Cursed Veins

Mack Herritt was a man who got sold a dream.

As a dreamer, it wasn't uncommon for Mack to latch onto any number of wild ideas and schemes, and it wasn't uncommon for him to face mockery that matched as big as his talk. Still, he always insisted that someday he'd be a king amongst men when he caught his big break- it was only a matter of time, after all. As a man with little skill in numbers, little skill in magic, and little skill in labor, it seemed Mack's only talent was drafting grandiose imaginings of his own success, and that was just fine by him. Perhaps his biggest flaw, aside the daydreaming, was this: the fella was a bit on the gullible side. Due to all the teasing he got for thinking so highly of himself, Mack had the unfortunate tendency to give a little too much credence to the folks who seemed to entertain his flights of fancy.

All this is to tell you that this is why when he'd chanced upon a finely-dressed Eolian one hot summer afternoon who listened and nodded along to all Mack's stories on how he was going to hit it big, Mack was all ears when the woman offered to tell him a tale of her own. You see, this woman he'd met’s daddy had died, quite tragically- she made sure to tell, and so she had come to inherit a sizeable chunk of land out west to the edge of the Diamond Flats territory. There was gold to be found in those hills, but this woman was a delicate flower, a lady, unfit for the task, especially so soon after her dear daddy's passing. It was with heavy heart that she'd made the decision- but she was willing to part with the plot for a small fee to any enterprising, strapping young men who'd be willing to take land for themselves. She was willing to part with the plot for a small fee to any enterprising young stallions who'd be willing to take it for themselves; to see the land go to waste would be a shame- to see it made good use of would surely make her late father proud.

Well, Mack didn't consider himself a fool- and this was an opportunity only a fool would pass on. Plus, who would pass the opportunity to make such a lovely woman happy? He thought quietly that she was rather foolish herself, giving up a literal goldmine- but he understood that a lady of such weak constitution shouldn't be expected to go prospecting. He more than gladly handed over the woman's fee, got the deed ready and folded up in pocket, sold all but the clothes on his back, and headed west to find the gold he'd been promised.

Between that woman's fee and the travel expenses, not to mention all the mining gear Mack had invested in- the poor man found that his purse was getting a little light, bordering on empty. In fact, it was at the point where the only thing he'd be able to afford was a drink; and if he came back from this mining venture empty handed, he'd certainly be in need of one. It was near three weeks time that he'd finally managed to arrive at the plot of land he'd bought from that lovely woman all that time ago. He tossed his things in a heap on the ground, not bothering to pitch a tent just yet- Mack wanted to look upon his bounty first, to take it all in.

It was a fine enough field, nestled between low mountains and a modest forest- it'd make for a nice little farm, perhaps, provided that the rains were favorable and the weather gentle, but that wasn't what Mack had come here for. Unfortunately, he had no real idea of where to get started. The man wasn't really a prospector by trade; in truth, he'd little experience in gold altogether, save for the times he'd seen it shining 'round the necks of well-to-do women he'd tried to cozy up to- much like the beautiful Eolian who'd convinced him to come here. He'd decided to take a wander around, for a few hours choosing to pace around the field and through the forest as the sun made its own trek across the sky till he could walk no more. He did this about every day for a week, making his way a long the edges of the mountain while looking for the telltale shimmer of gold, all the way 'till his rations he'd brought along ran just as empty as his purse.

Had he thrown his life away for nothing? Mack was certainly starting to think so. There was supposed to be gold here- hell, the way he'd been told about this place he was half certain the mountains themselves would've been glittering under the burning sun. Instead, he just found himself on a large plot of dirt, standing around in the dark. What he'd give to have just a little stroke of luck- just one little sparkle of gold, and he'd be willing to put in the work! Probably! He just needed at least something to start with. Mack thought to himself, Lord, he would do your works and be an honest, upright man if you'd be willing to bless him this once- he'd pray all night to God if he had to. Hell, he'd pray to whoever's willing to listen just for a chance for gold.

A sound. Mack jumped; maybe he'd been too distracted by his whirlwind of thoughts to notice earlier, but it appeared somebody had come and invaded his little plot of not-gold land. At least, it seemed that way- for there was the faint sound of music coming from the woods. Well, though there wasn't much to actually trespass upon, Mack decided wouldn't suffer any trespassers. He got up from his moping, dusted himself off, puffed out his chest, and began to walk off into the woods.

It wasn't all that far into the trees that he managed to find the mysterious musician- a bum perched comfortably on a low, rotting fencepost whilst picking away at a guitar that was just about in the same state as the fence. With patched clothing, hair as dry and yellow as old straw, and with the soles of his boots worn so thin to where you could near see his socks- this fellow looked like he'd seen worse days than Mack. Though, quite unlike Mack, he appeared to be in high spirits. He flashed a smile. Mack frowned.

"What in God's name are you doin out here?"

"I'm playin a little tune."

That didn't really help Mack much at all. He cast a glance around this little spot the intruder had decided to so rudely invade, and realized he'd never noticed this place in all his surveying he'd done over the week. A small fence ran around a meager square of land as if built for a humble garden, except with worn wooden boards sticking up out of the earth in place of any flowers or fruit. It sent a chill down Mack's spine- why in hell was there a cemetery out here in the middle of nowhere- and why was there a man currently squatting on it like he owned the place? He opened his mouth to ask the stranger if he knew anything about this morbid little setup- but the man answered before he could even get a word out.

"Back in the war days, a whole bloody-back regiment got ambushed out here while they were travelin' the road. Nasty business- weren't fair play neither." He strummed idly. "In fact- probably the furthest out west the war ever took. Too far to go back for a decent burial, anyway, so they ended up in this little makeshift boneyard. All sorts of things have happened on this road, and almost everyone who came down it's ended up in a neat little plot here. I like to play 'em a tune every now and then as a little treat, given they can get a bit lonely."

Strange. That's the only word he had to describe both the man and his odd answer. Mack simply nodded, growing ever more suspicious of this odd fellow.

"And how do you know all that?"

Mack was half expecting some nonsense explanation about ghosts, given the general feeling he'd gotten from this fellow. Thankfully, that's not what he received.

"Oh, I've just been in the Flats an awful long time, know all about this place."

Now that- that could be useful. Mack suddenly found himself at attention, eyes and growing grin betraying his eagerness. He decided to push his luck, just a little.

"So, if you 'know all about this place' - would you know where there'd be gold? See, I-"

He was cut off by the laughter of the man before him, the stranger nearly falling off of his little perch as he doubled over. Mack scowled, face flushing a bright pink. If he wasn't going to be taken seriously, then there was no more point talking to this vagrant. He'd dealt with enough people who'd never taken him seriously, and each and every one was a waste of time. The strange man took notice of the petulant look Mack was casting, and slowed his laughter to a light chuckle.

"Sorry. You said you wanted gold. Out here?"

"Well yes, that's exactly what I said. I was told there was gold to be had when I bought the land." Mack pouted.

"Oh, you poor devil."

Mack's heart sunk. He'd been had by that wicked woman he'd met in that tavern what now felt like an eternity ago; he'd been taken for a fool and been parted with his money for nothing but a bit of dirt. The allure of a skirt and heavy, batted eyelashes had managed to deceive him, and leave him penniless for what wasn't the first time. Once again, the vagrant took notice of the Mack's crestfallen expression, and spoke before he could say anything.

"Now wait, I didn't say there'd never be any gold. I think I know of a little spot where some might spring up- but. We'd have to cut a deal first 'fore I ever told you ‘bout it."

"Well, it's my land" Mack scoffed, suddenly quite offended. He'd perked right up at the chance for wealth, but was far less than pleased with the way this bum wanted to go about things. "It's my land- and it's my gold. I don't have to give you no deal"

"Well, then you can find it on your own. Worked out real well for you so far" the man retorted, offering a toothy grin.

Now, that was a problem. Mack had just been told that there was in fact gold here- surely he'd stumble upon it eventually? He wasn't certain, though- after all, he'd already spent a week looking to no avail. He glanced over at the vagrant, who'd returned to picking a tune out of his guitar.

"I don't have no more money to make any deals with." Mack sighed, tracing circles into the dirt with his shoe. “I sold everything to get here- I got nothin left.”

“You put your heart and soul into gettin’ here, friend. You still got that!” He chuckled, and continued. “But I ain’t gonna ask for your soul, that’d be silly.”

The man smiled.

“Here’s what I propose. You and I can be business partners. I’ll come back and visit- say, a healthy 10 years from now, and I’ll collect my half of the share to do with what I please. After that, I won’t be no more bother to you.” He offered a hand.

“Deal?”

Mack shook it eagerly.

---

As the years passed, that deal had come to be nothing more than a distant memory, until finally feeling like more of a dream than something that'd actually happened. As it turned out, the stranger had been good on his promise. The little crack in the mountain he'd led Mack to had evolved into a sparling and thriving mine by the end of the decade- and Mack Herrit was thriving too. Sure, it'd been hard at first, with Mack having to put in the backbreaking effort to cleave stone from gold, but once he had enough pieces to hire out laborers (the Huaren and Ivernians he found to be especially cheap), things went swimmingly. He was of course, a man more suited to delegating tasks than doing any actual any himself.

Oh yes, things had picked up well, a whole town cropping up around the mine like wildflowers after a fresh spring rain. Mack had everything he ever could have wanted- the biggest house in the county, the respect of his peers, and the attention of plenty of mares. Folks had gone from calling him idiot to calling him Mr. Herrit, like he was someone important, and he liked it very much. Those who told him that money couldn’t buy happiness were sorely mistaken, as this gold brought him just that. He was so wealthy that he could essentially just buy more gold! Only the barest pay was required to hire out more workers to go delving into the depths bring back more of that precious metal. They'd work all day, dredge it up, and he'd reap the profits by taking the biggest cut with the least amount of effort. And, with these workers living in little tents along the edge of the mine, he’d hardly ever have to see them enough to ever feel bad about their sorry state. Yes, things were going quite well for Mr. Herrit.

There really didn’t seem to be anything special or particularly unusual about the day he received the knock at the door of his office. Mr. Herrit frowned. He’d not scheduled any sort of meeting today, nor had he been told that anyone would be coming. He'd surely have to speak to his secretary about this later.

“Come in?” The heavy wooden door slowly creaked open, and in poked the head of the strange vagrant he’d met all those years before- the man looking near the same as the day they'd made the deal, right down to his well-worn boots. Still, Mr. Herritt didn’t recognize the fellow- he was terribly bad with faces anyways. He thought perhaps it was a disgruntled miner come to demand fairer wages, but the bright eyes and crooked smile on the man's face said otherwise, hardly a look he'd come to expect from one of his employees. The man rocked back and forth on the balls of his heels, as if waiting for something. Mr. Herrit squinted, then moments later, coughed.

“Can I help you?”

The man welcomed himself in, and made himself at home on an overstuffed chair, leaving a smudge of dirt on the velvet, the man an unsightly blight on the pristine opulence of the office. Herrit cringed. The man continued to grin.

“Is that any way to greet a fella? I thought you was a big-time professional now! That ain’t no way to treat your business partner.” He drawled, smile still plastered across his face, barely hidden by the man's scruff.

It all finally came back to Herrit. Honestly, he’d never believed the strange vagrant would ever come back; he half expected that the man would have died by now be it from disease, starvation, exhaustion, or just plain fell over dead- whatever it was people died of when they get too poor. And yet, here he was, no doubt here to try and stake a claim to Mr. Herrit's money. That wouldn’t do at all, he thought. His frown deepened. The two sat in silence for minutes that must have felt as hours, the grubby vagrant staring expectantly with cheerful eyes fixed on the businessman, who was busy tapping lightly at the desk with the tip of his pen.

The visitor finally broke the silence with an awkward cough.

“Well. As agreed, I’m here to collect my half of the share.” Mr. Herrit continued to tap at the desk. He didn’t know what to do or what to say here- honestly, the absolute nerve of this man just prancing in expecting to get money he’d not worked a single day for, shouldering all the burden onto Mr. Herrit. Half? That was an absolutely unreasonable amount. The stranger, perceptive as always, could tell this wasn’t going to be an easy sell. He piped up again.

“If I may remind you, we made a deal.”

Herrit tapped at the desk harder until the nib of the pen bent. If the stranger noticed, he pretended not to, and just kept on talking.

“Now, I got to thinking about how I’d like to spend such a thing, ‘specially given how successful our business venture here has gotten.” He tapped his fingers together, casting a curious look around the room, having the gall to judge Mr. Herrit’s choice of décor. His eyes traced over a few paintings, bookshelves, and little trinkets that were no doubt worth at least triple the sum of his own life's earnings. “I am, as you may have gathered by now, a patron of the arts. I think it’s probably the best thing y’all folk got on this little rock. I see that your town is lackin’ in a theatre, so, with my half of the share, I'd like for you to build all the folks of this town a great, grand one they all can enjoy."

Again, Herrit was taken by surprise. He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to build you a theatre?”

“Build them a theatre. I ain't got no need for one, bein a wanderer as I am.” The man before him corrected. “And then with the rest of the my share that's left after construction's done with, I'd like to have it split up and given to them that are down in the mines. A little spare change to line their pockets, hm?"

Something funny happened. Something about the way his smile sat changed, be it a quirk of the corners or a pursing of the lips- there was some kind of smug edge to it- almost malicious- but it was just as quickly gone as it'd come. Perhaps Herrit had imagined it. He had to have; the man didn't seem to want much except to donate his share to charity- but Mr. Herrit didn't have much pity for charity cases. In truth, he'd been practically seeing red the moment this fellow had decided to come and claim money that wasn’t his; it didn't matter where the money was supposed to go to. All of it belonged to Mr. Herrit, and it’d be a cold day in hell before he’d be willing to part with such a large sum. He'd had more than enough of this vagrant, and he'd had more than enough of this nonsense talk.

“Well, I ain’t gonna do no such thing.” He snarled. “I’ve never seen you in my life- so you best get out my office and take all your silly ideas with you.”

The fellow gave a weary smile, as if he'd expected as much, and began to fish around in his pockets until he produced a crumpled but still legible piece of paper. He pressed it to his leg, smoothed it out, then placed it on the desk in front of Herrit. It laid out, in great detail, the terms of their arrangement- and at the bottom of the parchment was Herrit’s signature, seemingly written by his own hand. The businessman’s eyes went wide.

“I never signed anything-” he murmured, more to himself than the vagrant, picking up the paper and looking it over. He scrutinized it carefully, every single loop of the signature a perfect, deep crimson copy of his own. Unlike the blatant lie that he’d never met this man, here he felt he was speaking the truth- how did the this man get this? “Well, we shook on it, and I take that to be legally binding.” The man across from him chuckled, easing into the chair while watching Herrit turn the paper over to look for some kind of flaw in the document. “Now, I do hope you got the good sense to follow through on your promises, else this might end up in the hands of folks who won’t just want half- they’ll rob you of every penny.”

Herrit bit his lip, staring at the paper with an intensity that could have burnt holes in it- he certainly wished he could. If he could have set it ablaze, then that'd be a problem solved. He considered for a moment the fireplace, or even magic- but the coals had long since cooled, and his talents with the craft left much to be desired. His gaze traced from the paper, to the stallion, to the paper again. Sure, he’d made a deal- but having his signature forged wasn’t something he ever agreed to. With some effort, he choked back all the venom and bile swirling around in his throat and gave a forced, painful smile. He passed the document back to the vagrant, who folded it back up and pocketed it.

“I see. Well, I guess I was mistaken. We do have an agreement after all,” He waited for the stranger to return the smile before continuing. “You know- I think we should get right to it. Why don’t we go and pick out a spot for the theatre, and then I’ll get my boys on it.”

Herrit pocketed his broken pen and stood, trudging over to the exit of the office, holding the door open for the wanderer. Every one of his steps felt heavy, burdened with the weight of what he was being forced to do. Half of his wealth, to this layabout? Nonsense. Just nonsense.

The man’s demeanor, in stark contrast to Herrit's, was cheery, happy to walk out the door with a skip in his step, following Herrit all the way through town and towards the edge of the woods. The pair ended up not all too far from where they'd first met. Leaves crunched lightly underfoot as the two made their way, finally coming to a stop far from all the bustle (and prying eyes) of the town. The stranger cast a glance around, and hmm'd. “It’s a little bit out of the ways for a theatre.” He commented, busy surveying the area. He nudged a small rock to the side with his boot, as if that would suddenly change the locale to something more suitable.

“Suppose it is.” Herrit took a step forward. Try as he might to be pleasant, it was hard to keep the hateful edge out of his voice. He was seething, and he felt as if the rage was starting to leak from every pore.

“No-one round here close ‘nough to even see the place unless you put bunch’a signs leadin’ way.” The stranger said, seemingly oblivious to what exactly the dangers of that implied. “Not even close enough for anyone to hea-”

Mr. Herrit was no fool, and he refused to be taken as one.

The stranger had hardly finished his train of thought before a pen was plunged into his neck, Herrit slamming it through the man’s flesh like he'd done with a pickaxe into stone- though this time, it was blood that sprung from the vein rather than shimmering flecks of gold. The man fell into the dirt with a quiet ‘thump’, no struggle, and not even a cry. Through one move, Herrit’s problems were no more. The businessman trembled, shaken by his own horrible deed- but it was what had to be done, right? Murder was a terrible sin, yes, but he'd come too far now to loose everything- or at least, half of everything. Besides, as far as he could tell by the state of the fellow's clothes, this man was a stranger to all and would hardly be missed. With a hole deep enough, it’d be like this odd wanderer never existed.

So it was Mack Herrit did the most work he’d done in near a decade, by digging a pit, dropping his problems inside, filling it right back up, smoothing over the hole, and replacing the leaves as if nothing was ever there.

---

In the end, he did build that theatre. Seemed only right to, given it was the last wish of a dead man- Herrit had thought, when drawing out the plans. Time had dulled him to the nastiness of it all, his sin of murder long outweighed by the sin of pride. It was a fine theatre, and did well to attract rich folks from all over Hesperia despite it’s odd, out of the way location off in the woods. The town was growing fast, and Herrit was eager to court the new, wealthy visitors.

Unfortunately, it seemed that theatre was the only thing Herrit had going for him. See, the mine had run dry rather abruptly- what had felt like an endless supply of wealth that ran like a stream from the mountain had now turned to mud and chunks of rubble where veins of gold had once been. It was almost as if there'd never been any gold there in the first place, wiped away much like how Herrit had done with his past. Nothing he tried had ever brought the gold back. He'd sent miners further down in deeper and more dangerous caverns, branching out like the underside of an anthill- no gold. He'd threatened workers, thrown tantrums, and as a final resort- offered bonuses to anyone who'd manage to bring back even a speck. Still, no gold. Hell, he'd even had them blow the place with dynamite. That choice though, had turned to a horrible, horrible mistake.

Even if there had been gold found- there was no way Herrit was getting to it- not anymore. The tunnel blown had collapsed and took several side tunnels out with it, trapping near 40 people inside. Only a few had been residents, given most had been cheap immigrants and traveling laborers willing to work for anything after the war, but it was still a dreadful blow to the town as a whole. Since then, barely any men would dare enter the mine. Haunted, they claimed. It wasn't long until the same was said about the theatre, drying up the last spring of Herrit's wealth. This was a town built on gold- built on the backs of those miners. Once they'd stopped, it was like the rest of the place stopped too, frozen in the dust and dirt. That sickness crept from the mine into the town, misfortune seeping up from the earth. Poverty, paranoia, and death took hold of the place, slowly making it's way even to the gates of Herrit's perfect little life, try as he might to ignore it. He loved this town- after all, he'd built it- and he hated seeing it fall into such a state. What he hated even more, however, was the fact that if things weren't going to turn around soon, it could well lead to his ruin.

On this evening, Herrit had a something far more important to worry about than the dreadful past and his bleak present. He was busying himself preparing for a very important meeting- he'd recently gotten word that the United Rail Company had interest in the region. To have the railroad come here would be a miracle- a blessing from God. Having the rail cut through the town would have been tremendous for all about, in bringing jobs to lay the track, as well reinvigorating business for the shops about- all of which Herrit had dipped his fingers into. If the town profited, he profited- and the railroad was the way to do it. When the railroad representative had finally arrived, led in by his secretary, it was hard for Herrit to keep his excitement in check.

He had supposed with the certainly still functional mine, and the definitely still expanding town that they'd be a perfect candidate to be placed on the map. Herrit had given his little speech about the benefits of including their humble town on the railroad, hoping desperately to win some sort of interest from the sharply dressed man sitting across from him. The man had listened to him speak, staying silent all the while as he watched with hawklike gaze from beneath his bowler as Herrit prattled on. Truthfully, the man had unnerved him. He'd been quiet for the duration of the entire visit, and being judged was hardly something Herrit appreciated. In the presence of this rail-man, he'd felt smaller than he'd ever felt in years- it was like being right back where he started: somebody who'd never be taken seriously, drifting through a sea of dreams rather than being grounded reality.

He was certain that he'd made the rail-man an excellent offer, but with the look he was being given, his confidence was beginning to splinter. Still, the man seemed to nod along and give the occasional movement which seemed to be some kind of smile, which Herrit took to mean approval. Hopefully.

He pulled forth a pen and contract, pushing it across the desk gingerly.

"I assume we've come to an agreement..?" He questioned, testing the waters. "We're a fine, thriving town as you can see. It'd do well to put a stop here with all these shops about, we got us a practical well of ore, so-" "You know that ain't true, Mack." It seemed his visitor had finally deigned to speak. "The gold in them hills went off with the man who told you 'bout it."

Mack paled. "I'm sorry..?"

He tapped his pen to the parchment anxiously, awaiting clarification. He'd not heard that correctly, right? He had to be imagining things. Did this man know? How could he?

A spurt of ink sprayed across the paper, and he and dropped the pen, anxious.

"My apologies..." he stammered, deciding to just ignore what the man said for now, and focus back to the task at hand. "I can draw up a new contract, just-"

He froze, staring at the soiled paper and his pen. The stain was spreading further, ink turning the paper a deep crimson- the same shade as his long forgotten signature upon the vagrant's paper. Despite spilling what should have been most of its contents, the pen was still bubbling and leaking, filling the room with the scent of iron.

He looked over to the seated man, who met his gaze with small smile. “You drive a good bargain, but I don’t think I can trust you to make good on any commitments, partner.”

The man grinned an all-too-familiar grin- one that shouldn’t have ever found it's way back into Mack’s office. He stood, shoes dipping into the thick puddle slowly pooling across the floor.

“Can’t follow through with a deal-" the stranger tutted. "that’s why I had to take back my side of the bargain, given that you tried to close our exchange in a less than honest fashion. Gold and greed oft come together, and I'd say your veins ran colder than any the metal down under them hills. Honestly, I didn't know if you had it in you. I'm a little impressed.”

“But you’re- you’re dead-” Mack choked out, taking a step back.

He'd always been bad with faces. Seeing the vagrant turn up, clean cut and dressed to the nines- he'd not recognized him as the man he'd killed. The stranger didn’t seem to care that he was dead. Frankly, he seemed to have ignored the murder entirely, choosing to ignore the fact that he'd been long buried. The strange man continued with his train of thought, paying little heed to Mack's fright.

“Still, ain’t no-one's ever accused me of lackin' in generosity, so I’m willing to cut you some slack this time, give you another chance.” He began to pace, working through the little plan he’d cooked up.

“You done opened up something nasty here when you killed all them folk- and not just from that cave in. You been killin' them for years. Through them mines, their blood stretches out into the soil under this place like roots of some rotten tree, and where there’s rot, there comes the scavengers that feed on it. You in a Hell of a lot of trouble, Mack, and you took this whole town down with you.”

The man chuckled, finding himself quite clever. Mack shrunk back even further, sliding down into a corner. What did he mean by all that- scavengers? The man spoke again.

“I ain’t gonna take your soul, Mack. I don’t much feel in the mood for it- but there things out there that will gladly snatch it right up and have all sorts of fun. Myself? I just want my half of our bargain. My share.”

Mack was trembling, words failing him. "There's nothing left- it's. I spent- there's just nothing here." He shuddered, wishing he could shut his eyes tight and banish the man back to his memories, but he couldn't. His eyes were fixed on the stranger’s which had now taken on a terrible glint- almost glowing with a malicious joy as he gave Mack's sentence.

“I know that, Mack. What I want is for you to go out and earn every last cent you pulled out of that mountain. I want you to bring it back to this town, and back to me. Then, and only then, will you and the rest of the folks who lived off that cursed gold finally get the peace of a nice, relaxing dirt nap.”

The man stepped forward and patted Mack on the shoulder, leaving a deep rusty stain across the his coat.

“Look sharp, Mack. You got a Hell of a lot of work to do.”

There was a flurry of feathers, wings as black as pitch, and the stranger was gone. Mack was standing alone in his office, papers strewn about the floor, sticking to a dark puddle on the carpet. Why was death all he got in exchange for returning the share? He didn’t understand how that could possibly be a reward. He would.