Title: Edward J Ainscough’s Story II

Author: P’al Kwai

E-Mail: isisbaast@aol.com

Pairings: Al/Swearengen/ Ed Ainscough and reference to Ben Wade/Ed Ainscough (OC based on Guy Pierce because he and Russell Crowe were so slashable in LA Confidential)

Spoilers: Deadwood the Series

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to their respective creators.

Feedback: Welcomed and adored.

Author’s Notes:

And from history itself:

The Wyoming, South Dakota Border, May 2, 1878

Taking a deep mouthful of air, Ed gathered his strength and in a huge heave, he managed to flop the body over the horse. It was no easy task, as he was slim and slight, and the corpse he was trying to lift was not only bigger and heavier than he, but at a dead weight.

“Goddamn you, Ben Wade!” he swore, as he stopped his toils to catch his breath and study his surroundings. The lay of the land here in the north was vastly different from the deserts of the southwestern territories and Mexico. Mountains and green stretched as far as the eye could see, and Ed found the view to be refreshing after two years of dried earth and cactus. “Looks a little more like home,” he continued to talk to himself, as he walked to the other side of the horse and grabbed the arms of the dead man.

“Home,” he repeated himself, as he rolled the word off his tongue. Where was his home? “England,” he mused, as he dug his heels into the ground and tugged with all his might. Unfortunately, the dead body moved barely a hair. Frustration boiled up inside of him, and although he had been trying not to look too closely at the dead man’s face, his eyes had a mind of their own, and as they lit upon the lifeless face, rage and sorrow joined his frustration.

“Fuck you, you bloody bastard!” Backing up a few feet with tears streaming down his face, Ed picked up a handful of dirt and stone, and his arm pulled back. His only desire was to pelt the body with anything he could throw. “You, you bloody. . . ,” he screamed at the body. “You bloody well promised. . . .”

“Hey, mister,” a voice interrupted his tirade. “You okay?”

So involved with dealing emotionally and physically with a suddenly-dead Ben Wade, Ed had failed to notice the lone horseman approaching.

“I-I, he, he. . . .” Caught off-guard Ed could only fumble for words.

“Oh.” The horseman advanced closer. “Got a dead one here.”

“Bloody,” Ed started, as he got his first good look at the horseman. Up close, the horseman was no man, but a woman dressed in men’s clothing. Hair tied up under a hat, and baggy clothing that hid her body, it could even be possible to still confuse the woman for a man, but the face, although dirt-streaked and sun-burned, was unmistakably feminine. Gathering his wits, he quickly made his explanations. “I awoke this morning, but he. . . .” Ed gestured toward the corpse. “Didn’t. I don’t know if it was his heart, or brain, or. . . .”

“It was his fuckin’ time; guess it doesn’t matter what took him,” the woman interjected, as she swung down from her horse. Her words were blunt, but perhaps realizing that, she swiftly made amends. “My sympathies. Friend of yours?” she asked, as she grabbed a hold of the waistband of Ben’s trousers and began to help position the body.

“Yes, no, employer actually.” Again Ed fumbled for the right words. How could he explain the exact nature of his relationship to Wade? “I worked for him, and, and,” he broke-off, reddening slightly, as the words sex slave, fuck-mate, and lover all crossed his mind.

“Well, any fucking way, sorry,” the woman said tactfully redirecting the conversation, as she threw a rope across the Wade over to Ed.

“Thank-you so kindly for your help, and I’m,” Ed paused, as he recalled the proper phase that the Americans used. “And I’m much obliged.”

The woman looked startled for a moment at Ed’s pronouncement and then burst out laughing. “Just doesn’t sound fucking right coming out of your mouth.” She gazed over at him curiously. “Limey, ain’t ya?”

“I. . . .” Ed stared a second, wondering if he was being mocked, but quickly realized that the woman was in no way being insulting. “Yes, I’m English.”

“Yeah, I heard that the ol’ cocksucker, Swearengen is a limey too, course he don’t talk like you do anymore. Must be too many years out here. Oh, fuck me!” She slapped her hand to her forehead. “I’m rattling on and on here and never introduced myself. Jane, Jane Canary, but most now call me Calamity Jane.”

“Jane.” Ed nodded his head at her. “I’m Edward Ainscough, and myself and Mr. Wade here.” He pointed to the corpse as he secured it with the rope Jane had thrown over to him. “Were on our way to Deadwood. In fact, Mr. Swearengen was the chap, who hired us, or ahem, Wade.”

“Ben Wade, thee Ben Wade. I heard of him.” Now Jane studied Wade’s dead body with more interest. “Say he was pretty fucking good with a gun, course many have made that claim, and most can’t back it up.”

“He did.” Ed remembered the old Ben Wade sadly. “But he hadn’t done so lately.”

“Was it the drink?” Jane could empathize, as she had fought with the bottle for years.

“No.” Ed shook his head. “It started with a woman, and then progressed to dope. He just never was himself after that.”

“The downfall of many of men, women and dope,” Jane pronounced wisely. “Well, he’s secure.” She gave the rope one last tug. “Now, may I offer my services as escort to Deadwood?”

“That would be kind of you,” Ed said with relief. Since he had never been in this part of the country, an escort would no doubt save him a lot of time and effort.

“Yeah, I’m the fucking Queen of Kind,” Jane joked. “When I’m not passed out or so drunk that I can’t see straight, I think up ways of being kind.” She gave him a wink, as she mounted her horse. Onward. . . .” She swung her arm forward. “To the most fucked-up mining camp here in the west, Deadwood.”

**

Deadwood, The Dakota Territory, May 4, 1878

After two days in Jane Canary’s company, Ed could only conclude that she was the most foul-mouth person, male or female, he had ever encountered. But he also concluded that underneath that blustering front was an extremely sensitive, compassionate woman, who understood the foibles of the human race better than most.

“Swearengen is a limely cocksucker, alright.” She was giving Ed the complete low-down of Deadwood and details of its most important citizens. “But, like many, I guess, he does have a good side. According to Trixie, the whore, he saved a cripple from an orphanage, and now keeps her around his place, his way of protecting her.”

“Well, I hope he’s in the same generous spirit, when I have to meet him. He sent Wade money for traveling expenses, and also an advance on his first month’s wages,” Ed paused a moment. “But it’s all spent. I’ll have to sell his horse.” He made a motion toward Wade. “And gun probably, so I can bury him.”

Ed’s voice trailed off in a whisper as he looked down at his hands, which were curled around the saddle horn. That dull ache in his chest began to expand again, despite his best efforts to ignore it.

“Don’t suppose you could take over for Wade with Swearengen?” Jane asked, as she glanced over at Ed with sympathy. She more than understood what it felt like to lose family or friend.

“No.” Ed shook his head. “Swearengen hired Wade for his gun skills, and even though he hadn’t been the same man, I still couldn’t equal him even if I was having an exceptional day, and he was at his worst.”

Uh huh.” Jane replied and then spoke softly to herself. “The ol’ cocksucker was replacing Johnny Burns.”

“Pardon?” Ed looked over at her with confusion.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Jane said with a smile and wave of the hand. “Just thinking out loud. Anyway, about your financial difficulties, if Swearengen insists on you paying him all the money back, I think a friend of mine, a good friend of mine, could offer you a loan.”

Ed was speechless; he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had shown him so much generosity, here or back in England.

“That’s very kind of you. Of course, I would need a job, so I could save the money to pay him back.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem either.” Jane seemed to have an answer to all his troubles. “Charlie Utter would give you a job. That old fucknut owns a delivery and freight service. You could ride for him, in fact, that’s where I’m coming from. Just conveyed some goods for him to Cheyenne.”

“That would be. . .splendid.” Ed wondered if fate was finally throwing him a life-line. It certainly seemed so in the form of one Jane Canary.

“Course if that’s not to your liking, then that good friend I was speaking about, the manager of the Grand Central Hotel, could find work for you. There’s always a job there that needs doing there, and another hand is always welcome.”

“Jane,” Ed announced, an unusual feeling of optimism flowing through him. “You are an angel from heaven, an answer to my prayers.

“Fu-uck.” Jane wasn’t used to such grand compliments. “I’m an angel alright, a drunken angel, who sometimes can’t remember fuck-all, and falls off her horse. Well, we’re now coming up on Deadwood, first stop, the livery. The Nigger General Fields runs the place, and he owes me a favor. I’ll tell him that he has to accept Wade’s horse in trade for making a box. Does that suit you?”

“Of course,” Ed replied quickly. It was a relief having Jane make arrangements for him. “The Nigger General Fields? What type of name is. . . ?”

Jane let out a short laugh. “Cocksucker says he was a Nigger General in the Union Army, wears some kind of stupid fucking uniform. Anyhow, suppose you want to see Swearengen right off?”

Ed nodded. Better to beard the lion right away before he lost his nerve.

“Whilst you do that, I’ll see that good friend of mine, and tell her about your situation. We can meet up afterward, and exchange our information. Sound good to you?”

“I have no quarrel with any part of your plan,” Ed answered, as the outskirts of Deadwood came into sight. Sitting up higher in his saddle, he studied the mining camp with interest, although after just a few minutes, he realized that it resembled every other mining camp and small town he had visited since his arrival in the New World.

It consisted mainly of two large streets with a handful of large building dominating the landscape. Around them were small buildings, shacks, tents, and tents with false fronts. The camp was squeezed tightly together with hordes of people milling around. The discovery of gold had men pouring in from all directions with the camp barely able to keep up with the growth.

“Fuckin’ lovely, isn’t it?” Jane said with a wide smirk. It was as if she could read his mind.

“It doesn’t look any different from the others, except. . . .” Ed looked down at the dirt street with disgust. “Instead of sun-baked dirt for streets, there’s mud.”

Jane snorted with laughter. “They do dry up some in the winter, course, at that time of year it is hard to tell cause everything is covered in fucking snow, but now is the rainy season, so the one or two days a week that we have sun, ain’t enough to dry up the mud, and the mules and horses pissing in it all the time don’t help none. Wonderful for your foot gear. Here’s the livery.” She nudged her horse north in the direction of a small horse stable. “Nigger General, you fuck! Come on out here!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Almost immediately a short, black man appeared, wiping his hands with a cloth. “You back already, Jane? Thought you just left a day ago.”

“Two weeks ago it was a day ago, you fuck.” Jane continued to yell angrily.

Her tone was making Ed extremely anxious, as he looked around nervously. Her voice was loud and strong, and he didn’t doubt that people on the other end of town could hear her.

“Well, I guess it was just wishful thinking on my part that it was a day ago.” General Field’s voice began to rise to the same volume as Jane’s. “Cos then it would still be two weeks before I’d have to look at your ugly face.”

“Fuck you, you cocksucker!” Jane hollered back, causing Ed to pull his horse back a few paces. He wondered if gunfire was about to erupt.

“Anyway,” Jane continued to shout. “You’re gonna make a box for this poor fella.” She motioned toward Wade. “And you can take the man’s pony for trade. Then when’s that done, see about renting a wagon, so we can take and bury him up at the cemetery.”

General Fields scratched his chin for a moment, as he took stock of Ben Wade and his horse. “Throw in a bottle of whiskey and you got yourself a deal.”

Jane grinned widely, as she reached down to General Fields. “Only if you share it with me.” The two shook hands, and then Jane dismounted, waving a hand at Ed, who was still watching her and Fields with bafflement. “Take care of our horses, and we’ll be back. Ed here. . .oh, fuck!” She hit her forehead with her hand. “I fucking did it again. Nigger General Fields, Edward Ainscough,” she made the introductions, as Ed cautiously slid off his horse.

“General Fields, sir, it’s an honor to make your acquaintance.” Unsure of himself, Ed held out a hand to the black man.

General Fields looked startled a moment, then let out a long whistle as he glanced over at Jane. “My, my, it’s been quite a day. Calamity Jane returns to Deadwood, and a white man offers to shake my hand. Guess, I’m the one, who’s gonna be buying the whiskey.”

“Fuck yes!” Jane gave Fields a friendly punch in the arm, while grabbing Ed to pull him along. “Well, we’re off to attend to business. Ed here has an important appointment with that cocksucker, Swearengen, so we mustn’t dilly-dally.”

“Jane,” Ed said, as he stumbled after her new friend, trying to avoid the worst of the mud. “I now have the feeling that you and General Fields are friends, but why the hostile greeting?”

“What hostile greeting?” Jane truly didn’t understand what Ed was talking about.

“Well, the yelling, and the swearing, and, and,” Ed broke-off, as he realized that to Jane, there had been nothing amiss with the exchanged salutation she had with General Fields. Later, he was to find out that most of Deadwood thought hollering and swearing was normal conversation.

“You’re a mite sensitive, ain’t ya?” Jane said, as she led him down the street. “One would have thought that riding with Ben Wade would have toughened you up some. Well, here’s the Gem.” They stopped in front of one of the three main buildings in Deadwood. “I’ll be at the hotel.” She pointed across the street. “When you’re done, come find me there. Good luck.”

Ed swallowed hard, as he watched Jane cross the street. At that moment he would have given his right arm, just to have her accompany him inside the Gem. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember his aristocratic background, while straightening his spine. Walking into the saloon, he immediately noticed the large, ferocious-looking man behind the bar. He spoke not a word, but his eyes found Ed, and they followed him from the moment of his entrance until he made his way to the bar.

“My name is Edward Ainscough, and I’m here to see Mr. Swearengen.”

“Mr. Swearengen doesn’t see just anybody. What’s your business?”

Despite the fact that the man hadn’t made any threatening moves, Ed found himself intimidated and began to stammer. “I-I’m here on-on,” he paused, gathering his wits and remembering that he had known many mean, violent men in his time with Wade, but of course, those men would not have laid one finger on him because of Ben. “Behalf of Ben Wade. Mr. Wade had a contract, and. . . .” He fumbled in his coat pocket for that all important piece of paper.

“I know about the contract,” the man interrupted. “So what does that have to do with you?”

“He died two days ago.” Ed finally blurted out. “We were at the border, and he just did not wake up that morning.”

A spark of interest finally flared in the man’s dead eyes at Ed’s pronouncement. “Follow me,” he ordered, as he gave a slight nod to a bearded man, who was just entering from the back rooms. Leading Ed up a double staircase, they made a short left and then stopped in front of one of the many doors on the second floor.

“Al!” The big man pounded on the door, while bellowing at the top of his voice. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Come on in.“ A voice yelled back, which had Ed wondering if perhaps the people of Deadwood were all hard of hearing.

Swinging the door open, the man introduced Ed loudly, “Boss, this is Ed Ainscough, says that Ben Wade died two days ago.”

Sitting at his desk, Al Swearengen looked up at Ed, his deep set eyes surveying him shrewdly. “Sit down.” He gestured to a chair. “And just who are you to Ben Wade?”

“I-I was in his employ,” Ed equivocated.

“An Englishman!” Al slammed both hands down on his desk. “You’re a fucking Englishman. Did I ever tell you, Dan?” He looked over at the man, who had escorted Ed. “How I hate the fucking English.”

“You do?” Dan scratched his head in puzzlement. “I thought you were English.”

“I’m a Scotsman, and the Scots hate the English, don’t they?” His penetrating gaze returned to Ed.

Barely daring to breathe, Ed said nothing for a moment. Riding with Ben Wade and company had taught him the scent of extremely dangerous men, and he knew that at the moment, he was in the company of two of them, and that he better tread softly. “Yes, sir, there is animosity between the Scots and the English,” he agreed in a soft voice.

“And by your accent. . . .” Al pointed a finger at him. “You’re aristocracy. So how is it that a noble lad like you came to be working for a man like Ben Wade?”

For a moment, Ed had an overwhelming urge to just tell the whole truth and hope for pity from Swearengen, but caution quickly overcame that urge. “My father gambled away everything we owned, so I came here to seek fortune.”

“By riding with Ben Wade?” Dan (Ed was later to learn the man’s surname was Dority) asked. “Exactly what qualifications do you possess that a man like Ben Wade would want?”

“Interesting question, Dan.” Swearengen’s eyes never left Ed. “I too wonder why a man like Ben Wade would want a tenderfoot foreigner working for him.”

Again, Ed did not immediately answer, as he considered for a second time whether he should just come clean, but he could just imagine their disdain and mockery. “I’m quite good with a rifle, and Mr. Wade always wanted sharp-shooters with him,” he lied.

Swearengen contemplated his answer for a few seconds before completely changing the subject, much to Ed’s relief. “So where’s Wade’s body now?”

“At the livery. The day Ben died, I met up with a woman named Jane Canary, and she made arrangements with a man there to build a box for him. Later today, we plan to bury him.”

Swearengen gave a slight nod to Dan, who understood his signal perfectly, and quickly left the room, closing the door. Later, Ed was to find out that Dan went and verified his story. “So where were you when Wade passed?”

“At the border,” Ed answered simply. He realized that the wise course was to not volunteer any information, just give what was asked.

“So you were at the border with him; he died, but you still completed the journey with his body.” Al mulled over the facts, as he took out a copy of the employment contract between him and Wade and began to reread it. “Well, I guess, the advanced travel money was expended fairly, but. . . .” His perceptive gaze once more rested on Ed, making the young man squirm inside. “There’s the matter of the advance of a thousand dollars against his first month of employment. I need that back.”

“He spent it.” Ed could only tell the truth. “I have nothing except his horse and gun. I traded the horse for the casket; I can give you his gun and rifle; they’re probably worth. . . .”

“I don’t fucking want his gear,” Al interrupted harshly. “If you can’t come up with the thousand dollars. . . .”

“I can obtain a loan,” Ed broke-in quickly. “Jane Canary said she could arrange for a friend of hers to lend. . . .”

“There’s no fucking need to bring in an outside person to our deal.” Again, Al interrupted . “You don’t have the money, then you can just work it off. How does that suit you, English?”

Ed could only shake his head weakly in agreement, a feeling of doom rising in him, as he looked up into Al Swearengen’s face. Deep inside he knew that he had just traded one captor for another.

**

Deadwood, May 13, 1878

It was mid-morning and Ed scurried around the Gem, first with a broom, and then a bucket and mop. If he finished his work early, he hoped to sneak away and have a short break with Calamity Jane. She was the one bright spot in the monotonous routine he had, a routine which wasn’t about to end anytime soon. Crafty Swearengen paid him five dollars a week, (and for that wage he was expected to be at the man’s beck and call seven days a week, twenty hours a day), but out of that five, three fifty was taken out for room and food, a dollar to pay back the thousand dollar debt, leaving Ed with fifty cents a week for himself. And a dollar a week pay-back meant he was indentured to Swearengen for three, almost four years.

“Best see to room number two,” Dan called out to him. “Leah said that her trick last night had an accident from both ends.”

“Bloody hell!” Ed swore softly under his breath. Just what he needed, vomit and shit to be cleaned up.

“English!” Al’s booming voice sounded just as he mounted the stairs. “I need you to accompany Jewel; supplies are needed, and as you know the gimp can’t carry much.” He appeared in the doorway to his office and bedroom with Jewel right behind him. Swearengen was not a tall man, but his broad shoulders and straight spine made him an impressive figure nonetheless.

“Right,” Ed acknowledged, feeling that despite the mess in room two, his day was a bit brighter. Getting out of the Gem, even if it was to run errands, was always a treat. “As soon as I’m done here,” he remarked to Jewel as he hustled up the stairs to room two.

“Fucking hurry,” Jewel ordered him, as she awkwardly made her way down the stairs.

“Of course, your highness,” Ed muttered to himself. Despite Jewel’s physical ailments, her disposition wasn’t any better than anyone’s else’s in the Gem, or that of the majority of the population of Deadwood. It seemed that the most of the residents spoke only in profanities, yells, and insults, and many had the attitude that they were spoiling for a fight. Now he understood Jane Canary’s greeting of General Fields because in Deadwood even friends cursed and hollered at each other.

Forty-five minutes later, Ed had finished the cleaning and was attending Jewel as she limped her way along the main street of Deadwood. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining, and the temperature comfortable.

“Dan is going to take care of the meat, so we just need to get eggs, vegetables, and a few dry goods,” Jewel informed him.

“Right, what first?” he asked, as he surveyed all the people milling around. He hoped to run into Calamity Jane. She was always good for a laugh or two.

“The general store first, then the vegetable stands, and eggs last,” Jewel announced proudly. She had given some thought to this small expedition that Al had entrusted to her. “Eggs last because they’re the hardest to carry.”

“Good plan,” Ed answered agreeably. Out of the Gem on a beautiful day, he could be agreeable to anything.

“I like the way you talk,” Jewel remarked pleasantly.

“Really?” Ed was surprised. That was the first nicety anyone had said to him since his arrival in Deadwood. He wondered if Jewel’s change of humor had anything to do with the fact that she was out of the Gem and the presence of Al Swearengen.

“Yes, it sounds, sounds,” Jewel fumbled for the right words to describe her feelings. “So different, so nice. I asked Al if he could still speak like you, because he’s a limey too, but he just told me to fuck myself.”

Ed could help but snort; Al certainly was a disagreeable excuse for a human being, although, it was an opinion he wisely kept to himself.

“Perhaps Al lost any trace of a British accent he had.” Ed felt that Jewel deserved a more civilized answer. “Because I certainly can’t hear anything in his speech other than American. But even if he could still speak,” he paused, thinking how best he could explain speech and accents to someone like Jewel, who had little to no education, and had no knowledge of people or places other than her own small world. “British, his accent would be quite different from mine.”

“How come?” Jewel was fascinated by the subject, as the two mounted the steps to the general store.

“He’s Scottish, and I’m English. Our accents are quite different; we come from different countries.”

“Different countries? How can that be? You’re both limeys.” Jewel’s voice held a note of accusation, as if she felt Ed was trying to trick or lie to her.

Ed spent the next hour helping Jewel with their errands, and trying to explain to her the history of the United Kingdom. They finished their shopping with Jewel no closer to understanding how England and Scotland were separate countries but politically unified, so their discussion continued as they slowly made their way back up Main Street. Neither were in any hurry to be back at the Gem. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a black figure ran headfirst into Jewel knocking her to the ground.

“Jewel!” Ed rushed to help the crippled woman up, while she exclaimed over the broken eggs and flour bag.

“Cocksucker, why don’t you watch where you’re. . . .” Looking up, she stopped in mid-sentence, as she realized who stood before her.

“Fucking bitch!” The man spat out at her. “You’re the one, who should watch where they’re going, but I suppose it’s hard for a gimp like you. Your eyes go off in different directions.” He let out a short, cruel laugh. “Stupid cunt!”

Ed was outraged, as he stood up, ignoring the warning Jewel tried to convey to him by tugging on his shirt. “You ran into her deliberately,” he enunciated slowly, as he stepped closer to the man, not noticing that there were four others dressed just like him. “You shall apologize to the lady.”

“Lady?” the man guffawed. “Lady, my ass. A fucking whore gimp, and who are you? The brave hero, who’s going to defend her honor?”

Ed never saw it coming, as the man cracked him hard across the face. Acting on instinct, he rushed the man driving into him, causing them both to crash down into the mud-filled street.

“Ed!”

He heard Jewel’s scream, just as pain came at him in all directions. The man’s four friends began to beat and kick him mercilessly. He felt his ribs pop, just as a large boot kicked him in the eye; the man underneath him cussed and rolled him over giving him a gut punch before getting to his feet. Boots and fists pummeled him along with a wooden bat that had been found at a market stand. The bat smashed in his ribs and back repeatedly His whole body was one giant throb, as he tired to crawl away, but they held him firm, and finally everything turned black.

“Ed! Ed!”

The blackness lasted mere moments, and Ed came out of it to see the concerned face of Dan Dority bending over him, a most welcome sight.

Through a gray haze, he heard Dan ask him if he could stand, and then was hauled up to his feet by the other man, causing him to cry out in pain. Passing out again, he came to just as Dority half-carried him through the Gem’s doors.

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” He heard Swearengen’s voice, and felt another pair of hands grab him, as he was led up the stairs. More blinding pain, and then sweet nothingness, until a foul odor under his nose awoke him. Coughing and choking, he wanted to scream, but couldn’t as the urge to heave overwhelmed him.

“He’s going to puke, the basin, the basin.”

A washbasin was held under his chin, as he dry-heaved for a few long moments.

“Okay, okay.” Doc Cochran squeezed his shoulder sympathetically. “You’re going to be alright.”

“Bloody hell.” Ed managed to spit this out through gritted teeth. Through one eye he saw that he was in Swearengen’s room with the doc, Swearengen, Dan, and Jewel all staring at him in concern.

“Ed, look at me,” Doc Cochran ordered. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Jesus, Doc!” Swearengen protested. “The man’s half-dead.”

“This is important!” Cochran continued to examine the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “I believe him to suffering from a concussion, and I need to verify the severity of it.”

A few torturous minutes of attempting to answer the Doc’s inquiries, and then Ed heard that blessed word, laudanum.

“I can give you some for your pain, but then you’ll have to awakened with smelling salts. It’s vital that you don’t go into too deep a sleep, or you may never wake-up again.”

Ed could only nod his head slightly. A moment later, a glass was held to his lips, and he faded away to the Doc’s voice.

“It’s absolutely necessary that someone wake him every hour until I return tomorrow. You can try to shake him awake, just don’t shake him too hard. His ribs are busted, and he’s bruised from head to toe. If he won’t. . . .”

**

May 15, 1878

It was more than two days later, when Ed woke-up and actually felt somewhat human. The excruciating pain was now just tolerable throbs, so he finally was able to gather her wits and collect his thoughts. He noted that he was still in Swearengen’s room, in fact he was in the man’s bed, which raised his anxiety level some. Summoning up his courage he forced himself to sit up. The room became blurry for a few moments, but he was relieved to find that it passed quickly.

“Okay, Ed, just a bit more,” he gave himself a pep talk, as he braced his arms behind him. His goal was to swing his legs over the side of the bed and try to stand.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The thunderous voice of his boss took Ed completely by surprise, as he startled, his heart racing.

“I’m feeling much better,” he croaked out. At that moment, all he wanted was to be safely tucked away on his small cot in the privacy of his own space (which here in the Gem, was the storage room), away from his boss.

“Really? Cause, you still look like hell,” Al said bluntly. “You should remain where you are and. . . .”

“I really need to use the toilet.” It wasn’t a lie, and it was the first valid excuse Ed could think of. “So I think I can stand, and if I take it slow, I can make it to the privy.”

“Fuck the privy.” Al stepped over to the bed, and put an arm around Ed. “I’ll help you up, and if you can manage a few paces, you can use my piss-pot.”

“Thank-you,” Ed whispered, as he stood up a rubbery legs and immediately felt them buckle. Fortunately, Al was strong, and easily held Ed up and guided him toward the corner where the chamber pot sat.

“Do you need assistance?” Al asked, as Ed fumbled in his under-drawers for his penis.

“No, no.” Ed was quick to say. He was embarrassed enough having to relieve himself in front of the other man. The whole process seemed endless, as Ed’s bladder had been more than full. When it finally tapered off, he tucked himself back in, as his whole body shivered. Naked except for a bottom undergarment, he was feeling the cold.

“You’re chilled.” Al gently turned him and led him back to the bed. “I had the girls check your possessions, but you don’t own much. Here in the north, you should have a couple of unions suits.” He pointed to his chest, where an off-while undergarment could be seen underneath his suit vest.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Ed had seen, not just Swearengen, but other men wearing such a garment.

“Come winter you’ll freeze to death if you don’t have heavier clothing.” Al stated, as he helped Ed back onto the bed.

“The last two years, I was living in the southwestern territories and Mexico. No need for warm undergarments.”

“Yes, but you relocated here. Even if you didn’t understand the variability of this country’s climates, Wade should have. Why didn’t the two of you gear up, when you reached Cheyenne?”

“No money,” Ed said ruefully, deciding that perhaps Swearengen deserved the truth about Ben Wade. “The money you sent was basically spent after we left Denver. . .on women, booze, and drugs.”

“I see.” Swearengen’s tone was ominous, as he stepped to his office’s outside door and swung it open. “Dan, I need the Doc here now; send someone!”

“Ed take a turn for the worst?” Dan asked, looking up from his position behind the bar.

“No, quite the opposite.” Al turned back to Ed. “If the doc says it’s okay, I’ll have a couple of the whores wash you up, and change you into. . . .” He walked back into the bedroom area and to his wardrobe. “This.” He threw a union suit down on the bed.

“You’re very kind.” Ed was taken totally by surprise. He had had no clue that Swearengen had any humanity in him at all.

“Listen, kid.” Al had read Ed’s face. “I may be the biggest, baddest cocksucker in the whole Dakota-Wyoming territories, but I do take care of my own.”

**

May 18, 1878

It was the early morning hours of Saturday, and that night had seen a brisk and profitable business for the Gem Saloon. Swearengen was standing outside on his balcony, watching Deadwood sleep. Ed could feel the cool night air, as it wafted into the bedroom. He’s was much improved and wondered if tonight was the night he would finally go back to his own room. Walking gingerly into the office, he made his way to the doorway.

“I saw that business was good tonight,” he opened the conversation, talking to Swearengen’s back. “I’m feeling much better, perhaps tomorrow I can do a few chores.”

“Doc says your ribs haven’t mended yet,” Al replied without turning around. “No chores for you, but if you’re that bored, I can have you read through some correspondence I received in answer to my advertisement for an employee. Save me some time.”

“Yes, sir,” Ed hesitated. He wanted to ask for what type of employee, but wasn’t sure if it was within his right. “I would be happy to help.”

“That’s good,” Al responded but still kept his back to Ed.

Moments passed, while Ed tried find the proper words to ask whether he should spend the night in his own bed. Since the day of the beating, he had slept with his boss, and now that he had his faculties, he was finding it uncomfortable to say the least. He lived in fear that he would snore too loud, or accidentally flail his arms or legs. Swearengen had a notorious temper, and word had already reached him that the man was good with a knife, and had used it on many, who had displeased him.

“So, English.” Al broke the silence. “You say that you worked as a sharpshooter for Ben Wade, but as I understand it, Wade hadn’t pulled any jobs for a good year now. How is it that you were still with him?”

Ed swore to himself. Leave it to Swearengen to put two and two together. Did nothing get past the man?

“He found me useful,” Ed hedged.

“Useful in bed you mean.” Al finally turned around, his sharp eyes assessing the young man. “I saw the brand, the slavers’ brand you carry. Did Wade purchase you from them?”

“Yes,” Ed admitted. He might have known that Swearengen would know about slavers and their marks.

“Never thought the infamous Ben Wade leaned in that direction,” Al mused.

“He didn’t. When we were in camps or towns, he was always chasing the ladies, but he needed someone when he was on the road.” Ed’s explanation was short and simple; he didn’t want to belabor the subject; it was too humiliating.

“So he picked you, must be that pretty face of yours.” Al turned back to study the now mostly empty streets of Deadwood.

The manner in which Swearengen said pretty face raised an alarm in Ed, and he contemplated all of its ramifications. Legs slid out, as he lowered himself to the floor. Closing his eyes, he considered his future and wondered, not for the first time, how he, son of an Earl, was in such a position.

“So did you suck his prick, or did he fuck you in the ass?” Al asked, as he stepped back inside, closing the door that led to the balcony.

Ed stared at Swearengen, not answering for moment. He questioned whether Swearengen was asking because he enjoyed his shame, or was he sexually curious. “Both,” he finally answered. “He taught me well.” He threw that out as an enticement.

Al’s eyebrows raised. “Is that an attempt at a seduction? Because as you know, I have plenty of whores at my beck and call.”

Taking a deep breath, Ed decided to give in. If sex could make his life more tolerable, then use it. After two years with Ben Wade, what difference did it make anymore? “I can suck prick better than all of them.”

“That. . . .” Al dropped down into his chair, as he pictured Dolly’s head bobbing up and down on him, fast and sloppy. “I can believe.”

“Standing up, Ed spoke boldly, “take off your clothes, and I’ll prove it to you.”

Al looked up in surprise, but curiosity got the better of him. “All my clothes?” he asked, as he began to unbutton his vest.

“Yes, because then I can touch you. . .in certain places.” Ed took another deep breath, trying not to lose his nerve.

“Sounds interesting.” Al was intrigued, as he stood-up, locked the outer office door, and undressed quickly.

Pulling off his own clothes, Ed climbed onto the bed and settled down between Swearengen’s legs. Carefully taking the other man’s cock in hand, he pushed back the foreskin. Remembering how Wade had liked it, he began slow, lightly sucking the crown, and running his tongue around the edge. Little by little, he began to apply more suction, taking more into his mouth. Swearengen’s hips bucked, and that’s when Ed loosened his muscles and took the whole length down this throat.

“Jesus fucking. . . .” The rest of the sentence was strangled, as Al grabbed a handful of Ed’s hair.

More deep throating before Ed pulled back and began the process all over. He teased the other man for a spell, before once more taking the entire prick down this throat, and when the moans and the hip jerks told him it was time, he poked a finger inside and rubbed Swearengen’s prostate.

“Fucking hell!” Al reared upward, his chest heaving, his heart racing. He had just experienced an orgasm that beat all the others.

The cock in his mouth swelled harder before spewing its come in Ed’s mouth. From a distance he heard Swearengen tell him to go ahead and spit it out, but he swallowed. It was something Ben had loved.

“Bloody, fucking hell.” Al fell back on the pillows limply, as Ed continued to clean him off. “You weren’t lying, lad; you suck prick better than any of the whores here in Deadwood.”

The accent was unmistakably British, and Ed couldn’t help but look up in surprise. A hand rested on his head gently, and a strong arm pulled him up until his head rested on the other man’s chest.

“Were you angling for a raise? Because you just earned it.” Al continued to speak in the old way.

“Your accent does not sound very Scottish.” Ed couldn’t help the small rebuke, as he nuzzled his face into Al’s skin; it smelled of soap and whiskey.

“I was born and lived as a boy in Blackburn, England. My whore of a mother claimed my father was a Scotsman, but she was a whore and a liar, so who the fuck really knows.”

Lying next to Al, Ed enjoyed the feeling of a large, hard physique next to him. It reminded him of the many nights, sleeping on the ground with Ben next to him. It had always been a comfort. Closing his eyes, he felt the heat of the body next to him, causing him to push closer. A blanket was pulled up, and he heard Al speak again.

“Sleep for now, lad; tomorrow is another day.”

****

Finis

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