Serialized Pulp Novel: The Rogue and the Merchants (Part 26)

It's been quite a long time. The last time I did some transcribing was back in February. Well, my dissertation prospectus is written, and I find I'm looking for things to take my mind off the project after a day's work. And so, don't be surprised if these serials become a daily thing again. One of these days I'll finish the transcription of this novel manuscript.

In any case, here is serial 26 of my pulp novel, The Rogue and the Merchants. As usual, here is a link to the full transcription, thus far, if you want to know more about the project, the source of the manuscript, or the story of the novel's genesis. Also, all of the illustrations I've been composing are there as well: Pulp Novel Project: The Rogue and the Merchants


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The Rogue spoke on. He told of how he had deceived the first of the folk he had encountered with a self-inflicted wound and his acting skills and he asked that, when they all arrived to the strange village, they would restrain themselves and refrain from misrepresenting him to the people of the village. He spoke more of the villagers, emphasizing the taboo their leader, the greybeard, had voiced to him: the black-brick ruins that lingered above and beyond the village were sacrosanct. None should approach them.

After summarizing his experiences, it was well into the night, and the Rogue was eager to break away in order to make sure the four warriors from the village were still waiting. The merchants did not want him to leave--all were craven, except for Brol, whose closeness to death and fierceness in battle had stirred some courage in him: "Let him go, you cowardly fools! If those red monsters return, we know the truth now! The demonlings are cowards, nothing more! An old merchant with a quick temper routed them, and it cost but an eye! Cut one of their numbers down, and they'll fly away, screaming like little, frightened children!" He ended his speech with a rasping cough and wiped greenish-red blood from his chapped lips. He needed healing, indeed, thought the Rogue.

Before leaving the Rogue helped Rew and Tauos coordinate the packing up of the camp, and he ordered the still-panicked Paj--in spite of his mental state--to tend to the ailing Brol. The merchant assented quickly, nodded humbly. The Rogue thought it strange when he reflected on how he was, by the law of their homeland Stoh, their property, their servant, their slave; and yet, they responded to his orders now as if he was their master. Helping Brol seemed to level Paj. He helped his leader carefully and deliberately. He dabbed his forehead with a rag, wrung water into his dry mouth.

In any case, the ten remaining merchants--except for Brol and Paj--were busy organizing their departure when the Rogue left them to meet up with the five warriors.

He found them lounging just outside of the hillock upon which the merchants were bivouacked. He used as many non-verbal cues as he could muster to tell the old greybeard's son--the son who wore the wolf-cloak--that they, the merchants--had been informed and were coming back to the village with them. He was eager to discuss the demonlings with the villager-warriors, who he thought might have encountered them before--but their lack of a common language frustrated his curiosity. After he confirmed the warriors knew what was happening, he left him, returning to the merchants. They were finishing packing their horses, tying their parcels and belongings to their saddle. Rew was dousing the fire coals when the warriors and the Rogue strode into the camp's light.