Calvin "Chappy" Chapman's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Chappy knelt by the twisted old stump and pried open the silver chest inside. The note was short. Goat Head Rock. Sun at its lowest before sunset. He grinned and pocketed the paper. The spyglass was still out there, and so was the woman he'd pinned his forgeries on. He needed his crew before she needed him dead. At dusk, the ivy-cloaked boulder glared down with burning eyes. Three figures waited beneath it. Edger R. Hatchet, polished and pale, tapping a clean blade. Vix the Crimson, fingers stained with chalk and old curses. Slade Savage, the Panthera mercenary, flanked by two silent Gravediggers. Each carried a bounty bigger than the last. Chappy bowed like a host welcoming guests to dinner. They walked the plan down to the bone. Hit the Scriptorium first. Get the spyglass's last known sighting. Get the secret to its power. Then ride out and cash in the prize. Hatchet wanted blood. Vix wanted locks to crack. Slade wanted gold. Chappy let them all believe they were getting it. The meadery sat hunched in stone, lanterns burning gold over its carved arch. Inside, behind the casks and the laughing drunks, the back rooms opened up. They picked through blades, powders, rope, and rolled maps. Chappy slipped an extra vial into his coat when no one was watching. Old habits. Load-bearing ones. Morning came hard and bright at the stables. Grooms led out horses, a dire-lizard for Slade, and a black-lacquered stagecoach plated in iron. Vix chalked wards along its wheels. Hatchet climbed up top with a long rifle. Chappy took the reins himself. He trusted no one to drive his future. The stagecoach rolled out toward the sandstone cliffs of the Scriptorium, its blue windows glowing in the distance. Chappy snapped the reins and smiled. Step one was moving. Somewhere behind him, he knew, a cell door was rattling. He just had to be faster than the woman trying to break out of it.