The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  “See,” she said. “It seemed to come from—from—”

  “Yes—the bracelet. I saw.” Strangely his anger was gone. “Don’t let the counsellors or anyone see it,” he said in a low voice. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  CHAPTER IV

  Dangerous to Wish

  In the deep afternoon shade of the park the sleepy, idle men stirred uneasily. A sound truck disturbed their peace and comfort. It even threatened the security of their existence.

  That’s the third time that blamed noise has woke me up,” said a heavily whiskered snoozer who was resting within a few feet of Lanky Louis and the Old Man.

  “It was your snoring that woke me up,” said Lanky. “You drowned out the sound truck.”

  “Here it comes again, Lanky,” said the Old Man. “When you hear what they’re announcing you’ll ask the guy to go on snoring.”

  The blaring music stopped and the big voice boomed from the microphone.

  “Calling all able-bodied men who want to work. Apply at the city employment bureau today. Good pay. Begin at once. There is a job for you. No skill required.”

  Lanky rose up on one elbow. Among the three or four hundred men he could see lying around in the shade, perhaps fifteen or twenty roused up as if mildly interested.

  “Lay down,” the man with the black whiskers growled at Lanky. “Don’t be taken in by none of these fool work calls.”

  “Why not?”

  “Where does it get you?” The man with the black whiskers asked this question in a pessimistic tone that implied there was no answer. He repeated the question several times for the benefit of his neighbor loafers. “You, John, where did it ever get you? You, Alex—”

  The argument that followed was almost as loud as the sound-truck amplifiers, in spite of the fact that most of the protagonists were arguing on the same side. Why work? Where does it get you?

  Lanky rose to his feet, stretched his arms and took a deep breath.

  “Are you really figuring to go get a job?” said the whiskered pessimist.

  “I’m thinking about it,” said Lanky.

  “Do you know what’ll happen? They’ll get the whole bunch of you together—all fifty or a hundred or however many there are that want work. Then they’ll tell you there are only maybe five jobs, and the first five men to get there can have them. So all fifty of you strike out on a footrace, and forty-five of you are suckers.”

  “Maybe I’d be one of the five,” said Lanky thoughtfully.

  “Then a week later maybe your job would run out. These pick-up jobs are here today and gone tomorrow. So you’d be a sucker just the same.”

  Lanky ran his fingers through his shaggy brown hair uneasily.

  “I sort of wish I had a job. I wish all of us had jobs. I think we’re going to find ourselves out in the cold some day soon:”

  “I’ve thought of that myself,” said the Old Man. “It isn’t a pleasant thought.”

  The whiskered pessimist was skeptical. “What’s in the air?”

  “I think,” said Lanky, “that the Counsellors are going to do something about us.”

  “Aw! Slush! Sheep-dip.”

  “They could, you know.”

  “They’re having too easy a time to bother about us. Their bellies get filled four times a day. Ours maybe once a week. Everybody’s happy.”

  “I heard a Counsellor say something one day,” said Lanky, “that troubles my sleep. He doesn’t like our breed.”

  “We’re no special breed’,” said the Old Man.

  “What do you mean, we’re no special breed?” said the pessimist.

  “I mean we’re all a part of the same tree that gets run through a sawmill. Stragglers like us are the sawdust. We didn’t happen to get sawed up into useful timbers. We got thrown out and wasted. Why? Not because we’re any different kind of wood. Just because the saw happened to hit us.”

  “Maybe so,” said the pessimist, “but you’re not going to give young loafers like Lanky, here, the proper pride, teaching things like that. Who saws up these logs anyhow?”

  “You were sawing them thick and fast,” said Lanky laughing, “until the sound truck came by . . . So long, boys. I’m going to see about a job.”

  “I’ll meet you tonight, then,” said the Old Man.

  Two hours after dark Lanky jogged across the park to the plaza and found the Old Man waiting at the usual place. There was an air of unusual excitement around the Pink Temple. Lanky sensed it at once.

  “What happened?”

  “Something nobody knows how to explain,” said the Old Man. “You should have seen it. But it all happened so quick—”

  “An accident?”

  “Not exactly. Anyway none of the guards got hurt. You see, this was the night of the parade drill, getting ready for a reception for some national officers. The band went by, and two companies of guards marched past in their red and white uniforms. But this third company—”

  “Well?”

  “Well, your friend Janette happened to be looking out the window, and I was thinking to myself, I’ll bet she wishes she could get acquainted with some of those handsome young guards. And all at once it happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was a glow of blue like soft lightning that shone out from the glass porch. And just then three or four guards broke ranks and started for the nearest porch stairway—each one sort of slipping away as if he thought he wouldn’t be noticed. But immediately a. dozen or so more tried the same thing, and suddenly the whole company turned and made for the porch as if in a body!”

  “No! Why, that’s a terrible breach of discipline! I never heard of such a thing.”

  “I say those men were instantly hypnotized!”

  “Impossible!”

  “You should have seen it. I tell you it was a most unnatural thing. They charged, by heavens, the whole company. They raced. Every guard tried to beat every other guard up the steps. It was amazing!”

  The Old Man became so absorbed in recounting the details that he waved his limp arm and waggled his long white beard excitedly.

  “They elbowed and pushed and fought. The sidewalk and that first tier of steps were strewn, were fairly alive with tumbling uniforms.”’

  “What did they do when they got up to the porch?”

  “Well, I don’t know as any of them got all the way up. The stairs go sort of back and forth and the walls block out the view. For some reason they turned around and came straggling back. Yessir, it looked like they all changed their minds at once—right when the lights flashed blue again. They picked themselves up and ran back, and the officers were blowing their whistles like mad, and they all fell into rank again—”

  “That bracelet!” Lanky muttered. “Could it have been—”

  “What’s that you say?” said the Old Man.

  “Never mind. I’ll see you later. I’m going up closer. I’ve got to see what’s going on around that porch.”

  “You’ll hear a lot of rumors,” the Old Man said.

  CHAPTER V

  Moonlight and Murder

  Rumors found their way into the Pirik Temple that night.

  “Janette, they say you are an enchantress.”

  William Lusk was smiling through his sharp mustaches as he conveyed this shocking news. He seemed to take pride in it.

  “They are saying that you have a mysterious gift, of mental persuasion. That you can ensnare the mind and will of any man you see, and make him do your bidding. That’s what people are saying.”

  How could Uncle William stand there and laugh while he imparted such shocking news? How dare the people say such things of her. What did they think she was? A sorceress? A witch?

  Instinctively she hid her arms behind her. Was it possible that Uncle William had forgotten the bracelet? He had been so deeply engrossed in some new recipes—

  “They’ve no right to talk of me that way,” Janette said angrily. “Just because those guards happened to sta
mpede.”

  “Let the people talk. It’s wonderful advertising for me,” said William Lusk.

  “That Stampede could have been a hoax, you know,” said Janette.

  “You’re an enchantress, dear. Mrs. Lusk and I are quite convinced. We’ve watched, these Counsellors, and they’re practically all in love with you.”

  “I’ve no desire to be an enchantress. I don’t want the Counsellors to be in love with me.”

  “They neglect the affairs of the city just to come down to our dining halls, to enjoy my food—and your beauty.”

  “I’m not interested in them.”

  “And do you know how you have become an enchantress? It is my achievement.” Again, the chef’s broadest, proudest smile.

  “Your achievement? I—I don’t understand.”

  “My special recipes have given you your beauty and your powers of fascination,” William Lusk bowed deeply: “If you don’t believe it, listen to the rumors. Even my wife believes it—and I almost believe it myself. You realize we have always guarded your diet with an eye to your beauty.”

  “Yes—I realize—”

  “Then—who knows? The world’s greatest chef may be even greater than he himself admits. These recent experiments of mine for more desirable vitamin balance—you have been trying my special dishes, haven’t you?”

  Janette began to smile to herself. So he had forgotten the bracelet. He didn’t suspect what she had discovered. That the bright sapphires were the source of the strange light and power. That somehow persons hastened to answer her wishes whenever this power reached out to them.

  It was at once wonderful and terrifying. What did it mean? Would that kindly tramp who called himself Lanky be able to explain this magic gift to her?

  She often saw him, these nights, when the breadlines formed at the service door of the palace. But there was never time for more than a word and a smile. He seemed rather timid, though she felt that he might have lots to say except for the presence of other hungry men.

  Janette chose a lightweight sports jacket. The night breeze was almost too warm for a wrap, but Janette wanted sleeves that would come down snugly over her wrists, to hide her, bracelet of burning sapphires.

  If she could only walk out into the moonlight! A wish? The warmth of her bracelet warned her. Wishes could be so full of unexpected consequences. She was learning to guard her thoughts at every turn.

  Not so much for herself as for the other persons who might be involved. Like that company of guards early this evening. What an embarrassment she had brought down on them! Would they ever be able to explain to themselves why they had ever taken such a strange turn?

  And yet her wish had been simply a harmless impulse. She had only said to herself, “Wouldn’t it be gay to be acquainted with all of those handsome guards?” And they had suddenly turned into an upward avalanche of uniforms.

  The glass porch was dark now. Many of the plaza’s bright lights were off for the night. Moonlight played on the fountains and gave a silvery effect to the dew covered lawns.

  “If I were a straggler,” Janette thought, “I would be out there walking barefoot in the dewy grass.”

  The oval windows were open. The fragrant night air was good to her nostrils.

  “I’m not wishing I were out there,” she said to herself determinedly. “I’m not wishing someone were here with me—someone like that interesting vagrant named Lanky.”

  She rested her elbows on the window shelf and gazed dreamily. The air was cool at her wrists except where the bracelet touched. How far did she dare go, she wondered, in thinking—or in. denying thoughts—before they became dangerous wishes?

  “No one can see me here now,” she thought. “Yet somehow I know that Lanky is among the sleeping vagrants—and not far away. And not sleeping.” She mused upon this thought. How did she know? Had her wish brought him? Must he be obedient to the powers of the sapphires he had given her?

  Or was she mistaken? Perhaps he was miles away. Or perhaps every soul in the park was sound asleep. Wouldn’t it be fun to stroll past each sleeper and drop a scented flower on the nose of each, just to be mischievous? And to whisper in each ear, “The enchantress wishes you sweet dreams.”

  Janette laughed to think what a merry joke this would be. A few hundred parksleepers would wake up in the morning, each to claim a special favor from her.

  These gay thoughts led her to the side stairs and, without really meaning to, she started down toward the park.

  But at the first landing she recoiled with a gasp of fright. Something shadowy lying between the two jardinières rose up before her.

  “That awful tramp!” she uttered, running up the sairs. “I wish someone would remove him—for good!”

  She stood at the porch windows, trembling. The shadowy figure hadn’t followed her. Instead, he had risen up and reached some unseen electric switch behind one of the jardinières.

  A few lights went on—a thin row around the circular porch and two in nearby corridors. At the same time a soft gong sounded in William Lusk’s room.

  In a moment the chef was hurrying out to the porch, donning his robe on the run.

  “Janette! Janette! Where are you, child?”

  “Don’t worry, Uncle William.” In a flash the meaning of the omnipresent tramp on the stairs had became clear to her. He had been placed there by Uncle William to make sure she didn’t stray off the premises. “Don’t worry. Your guard is on his job. I didn’t get away.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  “But wouldn’t it be simpler just to build me a jail and throw away the key?”

  “Janette, you’re angry with me.”

  “Please do, Uncle William. Put me behind bars and spare my nerves. Then I won’t meet any ugly ogres rising up to scare me back into the house.”

  The dam of her fury was suddenly broken. Her anger was unleashed in a flood of words.

  In vain the famous chef tried to protest that it was all for her own good. But his protests weren’t equal to the occasion. He paced back into the Temple to call his wife. Her help was badly needed.

  For a minute—or two or three—he was gone. Janette stood alone, silent, rehearsing in her mind the facts that had infuriated her.

  At once she became aware of certain sensations that had almost escaped her. A car had just pulled away from the curb below the steps—had shot away at high speed. Its roar was still in her ears.

  But the more definite sensation was that of strong warmth gradually fading from her wrist.

  “I must have wished!” she thought. “When did I wish and what?”

  It was the tramp, of course—the piggish looking man in the orange rags who was Uncle William’s secret guard. She had wished him removed.

  She ran to the stairs, started down the first flight, swiftly, cautiously—

  In the dim light—Lanky! He was half crouched above the fallen figure of the trampish guard. Lanky’s fingers clung loosely to a short, bright dagger, dripping blood.

  The soiled mechanic’s uniform of the fallen man was gashed in the left side, and the black blotch around the gash was spreading.

  Lanky heard Janette’s faltering footsteps. He looked up.

  “The poor fellow’s gone, I’m afraid. I hope to heaven you saw it happen. Otherwise it might look bad for me.”

  “I didn’t see—no . . . I didn’t see anything. Not even you. Quick—God . . . but the dagger—”

  “It’s mine. I’ll take it. I might need it.” Lanky looked back at the dying man. “Too bad. Uncalled for.”

  “Go, Lanky. Hurry!”

  CHAPTER VI

  Prison Hours

  Molander strode down the prison corridor and stopped to look in at Lanky. The handsome Counsellor’s lips curled in a cruel taunt.

  “Comfortable, my friend?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Lanky said with a cool restraint.

  “Did they bring you a good breakfast?”

  “I have eaten all I cared
to eat. I really wasn’t very hungry.”

  “No reflections on our food, I hope. We try to give the best of service. Not quite as fancy as the dishes Lusk and Janette hand out to you bums at the service door, but this is a prison. It’s the best we can do for misguided fools who trespass and take chances and get careless with their weapons.”

  The emotion gathered like threatening thunder in Molander’s voice as he divested himself of this speech. As if daring Lanky to murmur an answer.

  Lanky met his eyes and answered, quite calmly, “I never knew my dagger to be quite so rash.”

  “Well put,” said Molander, breathing more easily. “See that you put it that way when they question you. And no fancy alibis, you understand.”

  “No, I don’t understand.” Lanky didn’t say it defiantly, but questioningly. Nevertheless, the effect upon Molander was like an electric shock.

  “You’d better understand,” he said in a low, quavering command. “All you need to say is that you gave way to an uncontrollable impulse to murder the tramp that guarded the stairs. Don’t complicate your story by devising any motives. That guard barred the way. You were fascinated by her, and there he was on the steps. That’s all you’ll say. Every Counsellor will understand.” Lanky studied the young Counsellor’s determined face. The slight nervous twitches of his lips were hardly perceptible. He would rush this trial through with the same rashness that characterized his every move. Any obstacles thrown in his path would be rolled under.

  “You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble, Lanky Louis, if you had hit the road,” Molander went on, now with a boldness that stung deep. “Nine tramps out of ten would have given the police a better run for their money. But you—you have to be picked up right in the plaza park, washing the blood off your dagger at the drinking fountain.” Lanky paced back and forth in his cell, trying hard not to be badgered into blurting anything his good judgment told him not to say. But Molander tarried, trying to make sure his plan of trial was clinched.

  “Whatever I say, I’ve no doubt I’ll be shot,” said Lanky. “You Counsellors have the authority. I can see you’re anxious to use it, to make an impression on all the tramps in the city.”