The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four

by Daniel Lawlis

  “You must clarify, Senator Landers,” the president said respectfully, “which bill you are calling for a cloture vote on—the Safety in Selegania Act, as proposed by Senator Hutherton or the Fairness and Safety in Selegania Act, as proposed by Senator Megders late yesterday evening?”

  Hutherton just about leaped out of his seat and started pulverizing Squirrelly when he heard this. Hutherton had himself grown so bored with the endless debates that he had left the senate just fifteen minutes early yesterday, never imagining that, after several weeks of repetitious arguments and an occasional suggestion by Megders or another senator that perhaps the exemption was problematic, an actual bill containing the exact same language minus the exemption for gentlemen would be proposed!

  Hutherton’s bowels rumbled, his fists tightened, and he felt like he was going to pass out if he didn’t do something to vent his rage.

  “The Safety in Selegania Act, of course!” Landers stated with a tone of astonishment that he would even be asked.

  Hutherton felt a wave of relief. If it passed, there was no way Squirrelly’s bill would get anywhere.

  (but if it doesn’t?)

  His paranoia was starting to return, and he feared for a moment it just might be showing on his face. He looked down at his desk pretending to study the jumble of papers in front of him, most of which pertained to completely dull and unrelated legislative matters that had been put on hold due to the SISA debates.

  “Motion approved. Begin!” the president said.

  One by one, around the room, the voting commenced. One “Yea” after another could be heard, and once it passed thirty, Hutherton breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. But it would have to reach forty to be veto proof, if President Beldenshire, the president of the republic of Selegania, decided to veto it, which Hutherton greatly doubted. President Beldenshire, after all, seemed a man of good sense.

  “Senator Hutherton, do you wish to abstain from voting on your own bill?”

  “Yea!” Hutherton called out, shooting to his feet, feeling the hot blood rushing to his cheeks, which burned with shame and embarrassment. He had now completely lost mental count of how many yeas there had been.

  “Begging your pardon, senator, but please clarify—not for my sake (I bloody well know what you mean) but for the sake of the record, which, when looked at by judges, includes only words and not contextual information, such as, ‘Senator Hutherton was staring off into space,’ etc.—if you mean ‘yea’ you wish to abstain from your vote or if you ignored my question, in violation of senate protocol, and instead entered a yea vote without answering the president of the senate when asked a direct question, Junior Senator!”

  A light chuckle erupted, but Hutherton sensed they kept it light only out of pity and in reality were at the point of bursting.

  “I beg the senate president’s pardon. In response to the question of abstention, the answer is, ‘No, I do not choose to abstain.’ I enter a vote of ‘yea’ on SISA.”

  “Thank you for humoring an old man!” the president retorted grumpily.

  “Nay!” shouted out Squirrelly with so much zeal as if to make sure not only that the stenographer heard him, but that his “nay” reverberated throughout the senate for posterity to bear witness to his vote.

  A few angry eyes gazed upon this histrionic outburst, but his nay vote was hardly a surprise by now.

  “Fifty-nine yeas, one nay. We have cloture. The vote for the bill itself shall now begin!” the president announced, looking as if he had never been so eager to see a piece of legislation over and done with.

  The pattern repeated itself, minus the inattentiveness on Hutherton’s part, and this time around Megders settled for a gruff “Nay!” but without the dramatic flair of his cloture vote.

  “The Safety in Selegania Act is now the law of the land. The criminal penalties for violation of this law shall commence upon the passing of one month!” the senate president announced.

  “Are there any further motions today?” the president then asked, looking almost angrily at Megders. If Megders motioned for a cloture vote on his bill and got a majority vote, it would become the law of the land and be considered a repeal of the gentlemen exemption.

  Megders’ eyes burned with anger, but he said nothing.

  “Anyone?!” asked the senate president.

  Silence.

  “The senate is adjourned for the day!” he said and pounded his gavel harder than any of the junior senators had ever heard, although a few of the senior senators had heard harder cracks against the sounding block.

  Euphoria swept over Hutherton. Not even a murderous scowl from Squirrelly could shake him. He swept together his papers (which he had not paid the least bit of attention to, as they had nothing to do with the day’s business), buttoned his suit coat, straightened his cravat, and walked proudly out of the senate.

  He had some business of his own to attend to at home. He could almost smell the pungent odor ascending towards his nostrils at this very moment. Only the most stringent effort prevented him from breaking out into an undignified, all-out sprint towards his carriage.

  Chapter 13

  It was another day, another falon, at Roger’s Grocery Store. Well, Righty’s pay wasn’t quite that low, but as is often the case, sayings of a monetary nature are seldom updated to keep pace with inflation. In fact, Righty was now up to nine falons per hour, not too bad, considering he had been hired at seven; but what burned Righty’s ego like the sun that formerly burned his neck and face at the lumberyard was that at that hellhole he earned twelve falons per hour.

  Twelve! A quarter less wages earned each hour was what he had to show for his fancy book reading, improved vocabulary and grammar, and expanded knowledge. But, on the other hand, on days like today, he only had to take a peek outside and look at the ball of fire in the sky to realize that the quarter less in wages just might be worth it.

  Except it wasn’t worth it. He wanted more. Much more. He was starting to feel like he had simply puffed himself up with airs and was now paying the price by making even less than he did before, and he had been at this book learning thing for at least six months. Some part of him deep down told him not to give up, to keep working hard and learning, and that one day, perhaps even when he least expected it, his improving knowledge would pay off.

  “Wanna field trip?”

  It was Rog. He had caught Righty in a daydream, but few could tell when Righty was daydreaming. Like the mythical elite soldier able to sleep with one eye open, Righty now was able to handle even his most complex accounting assignments accurately while indulging his penchant for reveries.

  “Yes, sir,” Righty said.

  “It’s these boxes of seed here. Now, this does beat all. I accept them yesterday, and then today I see this!”

  Roger handed a rolled-up paper newspaper to him.

  IT’S OFFICIAL!

  SMOKELESS GREEN OUTLAWED!

  “This came from my main inventory supplier, in Sivingdel. It’s about twelve hours each way by carriage. I’ll pay you for twelve hours each day and cover your lodging expenses. I need you to take this seed back to him. Technically, according to the papers, the criminal penalties don’t kick in for another few weeks, but I’m not trying to get myself landed in jail for getting my days mixed up, if you know what I mean. The sooner this stuff is out of here, the sooner I’ll be able to get a proper night’s sleep.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do it,” Righty said laconically.

  “Here’s a map of what roads to take once you get into Sivingdel.”

  “I’ll swing by the library and say goodbye to Janie on my way there. I can leave now.”

  “I appreciate you doing this on such short notice . . . .” Rog paused.

  “Sir?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems weird. People have been drinking themselves to death and ruining their home lives that way since I can remember, and no one yet to my knowledge has come up with the ingenious idea of outlawing alcohol. But
this new smoke-free tobacco or whatever in Kasani they call it comes along, and the next day it’s illegal! Go figure! All I know is it was selling nicely; that’s for sure.”

  “They say it’s rather potent,” Righty said soberly.

  “Well, anyway; we’ll let the geniuses in the senate decide,” he added with a sarcastic tone. “As for me, the strongest thing I prefer is regular tobacco, and it most certainly is not smoke free,” he said chuckling. “Well, enough politics; I’ve got some numbers to run.”

  “Yes, sir; I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Righty found this strange as well. He had been studying constitutional law lately, and just a week or two ago at the most he had read something about an article forbidding the government from outlawing any substance except poisonous ones. He had to admit he had one hell of a hangover from the one time he tried Smokeless Green, but it certainly hadn’t seemed like poison.

  Truth be told, he felt like it made him smarter and more focused. If not for his tendency to get a little too carried away with substances that he took for pleasure—at least he extrapolated that he had this tendency based on his years of alcohol addiction; he hadn’t had another addiction though in his life—he would probably take Smokeless Green on a regular basis. After all, he struggled to crack open the books at night after putting in a ten-hour shift at the store, and although coffee certainly helped, it was nothing compared to Smokeless Green. The very thought that it was about to become illegal made him suddenly crave it the way he used to crave a certain wet substance, something he had promised never to touch again.

  (and that you won’t ever touch again!)

  Then, suddenly, like a man who has been beaten over and over by his fencing instructor and has begun to feel himself utterly inept at sword fighting, only to find himself confronted by several assailants during a stroll home, whom he then dispatches handily to his immense astonishment and pleasure, Righty’s low view of what he had learned over the last six months in his pursuit of knowledge was suddenly shattered as an epiphany came to him.

  This is it! a voice told him. You’ve whined, and you’ve moaned to me about how you never will get anywhere in life in spite of all your hard work and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Well, here it is; I’m giving it to you on a platter. It’s almost too easy!

  He thought back to his promise the day he saw that smug, pompous Oscar Peters talking down to him via his servant: He was going to become rich, and he didn’t care if he had to lie, cheat, or steal.

  As he began thinking over what he both realized he had to do and would do, he realized that he was certainly going to lie, and he most definitely was going to steal, but he would make it right.

  Deciding he didn’t want to give his mind the opportunity to even consider backing down, he put the whip to the horses and took off in his wagon.

  Chapter 14

  The thought occurred to Righty as he went traveling along in his carriage full of barrels of Smokeless Green seeds towards home that he was quite possibly making a huge mistake. Maybe the biggest mistake of his life. If things went sour, he’d lose his job. That would be bare minimum.

  If he was really lucky, old Rog wouldn’t report him to the local sheriff as a thief but instead would just give him the chance to pay him back for whatever the supplier charged him for the “lost” inventory (that is, if Rog was feeling particularly generous and told the supplier the seeds were lost).

  But even in that rosy scenario (which Righty didn’t feel particularly likely at the moment), he knew he’d lose his job for sure, and with still not even a high school diploma to show for all his evenings of silent study he’d be lucky if he could even get his job back at the lumberyard. Indoor work wouldn’t even be remotely possible. After all, he couldn’t think of any other store owners in the area whom he had helped get rid of a bully way back in high school, as he had done for Rog.

  No, just like a bird migrating back to its home, he would head back to the lumberyard. And Foreman Steve wouldn’t let him back because he had a heart. Ha! It would be to relish the sight of that now pallid face turning first lobster red underneath the hot sun and then back to its desert brown, just like the rest of the beer-guzzling, lumber-hauling oxen there.

  But if you don’t even try, you’ll torture yourself day in and day out at Roger’s Grocery Store. Wouldn’t it be better to end up back at the lumberyard knowing you took a chance that came along?

  The argument in his head between Mr. Doom and Gloom and Mr. Devil’s Advocate was about as relevant to a deeper part of Righty’s mind as a debate between two stowaway children in the back of a wagon concerning its most advisable course would be to a driver oblivious to their existence.

  He was going to act, not contemplate. His heart was racing, and his head was almost spinning, and the only reason he wasn’t whipping his horses into a full gallop was the fact he realized that at this particular moment he wanted to appear as inconspicuous and immemorable as possible.

  Thus, while his heart and mind raced wildly, the horses trotted along as if they had not a care in the world, and the whip, which held the power to turn them into racing blurs of speed, sat idly in its sheath next to Righty.

  The rules of the game changed, however, as he entered the path encased in solid woods leading up to his home. “Yaaaaa!” he shouted and gave a crack of the whip to the horses.

  Off they flew down the path, and then Righty suddenly gave a gentle tug on the reins. He felt like a fool for ordering the horses to stampede when he was carrying rather valuable merchandise in the back.

  After what seemed like an eternity but was in actuality a mere ten minutes, Righty arrived home. It was noon, and he thanked Kasani that he had been supportive of Janie’s decision to work. Right now, the last thing he needed was someone inserting coals of doubt into his mind. He leaped out of the wagon, ran into the barn, and grabbed a shovel and a pickax.

  Then, he ran back to the wagon and gently urged the horses forward with a slap of the reins. He was headed into the woods. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take them as far as he himself was going, but that was okay. He didn’t want these seeds to end up anywhere easily accessible.

  He knew which areas of the forest near here had sufficient space between the trees to allow the wagon to pass. Once he got to where the trees were too thick, he would have just a little walking to do. He knew the exact spot he was looking for.

  After about ten minutes of slow riding from his house, he stopped the wagon. He got out, and as he hoisted one of the large barrels into his beefy arms he found himself grateful for his years of lumber hauling, as this felt light as a feather by comparison, though it would have squashed many a man to the ground.

  He knew there was no time to waste. He went walking into the midst of the thickly packed bushes and trees. He winced as one thin branch after another went whipping into his face, something he was completely unable to prevent, and he wondered if it wasn’t perhaps karma for whipping the horses.

  Then, to his pleasure, he arrived, and it was just like he remembered it. A small, rectangular area free of large trees and bushes. He remembered that as a child he often came here to look up at the stars at night and just get away from it all.

  Realizing there was no time to reflect, he quickly ran back to the wagon, picked up another barrel, and repeated the process. Once all dozen barrels were there, he began digging large holes along the perimeter of the area. It was backbreaking work, but yet again he was finding his lumber-hauling days to be of service.

  He tore into the ground viciously with his pickax, and then followed up by digging away with all the enthusiasm of a man tunneling his way out of prison. Several hours later he had fully buried eleven of the twelve barrels, replaced the soil, and then smoothed the ground over it.

  The twelfth barrel was located inside a hole, but this particular hole had not yet been filled in. This was going to be his working barrel. The others would be stored for a rainy day.

  He was now soaked in sweat, but his a
drenaline was flowing nicely still, and he wasn’t even about to slow down. He began digging small holes one mighty shovel thrust at a time.

  SMUSH!

  SMUSH!

  SMUSH!

  He realized he knew little about horticulture in general and nothing at all about Smokeless Green gardening, but he figured the seeds went into the hole. He laughed out loud at what a fool he would probably appear to be to anyone who knew about such things, but he decided he would go ahead and experiment. So, he put one seed in a hole here, three seeds in a hole there, about a dozen in a hole there, and so on. He hadn’t the slightest idea how easily these plants would grow, whether they would need constant water, etc. It looked to him that he had enough seeds to do some significant experimenting with, but time was running out if he was to carry out the burgeoning plan he had in mind.