. And how do we handle either?”

“Well… Wulfsbane to repel them, and a good old shot to take them down?”

“Not bad. But the hunters had shot a-plenty and still got outsmarted. Remember, Baxter, a hunter’s just as good as his tools and…”

“…and the most important tool is inside his skull,” Baxter recited the old saying Gideon loved to repeat.

“Aye, aye… You do learn fast. It won’t be enough to find it, we have to lure it to a position to our advantage, and then strike with precision. No wild shots in the dark.”

“Right, and how do we do that?”

“Oh… The first step is learning more. This is why, as the sun breaks, we shall visit these farms and see what we can learn about the beast's hunting habits. Then we will plan our trap.”

Baxter was starting to get excited about the prospect of hunting when the freckled girl brought two bowls of stew to their table and Gideon pocketed his ledger to smile at her. She placed down an ale in front of Baxter and Gideon frowned at the sight of the beverage, pulling a flask from his pocket.

“Just one… To help me ease the pain from the road and sleep better…” Baxter mewled, almost pleading for permission.

“Aye, aye… I suppose, boy. Drink. But eat and rest, because this hunt shall be special for you.”

“Special?”

“Aye, methinks it's high time you deal the killing blow. Become officially a hunter like me.”

“Really?”

“Don’t get too excited. You have much apprenticing left to do… But you need to get your hands dirty at some point. So, yes.”

“Thank you, Master Payne…”

“Ah!” Gideon waved his hand dismissively. “Talk less and eat your stew. Today we eat and rest, tomorrow we hunt.”

Baxter smiled excitedly and ate a spoonful of the hearty stew as those words echoed inside his mind: Tomorrow we hunt.