Ol' Flint the Crow

The Machine

"The bar lady won't break through these bonds again, your Highness," said a voice which made sure to keep a respectful tone. "I swear it!"

There came an answer, sharp and haughty. "She better not. She's the only leverage we have over the traitor. The bird will come for her. I know this! And when he does..." Shouting to someone else, the woman's voice called out, "You two! Warlocks! Is the machine ready for Flint?"

A shrill cackle erupted off a few yards away. "Gert, Madam. Please call me Gert. Or sorcerer at the very least. Warlock is such an ugly term; I can't stand it."

"I've paid you a small fortune," snapped the lady. "So I will call you by whatever name I see fit!"

With a squeak, Richter, who's voice Samuel could clearly recognize even in his delirious state, answered nervously, "Y-yes ma'am! It's all set up. It's ready for F-Flint when he arrives."

"I taught you well, Richter," laughed Gert. "Perhaps it was worth taking your poor self as my apprentice."

Richter replied weakly, "Y-yes sir..."

The woman's voice interrupted, "Good! Strap the bar woman to the machine. I want to test it out first."

"B-but that's not necessary," cried Richter. "It works, Princess Tabitha. I assure you!"

"Ah, don't get soft," Gert spoke with venom oozing out of his lips. "I can't wait to see our passion project in action. My blood boils to see how a victim fairs with our magnum opus. What pain it will inflict! Glorious, excruciating agony. Ahhh! Like music to my ears! Quickly now, Richter! Help me with this woman. She's damn heavy."

"Get your hands off of me, bastards!" Miss Bleak screamed at the top of her lungs.

Suddenly, Samuel's eyelids fluttered open at the sound of the barmaid in danger. For a moment, the only thing Samuel could make out was a grey blur and a horde of shadowy figures moving in front of him.

Once, the minstrel's sight fully returned, he noticed his surroundings were an expansive barn with multiple rooms and levels. Looking up, one could see that the barn was built with three-stories. The last of these stories was made of planks of wood to support the roof that went around like a spider's web. This lattice like structure was perfect for chickens and other fowls to make their nest here. However, there were none.

On the ground floor, dry hay covered the ground and the smell of cattle, who had, only a few days ago, been chewing on their cud in the many stalls dotting the barn creating a maze, permeated the air. Not a sign of farm animals remained, thus allowing adequate space for its new residents: Princess Tabitha and her obedient nobles.

Armed with glittering swords and bows encrusted with diamonds and pearls, they stood guard throughout the building, ready to call to their leader the moment they noticed the crow appear. The scars on their faces, from the torture they endured so long ago at the hands of Todd and the rest of the 'rebellious' townsfolk, gave their expression's a grim look. The nobles were bitter, resentful, but focused on the task given to them by their leader.

Samuel then studied the princess, the thick cut on her forehead shown like a beacon. Her eyes were firm. Her nostrils would flare like a raging bull. She kept her gaze on Miss Bleak, watching Gert and Richter attach the woman to a machine similar to a large pipe organ that Samuel remembered from college. The contraption filled the barn with its sky-high pipes that puffed out burning hot vapor. This steam would drift to the ground and float all over the barn floor. Where the keys of the would have been (if it were a piano) there were instead knobs, levers and buttons that controlled the device. Beyond this there was an empty space for the poor victim to be seated. Miss Bleak was placed there, facing the mechanical monster which belched out the smoke that circled around the barmaid's wiggling feet. She tried to fight, but the knots she was tied with proved to be too secure, just as the noble had explain. Bleak could not escape.