Chapter 40. The King of the Dark and Forgot
“Order and chaos work hand in hand. In accordance with the laws of nature, the rise of one evokes the rise of the other.”
– The Autobiography of Miguel Estaban
The Profunda Gruta, Mexico
The wily old man in animal skins tried to re-open the sealed doors of the cavern, but was met with little success. The debris of the Hacienda’s foundation held the blast doors firmly shut. He turned back, walking along the dimly lit path of the cool grotto. He walked for several minutes along the crude limestone trail, making his way back to the central hub.
As he returned to the underground stronghold, he was greeted by several banditos, who escorted him to a small, hobbled-together treatment table on one of the higher ledges. Winded, Estaban took a seat along the craggy wall, the few scant pieces of furniture available already in use.
“Estaban, do you require assistance?” one of the banditos asked.
“I’m old, not dead. Though the way things are going lately, either is fine.”
The old man took a moment to catch his breath before standing. He quietly looked over his protégé. The man on the makeshift table was still breathing, though not in any kind of respectable shape. Estaban turned to the slightly less old, homely doctor working on his patient.
“What’s the prognosis? Is he going to be able to get back in the game? I know he had his heart set on playing this season,” Estaban asked.
“I’m not inclined to help this bastard in the least. He’s the one person around here worse than you. But uh…” The doctor looked back, noting the banditos holding him at gunpoint. “Since you asked so politely, he’ll live. Can’t say much for his arm, though.”
Estaban came around the side of the table, looking down to the injured bandito. He uncapped a bottle of water, offering the wounded a small drink. The bandito on the table took slow sips, laying his head back down.
“Now, now. Take your time. Need you to rest up and get better. If this nonsense has taught me anything, it’s that it’s getting to be that time. I need to find a nice quiet place to live out the rest of my hopefully boring days. I can think of no one more capable—other than myself—to take my place.”
The injured bandito tried to sit up, assisted by Estaban and the doctor as he did. He looked over to Estaban, still somewhat groggy due to the pain medications.
“Lorena okay?” he slurred.
“Heh, you picked a hell of a woman. She blew the whole damned place up, trying to kill you, me, Scruffy, and everyone in between. And you’re still worried about her. She’s fine, and she’ll remain that way so long as you keep playing for the home team. But then again, why wouldn’t you?”
Adelais lay back down, exhausted, and fell back asleep. Estaban felt his forehead, checking to see if the fever had started to subside.
“Not that I care, but why would you want a man who’s done nothing but kill your people off to take over for you?” the doctor asked.
“He and his brother have served me faithfully, and far better than most. Besides, what we need now is ambition and motivation. Both qualities this young man possesses in abundance.”
“But again the part where he’s tried to kill pretty much everyone, including you.”
“I failed to protect his brother from my psychotic former successor. Seems fair. But it’s that exact rage that I’m counting on to end all of this.”
Estaban lifted his hand, feeling Adelais’s fever finally starting to subside. He nodded to a bandito in the corner, who began moving toward the doctor.
“Send some men out to the museum to see what the commotion is all about. Seems some of our old friends are rallying over there, and I really do believe we’ve seen enough surprises. The nonsense in this place has gone on long enough—it’s time to bring order to this madness.”
Estaban spoke to his men as the bandito in the corner dropped a sack over the doctor’s head, tied a heavy rope around the neck, and dragged him off.
Gotta say, even remembering now, it’s still a bit crazy to think about all the nonsense these dudes and dudettes got themselves into. Especially Sig. From what I heard about that kid—such a damn shame. But uh, what’s the old saying? When one door closes, ya get a nice glass of lemonade? I dunno, something like that. Pretty sure lemonade was a thing. But the kid was smart. I’m sure he wouldn’t let his dream go down like that.
So I’m bettin’ at this point you’ve got all sorts of burning questions on your mind like, “What about the Bards? This story hasn’t been Bard-tastic at all!” And you’re absolutely right. It has been a little light on our usual rock star action, for what I think by now are obvious reasons. I don’t wanna say we’re on hiatus, so let’s say the band is taking a life pause. We’ll be back rockin’ before long.
Anyway, got a Jeany-situation to take care of, so I’m gonna see to it. But don’t worry, got plenty of juicy details and fan service to fill ya in on soon enough.
Until then.
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