An eventful night last night. I was woken about two by the crunch of a foot on some twigs outside. I heard a thump and a curse, and saw the flicker of a torchlight across the body of my tent, casting deep shadows across inside. I realised the tent was being surrounded – they were waiting, getting into position around it. Were the other workers giving the new bloke a hazing, or was this a visit from the Inn of Hating Kyle? I reached down and picked up Trancheur and crept over to where the tent flap opened, being careful to be lower than the level of the ground around. I put my hand on the clay dirt edging, then heaved myself up as quickly as I could, with a great cry of challenge. When I got up there, it damn sure wasn't my fellow workers. Four guys with a couple of torches, and clubs and knives. To my left, a dirty ginger bearded guy took a swing with his truncheon at my head. I swung out with my axe, hitting him in the guts with the flat of it, and he staggered back. To my right, a tall lanky greasy-haired bloke stepped in and conked me in the jaw with his truncheon. I stumbled, seeing stars for a moment, and stepped back holding up the axe protectively. I saw the flash of steel in his other hand – a knife.

The greasy-haired bloke and his two unharmed mates came forward. This was no time for humanitarianism, who knew what they were going to do with me - at best bundle me up and take me away, what'd happen to Zarah then? - at worst kill me slow. And there were knives out, so fair play. So I took a good pull back over my shoulder and heaved the axe down onto the arm of the greasy-haired one, just about taking it off at the elbow, he screamed and fell back onto his knees. Ginger beard came forward again, he swung at my head, I ducked just in time, swung the axe at his neck, and that was an end of him.

By this time other blokes were up and about and coming over to see what was up. The two still standing waved their truncheons and knives about menacingly, but got jumped pretty quick, one was stabbed in the meantime.

I sat down, holding my swelling jaw, and the workers gathered round. "Go down the hill, get the doc and the militia." One nodded and down they went while I lay back holding my head.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. In the morning I learned that there were another two black stains on my soul, for a total of four. I had a proper interview with the militia, one Captain Chad. He was about forty, and had that confident sort of air you get in experienced coppers and soldiers. I don't think he was one, but he had that confidence – maybe a schoolteacher.

"Well," he said, sitting behind his desk, "you seem to have quickly made friends here in Tradition."

"Yeah no shit," I said, gingerly touching my jaw. "Any clue on who those blokes were?"

"I was hoping you'd be able to tell us that. The two who survived haven't talked so far."

"Hell if I know."

"Obviously you've made enemies at some time."

"It's possible."

"What's your story, then?"

"It's a long one."

"I'm listening."

"Might be easier for you to read," I said, sighing deeply. He wouldn't let me go myself, so we sent up one of the militia men to get my diary. Fletcher read it and didn't hang me, maybe it'd help me now. The militia man returned with my pack, and I pulled out the journal and handed it over. "Just read this. Anything I've left out, just ask." I was sent out and went for a coffee. About half an hour later I was called back in.

"Interesting," Chad said, lighting a cigarette. "This will be of great help in interrogating the suspects, I think." He went on to ask a few more questions to "clarify". It was plain they were the sort to figure out if it was all kosher or I'd made it up, was it consistent and so on. After a while he seemed satisfied, and said, "Well, I think we have enough to go on here. But tell me: what are your plans for the next week or so?"

"As you know, my daughter Zarah is ill, and I'm working up the hill with the architect Aaron. When Zarah's ready to travel again, I'll be off back to the farm. That's supposed to be a week or so."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You have heard that there is trouble to the east, and -" he caught the narrowing of my eyes and smiled, "- no, we are not going to ask you to kill anyone."

"Good. I've had a gutful."

"It's just a reconaissance. We know there are men organising with equipment to the east, but we don't know how many or what they have, we only have rumours. And we have men who will stand by Tradition, but they are not skilled in the bush. Would you lead a team for a few days?"

"Who are they organising under?"

"Some warlord calling himself Wyndam."

I considered it. "Alright, a few days only. Now, what are you going to do with these blokes who attacked me?"

"After we have interrogated them... I'm not sure. We don't have prison facilities here. What do you think?"

"Maybe put them to use for the community. Building roads and town halls and things. Let them know that they can run, but then they'll be outlaws. In the old days that meant that any citizen who saw them could kill them on sight and would get all their possessions. So if they run away, they have to stay away."

He grinned, "Could be a good idea. Well, let's introduce you to the team." We went out of his office and into the main hall with the reception guy with his plank "desk", then through another door and into a room. Half a dozen blokes in the usual Fletcher uniform – loose black pants and white t-shirt – lay about on bunks. They sat up as the Captain entered. He introduced me, and told them what was happening. Three of them volunteered.

All were fairly nondescript, I can't really see why they were selected as militia, I guess they just put their hands up when someone asked for volunteers. Chad explained that Tradition had only a few firearms and could only spare two for the team.

The team was Vaughn, a young dark-haired woman and Corporal in the militia, Vance, a slightly flabby fair-haired guy, looked like he'd burn quick in the sun, and Jarrah, a pasty-faced kid with a pimple or two. Chad added that he'd get Dr Chan to join us. Another Chinaman? I thought, Well, I'm trusting him with my daughter's health, may as well trust him in the bush, too.

We agreed to head out that evening. Vaughn would get the firearm, a police pistol. The others would have clubs and knives.

We head out early in the morning, the air chill and our breath showing. The boys pulled dark jumpers over their light t-shirts. We only expect to be out for a couple of days and don't have murder on our minds so we're lightly-loaded.

To begin with we went along the road, and about one we stopped at the top of a rise and saw a village spread out below, the winding road reaching down to it. Vaughn and Chan looked at me. "Go through or around?"

"Well... this is supposed to be a Fletcher town, right?"

"Yes."

"Way I see it, they're probably a bit lost in events like us. Maybe they're sitting around nervous and waiting to see what happens, and so us going through will reassure them – someone's doing something, even if it's not them. Or maybe they're throwing their lot in with this mob to the east. Easiest way to discover that, just head on right through and let them know what we're doing. If there's trouble then we know whose side they're on. It's a bit stupid doing it that way, but what choice do we have? It's that or grab someone from the place and interrogate him – and even then, he might just be some farmer, and he doesn't know about that sort of shit, so we kidnapped and beat up some poor cunt for nothing. So, seems like it's best to just head on through."