23 – Sewager

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Draft 1 – Updated 28 November 2025 (C023/D001)

The doors to the saloon flew open and customers flooded in. The first rush was to the counter where liquor was sold in pint jugs. The second rush was to the tiger tables where dealers stood by shuffling decks of cards.

Butcher and LT were eager to get to their next bit of business, but there were so many people jammed into the trading post when it opened, that they held back. They waited on the boardwalk next to the door hoping that Sewager might have time for them when the initial rush was over. 

Customer after drunken customer, bearing little brown jugs, streamed past them to a large bonfire burning outside. Burlesquers, who had been entertaining the crowd earlier in the day, snaked through the throng with trays, hawking grilled sausage, roast chicken, smoked fish, and fresh bread. Top floor companions danced on the balcony while others at ground level were passed giggling from one drunken lap to another. As the evening turned from dusk to dark, fire shadows danced a bacchanalia in the everwoods.

Tooplo passed by, accompanied by Hunter, weaving their way to the bath house where fighters had free access on fight nights. Her monstrous brother trailed them, his boar skull provoking wide eyes and intimidating space to open up around him.

When the early rush settled, the two men approached a section of the counter reserved for non-alcoholic transactions. Dunnum Dirdy, a large surly man with a filthy beard, came over to talk to them.

“This side’s for dry goods,” he drawled. “Y’all wanna drink, line up over yonder like everyone else.”

“Where do we line up for bounties?” Butcher asked him politely.

Dunn’s reaction began with alarm but faded immediately into annoyance. He craned his neck up over the counter, trying to get a look at their feet. “Tell me you did not bring a gaddamn head in here.”

“A what?”

“A head. Where’s the fucking head?”

“The bounty’s head?” Butcher was confused and a little rattled, worried he may have broken a rule.

“Yeah. The bounty’s head,” Dan frowned. “What the fuck are we talking about?”

“Here,” Butcher replied, pointing at LT’s head. “It’s right here.” 

Dunn was bewildered. “Meaning he’s the bounty,” he said, understanding dawning in his eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he stated with curt nod. “Cuz El don’t like people bringing heads in here. Getting blood stains on the floor and what not.”

“No, sir,” the butcher agreed. “I’m a butcher. I understand that.”

“Well,” Dunn said, scowling at Bucher’s bounty. “Gimme your papers then.”

Butcher pulled a bloodstained warrant out of his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on the bar in front of Dunn. Dirdy looked back and forth between the paper and LT several times. 

“I don’t see it,” he admitted, frowning again. “But bounties ain’t my business.” He turned to leave then changed his mind. “He armed?” he asked Butcher, scanning LT from head to toe. 

“I don’t believe so,” Butcher replied.

“You better not ah brought a weapon in here,” Dunn pointed at LT, looking down the length of this finger. 

LT put his hands up, palms out.

Dunn walked the poster down the length of the bar to Sewager who was having a shot with a group of Company men. He handed it to the curly haired barman and leaned into his ear to say something. A grave, somewhat sinister expression rolled across the barman’s face as he turned to regard the travellers.

“Chet,” Sewager barked without taking his eyes off them. “Get over here and tend bar with Dunn.”

A man with a short black beard who had been sweeping up in the dry goods area, put his broom down and took over from his boss. Sewager glanced at the image on the paper and back to the men’s faces as he crossed the space between them.

“Tell me you did not bring a head in here,” he said, as he arrived in front of them.

“No sir, Mr Sewager,” Butcher replied. 

“Good,” he smiled. “Nothing kills the mood faster than the stink of some poor cocksucker’s hat rest.”

“Butcher,” John introduced himself. “John Butcher.”

“LT Tanner,” said the bounty.

“You fellas want a drink now or you wanna show me the corpse first?”

“Corpse sir?”

Sewager replied to Butcher with a look that was all business. “I ain’t paying you ‘til I see the fucking corpse,” he said flatly.

“No corpse, Mr Sewager. Bounty’s for this man here.” Butcher indicated LT. 

Sewager’s brows shot up. “Upright,” he said, glancing at the paper. “This you?” he asked LT.

Sewager was a dark-eyed man past sixty with greasy dark curls and a neat salt-and-pepper moustache. He wore long-sleeved long white underwear beneath a striped gray vest and matching trousers. Curls of thick grey chest hair peeked over his vee-necked collar. 

“I don’t see it. This looks more like that guy.” He nodded to a man in a Dhaka hat sitting at a tiger table behind Butcher.

“It’s me,” LT admitted. “The rest on that warrant is me as well.”

“Cooperative, too, I see.” Sewager’s eyebrows lifted curiously and he handed the warrant back to Butcher. “Can I buy you fellas a drink?” he offered, setting three glasses on the wooden bar between them. “Seems the least I can do, considering you wasted your time coming here.”

“Wasted my time?” Butcher frowned, bringing the glass to his lips.

“Afraid so,” Sewager explained, “Collecting on a live bounty requires taking him to Eastbranch yourself.”

“Oh.” Butcher was relieved. “Not looking to collect a reward, Mr. Sewager,”—Butcher put the glass down on the bar, whiskey burning in his throat—“Just hoping to keep what I caught.”

Sewager’s eyes narrowed a bit. He waved the bottle, offering them another shot, but Butcher reflexively held a hand up to decline. He had a weak relationship with strong drink and tried to avoid it when telling necessary lies. 

“Keep-what-you-catch? That requires harm against you personally,” the barman scowled.

Butcher’s confidence surged. He had a story for this. They had rehearsed it on the way from Three Mills. 

“Caught him breaking into my smoke house,” Butcher claimed. “He owes me for the door he busted and the meat he spoiled.”

The barman’s nose lifted. He studied both of their faces, considering Butcher’s story. “Why don’t we let’s talk upstairs?” He smiled, gesturing to a staircase. 

They had talked about this, too, on their journey from Three Mills. 

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Sewager,” Butcher replied, unsettled by the inscrutable dark eyes hovering over the barman’s friendly smile. “I’d prefer to deal with this here at the bar.”

Going upstairs, Hunter had warned them, was to be avoided at all cost.

Inscrutability fell away the moment Butcher rejected the barman’s invitation. It was replaced by a disapproving scowl. But as Sewager’s mouth opened to speak, a meaty hand landed on Butcher’s shoulder.

“Three Mills,” a friendly voice sounded. It was Molly Cooper’s friend, the militiaman from the gate to the fighting pit. “This is the guy I got the sausage from, El,” the militiaman said with an enthusiastic grin. “Mind if I buy him a drink?”

“I wish you would, Tom,” the barman allowed with a hint of resentment, pouring shots into the empty glasses. “It appears they won’t be buying any for themselves.”

Tom’s unexpected appearance was fortuitous. It created an opportunity for a reset. Although things had begun well enough, Butcher felt the wheels coming off. This wasn’t Three Mills. He couldn’t lean on his reputation here. And Sewager wasn’t the type to be charmed.

“Give us a minute, Tom,” Sewager lowered his forehead to the militiaman when the glasses were down and the introductions complete.

“Sure, El,” Tom replied. “Whatever you say.” His smile vanished as he stepped back to give them space.

“As much as you might like to claim this meat thief for your own,” El informed Butcher, “the prior warrant supersedes. Eastbranch wants this bounty for sedition, meaning no one can claim him as a slave.”

Disappointment squeezed a sigh from Butcher’s chest. He was accustomed to talking his way through most of life’s obstacles. He hadn’t expected to fail so quickly.

“I warned him you’d say that, Mr. Sewager,” LT stepped in, catching Butcher off guard. “Truth is…we came here because we heard you might be…sympathetic.”

Butcher winced. They’d discussed this with Hunter. It was a treacherous path he’d advised them not to tread.

Sewager crossed his arms over his chest. Butcher could feel his doubts. 

“Why I would be sympathetic to two strangers who ain’t shown me no shine?” he wondered aloud. “Two men who—when given a free taste of hospitality by the joint’s very owner and an employee to boot—ain’t yet had the common courtesy to put up for one of their own?”

His words were a slap in the face. Butcher pursed his lips then probed his cheek with his tongue, feeling the sting of embarrassment. He nodded at the empty glasses on the bar and placed a shiny brass coin on the counter next to them.

Sewager poured two shots, then stepped back recrossing his arms.

“He didn’t mean nothing by it, Mr. Sewager,” Butcher said, trying to reclaim the initiative from LT. “He’s just saying we’re good friends is all.”

“Buddies,” LT said, throwing his shot back, looking boldly past Butcher.

Sewager’s eyes fixed on LT, holding his gaze. Butcher wondered what he missed.

“One says friends. The other says buddies,” Sewager retorted. “Leaving me to wonder which is the confession and which the sacrilege.”

Butcher was lost. What did that mean? He’d definitely missed something. “What’s the difference?” he blurted, frowning.

“A friend offers you his coat when he’s cold,” Sewager replied. 

“A buddy lets you come inside,” LT finished.

Oh, boy. Butcher’s stomach clenched. His neck burned and the heat crawled up onto his ears. Gaddamn it, LT!  “I’m married,” was all that came to mind. 

“Being married don’t speak to a man’s inclinations, Butcher,” said Sewager. 

He was caught. Uncertain. Not sure where to place his foot next.

“My friend prefers to keep our business private,” LT told Sewager. 

“How about we get you a room?”

Butcher cringed at Sewager’s offer. 

“You can sharpen your pencils tonight and we’ll figure at this again in the morning.”

Butcher wanted to melt into the floor. “We really need to get going, Mr.—”

“You can leave any time you like,” Sewager allowed Butcher. “But your bounty is staying here.”

Butcher gaped. Things were spinning. “Look,” he said, turning his charm on, reasserting control. “If it’s money you want—”

A murderous glare flashed over Sewager’s face, causing Butcher to still his tongue. “When you two cunts wandered in here,” he bellowed, “did you take note of the gallows out front?”

Butcher nodded, afraid to speak.

Sewager leaned in. “Offer me another fucking bribe in front of cocksuckers you don’t even know and I’ll give you the two-penny tour.”

Butcher’s shoulders sagged. Regret washed over him. “I’m sorry.” Why did he come here? He was in over his head.

“We’ll continue this in my office,” Sewager insisted. “Out of the mob’s hearing.”

“No,” Butcher gasped, louder than he intended, causing Sewager’s face to redden. “You have a reputation, Mr. Sewager. If I go up there, I’m afraid I might be coming down feet first.”

Sewager shook his head in exasperation. “Death for this one,” he looked at LT, “will be at the hand of Eastbranch. Question now is who does for you.”

Butcher swallowed. He needed to speak to Hunter.

“Tom!” Sewager barked orders at the militiaman standing nearby. “Take this cocksucker into custody.”

The burly man stepped forward, yanking LT’s arms behind him.

“Please, Mr. Sewager,” Butcher’s mind reeled. “Give me a minute to—

“You had your fucking chance.” Sewager was spitting with anger. Heads turned and the men nearest them fell silent.

“The bell,” said LT.

“Yes,” Butcher remembered, reaching into this pocket and placing the item on the bar.

Sewager’s eyes settled on the object, freezing him in place. He gaped, looking like he’d seen a ghost. His eyes moved slowly from the bell to Butcher. 

“Please,” Butcher begged softly.

Sewager’s eyes drifted back to the bell. Butcher could see his mind turning, his mouth struggling to shape sounds. 

*****

It was small, made of iron, crudely crafted, and not much bigger than a thimble. It was aged, greyed like an item long weathered from use outdoors. It did not have the polished look of a bell used to summon servants, but it was too small for anything else. Butcher wondered if it might be a toy.

Sewager sat behind his desk rolling it between his fingers, examining it. It had no clapper so it made no sound. 

“Ain’t this a fucking turn,” he snapped. “Presents a butcher but’s revealed a shaman.”

Butcher felt foolish. He’d been so confident of his own ability to win Sewager over and then so flustered by LT’s unexpected gambit that he’d forgotten about the bell.

“Why didn’t you start with this?” Sewager demanded. 

Butcher took a deep breath. “I was asked to keep the bell out of it—if I could.”

Sewager stared at him in thought for several heartbeats. Then his eyes moved to LT, whose arms were held behind his back by the firm grip of two militiamen. 

“Let him go, Tom,” he said, “lest we be plagued with haunts for the rest of our fucking days.”

LT was released. The uniforms left the room. Sewager extended a hand offering the young man a seat. He pulled a whiskey bottle from a desk drawer and poured shots as LT settled into a vacant chair.

“I need papers,” LT said softly.

Sewager scoffed. Threw a shot back and slammed the empty glass back on the table before pouring himself another.

“People die here regular,” LT continued. “I’ll just pick up from where one left off. Use their name, if it’s all the same to you.”

Sewager’s rage, which had dissipated on the march up the stairs, stormed back. “Just cause they die here doesn’t mean I know who the fuck they are.”

“I can’t imagine that a man as crafty as you,” LT began with a tone that made Butcher wince, “would miss out on an opportunity like that.”

Sewager’s jaw set. He sat up. “But you can imagine forcing me to pick a fucking side,” he fist pounded on the desk. 

LT looked down, apologetically.

“You brotherhood cunts,” Sewager sneered. “Always stirring shit up.”

LT shook him off. “Forcing you to pick a side would work against reason, Mr. Sewager.”

Sewager paused. Butcher sensed his rage tick down a notch. A flush of curiosity settled in his eyes. “How’s that?”

“If you had to pick today,” LT explained, “I’ll wager you’d pick the Company.”

“The Company’s winning,” Sewarger said. “Why the fuck shouldn’t I?”

“The Company is winning,” LT agreed. “Today,” he emphasized. “But get me out from under this warrant and you might could help change that.”

“Or I might could get me a proper ass fucking from the Shadows.”

“Not this time,” LT assured him. “There’s factors at play.”

“Factors,” Sewager scoffed. “Like Milton? Or Southport?”

“It’s different this time,” LT said, glancing at the bell.

Sewager looked at the bell, then poured more shots in silence.

“The elves,” Sewager muttered. “Five fucking other things to think about and here come fucking the elves.”

Butcher recalled the night Hunter came to tell them about the children. What should we do? He and Amanda had debated that question well into the night. At the time, it felt like a personal decision. Now, the question seemed bigger.

“Alright,” Sewager said after a pause. “You force me to a fucking decsion,” he announced, standing. “Let’s see who’s side Lady Luck favours this time.”

Butcher didn’t know what he meant, but he could see that Sewager had come to a decision.

“LD, was it?” the barman asked.

“LT.”

Sewager nodded. He walked over to a cabinet, opened the door, and began sifting through papers, mumbling names to himself.

“William. Henry. Chris. Raylan. Luke…well…look at that?” He closed the cabinet door and returned to his seat, tossing some loose sheets of paper onto the desk in front of LT.

LT picked the papers up, reading them with interest. “Lukas Thorn,” he said at length. “I can live with that. How much?”

Sewager waved him off. “I wouldn’t complain if you and your fucking brothers spent some money downstairs once in a while or if you”—he raised his eyebrows at Butcher—”brought me some of that sausage now and then. But as far as this transaction goes, that bell squares us like a preacher’s coffin.”

Butcher exhaled. He was about to ask about room arrangements when Sewager stood. 

“Now both of you get the fuck out of my office. And tell the cocksucker who gave you the bell to go fuck himself. He ain’t getting it back.”

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