The Hunter, The Killer, The Coward, and The Doofus: The Ruffians, #1

By Joseph Lewis Tamone

A REWARD OF 10,000 SHILLINGS
FOR THE CAPTURE AND ARREST OF THE RUFFIANS OF CONCORD!

The Kingdom of Concord has been ruled over for generations by the noble house Bateman.
Their rule led the people to war and victory, conquering territories, and lending its way to economic prosperity.
Now the kingdom is ruled over by a tyrant, Paleface the Innocent, and his father, the Old German.
With a bounty on their heads, four Ruffians venture to take down Paleface and save the people of Concord.
THE HUNTER prowls atop the treetops, patiently awaiting the opportune moment to strike her prey.
THE KILLER launches ruthless assaults, rending flesh with calculated precision, understanding the stark reality of survival.
THE COWARD retreats from conflict, head bowed in timidity, too paralyzed by fear to take action.
THE DOOFUS charges forward boldly, oblivious to his own foolishness, his brash demeanor masking his lack of understanding.

United, they march to restore the treasury's wealth to the rightful benefitiaries.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philanthropy Publishing
• Release date: Apr 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224417421

Book preview

To the personable animals that inspired this work. 

Nava, Zoe, Maggie Moo, & Bruce.

❀

To say of what is that is not, or of what is not that it is, is false, while to say of what is that it is, and of what is not that it is not, is true.

Aristotle

~ CHAPTER I –

THE ATTACK ON BALSAM

The Kingdom of Concord had been ruled for seven generations by the noble house Bateman.  For 176 years, their rule led the people to war and victory, conquering territories, and lending its way to economic prosperity.  Though that rule had at times come with a fair share of hardships.  The town of Balsam had suffered greatly.  With its position deep in the Boxwoods, it was a grand trading outpost for hunters and fur merchants.  The kingdom had seen the wealth generated and established a series of tariffs to collect on the economic success of Balsam.  The tariffs did not hinder business in the town, but it did force the citizens to pay an unfair share of taxes to the Kingdom, and in turn, saw a loss of profit. 

Two white stallions pulled a wooden carriage through the bumpy dirt roads of the wooded outskirts of Balsam.  A man in a brown leather tunic adorned with the insignia of the Kingdom Guard rang a golden bell hanging from the front of the wagon.  The bell chimed and echoed through the woods as another Kingdom Guard at the rear of the wagon, a large broadsword at his side, announced in a booming and clear voice, Hand over 70 percent of your earnings or unsold product to the services of our honorable King Paleface the Innocent!

A forced tariff.  Those refusing or unable to pay were taken from their grounds and transported to Concord to sit before the king and explain their act of deliberate insubordination, many of whom never returned.  It wasn’t known if their punishment was imprisonment or execution, it was as if they simply vanished.  Those that did return, came back with missing pieces.  Some had their hands taken.  Others, their eyes, or their tongue.  The lack of regard for the people of the kingdom was noted, but there was nothing an ordinary citizen could do to seek justice against Concord.  Everybody had something to lose, and Paleface recognized this.  You serve me, he would tell the people of his kingdom.  And in return, I allow you to live.  Together we prosper.  There is no other option.

The Kingdom Guards poured from their cabins in the woods, some with coin to offer, some with furs and meats, and others with both.  Paperwork regarding monthly sales would have to be approved by a collections officer inside of the wagon.  Viewing sales records, he would count inventory and coin handed over to assure that an accurate amount was being given to the Kingdom.  The collections officer halted a local hunter, an issue regarding his paperwork and the amount he turned over.  You sold 31 pelts at 3 shillings each, and 13 pounds of smoked venison for 4 shillings a pound, and you have an additional inventory of 10 pelts, yet you handed over 7 pelts and 91 shillings.  You owe 10.

My apologies, the hunter nervously bowed, swallowing with angst as he kept a suspicious eye on the Kingdom Guard to his right.  I spent an additional ten shillings on improved hunting gear for my two sons, who are now old enough to join me in the woods.  I will have the ten shillings next month in addition to the 70 percent already owed.

You know your place.  You serve the Kingdom.  The Kingdom does not serve you.  We do not make deals, Hunter, the collections officer gestured to the Kingdom Guard.  The hunter cried out in fear as the guard drew his blade and pressed it against his shoulder.  Submitting, the hunter dropped down to his knees.  Now shall we take you away to speak to the king? The collections officer paused, tapping the plume of his quill against his bottom lip.  Or shall we take the two boys that sent us back 10 shillings?  The hunter begged the officer to leave his sons alone, to take him instead, pleading, grabbing pathetically at the tail of the wagon. 

The two stallions at the front of the wagon neighed, and light footsteps sounded, approaching from the right.  The Kingdom Guard stepped passed the hunter and reared his head around the side of the wagon.  He was struck in the nose with a wooden staff and fell to the ground.  Three ragtag ruffians raced about the wagon.  A woman in white held her bow staff to the collection officer’s throat. 

You will hand over that which has been collected, the small woman in white demanded, confidently.   

Who are you?  The collections officer gulped.

I am Turtle, the young woman in white prompted. 

A young man in a leather vest and a hatchet in hand announced, I am Jaybird. 

Another, adorned in a brown robe and carrying a smith’s hammer stated, I am Ant. 

We are the Knights of Boxwoods, Turtle trumpeted, placing a hand to her hip.  Taking back that which has been stolen from us in the name of our vigilante, Kegluneq, the Hunter of Balsam! 

Ripping pelts and pouches from the wagon, all goods were redistributed to the jubilant people of town.  The two Kingdom Guards were tied and thrown into the rear of the wagon as the collections officer was given the reins of the stallions.  The King will hear of this!  The officer threatened.

As he should.  The king has confiscated plenty of ears.  Turtle mocked.  She pointed her staff at the man and announced, You tell the king that the people of Balsam will not be taken advantage of.  You tell your king that any guards sent into our woods will have to deal with the Knights of Boxwoods!

And off the carriage went, back the way it came, to tell the kingdom of the insubordinate actions of Balsam, and the continuing resistance of the one called Kegluneq.  The village of inspirited hunters and merchants praised the actions of Turtle, Jaybird, and Ant well into the night. 

There was one soul not amused by the actions of these ruffians.  Perched high in the treetops, a hunter draped under a dark cloak stalked Turtle throughout the village, up the hill, and towards town central. 

The town celebrated that night with a bonfire, singing the praises of the Knights of Boxwoods and speaking of their heroine vigilante Kegluneq.  A roasted boar over the open fire fed the entire town.  Ant and Jaybird danced with a few young, drunk women, feeling confidence after a few pints of heavy ale.  Turtle sat alone, pecking at the chunk of boar meat on her plate, and sipping at her ale, which she really didn’t like.  Ale was bitter, and she much preferred water, but the only beverages being served were wine or ale, neither of which she liked, so she chose one at random.  As she sat on a stump away from the fire, a single thought plagued her mind. 

If the King sends knights, then I must fight, don’t I?  The thought made her stomach churn, demolishing any appetite that she should have had.  She kept pecking away at the boar meat regardless, trying her best to ignore the clammy feeling in her arms and legs.  And they’ll probably come after me.  I’ll be arrested and taken before Paleface, who will probably cut me open, drain my blood, and keep it as a trophy in his throne room.

She reasoned with herself.  The notion that the King would kill her was preposterous.  I’d just be arrested and tortured until I eventually died in prison.  She dropped the chunk of meat onto her plate, her heart racing and blood pulsing in her head. 

A walk!  That’s all I need!  She got up from her stump and placed her plate and ale down on top of it.  She left the bonfire, drifting down the dirt road towards the outskirts of town.  She kicked some dirt up with the tip of her boot, which she immediately regretted for two reasons.  One, she was wearing white, which she had been advised time and again that it was a terrible thing to wear in a woods surrounded by unpaved roads.  And two, she feared that if a dirt particle in the air was breathed in, it would become lodged inside her lungs and cause illness in a few decades which would ultimately lead to her untimely demise. 

A woman in a dark cloak dropped from the treetops overhead, landing with a muffled thud behind Turtle.  The young nervous woman in white paused for a moment, her heart rate accelerating.  More to herself than to anyone, she blurted, Someone just dropped out of a tree and landed behind me, as if to assure herself that such a thought was absolutely asinine.  She turned about to quell her fears, but upon seeing the cloaked woman behind her, her eyes grew wide with terror.  Someone dropped out of a tree and landed behind me! Turtle cried out as the woman in the cloak grabbed the scruff of her white robe and dragged her to a tree at the side of the road. 

Lifting Turtle up off the ground, the darkly cloaked woman uttered, You used my name to the Kingdom Guards.  They will return for me, with a small battalion to eliminate any who oppose them.  Do you know what you’ve done?

Turtle squeaked with a small quiver to her voice, I killed us all. 

The woman in the dark cloak regarded the pathetic expression across the ruffian’s face.  A smile crossed over her face.  For a moment, I thought your cowardice was a facade, not a legitimate character trait.  Kegluneq released the terrified young woman.  Turtle fell back to her feet, and then hunched over, inching away from the cloaked woman, whimpering. 

Are you going to kill me?  Turtle collected herself off the ground.

No, Kegluneq shook her head.  "I was going to recruit you.  I thought you were a warrior, but now I see I was mistaken."  Passing the nervous woman in white, the hunter in the