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VINT FARKUS
The rest of Godenheim wasn't like the Ruling Class District, with its Towers, its Drug Houses and the continual chatter of philosophical debate and experimentation. Sure, there was religious intolerance, but the people there lived more hand to mouth. No one could afford the drugs down there. What they needed were the tinkers, the traders and the providers, and that was often what they got.
This group called themselves the Cornucopia Caravan, and those in need in the deepest reaches of Godenheim were their people. Vint Farkus was the leader's name.
In one way or another, every person on the Caravan was related to him; the Sutler was his Brother, Jake, the Nurse was his Sister, Evangeline, and the Prostitute was good old Auntie Smairey, clean and open for business - so it said above her tent. The rest of the troupe were either Uncles, In-Laws or soon-to-be In-Laws.
As a troupe they were polished and they were slick.
They set up quickly and dismantled just as rapidly, when it was time for the Cornucopia Caravan to move on. They never outstayed their welcome. Well, rarely ever. Put it this way, they had never been caught. And that was always a bonus.
"Hmm, looks like a nice bunch, eh, Vint?" said Auntie Smairey, standing outside her tent and airing her unmentionables.
"Put 'em away, Auntie. They gotta pay if they want a look."
"Never hurts to advertise, Vint, my boy."
"That's not advertising. That's a free show."
Auntie Smairey slapped Vint playfully on the shoulder, smiling and returning inside her tent. She was quickly followed by a potential client. Soon there could be heard giggling from inside. But Vint wasn't being playful. He meant it. Don't give anything away for free. Ever. That was something his dear old Daddy punched into him on a regular basis, night after night. It wasn't Vint's fault Mother left, but boy did he pay for it. That was until he stabbed that shit in the throat with his own shattered glass. No one, not ever, would get the jump on Vint again. No matter what it took.
Uncle Stov and Uncle Werry had finished securing the Stage and Vint Farkus climbed the steps to deliver his usual spiel.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Gather around, for the most competitive prices this side of the Droke! We have every provision you will need! We have fresh meat! Fresh vegetables! We even have - wait for it - fresh fruit! Grown in the gardens of our very own Toker Farkus, once of the well-known eatery in Freeride; Food Matters! Yes, we have all that! But that's not all! We have entertainment! We have the great lady of pleasure, Smairey! We have betting available, handled by Honest Goff, a well-known figure of Prudence! Not only that, we have Nurse Evangeline, who will tend to your ailments! Fair prices on any medicine, or my names not Vint - Vint Farkus of the Caravan Cornucopia!"
It seemed to do the trick. People had gathered through various parts of his speech. Packed in tightly, just how Vint liked it. Less likely to notice when a finger went into a pocket, or a hand into a bag. Out were the Nephews, procuring from the gathered, while the others dispersed amongst the hovels and houses, taking what constituted as valuables from the homes of these poor people. It was a good system; a sound system. Except sometimes it went wrong, and they would be confronted. Then it was dealt with, efficiently. They would be out of there, well away by the time anyone noticed old Toin was missing or Emmarie hadn't turned up for her cleaning job that day.
It wouldn't last forever. Eventually they would run out of people or get caught. Vint was quite ready for this, which is why he pushed his people so hard. Build up the pot, so they could retire, somewhere amongst the ruins and live like Kings and Queens.
This time, Vint was in a particular place for a reason. He had been told by an old seer once of his fate. She told him of the time, the date, the place even, when he would go, you know, six feet deep. He always believed it a sham, as much as what he perpetrated himself was, but it had stuck at the back of his mind, becoming louder the closer he got to the time and date he was told. It had hung there for decades. That feeling that your fate was predetermined and some person with insight had read the pages of your book of life. So he had to be here, this day, this place. And kind of in a way, the seer was proved right. Destiny had guided him here, just as the seer had predicted. The rest, well, he would just have to wait and see. In the meantime, business called him out of his reflections.
"Boss!" it was one of the Nephews. Huve, if he wasn't mistaken, "We finished our sweep. Found hardly anything. This lot really are broke. I'm thinking we pack up and move -"
Vint backhanded the boy. It was the only way he knew, "Don't talk rubbish! There's gotta be some Gorper out there. Out again!" he gestured to the boy, who was stroking his cheek, which was already turning red. Of course there were no Gorpers out there. This area was notorious for its almost religious fervour. What these people had, they donated to the Old Ones - the Ancient Gods of the time before What Came Before. It was a useless belief in Vint's opinion, but you had to respect it - the way Religion scared one into giving, to save their rotten souls. It was a model for what he himself became.
Now he was here, when he was predicted to be, at the date he was predicted to be also. Death was coming and it wasn't dressed in black, carrying a scythe. It was disguised, but as what? Inevitability? A child? One of his own? Or nothing at all. Just words of a stupid old woman his Daddy forced him to see. Another tradition, apparently. All the Farkus's had to see her when they came of age. But she was slow, not so sharp of mind when Vint went to see her. Did that make her less of a seer, or a more accurate scryer, the closer to the Blackness she herself was?
Vint was then joined by his Sister Evangeline. She could see something in him and stroked his arm in comfort. She knew better than to ask him his business, however. Much like Daddy he was, the older he got. Again, that was something she would never say to his face. She knew what he did to Daddy, even if he thought she didn't. That fate was his own, not hers, so she kept quiet about it, "Vint, it’s going well, but we're running out of Ferrowgood's Ointment. Think you could get one of the boys to -"
He looked at her, smiled, much as he used to when they both enjoyed coitus, something Vint didn't have the time nor the inclination for anymore, "Never mind, I'll do it myself. I need the walk to lighten my head anyway." he said as he left the tent. The ingredients were simple, but it required a little subtlety. It needed the right kind of dirt to work. The dirt around here was no good, so Vint was forced to walk to the previous district, where they had noticed the dirt was a lot softer.
He did need the walk, to be honest. Sitting there, doing nothing allowed his mind to wander too far. What he needed was a distraction. Besides, the Caravan didn't need him right now. They ran like a smooth operation anyway. All Vint really did these days was guide it when it seemed to be coming loose at the seams. See, not everyone had the patience he had, the business mind or the strong arm needed to keep the boys in line, not to mention Auntie and her ways. She would run away with the first man who gave her the time of day, if he let her. She was too good a money earner. Vint would never let her go, not as long as she was clean and her body was in shape, just the way the men liked it. The good side of plump.
Vint was on the ground, digging for the good dirt, when he heard the scream. It was followed by a shout no Farkus ever wanted to hear, "Stop Thief!" Vint finished up his work, put the dirt into the bag and ran towards the call. A woman, young and pretty, was crying on a doorstep, while a man held one of Vint's boys around the waist. The boy was struggling, but this man had quite a lot of strength.
"What's going on here?" he asked, acting the responsible citizen.
"This little git robbed that woman's house! I'm holding him until someone can get some chains!" shouted the man, through struggling breath.
Vint assessed the situation. He walked over to the young lady, to comfort her. She buried her face in Vint's chest, "There, there." he soothed. He turned to face the man, "So, this little scamp stole from this house then? Maybe the act of youth? Maybe if he gives the stuff back, we can just chalk it down to youthful high-jinks, eh?"
"Absolutely not!" said the man, "This little shit is going to get his comeuppance! Aren’t you, you little shit!" Vint recognised the boy as Darno, one of his Uncle's sprogs. Darno replied to the man with a scrape down the his shin. The man yelped, but didn't let go.
"You're well within your rights, of course. But isn't it a lot of trouble? I mean, he's small. He couldn't have taken that much?" Vint was aware that any more noise would likely alert others to the situation. He needed to contain it and quickly.
"He's going down, and that's all -" As the man began to explain, Vint had heard enough. He twisted the head of the young lady, snapping her neck. He dropped her, and while the man was in shock, Vint thrust the needle-sharp dagger under the man's chin. He let go of the boy and fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood. Vint quickly grabbed the young lady and dragged her inside her house, doing the same with the man. He then grabbed the boy and left the area, hoping none of the unnecessary situation was observed. When he was sure they were clear, he let go of the boy, grabbed his hair instead and shouted in the boy's surprised face.
"You stupid, stupid boy! You could've ruined the whole thing, right there and then! You see what I have to do to fix these problems? And all because of your idiot lack of control! When we get back, I'm going to whip you to within an inch of your wretched, pointless life, you little shit!" Vint let go of the boy's hair and walked on, to the Water Barrel, to complete the Ferrowgood's Ointment concoction.
Vint noticed the boy didn't cry. He didn't complain. He took it like a good Farkus should. He reminded Vint of himself at that age. Perhaps this talk would motivate the boy to do better in the future. Perhaps one day, even taking over from Vint, once he had earned the pot and retired.
Eventually when Vint had returned to the Caravan, he forgot all about beating the boy. He figured the kid had learned his lesson and no more needed to be said on the subject. Vint visited his Sister Evangeline's tent and gave her the jar of ointment. As she was with a patient, she forewent the usual blowjob and merely thanked him instead. He nodded in reciprocation.
One final walk around the various tents and punters convinced Vint he need not worry. Everything was running fine. In fact, things were so good, he nearly forgot about the date and the location, and the words of the seer. At it happened, he was reminded of it while he sat in his chair, in his tent, seemingly alone and dozing.
And the blow came when he was least expecting it. It came to pass that the seers prediction was true, and by the hands of young Darno. Who would have predicted that? As he lay dying, Vint Farkus realised that the old seer had been right after all.
But then, who wants to outstay your welcome? Damn it if it wasn't the way of the Farkus Clan. Oh well. Long live Darno, eh?
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