The Horrid Tragedy of the Counts Berok: A Comedy Fantasy

by Galen Wolf

  "Yes, Zventibold, Billy's one of mine - one of my little servants you could say. Billy, get us some tea!"

  With that Billy bowed deeply and said, "I obey, oh master," and went off in what Zventibold presumed was the direction of the kitchen. Zventibold was disturbed by all of this.

  Turvius laughed. "Do you think your falling through the roof was an accident? - I weakened it! Waiting for this day, waiting for fate and my zombie, whom you know as Billy, to fetch you here." Zventibold was now sure Turvius was a hunchbacked dwarf, before he had merely surmised. Turvius stood there, silhouetted in the twisting flame of the burner, a strange lump on the back of his head clearly reflected in the crystal ball that stood on a cluttered side table. Next to it was an old fish tank in which floated a pickled baby. This horror, however, was not great enough to draw Zventibold's attention from the frenzied figure of the dwarf Turvius. The sorcerer was standing and had begun to turn, with spittle running from the corners of his mouth. It was apparent to Zventibold that he was having a fit of some kind. "No… you think that it was! No! I placed it! No…! You think that it did! No…! I locked it! You think that I should…! NO! you…!" It was obvious that he was totally crazed, the agony of his experience apparent on every line of his warty face. Then he fell to the floor and lay there muttering. At that point Zventibold lost of little of his awe of the wizard and he went over to kick him as he lay helpless.

  It was at that point that Billy entered with the tea. On a silver tray, he carried teacups, milk and a steaming teapot. There were also cakes. Zventibold was torn. Here was Billy as helpless as his sorcerous master. Zventibold decided to kick Billy instead as he had never truly loved him as much as he pretended and he had always envied his luck with girls. He waited until the Billy Zombie had put down the tray and then laid into him.

  The sorcerer Turvius Sullius had arisen by now and was brushing the dust from his second-hand sorcerer's robe. "I'm sorry about that," he said, "I get a little excited sometimes."

  Zventibold stood there, glowering at him.

  Turvius gestured for him to sit down. "I have a terrible truth to reveal to you Zventibold."

  "Oh?" said Zventibold, his curiosity piqued.

  "Berok is your name, no?" said the dwarf.

  Zventibold nodded, cautious.

  "But Zamborg Berok is not your real father!"

  Zventibold said, "Oh?" perplexed.

  "I am!" shouted Turvius triumphantly to the ceiling and causing Billy to flinch.

  Zventibold sat down heavily and took a sip of tea. He had not expected this. Then to his horror he saw that Turvius had removed his trousers. He drank more tea, readying himself to refuse politely. But Turvius stood there presenting his buttock to the boy, a wry smile on his face.

  "But it's…" trembled Zventibold, tea still in hand, risking a scald.

  "Yes!"

  There - was a birthmark in the shape of a dark star.

  "The same as yours," whispered Turvius portentously.

  Zventibold didn't know what to say.

  "Yes it's true," said the sorcerer. "Come over here."

  He handed the youth the crystal ball and wiped it with his robe. Then he said, "Look boy! Look and see!"

  As the mists began to clear, vague shapes formed.

  "What do you see boy?" enquired the wizard.

  "I see… I see pigs. Pigs wrestling? Can this be so?"

  "No," replied the wizard. "Look closer. Now, Zventibold, what do you see now?"

  The shapes were very clear. It was a love scene. A man and a woman made love.

  Zventibold's jaw dropped."It's mummy and Uncle Zildak. What are they doing? Shouldn't daddy know about this?"

  The wizard appeared lost in his own thoughts. "Sound would be good," he said under his breath.

  The boy shook Turvius's shoulder. More insistent he spoke. "Turvius what are they doing? Mummy looks in pain. I must help her. What is Uncle Zildak doing with his pee-pee?"

  The wizard turned to him. "It's sex Zventibold," he said. "The pee-pee has two functions only one of which is for wee-wee."

  "Mine too?" asked Zventibold.

  "One day. When you're bigger and ladies start throwing you burning glances. But for now, no."

  "But is Uncle Zildak allowed?"

  "No, he is a naughty man."

  "Oh, no," groaned the lad. "Where's daddy? He must be told of this."

  As he said this, the ball clouded again and the shapes began to reform themselves. There was his step-father, Count Zamborg Berok, sitting at the back step of the Palace wrapping up scraps from the kitchen into gift packs for paupers. He was smiling. He seemed happy. It was his favourite job and made a change from government work.

  Turvius turned to Zventibold and as he spoke, he rhythmically swung a golden amulet in front of the boy's eyes. "Now Zventibold," he said, "listen carefully. I want revenge on the hated Axtos III and here is what you will do to help me."

  The lad stood stock still - Turvius' words were so persuasive. "Yes, father, I hear and I obey," he said.

  From that night Zventibold was a frequent visitor at the deformed wizard's laboratory. There he studied magic with his true father and fell totally under his influence as he has once been totally under Billy's.

  6. Good Times, Bad Times

  The histories of the family Berok do not tell of how Zamborg's brother came to move in permanently with the family, what excuse he used or who managed the ancestral estates in the North. Soon however, it was as if he had always been there. He and Helena spent much time together and their love deepened. All the time Zamborg laboured for the rights of the oppressed and was unaware of his wife's dalliance. Zventibold knew well what went on between his mother and his uncle and, although he loved his mother dearly and could not bear any ill will for her, he shunned the company of his erstwhile favourite uncle - Zildak.

  One Wednesday morning, Helena awoke, dressed and went to see Gertie the cook. On Wednesday it was her practice to go down to Charnel Street and supply the beggars who slept there with soup and rolls. Gertie and William the footman, doorman and now chauffeur, got the coach ready, and soon they were on their way.

  Although the sun was already risen, the beggars, who lay wrapped in their meagre rags by the ruts in the metalling of Charnel Street, were loath to move. Rather than face the slicing wind of early December, carrying as it did the breath of the latest snow from the high Mountains of Doom and far Wormoria to the west, they would curse and shiver, hoping for who knows what improvement in their living conditions. But they did know it was Wednesday and the good thing about Wednesday was that the Beroks' soup coach would soon trundle its way down the narrow street and for a while their lives would be full of joy. Unfortunately it was this particular Wednesday every year when the Pirkateshi Pottery Market was held. Now it is doubtful that any of the beggars knew that this was an annual event for they were creatures of but little learning and the concept of a year was far beyond them. But if they had remembered, they would recall, as did everybody in the city that Axtos III, their Autocrat, was a fanatical pottery collector.

  The market was held in Pie Square near Hagg Hill and Charnel Street formed part of the Autocratic routeway. The Autocrat hated beggars and so an hour before he was due to pass, he would send a battery of infantry to clear the way for him, bayoneting, stabbing and then follow up with a battalion of sappers to take away the bits.

  The wind was strong that morning and whistled over the shivering beggars and into the dank eroded houses that were the abode of the fetid poor. There were severe class distinctions between the various strata of common people in Piraktesh - distinctions that were not clearly understood by the upper classes. The beggars were those who had no roofs over their heads and were forced to sleep in the street whilst the poor had homes - no matter how filthy and damp. There were many more poor than beggars and so being a beggar had a certain prestige not enjoyed by the poor whose number was legion. The reason why there were not so many beggars as poor was that many
of them died of exposure and, living as they did on the streets, they were much more likely to come to the notice of a passing aristocrat who was throwing an execution party.

  That day on Charnel Street, silence reigned. The beggars waited for the well oiled sound of the wheels of the Berok soup coach. Helena was late that morning and the poor began to laugh from their dank houses at the ill luck of the beggars. Then - she arrived. The carriage driven by a sleepy William rumbled its way down Charnel Street. Who knows what thoughts went through the minds of the beggars as they lay there - elation perhaps? They were obviously eager for the soup but they were just as eager for a glimpse of her - their angel of the morning.

  Helena, Countess of Berok, alighted with William's aid. "Sorry, I'm late," she said to the assembled masses and pulled the dark blue of her hood up over her golden tresses and hid the soft flesh of her neck from the cruel wind. That flesh was marked by the greedy bitings of her lover - Zildak Berok. At first she seemed to daydream then she said, "Good morning everybody? Have a good night?" And then as if lost in her own personal reveries she added, "I did."

  Many of the beggars had long since fallen deeply in love with this kind and sensitive lady. Tall and beautiful as she was, she knew all their names and chatted to them as if they were normal human beings, and she would shed copious tears when she heard of the demise of one of the gang.

  Lady Helena turned to Gertie who was already manhandling the huge bronze soup urn from the back seat of the carriage. When she saw the trouble Gertie was having, she turned to one of the beggars, George, a deaf mute but expert lip reader, and said, "Give Gertie a hand will you George?"

  Everyone joined in with the preparations and soon the beggars swarmed round the houses, ripping down the decaying facades so as to build a fire that would heat their soup. The irate poor replied with jeers, taunts and pots full of the previous night's toilet products; although they would not go as far as to physically hinder the beggars for fear of the great lady who was even now chopping tomatoes into the urn.

  Looking down from Charnel Street onto Pie Square, Helena saw that groups of traders were already setting up their rickety stalls to load them with exotic pottery all the while smoking pipefuls of the strange herb known as a clove, as was the wont of pottery merchants all over the domains of the Autocracy. Nervously, for she had a strange foreboding, Helena turned to Gertie, "Gertie, what are they doing down there?"

  Gertie smiled toothlessly and said, "I thought that you would 'ave known that mis'ress. It be the annual pottery market."

  "But that's bad Gertie; you know that means that the hated Autocrat will be coming down this way and that these beggars are doomed to die at the bloody hands of the military."

  "Ar, that be it Ma'am. I did think that it beed a waste o' time feedin' the beggars this mornin' seein' as they beed about to die anyway, but you 'as your lordly ways, unfathomable as they be to us common folk, so I thought I'd let it slide," said Gertie, still chopping the tomatoes.

  "Gertie, this shows that those political awareness lectures given to you by my husband have been worthless. By Hector, we will resist this tyranny as best we can. These poor wretches shall get as much soup as they can eat!"

  A cheer went up from the assembled beggars.

  The roaring fire was almost bringing the soup to a boil, all the while crackling merrily and all the while the beggars gathered around it, warming their ratlike bodies. She knew them all by name. There in a row were Tosh, Little Billy, Jacky, Zabrok, Fetish and Tom. They smiled at her and she smiled back.

  "'Ow be 'ee missus?" enquired Tosh cordially.

  "Oh, I'm fine Tosh thank you very much. And yourself? Have you had a nice week?"

  "Not too good missus. Me ol' back's been playin' up a fair bit. But 'ave you 'ad a good time? Meanin' that with all due respect o' course," he added hastily for it was a rumour amongst the beggars that Helena Berok, although gracious and kind, was fond of male company.

  "I've had a very pleasant week thank you Tosh. As you may know, my brother in law has moved in with us recently," she said, obviously unaware she was stoking the rumour.

  "Be that Zildak, ma'am?" queried Tosh. "'E as was buyin' of rat poison an' a sharp knife off Jimmy Spots the other day?"

  Before Helena could answer, Tosh was speaking again. He shrugged his sloping shoulders and said, "I wouldn't know but as I was talkin' to ol' Spots the other day meself, an' 'e said it was a most uncommon thing that a gentleman should be buyin' things as 'e only usually sells to cutpurses, thieves an' murderers."

  Helena was bewildered. She faltered. "I don't know. I suppose he could have been. I don't know why he would though. He hasn't said anything."

  Tosh smiled wickedly. "Well then, it can't be anythin' else but a vicious rumour Spots was tellin' me."

  "What do you mean Tosh? What rumour," said the Countess, worried. Then she smiled. "Oh Tosh, you're only pulling my leg." She gave the soup a stir. Even by the fire she felt cold and the keen wind cut through her rich coat and the flimsy bodice beneath.

  "Well that's somethin' I wouldn't mind doin'," smiled Tosh and rose unsteadily on his one leg, his eyes agleam.

  "Easy now Tosh, leave it out!" The voice was Little Billy's.

  Just then they were interrupted. Gertie ran towards them, breathless and flushed. "Madam!" she shouted. "The soldiers have arrived and they've started to bayonet the beggars up at the north end of the street.

  When the beggars heard this a groan of dismay went up from their assembled company and they began to shuffle away on the odd assortment of limbs that they had between them.

  "Now then boys - sit down! You haven't had your soup yet!" said Helena.

  At her word, they began drop themselves to the ground rather grumpily. Helena handed the large wooden spoon to Gertie and said, "Gertie, you stir this and I'll go and have a word with the officer in charge."

  She stormed toward the north of the street where, sure enough, the soldiery had begun to bayonet the unfortunate beggars. As she walked, her hood fell back to reveal her golden hair, which she shook loose over her perfect shoulders. The officer was a dashing mustachioed man who due to his rank was not required to assist his men in the actual bayoneting and corpse clearance. His eyes showed no little interest when he realised that this beautiful woman was coming towards him. He was a shrewd man and soon worked out who she was but said nothing. As she approached him he extended his gloved hand to prevent her slipping and drenching her fine dress in the slime of the street. "May I aid you madam?" he asked.

  "Captain," she began but he interrupted her.

  "I'm afraid that you do me an undeserved honour madam. I am only a lieutenant."

  "Lieutenant," she began again, "you simply cannot treat the poor wretches in this way."

  "Madam, I'm afraid I'm on direct orders from Captain Vardo, chief of the Secret Police. I must clear this road before the Autocrat - bless his name - passes this way en route to the pottery market."

  "Sir, that may be so, but I still protest. They have not yet had their soup, which I even now labour to prepare. Do you not feel for the plight of these poor souls?"

  "No, madam, I do not for I am of the 1%, while they merely the 99%. And neither do I see what pleasure a gentlewoman like you gets from filthying her hands with this scum." He gestured to the beggars in case Helena had not guessed to whom he referred.

  Long the argued and debated. The lieutenant suggested that the beggars book into a hotel but Helena protested that they had no money. All the time the soldiers stared at Helena whose coat and come open to reveal a section of her bosom. In this way their work was delayed and many of the beggars had time for two bowls of soup.

  Then the unthinkable happened. The blue and purple of the Autocratic Coach turned into Charnel Street. Axtos III had decided to go to the market early; such was his greed for pottery. When the beggars saw this they began to hop, skip and jump away - seeking refuge in the houses of the poor, only to be turned away with jeers and blows.

&n
bsp; The captain of the squadron of cavalry which accompanied the Autocrat's Coach was a quick thinking man, and knowing Axtos' abhorrence of the lower classes, he speedily ordered a cavalry charge. The glittering lances of the Imperial Cavalry swept all before them and the Infantry, taking the initiative, ran along, throwing the corpses into a wagon provided for the purpose.

  The Countess, lost for words, began to weep. As the coach of the Autocrat passed her, she saw the obese form of her monarch who was waving graciously at his subjects. He was in a good mood in anticipation of the new pottery he would buy. Helena could take no more and wildly she ran at the coach, wailing most horribly. Before she got there and old soldier caught her and whispered in kindly fashion, "Don't do it, love.'E be a wicked man." That old soldier was a certain Jeremiah Foolscap on the point of retirement from the military who, in his spare time had built up a significant business as a meat dealer.

  The Autocrat noticed the disturbance and when he saw who she was, he said, "So Countess, you still follow this foolish obsession with paupers. How pathetic!"

  Helena was enraged. "We may be pathetic, fatty, but you cannot break our spirit. Still my brave husband defies you!"

  Now fatty was a name that Axtos particularly hated. He had lusted after Helena from his adolescence and had naked sketches of her pinned up in his locker at school. But even so, he began to howl with rage. "Kill her!" he shouted