Maggie, a well-respected trader in nick-nacks and small souvenirs, watched the truck as it trundled out of sight. Around her, the bar was silent. Bertie was still standing in front of the door holding her weapon, and none of the other traders had the balls to do or say anything. Well, Maggie reckoned she had balls enough for the lot of them. She had four pairs at least tucked in her backpack. Old boyfriends, you know how it is. Keepsakes and that.

A wide grin spread over her leathery face, her quite unfathomably unclean breath staining the window brown. Hee hee, she thought, a dry cackle escaping her throat. We showed them, didn't we? A bunch of traders and wanderers up against the big bad Farmer Brown and his silly little bandits.

She looked back at the fortress, at the upturned tables and ramshackle soldiers. Just like Da Big Fort, she thought, only more interesting. And the good guys actually won.

She smacked her dry, chapped lips together. Yep, sure tasted like victory.

She threw her arms in the air.

And cheered.

* * *

Bert flinched as a sudden roar of applause gobbled up the silence she was busy wallowing in. Her customers were cheering, slapping each other on the backs and swapping over-exaggerated stories about who did and did not piss themselves. By the sounds of things it was about fifty-fifty. But Bert hadn't moved since Farmer Brown left. Her robotic hand was still balled into a fist, her pistol hanging tightly in her human hand by her side. The Bertrage was subsiding fast, and like most people after they'd been on a major high, she was realising that the things she had just said and done in the past ten minutes were, perhaps, if you really thought hard about it, not quite as good an idea as they were at the time.

Farmer Brown's final utterings lingered in her brain like a mental bad smell. Powerful enemies were the worst kind of enemies - they were the ones who followed through on their threats. They had that perfect blend of pride, reputation and raw firepower.

"WOOO!" cried Phoenix's voice from behind.

The adventurer appeared in Bert's peripheral to the left. He was dancing forwards towards the front door, gesturing wildly at where Farmer Brown would never see him gesture wildly. His face was ecstatic.

"Let that be a lesson to ya, you overgrown bastard!"

Meatsack appeared next, shuffling quietly out of his room and into the bar, smiling widely at Phoenix's antics. He laughed nervously, clapping his hands awkwardly together and dancing on the spot.

Bert seemed to be the only one who didn't feel the buzz of the room. But that was to be expected. They weren't the ones who just threatened a terrifying monster with a tiny little pistol. She had gotten herself out of the frying pan, oh yeah, there was no mistaking that. It was a frying-pan-free zone up in here. But when she hopped out the frying pan, where did that leave her? On the rest of the stove, that's where. Where all sorts of other pots and pans awaited you. Like griddles. She didn't want to be on a griddle.

Phoenix was now running around high-fiving some of the traders, hugging those that shared his excitement and picking up anybody smaller than him. Meatsack followed closely behind, but the lumbering giant managed only to knock people to the floor rather than hug them. He hadn't quite figured out the depth perception required for glomping.

"Phoenix," Bert stated. Her words, quiet, scythed through the mood.

Phoenix froze, a particularly tiny trader dangling from his arms.

"Take Meatsack and go pick up The Woman's statue outside." Her face was serious.

Her chef glanced quickly between Bert, the other traders and Meatsack. Nobody was moving.

"Now."

The tiny trader hit the floor.

Bert now surveyed the rest of the room with a distant gaze. She could see it as it was, long ago, a gout of flame enshrouding the front door, bullets pouring through the woodwork, bandits streaming through any entrance they could find. Bert and The Woman were pulling back from their fortress setup not dissimilar to the one in the present. Bullets zipped past their heads like little hyperactive bees, a grenade having just torn through the main entrance. They started running, Bert in front, The Woman screaming at her to get up the stairs, quick. Bert turned to look back, saw The Woman's determined face, and felt like she actually might survive. How could she not with such a powerful human behind her? One nameless woman who had done and would do anything to keep Bert safe, to make her happy. Then she watched in shock as The Woman convulsed suddenly and a splash of red hit Bert in the eyes.

"Bert...?"

She scowled quickly and shook her head, snapping back to reality. The tiny trader from before had picked himself up, brushed himself off and presented himself in front of Bert, gazing up at her nervously, hat in hands. Bert hadn't noticed the room was deathly silent, all eyes upon her.

She quickly wiped her eyes. "Manfred, hello, sorry. What can I do for you?"

"Um, well," the small man replied, fingering his hat slowly as he spoke. "We was just wonderin' what to do next, is all."

Bert nodded and forced a smile on her face, if only a small one. He was asking one question, but she knew he had meant another one. There was promise of free grog, after all. No trader would forget that in a hurry.

"Well," Bert began, "first things first we need to get these tables righted, don't you think?"

The man looked crestfallen, a disappointed murmur dribbling out of his mouth.

Bert smiled again, a little more genuinely this time. "Then I think everyone deserves a drink, don't you?"

His little face lit up. "Aye, that sounds like a fine plan!"

The crowd nodded with approval and started moving about. Around Bert, her Big Fort was picked up, dragged and shoved back into it's good ol' Smack-dabby self. Tables were stood up, chairs placed neatly under them, and one old man was poked rudely to the tune of "Oi, you dead, mistah?" until he awoke.

Bert finally released the tension in her robotic fist, holstering her pistol at the same time. She was going to lose her bar and die horribly, but you know, it could have been worse.

She could lose her bar and live to see it.

* * *

Outside in the cold and the wind and the dust, Phoenix groaned loudly, struggling to lift The Woman. With bent knees and cheeks puffing out, he gripped the statue's skull and pulled as hard as he could. Being a man of unparalleled strength and ability, he successfully managed to lift the heavy stone maybe a half-foot into the air before the weight of it threatened to pull his shoulders out of their sockets. In but a few seconds it was flumping into the dust again, this time accompanied by an impressive lexicon of swears dedicated to pain in one's arms, back and knees.

Meatsack lingered awkwardly behind the fiasco, switching weight from his left to right foot and back again, one of his eyes fixed on Phoenix. The adventurer stood up to an orchestra of joints popping, one hand clutching his spine to check it was still intact. He shot the giant an angry look.

"Well you gonna help or what?" he said, grumpily.

Meatsack reeled back a step, then nodded anxiously and pattered forwards. He shuffled quickly past Phoenix and leaned down towards The Woman's statue, finding her head with his chunky fingers. He delicately changed grip more than a few times, treating the statue as though it were some highly sacred religious icon, and that merely touching it the wrong way would be an immediate death sentence and the rest of eternity in Freckle (the particularly nasty underworld where Gachook sends you).

"Honestly," grumbled Phoenix, shaking his hands out, "I don't know why she bothered sending you out here, too. It's not like I need you to help lift this statue. Could easily do it on my own. Just gotta stretch first. There you go, there's a free piece of advice, ya big dumb lug. Always stretch before you do any heavy lifting."

Meatsack glanced nervously between the statue and Phoenix (and was able to do so at the same time), then smiled innocently and tensed his arm. The statue raised out of the ground easily, Meatsack seemingly having no trouble propping up its immense weight. Phoenix watched with his jaw hanging open in disgust as The Woman rose like a feather from her dirty grave and regained her footing in the dust. Myriad little streamlets of dirt escaped out through the delicately carved folds in her frozen clothing, and though she wobbled for a moment, she soon stood as inspiring as ever.

Meatsack smiled widely, proud of what he'd done. He looked back at Phoenix for acknowledgement, positively beaming.

But Phoenix was scowling.

"How come you're so strong, anyhow?" Phoenix probed. "I never see you eat anything nutritious."

Meatsack cocked his misshapen head to one side, his smile faltering.

"Ah fugeddaboudit," Phoenix sighed, waving his hand at the creature. He wasn't sure why Bert treated Meatsack like some weird surrogate child, but at least he knew how to mop a floor. Maybe that's what he was for? It certainly wasn't for his conversational skills, or his attractive good looks.

Not like Phoenix.

Then he heard the big lug whimper.

"Wassat? What've you done now?"

Meatsack was staring at the ground again, his tiny, skinny arm over his mouth. Phoenix followed the gaze to see a stony object still lying in the dirt, a wee ways from The Woman's feet. It was an arm, clutching at a bone-handled pistol, hammered back and ready to shoot at whatever dangers may threaten Bert and her beloved bar. It also seemed rather ... amputated.

"Ah."

Phoenix and Meatsack met each other's eyes for a long, tense moment. Even the wind seemed to die down. The last person who vandalised The Woman's statue found out quite exceptionally quickly that Bert wasn't making empty threats on the plaque at the statue's feet. And you know, in Phoenix's heart of hearts, where all the warmth and fuzzies lay, he felt it would be unjust - cruel, even - to stress Bert out any more than she was right at that moment.

And, in his heart of his heart of hearts, he really didn't want to see what she'd do to Brown if she found out he'd broken The Woman. Even after a life of adventuring, there was some things a man - especially a man - just couldn't stomach.

"Well," he finally said, coming to a decision, "I didn't see that if you didn't."

* * *

Woops, that statue really isn't having a great day. But has Phoenix made the right decision to pretend he didn't see it? Will this have any ramifications? Who knows, man. He makes all kinds of bad decisions but somehow he's still alive. Show the idiot some love with a Vote and comment, and see you in the next part!

You can also follow me on Twittery-doo (@dppacey) or sign up to my newsletter to hear more from me outside of Wattpad. Link below and in chapter external link:
www.duncanppacey.com/join