Down the Mysterly River by Bill Willingham

Author:Bill Willingham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

15

The Road Down to the River and What Was Learned on the Trip

The next day, early in the chilly morning, Max helped Paddy hook Incitatus up to the wagon, and they rolled off at a slow walking pace down the tail end of the mountain road, which meandered into the great Mysterly River valley.

Max rode on the bench seat of the wagon, beside Paddy, who wasn’t really driving it, in the sense that there were no reins attached to the horse. Instead the old man just told Incitatus which direction to go, and since there was only one possible direction—unless they were to turn around and head back up to the mountain pass—there wasn’t an awful lot of instructions needed or given. This gave Paddy plenty of time to nap in his seat, and he took full advantage of the opportunity, snoring merrily as they rolled along.

The horse seemed to have only one speed, which was so slow that Banderbrock had no trouble walking along on his own, which he preferred to do, rather than ride on the strange vehicle. McTavish slept back in the compartment, where he could keep an eye on Walden. Epiphany, when she wasn’t flying off somewhere, liked to perch on the foremost luggage rail on the wagon’s slightly curved roof.

From time to time, Max would get down from the wagon, to stretch his legs, and walk beside his badger friend.

“I haven’t been around many fire callers in my long life,” Banderbrock said, as they walked along in the shadow of the creaking wagon, “so I’m not yet adept at reading your expressions. But if I was to guess, I’d have to say you look very sad today, Max.”

“You’re right,” Max said. “I do feel sad. In all my past adventures, I’ve never had to kill anyone before. Killing Lady Diana was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“Who’s Lady Diana?” Banderbrock said.

“The Cutter woman. I think that was her name. Actually, I’m pretty sure that was her name.”

“How do you know?”

“I think her sword told me,” Max said. “I’m not sure. It’s not very clear yet, but I think her sword’s been telling me things every time I’ve held it.”

“Then you should quit holding it. That thing is evil.”

“I’m not sure that’s true. I wanted to know the name of the woman I killed and it told me. How can that be wrong?”

“For one thing,” the badger said, “you didn’t kill her. If that thing told you different, it lied.”

“How can that be? We rolled down the hill together and I smashed her head against a rock. I absolutely killed her.”

“Listen to me, my friend. I’ll never know all of the amazing things you know how to do, making fire grow out of wood and solving mysteries and such, but I’ve been in the military long enough to have learned a thing or two about assigning proper credit—or blame—for a killing. By taking all of the blame on yourself for killing this woman, you’re robbing credit from me and the bear.

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