Harm had hidden the dagger and short sword under his mattress on his return from the general store. Jeffer nor Sister Carol ever entered his room now, as he would switch his blankets as needed on laundry days. One of the townsfolk would collect and then return the items twice weekly. Harm was currently in the chapel’s rear, and Jeffer was explaining to him how to trim the bushes that surrounded the graveyard. Harm had stayed away from the area of the graveyard where his family was buried for understandable reasons. 

“So cut them back, but only to the fresh buds. No further, or they won’t grow back evenly. Harm... Harm...” Jeffer said.

Harm had heard raised voices by the chapel and was looking over, not listening to Jeffer. 

“Sorry,” he said as he turned back.

“So, don’t cut below the fresh buds, okay?”

“Got it,” Harm said, again turning to look in the direction of the commotion.

“If you’re that worried, go and check, but I doubt Sister Carol needs any help.” Jeffer shrugged as he picked up a small saw blade and carefully began to prune the bushes.

Harm didn’t reply as he approached the noise.

“Where is the bastard?” a raised voice said as Harm neared.

“I have told you already; he is working and not to be disturbed.”

“He attacked my son, and I want to speak to him.”

Harm walked around the side of the chapel and saw the three men standing, facing down Sister Carol. She stood with her hands on her hips and a relaxed expression.

“There he is,” one of the men said, pointing at Harm.

Harm was no more than fifteen feet from the men.

“You bastard,” Sinclair spat as he launched at Harm. Harm recognised the large man. His temper was well known in the town, and people accommodated him because of his skills as a builder.

The large fist of Sinclair came swinging from so far back that a child would have seen the move. Harm’s natural fighting abilities kicked in. Seeing the movement so clearly, he could have read a book before it reached him, and he stepped backwards, easily dodging the wild swing. His hand automatically reached for his belt, where, in days of old, he would have placed his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword. Sinclair screamed in anger and went for him again. Harm again stepped away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never attacked your son,” Harm said as he moved out of the large man’s range. The other two with Sinclair were jeering him on. Sinclair was red-faced, veins pulsing in his forehead.

“He told me what you did. You attacked him and split his head, you lying twat.”

“Your son and his friends attacked me at Pardew’s. I never laid a finger on them.”

“Fuck you,” Sinclair cursed again as he swung again. 

Harm again stepped away from the thrown punches. He was no brawler, but looking at this man, he didn’t need to be. It was plainly obvious he had never been in a real fight in his life, only probably ever bullying people, using his size and weight advantage.

Sinclair was already puffing just after three swings, his large, overweight frame struggling to keep up with his actions. “Stand still and fight like a man. Or can you only hit children, like you did with mine and Satil’s boys?”

Although there was truth in his dealings with Satil’s son, there was nothing behind his son’s claims. 

“Speak to Pardew if you don’t believe me. He will confirm what happened,” Harm said, stepping away from another blow.

“That old bastard can’t remember his name most days,” Sinclair snarled.

Harm was keeping his distance and moving out of reach of each swing, but he was backing up towards the nearby gravestones and didn’t wish to sully them. As Sinclair swung again, Harm stepped in and past the large man, his elbow catching him in the ribs as he did. He pirouetted as Sinclair spun around, almost growling like an animal as he came at him.

“I said speak to Pardew,” Harm said. “I ain’t done anything to your son.”

“Liar,” Sinclair shouted again as another fist came at Harm.

This was useless. The man wasn’t going to give up. Harm could keep moving out of his way until he collapsed with exhaustion, or he could end the fight. He could see every opening clearly as Sinclair moved. If only I had a blade. No, killing him won’t help. Harm thought. As Harm stepped back again, he sensed movement behind him. One of Sinclair’s thugs he had brought with him had stepped forward, now that he was between them, a wooden club in his hand. 

Harm shimmied left as the club swung through the air, missing him completely. As the man’s swing met no resistance, which it had expected to, he was off balance, and Harm grabbed his wrist and placed his leg out in front of the man as he dragged him forward. The man staggered, tripped on Harm’s outstretched leg, and tumbled to the ground in Sinclair’s path. The club dropped as he did.

“Stupid fuck,” Sinclair said to the prone man as he stepped over him.

While all this had been going on, Sister Carol had just stood watching.

Sinclair’s other companion now stepped forward as well, and Harm stepped sideways, watching both his and Sinclair’s movements. If I can reach that club, I can end this quickly. Harm thought, glancing at the discarded weapon while the prone man fought to regain his footing. Harm’s new opponent was much nimbler than the other two and of a slighter build. The difference in speed was evident as he threw a punch at Harm. Harm only just managed to move out of the way as the jab missed him by a fraction. Another haymaker was in progress from Sinclair, and Harm saw an opportunity. Again, he ducked under Sinclair’s swing, placing Sinclair between him and his colleague. As Harm stepped through, Sinclair cursed again, and this time, Harm ran towards the club on the ground. The man, still getting to his feet, was met with Harm’s boot squarely on his back, forcing him back down with an audible grunt as Harm stepped over him and bent for the club.

As Harm turned, the slighter man had started to run towards him. Harm’s body ached; he still hadn’t recovered from the previous day’s work in the cesspit, and his shoulders throbbed from pulling himself through the general store window the previous night. His stamina wasn’t what it had been, and he knew that he would tire soon if he didn’t end this.

Harm jabbed with the club, striking the approaching man in his forehead, and he yelped from the blow, staggering backwards. Sinclair again moved for him and Harm, this time with a weapon in his hand, and didn’t back away. He held the club like a sword, and as Sinclair came towards him, he stepped forward, thrusting as though stabbing, and hit Sinclair in his solar plexus. Sinclair stopped dead in an instant.

“I’ve told you. I didn’t attack your son, and I don’t wish to fight you either.”

Sinclair grimaced in pain, frozen where he stood. Harm knew it could be a disabling blow, but he didn’t take any further advantage. Holding the club in the air and his other hand open placatingly.

His two colleagues were trying to sort themselves out, one just returning to his feet, where Harm had knocked the wind from him and the other, where he was currently seeing stars.

“I think you have heard what Harm has to say about the matter. I suggest you go and speak to Pardew to confirm the story,” Sister Carol said, stepping forward.

Sinclair snarled as he looked at his two lackeys; neither looked fit to continue. His face was even redder than before when Sinclair spoke. “I’ll speak to Satil about this and have you executed, you thieving bastard.”

“That’s what your son and his friends were saying at Pardew’s,” Harm said calmly. “I at least now know where they got it from.”

“You deserve to die, just like your family,” Sinclair shouted, spittle flying from his lips.

That was too much; them attacking him was one thing. He had never been one to back out of a fight, but saying anything about his dead family was on a whole different level. Before Sinclair even realised, the club Harm had been holding came towards his face with uncanny speed, clattering into his jaw with the sound of fracturing bone accompanying the grunt from Sinclair. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his head was flung sideways. A second swing occurred even before Sinclair’s head had stopped moving and caught the other side of his face, again accompanied by a sickening breaking sound. Sinclair’s cheeks were smashed in two blows as Harm raised the club upward to strike a killing blow.

“STOP,” Sister Carol screamed as she stepped forward towards Harm. “Killing the man will do you no favours.”

Harm’s arm paused in midair. The immediate flash of anger at hearing his family being disrespected was fading. His eyes were wide with rage, staring at the beaten man, who, to his credit, was still on his feet, no more than three feet from him. Sinclair’s eyes weren’t all there, though, the concussive force of the blow clear. His eyes fluttered precariously as though he was about to tumble as his hand reached up towards his ruined face. He staggered twice, coughing, and Harm saw the remnants of teeth in his palm that his attack had shattered. Sinclair’s two colleagues, both now back on their feet, stared in shock at their boss. 

“You two idiots. Help your boss,” Sister Carol said. 

They didn’t move momentarily before rushing forward to support him, one on either side, propping him up.

“Hold him still,” Sister Carol said as they struggled to maintain the man’s weight between them. She lifted her hand, placing it on Sinclair’s cheek before saying a few words. A brilliant light pulsed from her hand, and Sinclair groaned in pain as his cheeks reformed. Blood was still dripping from his mouth. “There isn’t anything I can do about your teeth, unfortunately, and you will be sore for a few days. I suggest you take him home.”

The two men turned, carrying Sinclair between them down the path from the chapel.

Harm slowly lowered the club. It was still raised in the air from where he had stopped his strike. His anger still burned, but not with the instant ferocity it had been.

“Thank you for not killing him,” Sister Carol said, turning to Harm.

Harm turned from where he had been staring, watching the men leave, to see Sister Carol smiling at him. With that, his shoulders dropped, and he released the club, dropping it to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Harm said.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Those thugs came here to do you harm, Harm,” Sister Carol said before chuckling. “Harm, Harm,” she repeated.

Harm couldn’t help but smirk at her childish comment. “I mean it. Thank you, and thank you for healing him.”

“I wouldn’t be doing my job as the town cleric if I allowed someone who visited the chapel to go away with injuries. Anyway, I think it is best that you stay indoors for the next couple of days. Sinclair is influential in the town. Even if a lot of it is through fear of violence, I expect that Satil will hear about it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t get another visit soon.”

“Did you hear what he said about my family?” Harm said.

“I did, and you have me as a witness that you defended yourself against an unprovoked attack. I also may go and visit young Noah and see what he has to say for himself.”

Harm frowned.

“Sinclair’s boy.”

“Ahh,” Harm replied as he followed Sister Carol back inside.