Wild Bill IV
Wild Bill threw himself on the ground. When he looked up, the archer’s bow was arrowless. Wild Bill jumped up as quickly as he could and ran back into the jailhouse, slamming the door behind him. It wouldn’t be long before the townsfolk bashed it in.
He pulled the bean out of his pocket. If the one he gave that man created a giant beanstalk, that meant that the bean in Wild Bill’s hand now was wildly more dangerous than he had thought. He shoved it back in his pocket and looked around the jailhouse. Or intended to. His eyes went immediately to the chest in the corner and stayed fixed on it.
He had seen the chest during his initial scan of the jailhouse. With magic users locked up, it was not difficult to imagine what lay in the chest. The townsfolk had, wisely or luckily, not destroyed the confiscated, suspected-magical contraband. Most bards would’ve shared the poem of The Explosion at Ironforge, part myth and fairy tale. But Wild Bill knew all stories contained some hint of truth. Destroying magical items could be extremely dangerous.
He dashed to the chest and muttered an incantation to obliterate the lock. There was no time for preservative tinkering—his skillful hands were robbed of an opportunity to master the lock the right way.
He carried a sliver of hope in the back of his mind, but Wild Bill didn’t fool himself. If the townsfolk had actually confiscated a magical object and put it in this chest, there was small hope Wild Bill could find use for it in his current predicament. Most items, artifacts, and articles took time to learn. And to boot, what could help him now?
He knew he might need to use the bean. But he dreaded it and hoped desperately for an alternative solution. The beanstalk would’ve provided an excellent distraction he could slip away from. This bean, though, would only make a bigger mess.
So messy.
He tore through the contents of the chest, which was rather full. He knew some of it wouldn’t be magical at all. The Bread Towners probably couldn’t check. Wild Bill looked for something familiar. Maybe something he had peddled a while back, or maybe some famous artifact was hiding in sleepy Bread Town, waiting to team up with Wild Bill.
He threw aside clothing and jewelry, an ordinary dagger, and a book. Finally, at the bottom of the chest, he found something familiar. And his heart sank.
A magnificent necklace stared back at him. Not a heroic sword or shield from the children’s stories, ready to save Wild Bill in this desperate moment. No. This necklace carefully held seven dangling beads, each a transfixing, deep reddish pool of energy.
Here I am, Wild Bill thought. The Bread Towners had gone crazy and were bearing down on him, alone in the jailhouse, for freeing civilians accused of malicious magical use. Here he was. Alone, with a wagon full of wonders uselessly far away. Wild Bill would again need to rely on his careful application of demonically evil magical weapons. The bean in his pocket, and the necklace in the chest.
He nodded to himself. They didn’t call him Wild for nothing.
He grabbed the necklace and yanked off one of the mesmerizing beads. He put his back against the door and heard the Bread Towners outside yelling their commands. They would breach the door soon. Their fear of magic kept them hesitant, but they grew bolder with each passing second that nothing crazy happened. Wild Bill aimed at the wall across from him. He would need to duck and shield his face. The wall was probably too close, but he couldn’t change that. He hoped there was no one on the backside of the jailhouse. If there was… well… they wouldn’t be there long.
With one last deep breath, Wild Bill cocked back his arm and hurled the bead at the jailhouse wall. He wanted to watch but was too wise not to duck and cover.
The shouts of the Bread Towners were drowned out by the explosion. A hot burst of air threw Wild Bill off balance and slammed him against the door. It was over quickly. His ears rang, and he squinted, seeing only thick dust clouds. He coughed violently and stood slowly. He took one step, then another. Slowly he worked his way through the dust.
The wall was gone. He stepped outside—maybe he was already outside? No, now he was outside. He looked up and saw that the bead had blasted a hole through the building. The roof sagged and smoldered. The remaining jailhouse walls were on fire. Damn, was it hot. He noticed his shirt sleeve had been burned off, and his arm was covered in ash.
His magical, sentient rug flew up to him. Wild Bill, still dazed, felt relief. He started to climb the rug but remembered himself. He took the bean out of his pocket and knelt on the ground. He scooped a dollop of dirt, dropped the bean in the hole, and buried it. Coughing to exercise his throat, Wild Bill found just enough saliva to spit on the buried bean.
He stood quicker and got dizzy but managed to throw himself onto the rug. It zipped away, and the air felt nice rushing past them. Wild Bill still couldn’t hear well. There was no sign of the Bread Towner mob. They probably ran when the jailhouse exploded.
Wild Bill turned back toward Bread Town as the rug carried him through the woods. There was a ruckus back at the meeting spot, a clearing in the woods; the freed citizens were hugging and celebrating, breaking off their shackles, and thanking the family Wild Bill had teamed up with. The rug brought Wild Bill around the scene, discretely carrying him to the wagon. He slumped over and found some healing potions to chug.
Everyone’s attention was drawn back toward Bread Town when the fireworks started. In the sky overhead, massive explosions of bright colors and shapes stole the ears and eyes of everyone for miles. The large band of folks, now free, were transfixed. Wild Bill saw some were crying.
A giant beanstalk. An explosion at the jailhouse. A firework display. So messy.
Previous Chapter: https://therealzsmith.com/2023/04/28/resistance-chapter-15/
Next Chapter: https://therealzsmith.com/2023/06/09/resistance-chapter-17/
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