“This towel signals a surrender, an end to the bout?” asked Thompson for clarification.
“Unequivocal capitulation,” agreed Johnny, replacing his glasses, “An end to the match. Immediate cessation of all hostilities.”
“If that is the case, how is it we find Stoneman in such a state of disrepair today?”
Johnny stood and fired a finger in Merle’s direction. His face hardened and his voice grew stern with anger. “That guy’s golem ignored the white flag and sent my Stoneman to hell!”
The crowd gasped.
“Maybe he didn’t see the flag?” ventured Thompson after the crowd had settled.
“Oh, he saw it,” corrected Johnny, with a miserable shake of his head. “He ignored it and had my pet embrace the frost sphere regardless. He cackled with glee as my Stoneman crumbled to his knees.” Johnny growled in the back of his throat and wiped the tears from his eyes. Suddenly, he hurdled the booth’s railing and leapt for Merle’s station. “You destroyed my pet; now, I’m gonna destroy your face, lizard boy!” Judge Perew was on his feet, gavel in hand as he screamed for the bailiff. His cries were nothing to Johnny though as the skinny man leapt at Merle.
Merle threw his chair back in an effort to escape. Behind him, he heard the crowd erupt in fear as another bench exploded when Stoneman lumbered forward. Merle attempted to jump out of the way, but Johnny overtook him, the man’s skinny hands raking at his neck.
Johnny’s eyes bulged with hatred as he took hold of Merle’s neck and began to squeeze. Shaking the dragon, he sputtered incoherently as the judge slammed his gavel into the sound block repeatedly. Behind Johnny, bailiff Oppie latched onto the enraged witness in an effort to pull him from Merle.
The world began to fade for Merle, and he struggled to catch his breath. His feet were on Johnny’s stomach, and he tried to push the skinny man away, but Johnny’s grip was like iron. “I warned you…before,” wheezed the dragon. The blood was pounding in his ears, and he knew he was about to pass out.
A snap filled the courtroom, followed by a girlish scream. Johnny and Oppie were hurled backward in a blaze of blue light. Merle sucked in a lungful of sweet air and collapsed against the railing behind him. Six feet away, Johnny sat up dazedly. His spectacles were crooked and his bow tie was smoking. Black soot marks encircled his eyes. He tried to say something, but only a puff of smoke escaped his lips.
“Ninety days incarceration and ten thousand gons!” screamed the judge. “Bailiff, arrest that man!” Bailiff Oppie looked uncertain as he wobbled to his feet. His eyes went from Johnny to Stoneman, but at last he approached Johnny and hoisted him to his feet. The golem remained motionless, surrounded by the remains of the evacuated seating.
Thompson pulled himself from under his desk, his eyes searching the near deserted courtroom. He glanced to the juror’s platform, where two of the juror’s remained huddled together for support. He glowered in Johnny’s direction, but remained quiet under the Judge’s watchful eye.
“Get some security down here,” said Perew to Thompson. “I want him back in his cage,” he pointed at Merle, “and these two escorted to Rockhaven Penn.” Thompson nodded and spun for the ruined doors at the end of the hall. He made a wide circle around Stoneman.
“You and I still have business,” spat Johnny at Merle.
“Six months incarceration,” screamed the judge. “And if you open your mouth again, it will be five years.” He hovered over Johnny, daring him to speak. “Somebody get this mess cleaned up,” he bellowed, when it was apparent Johnny would remain silent. “We’re back here tomorrow morning, nine a.m. sharp, and this courtroom had better be presentable.”
* * * *
It was the fourth day of the trial, and the courtroom doors were being hung as Merle was led to his station beside the prosecutor. The broken benches had been replaced with an assortment of chairs from the surrounding establishments, and the rubble from yesterday’s commotion had been swept into a pile outside of the courtroom. Merle gingerly felt the bruises on his neck as Bailiff Opie ordered the substantial crowd to stand. Apparently, news of a second rampaging golem at the courthouse had cast its appeal over the residents of Deep Cove. People had shown up in droves, this morning.
Judge Perew entered his courtroom, but remained standing as one of the workers at the back banged a hinge stop into place. The judge shook his head and seated himself before addressing the courtroom. “We will have no more of yesterday’s shenanigans, Mr. Thompson or this court will find you liable with your license.”
“Yes sir,” acknowledged Thompson. He sat up, perfectly straight and attentive at his desk.
Perew eyeballed the younger man for several seconds before continuing. “These are not the circumstances in which I would like to run this court, however we are working on a timeline, and the defendant has the right to a speedy trial. Keeping this in mind, we shall overlook the noise at the back of the courthouse, while the doors are being replaced. Mr. Thompson, you may call your next witness.”
Thompson stood. “The prosecution calls the defendant, Merle, to the stand, Your Honor.” Merle knew this moment had been coming, and he also knew the most likely direction of the prosecutor’s attack. He sighed loudly and made his way to the witness booth. “Good morning,” said Thompson “I hope your throat is feeling better.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” snapped Merle. Bailiff Oppie approached with the tome of judgment, and Merle placed a clawed hand on the volume, solemnly swearing to tell the truth and nothing but the whole truth.
“It is my understanding that your golem, the Germinator, is apt to roam the streets of Deep Cove without any guiding presence?” opened Thompson.
“His name is P.C.” said Merle, in agitation. “The ‘Germinator’ was his ring name, during last season’s arena wars.”
“Ah yes,” said Thompson, pretending to look through his dossier, “The scandalous battle between you and Mr. Quail.” Judge Perew cleared his throat in warning, and Thompson flicked his files aside and stood up from his seat. “Nevertheless, Mr. Merle, you have not answered my question.”
Merle adjusted himself in the box and shrugged. “Yes, he wanders the city, from time to time.”
“I see,” said Thompson, with a knowing glance at the jurors. “And what does P.C. stand for?”
“Privy cleaner,” stated Merle, matter of factly.
“So, I am to assume this golem of yours was created to clean outhouses.”
“I guess that was the intention,” agreed Merle.
“And does he clean anything else?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you being evasive, Mr. Merle?”
“No, I merely answered your question.”
“What else does he clean?”
“Our laundry, the house, anything he deems dirty.”
“Of course,” said Thompson, with a mock frown, “so, if your golem deems it dirty, then it is fair game?”
Merle coughed and tried to loosen the orange jumper from around his swollen neck. “That’s right. Most people don’t complain when he cleans their outhouse or windows without being asked. These are chores people don’t like. We get thank you notes, all the time.”
“Did Mrs. Wichuster send you a thank you when he, and I quote ‘grabbed my pussy and almost scrubbed the hair from it?’” Thompson engaged a look of disgust as he read from a police report on his desk. The audience drew in a collective breath and Thompson approached the bench. “I’ll file this report as article twenty-four, Your Honour.”
“Noted,” said Perew. The judge glowered at Merle and took the report. He scanned the page and then nodded. “Ah, a cat,” he mumbled. Satisfied he laid the report aside.
“I’ll just put your copy on your desk,” whispered Thompson cheekily, “I’m sure you’ve already seen it.”
“No, she did not send a thank you.” Merle was hot now, and it didn’t help when he caught Vic’s beaming face in the crowd. Beside him Frank looked worried.
“
Oh? No thank you note for this unasked gesture of kindness?”
“You have just read the police report she filed,” snapped Merle. “You know darn well she wasn’t happy.”
“I’ll ask that the witness be secured Judge,” said Thompson without looking up from his papers, “on the grounds that he is growing combative. We certainly do not want a repeat of yesterday.”
“Agreed,” said Perew. The judge nodded at Oppie, who ambled forward and slapped a pair of manacles on Merle’s wrists.
Merle found it difficult to breath; the room was growing hotter. He knew Thompson was getting to him. He forced himself to breathe evenly. “Thank you,” he said in his most cheerful voice to the bailiff.
“Correct me if I am wrong, but I don’t suppose you received a thank you note the other day when your golem left a trail of oil down Main Street, and Mrs. Parks slipped and threw her hip?”
“Of course not,” said Merle evenly. “That was an accident, and only occurred after P.C. injured himself cleaning up at the Potty’s Plant.”
“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that,” said Thompson. “I hope he wasn’t injured too badly. I guess, this means you knew he was digging up on the site before the murder even took place?”
“I knew he was into something stinky, but I didn’t become fully aware of his actions until you yourself showed the court the location of the tunnel he has been working on.”
“Oh, I see,” said Thompson, touching a finger to his lip as if in thought. “I guess he chose to clean up there on his own.”
“Yes,” agreed Merle, having no reasonable option to argue.
“Of his own volition?” Merle remained quiet. “Free will, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. This menace to society goes where he deems fit and does whatever he damn well pleases!”
“Order,” said the judge sternly. He pointed a warning finger at Thompson.
“P.C. is not a menace to society. He couldn’t kill a fly.” Merle looked resolute.
“Not a menace?” snapped Thompson in disbelief. “Did he clean up that oil spill after he was repaired?”
Merle cleared his throat and a groan escaped him. “Uh, Garrett asked me to,” he said quietly. “I guess, I forgot.”
“You forgot, and your golem couldn’t be bothered with its own mess. Because of this negligence, the good people of Deep Cove were subjected to a safety hazard that is responsible for the death of one citizen and the hospitalization of another.” Thompson stormed back to his desk. “That is all I have, Your Honour. If this Jury doesn’t find the defendants guilty based on the facts I have laid out, I’ll eat my own tie!”
10
Willie’s Totuonetum
Willie sat on the bluff overlooking the forest. High above, a hawk circled on the air currents. The bowman breathed in deeply, and the rich smell of pine needles, moss, and wet leaves filled him with an inner peace. He turned to the wrinkled man beside him and held his hand out to accept the pipe the shaman offered.
The wind rustled through the pine boughs behind them. “I glad you come, Willie. I miss you,” said the old man. His skin was tanned and tattooed with a dark ink. The shaman’s disheveled white hair lay in stark contrast against the skin of his shoulders. “You look like me, now, with white hair.” The old man laughed; the sound echoed into the valley and was carried away on the breeze. He offered Willie a toothless smile.
Willie inhaled from the pipe and grinned at his old friend. “I missed you too, Chief,” he said, exhaling the smoke. “I guess I was lost, for a while.” The old man nodded, but remained silent. “Why are we here,” asked Willie suddenly.
“You bring me,” said the old man, with a shrug.
Willie nodded, as if he had known all along. He passed the sacred pipe back to the shaman and stared into the valley below. He nodded to a distant clearing and the massive tree at the center of the field. The long grasses of the glade rippled in the wind, looking like the swells of the ocean. “I need to go there. The tree is calling me.”
“Spirit tree,” said the old man knowingly. “It call to all Mogi people. We are one with its song. Willie one of us.” The chief stared at Willie, as if to remind him.
Below, on the edge of the field, the grasses parted and a large animal slunk along the edge of the glade. Willie stared hard, his throat tight. He caught only a glimpse of silver fur, but he knew what it was. “How will I get there, if the beast is guarding the tree?” he accepted the pipe again.
“Spirit tree not guarded,” disagreed the old man blowing out smoke. “When I go there, it large cat the color of honey. Different for everyone.”
“You’ve been to the tree?”
“I make journey through many turns of spirit tree. It set Willie free.”
“What about this beast, the one the color of honey?” asked the bowman. “He didn’t find you?”
The old man laughed again and placed a hand on Willie’s upper arm. With his free hand he jingled a necklace of large claws. “Me and him are one,” he said. “You must confront Totuonetum.”
Willie swallowed, “Totuonetum?”
“Spirit guardian,” agreed the old man, standing shakily. “We all must face Totuonetum in end.”
“Why?”
“Totuonetum teach many lesson. Teach Willie to love himself, maybe?”
“I could just go to the tree, without facing it.”
“You go through tree, Totuonetum go with you. You never escape. He is you.”
Willie passed the pipe back to the old man and stood. “Come on,” he said. He led his mentor to the edge of the ravine and a narrow path leading into the valley. “Be careful you don’t fall,” he advised as he began to work his way down. Behind him, the old man followed silently. At the bottom of the gorge, the temperature was much warmer. A small creek bubbled alongside the rock hill, and Willie stopped to watch the minnows swimming in the shallow water. Getting down on his knees, he removed his leather gloves and drank from the crystal water. “I haven’t had water this good in a long time! City water doesn’t compare with bush water.” The tattooed man nodded and placed his own lips to the creek.
Willie looked to the sky and the blazing sun overhead. His eyes went to the distant tree, and he nodded to himself. Tossing his outer jacket beside the gloves, he walked through the tall grass toward the tree. A cloud of insects rose up from the grass, and the scent of summer flowers assaulted Willie’s nose. He stopped to inhale from a patch of tiger lilies. “It’s comfy here, in this valley,” he said to the chief.
“You have tended it well,” agreed the older man. He giggled to himself and chased after a rabbit that sprang from the grass.
“Oh, leave the little guy be,” said Willie, “it’s too nice a day for mischief.” Spotting a small pond in the distance, Willie pointed. “Let’s go for a swim!” he said excitedly.
The little man shrugged. “Warm water always feel good.”
Willie raced to the pond, discarding his clothes as he ran. Arriving on the banks of the watering hole, he was amazed at the abundance of life surrounding him. Frogs swam in the water, and wading birds patrolled the shallows. Two deer drank on the opposite side of the pond and further out several fish were jumping at the hordes of insects hovering above the water. Sitting on the bank, Willie struggled to remove his boots. “Last one in is the boil on a bloodsucker’s butt,” he sang. Tossing his boot over his shoulder, he stopped. “Hey!” he complained, when he realized the chief was already floating contentedly on his back in the pond.
Stepping around a large turtle parked on the shore, he waded into the waters. “Oh, you’re right,” he sighed, “that does feel amazing.”
* * * *
Garrett rolled over and awakened. It felt like drawing his first breath ever, but with that breath came the recollection of everything that had happened the night before. He gasped in pain, his swollen wrist half tucked under his side. He sat up, reaching for the Impaler with his good arm. His relief at feeling its polished finish under his fingertips was substant
ial. His arm brushed against the quiver and its feathered shafts, and he looked around their scant shelter with confusion.
“It’s almost dawn,” whispered Bael from a few feet away. He was hunkered by the fire, feeding it twigs and watching Garrett. “I went out to retrieve your arrows, a few minutes ago. There are plenty of scuff marks, but I did not see the creature itself.” Beside him, his brother was seated and eating an apple. The hunter’s injured leg was bound with strips of cloth.
In the predawn light, the brothers were ordinary men. Their mystique had been stolen by the receding night, and Garrett now knew with certainty they were nothing more than hunters who had found themselves caught up in a job that was more than they had bargained for. Avros looked exhausted and scared. There was blood on his cheek and upper lip from where Garrett had elbowed him in the nose. His brother Bael looked equally fatigued, but there was a determination in the hard set of his jaw that Garrett had seen before in other men pressed into doing something they did not look forward to.
“I will go down the valley on my own and bring back horses for the three of you,” confirmed Bael.
When Avros remained silent, Garrett knew the two men had already discussed this. “We should stay together,” argued Garrett. “We can look out for each other.”
Bael shook his head and spat beside the flames he had kindled. He nodded at the Impaler. “I know that bow,” he said forlornly.
“Aye,” agreed Avros. “We both do.” The brothers shared a look.
“I don’t understand,” admitted Garrett.
Bael stood and dusted his hands. “Willie Taylor is a hero amongst these parts,” he said. “He is in no shape to move. He might even die before I return.” Garrett’s eyes went to where Willie lay stretched out on the stone floor, his breathing uneven. “I must pay for the sins we have committed.” He motioned at his brother with a nod of his head. “Avros is in no condition to walk. Your arm is injured, and I am sure you will not want to leave your friend’s side… as is right. That leaves me, the only whole man, to walk out of here.”
Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4) Page 13
