Snake Eyes

by Joseph D'lacey

  “Please listen, all of you,” intoned the puny priest, “I can assure you with the Great Father as my witness that this fallen animal is a dragon and that we can gorge ourselves upon it this very night.”

  I had to say something.

  “Wait, everyone. My learned manual clearly states that this is a demon.”

  I opened the little red Ledger to the correct page and held it up for all to see. It was useless. They could see the drawings but hardly any of them could read. Leopold Prattle had both the Great Father and hunger on his side. The people sided with him.

  As the larger men of the village planned a way to haul the body from the crater and the children began to run around in excitement at the prospect of a meal, the mothers cried tears of happiness over the Great Father’s blessing.

  I stood back and watched the rest of the crops in the field turn black as invisible waves of oppression cascaded off the fallen fiend. I took a sip of my milk but it had rotted to a scummy yellow gall that made me retch. I emptied it onto the diseased field and was relieved to overhear that they aimed to drag the creature to the opposite side of the village for butchery.

  Bumcakes

  I was also delighted to note that the demon’s corruption hadn’t reached as far as my croft. Stepping through the thigh high gate I saw my corn, green and healthy, my yams apparently unharmed. The chickens looked unaffected, they scratched the dusty ground and jerked their heads as usual. Mary the goat regarded me through mischievous eyes—far too reminiscent of the eyes of the malevolent beings depicted in the Ledger. Living next to Blini Rickett and Puff Wiggery might have been entertaining but it was proving to be dangerous, too. I stomped up onto the porch and through the back door.

  Velvet was about her kitchen chores and though it was still morning I could smell the promise of lunch. She turned when she heard my footsteps, knowing straight away that something was wrong.

  “What’s the matter, my pet? You look fair vexed.”

  I set the empty cup down on our table.

  “I don’t know where to start. Rickett and Wiggery are idiots. Prattle is a jumble-headed interferer. Everyone else is so hungry their brains have dried up. And a large demon has fallen into next door’s field.”

  “Oh, now don’t be such a grumbler, Delly. You’ll feel better when you’ve had some lunch.”

  “What are we having?”

  “Corn patties with an egg on top.”

  “What I wouldn’t give for a loaf of bread.”

  “The flour’s almost gone. I was saving it for a special occasion.”

  “If this drought goes on much longer there may not be any more occasions.”

  Velvet turned back to her cooking and tutted at me. Her hair was long and dark and silky, but in the hot weather she wore it in a knot with a wooden spoon through it. I could see the sweat on the back of her neck and the press of her hips where they stuck to the faded blue cotton of her dress. That was another thing about the heat; thoughts of rutting made it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

  “What is that awful pew?” asked Velvet.

  “Oh, it’s what’s left of the milk. The demon’s presence turned it just like that. Killed all the cabbages in next door’s field too—the ones that weren’t already dead.”

  “Those peewits. They do nothing but argue and jizjam each other’s wives.”

  She picked up the fouled cup and washed it in water that was three days old. I felt a wave of pity for the two farmers and their families. They’d gained a demon and lost an entire crop.

  “It’s the heat. Makes folk cantankerous and lecherous.”

  “Nonsense, Delly. Those two’ve always been that way and you know it.”

  As usual, Velvet was right. I opened my comprehensive almanac and turned to the section on adversarial minions. There was no mention of what to do in case of demonic fallout.

  Mostly it was about how to recognise demons and how to ward them off. The whole thrust of the section related to avoiding contact in the first place. I took that to mean eating them wasn’t a good idea. The pictures were detailed and it seemed that we had acquired a relatively high level demon. Well, high in a lowdown kind of way.

  From outside there came the sound of angry voices and at first I thought it was just Rickett and Wiggery having one of their customary disagreements. But the volume rose and the numbers of voices increased until it sounded like a riot was going on. I sighed, pushed my chair back and walked to the back door to take a look. In the field it looked as though a fight was about to break out. There was pushing and shoving and many fingers being pointed. In the midst of it Leopold Prattle was adeptly failing to maintain control.

  “Give me strength,” I said.

  “What is it now?”

  “I’ll have to go out there again.”

  “Don’t you be late for your lunch, Delly Duke, or I’ll paddle your bumcakes rosy.”

  I turned back to see her smiling; as full of mischief as Mary the goat.

  “I’ll make sure it’s stone cold before I return.”

  Demonhood

  In the field, merriment had turned to bitterness.

  There was a very obvious split between two factions. In the smaller faction there was Blini Rickett and Puff Wiggery. In the other faction was the rest of the village. Between them, using only his body odour as a weapon, was Leopold Prattle. By the time I arrived at the scene, it looked as though a lynching might not be far away.

  I asked one of the villagers, a barrel maker who lived near the church, what was going on.

  “Those two fatherless muckits say the dragon belongs to them because it fell in their field. They’ve no right to it. No right, says I.”

  But Jack Cooper, the one I’d asked, was wrong. I knew the law about property and ownership and it was clear. I ran to the front of the mob where things were starting to turn nasty. Puff Wiggery had bleeding scratches on his face where a woman’s nails had raked him. Even Prattle was beginning to look frightened in case they lumped him in with the other two.

  I raised my hands. I’ve got a loud voice when I feel like using it and it’s a good thing otherwise events might have transpired very differently.

  “ENOUGH OR I’LL SUMMON THE MILITIA.”

  That caught the attention of a few of them and some of the fire went out of the mob. The shouting died down and people stopped pushing towards the two frightened farmers. I kept my hands in the air and after a few more moments the crowd was quiet enough that I could speak normally.

  “Anyone who harms these men will hang. You all know it. The law says an animal found dead on your land belongs to you. And anyone who tries to take the demon away will be flogged.”

  “It’s a dragon,” shouted one of the villagers. There were cries of hungry agreement from all around. Why anyone thought a dragon was more edible than a demon I couldn’t fathom.

  “Whatever it turns out to be, the law says it’s theirs. Now who wants me to ring the bell for the militia?”

  No one moved or spoke.

  “Please, if you think you have the right to take away the lawful property of Farmer Rickett and Farmer Wiggery put your hand up and state your case. The militia can come and settle it.”

  The silence expanded. No one wanted to go up against the law, especially not militia law. I turned to the two farmers who looked pleased with themselves. I think it was the first matter they’d ever agreed on.

  “Now what are you two planning to do with this thing?”

  “We’re going to cut it up and sell it,” said Rickett

  The crowd erupted in angry jeers and insults. Someone threw a stone and it hit him in the throat. He put his hands to his neck, choking.

  “If I find out who threw that, I’ll ride out and report you myself,” I shouted.

  “Reasonable prices of course,” said Wiggery, “We’ll be almost giving it away.”

  More shouts and curses flew.

  “Just calm down, everyone,” I said. “Now listen. These two
men have lost an entire field of crops because of this. I proffer they give half of the demon to the village, and keep half themselves to sell as compensation. That way, you’ll still get your Feast of the Demon—”

  “Dragon!”

  “—whatever it is, and they might survive to plant another season.”

  There were grumbles but the atmosphere was far less hostile. I whispered to Prattle.

  “Help me out, priest, I’ve just prevented a bloodbath.”

  Leopold Prattle looked disgusted to have to agree with me but he had no choice.

  “Delly Duke is right. The Feast of the Dragon will go ahead as planned. All we have to do is divided the dem…dragon in two. Praise be to the Great Father.”

  There was a muttered and unenthusiastic ‘praise be’ from the crowd. By now they were tired and overheating. A few of the women had fainted because of the sun and the stench of the demon. In weather like this the cadaver was likely to be flyblown and rotting before the day was out and Rickett and Wiggery would never sell a single cut of meat. I didn’t see any reason to point out such details.

  That was when I took my first close look at the ‘bounty’ we’d been ‘blessed’ with. The crater it had made was large, a good fifteen strides across. The creature’s wingspan was about ten strides; it’s body length something like six strides. Its naked skin was as red as ripe chilli peppers and looked tougher than leather. The legs resembled a dog’s but were far longer, with hooves instead of paws. They were still drawn up as though someone had tickled the demon just before it hit the ground.

  Its arms were long and curved, the hands elongated with grasping hook-like talons. Every joint of bone to bone was visible and the sinews that strapped the creature together were as thick as woven cables. The ribs protruded and the muscles were spare. No fat inhabited any part of the creature’s body. Relative to the demon’s own frame, its muscles looked thin and scrawny. But beside it, the strongest man in the village would have looked like he was made of matchsticks.

  The wings were membranous things. The dirt and rocks pressed up through them and in some places the impact had torn them.

  The face of the thing was even redder than the rest. In profile it looked somewhat like the shape of a new moon, a crescent in which the forehead and chin conspired to meet. The nose hooked downwards and its nostrils were flat and broad—I could easily imagine it snorting furious bursts of smoke out through them. Its skull pressed outwards against its skin and every angle of the face was hard and aggressive. The horns were black, short and hooked inwards.

  Its lips had drawn back to reveal the demon’s yellow teeth— every one a needle sharp canine and not a molar among them. It looked like it was smiling, which I found hard to overlook. Its yellow eyes, with the oblong pupils of a goat, were also open. This, too, concerned me. Had anyone even checked to see if the demon had been killed by the impact? Perhaps it was only stunned. Worse, perhaps it was just pretending to be dead.

  Finally—and this was one detail that, like the smell from the thing, had escaped no one’s attention—the creature’s ‘demonhood’ was not only enormous, it was also studded with fleshy, backward-pointing barbs. And it had three testicles. This made the men of the village darken with jealous anger, the women darken with unholy fantasies. It made the children laugh and point.

  It was decided that everyone depart until the worst of the midday heat was gone. At that time Rickett and Wiggery, with the help of Reginald Cleaver, the village butcher, would divide the demon into two equal pieces. Cleaver would then make the necessary incisions and removals to produce ‘edible’ cuts for the first ever Feast of the Dragon.

  By the time I got back to Velvet, my lunch was well past its best and though she threatened with great sweetness to paddle my bumcakes rosy, I didn’t have the will to take her up on it. The sun was high in the untouchable and the whole of Long Lofting was either ready for or already enjoying its afternoon nap.

  Headless

  I woke to the sound of Velvet sweeping the dust from the back porch and lay for a while listening to the stiff, rhythmic swish of her broom on the well-worn boards. Through the shutters, I could see the sun had begun to fall towards the earth, having slipped well beyond its zenith. Wanting only to sleep and sleep, I swung out of bed and rubbed my face to rouse myself. Outside, Velvet laid her broom aside and sat on one of the two rockers facing the field where the crater was. I approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. She laid her hand over mine.

  “No one’s come back yet,” said she.

  “We must be the first to waken.”

  “No. It’s later than usual. You’ve slept near three hours.”

  I checked the position of the sun and knew that she was right. Already I was sweating again for only a little of the heat had left the day. I sniffed the air and it smelled hot and dusty but clean.

  “Come on,” said I.

  In spite of the heat, I almost ran across the deserted field to the crater, with Velvet following not far behind me. The demon was gone and there were ruts in the ground leading out of the field.

  “Spulicks! They’ve started without us!”

  I ran back to the house to fetch the Ledger and without waiting for Velvet rushed over to Reginald Cleaver’s place where I was fairly sure everyone would be. The pathways of Long Lofting were empty, the cottages quiet but as I ran, the sound of a crowd up ahead grew louder. Cleaver’s place was set away from the centre of the village to minimise the stench of slaughter. Now, his house and abattoir were partially blotted out by the entire population of Long Lofting, about eight hundred souls. The quickest way to get to the front would be to skirt the crowd and Cleaver’s property and push in from the front.

  A couple of minutes later I was squeezing between the wall of the abattoir and a smaller throng of onlookers. Reaching the front of the crowd I saw the source of the latest debate. Outside the abattoir was a hoist where Cleaver would shackle and lift larger animals before slitting their throats and allowing them to bleed out into the trough that collected the precious blood. Not a drop was ever wasted. The hoist was designed to handle even the largest cows and wild bison when we were lucky enough to hunt one down, but it was far too small for the demon. They’d got as far as chaining its ankles and raising them, but at full height, the hoist had merely lifted the demon’s legs off the ground.

  “Keep those mules harnessed,” shouted Cleaver. “We’ll have to shift it to the bell tower. It’s the only place high enough for the job.”

  “Now wait a moment,” said Leopold Prattle, puffing himself up to his full stature, “No one is going to perform a slaughter in the Great Father’s house.”

  I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

  “It’s a flaming demon, Prattle. The Great Father’ll thank you for making his job a little easier.”

  “When you’re ordained to speak on behalf of the Great Father, Delly Duke, you’ll be priest of this village. Some time after Hell freezes over, I should think.”

  Everyone chuckled.

  It could have been the heat haze but I thought I saw the demon twitch.

  “There really is no other place but the bell tower, Priest Prattle,” said Cleaver, “And I think Mr. Duke does have a point. We’ll be doing the Great Father a favour.”

  “What is wrong with you people? You don’t do favours for the Great Father. You love and you serve him. That is all.” Prattle sighed and sagged back into his more usual posture of burdened martyrdom. “However, as there is no other place to perform this task, I authorise you to use the bell tower on this one occasion.”

  A happy shout went up from the worried crowd who thought that they were about to be cheated out of their feast in the eleventh hour by a religious technicality. At this rate, there were going to be a lot more faces in the church on the next holy day.

  Cleaver lowered the demon’s feet and unshackled them. The crowd parted for the mule team and Rickett and Wiggery assisted the mule runner in re-hitching the demon. They dragged it aw
ay from the abattoir across the square to the church. The crowd followed, exhausted and hungry but full of anticipation. Half an hour later, having run a pulley system from the beams in the bell tower, Cleaver gave the signal and the demon was hoisted. This time they hauled it up until its head was hanging a stride and a half above the stone steps of church. Its wings hung outward and open, held at their tips quite willingly by Rickett and Wiggery. Its arms had been tied up behind its back to ensure that every limb would completely drain of its blood before slaughter. Its private parts, which had been a matter for public scrutiny since its arrival, hung down towards its belly and still drew stares and sighs from many of the women.

  I grabbed Prattle by his skinny arm, immediately disgusted with myself for touching him, and said through clenched teeth,

  “Are you sure you want them to do this?”

  “A moment ago you were all for it.”

  “No, I was only saying that if you were going to go ahead with it, there was no reason not to do it here at the church. I still don’t think that cutting up and eating a demon is a good idea.”

  Prattle turned towards me then and I saw in his eyes what I should have noticed a lot earlier. He didn’t think it was a good idea either. He was frightened. It was obvious that all he’d been doing was chasing popularity and more backsides on church benches. When it came down to it, slaughtering a demon was not something he wanted to be involved with.

  I pursued his weakness.

  “You don’t have to go through with this, you know. You have enough power to stop them even now. You can threaten them with damnation and I can threaten them with the law and instead of eating the demon we can bury it and forget it was ever here. What do you say?”