The Republic of Selegania Boxed Set: Volumes One through Four

by Daniel Lawlis

  “Sam will kill us if we fail. It’s him or us, boys,” one of the men said. “He’s got no chance, you hear. Surround him and kill him.”

  He noticed that he was already surrounded, so it seemed the point had been to keep him surrounded.

  He now saw for sure that three of them did have swords. One of them came forward in a huge downward chop. Righty moved quickly towards the man at a left angle and brought the sword hard against his guts, slicing the man cleanly in half.

  He turned around in time to see another man bringing his sword down towards his midsection—perhaps in a tit-for-tat spirit. Righty swiveled his body towards the blow, bringing his sword upwards towards the man’s sword arm. He cleaved off the man’s forearm, and his sword fell harmlessly to the ground. Righty quickly brought his sword hard to his right in a horizontal fashion, slicing off the man’s head easier than if it were a carrot top.

  “Behind you, Red!!!” one of the men shouted.

  Righty swiveled around to see Tats grappling with a man. Tats had grabbed him by the waist with his left arm and brought his knife to his throat with his right hand. He saw the man still had a club raised over his head at the very moment that Tats brought his dagger across the man’s throat, creating a river of blood.

  Righty knew instantly the man would have smashed his brains in if Tats hadn’t sliced him from ear to ear first, but he had no time to dwell on the subject. He turned back around to see a sword coming at him in a straight thrust. He swiveled towards it and hit it with so much force that it went flying out of the man’s hands. Righty then stooped low and sliced both of his legs off at the knees.

  “BEHIND YOU!!!” Tats yelled.

  There was a man coming at him with a broken bottle. Righty feigned an overhead attack but at the last minute swiveled his wrists and brought the sword down in a diagonal thrust, poking it right through the man’s heart as though it were an arrow shot from a longbow.

  Righty then saw three of the men were lunging towards Tats, and in fact he saw a club make contact with the side of Tats’ outstretched left forearm, which sacrificially blocked the blow intended for his head. A loud crack could be heard as the club made contact, followed by a yelp of pain from Tats.

  Righty thrust his sword directly into the man’s heart from behind, and as he pulled the blade out he swiveled around in a full circle, slicing one man in half and deeply gouging out a chunk of midsection from the other. Righty saw Tats’ dagger go plunging through the man’s throat.

  “LOOK OUT!!” Tats yelled.

  SMASHHHH!!!

  A bottle was broken over the side of Righty’s head, which was covered by a hood. The hood prevented him from getting cut, but the impact still sent him reeling backward and onto his backside.

  The man prepared to come down on top of Righty with the bottle, but Righty quickly stuck his sword up and the man fell on top of it. It went through the man’s stomach, and though he let out a yelp of pain, he was not out of fight yet. He started to try to bite Righty’s ear, but this wasn’t Righty’s first encounter with a biter. Years of barroom brawling immediately presented themselves as useful.

  He stuck his left index finger into the man’s right eye and pushed him away with it. The man started screaming and holding his eye like a wounded hyena. Righty then grabbed the man by both ears and pulled him into a vicious head butt that squashed his nose. Righty then pushed him to the side and quickly regained his feet. To his horror he saw that the man was now pulling Righty’s sword out of his midsection, and there was a fire in his left eye—his right eye was squeezed tightly shut in agony—that informed Righty there was going to be hell to pay.

  Righty was about to give him a punch to the jaw, but he saw Tats’ club come crashing down onto the man’s skull. He saw the guy’s eyes cross for a second, but Righty wasn’t taking any chances. He delivered a stiff overhand right to the guy’s jaw that sent him reeling backwards. He then quickly pulled his sword out of the man’s midsection, making sure to slice it sideways while he did so.

  “BEHIND YOU!!!” Tats yelled.

  Righty spun around with the sword but missed the man’s stomach by mere inches.

  There was terror in the man’s eyes. He knew he was beaten.

  He turned tail and ran.

  Righty didn’t feel like chasing the guy down. His head was starting to ache from where he had been smashed over the head with the broken bottle, and he was tired as hell from all the fighting. Plus, the guy already had a ten-pace head start on him.

  Nonetheless, this guy wasn’t going to get away if he had any say in the matter.

  And, as a matter of fact, he did.

  “Take him, Harold,” he said so softly that not even Tats heard him ten feet behind him.

  The man was running frantically and had almost reached the end of the alley when he suddenly tripped over one of his fallen comrades and went flying headfirst into the ground.

  “HELLL!!!!” he screamed.

  No sooner had he stood however than he went shooting off into the night sky, his screams fading quickly into nothing.

  “Smash him on top of the others,” Righty said calmly.

  “You say somethin’, Mr. Brass?” Tats asked.

  Righty didn’t respond.

  All of a sudden, a body went crashing down into the middle of the alley.

  “CRAP!! What was that?” Tats asked, alarmed.

  “Nothing,” Righty responded. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Tats offered no argument to that, but before they had made it halfway down the alley, they heard, “POLICE!!! HALT!!!”

  Righty’s blood turned cold. He had already been starting to think of the comforting warmth Janie’s embrace would offer after this hellish ordeal, but now he realized he just might be spending the rest of his life in prison, something it now occurred to him he had given unjustifiably little thought to as of late.

  “Harold, get me the hell out of here!!” he said, much louder than he had called Harold before, and Tats looked at him strangely.

  Righty began sprinting towards the end of the alleyway.

  “There’s no way out that way, Mr. Brass!! Trust me—I grew up on these streets!”

  Tats’ words fell on deaf ears as Righty went sprinting down the street towards the end of the alleyway. As he heard the words again “POLICE!! FREEZE!!!” he then raised his own voice.

  “HAROLD!! FOR KASANI’S SAKE!!!!”

  Then he felt talons grasp his arms—somewhat gingerly at first, but then firmly once they had found a grip that would not puncture his flesh. And then he was feeling the cool night breeze whip across his face.

  Suddenly, he felt himself being thrown up into the air, and he nearly vomited as he went spinning about wildly. Then, his nausea was overcome by terror, as he felt himself start to descend. Abruptly, however, he found himself land right onto Harold’s back, who had skillfully maneuvered himself into position. He nearly bounced off but managed to grab on tight to Harold’s feathers.

  No sooner did he feel the euphoria of having escaped first death and then arrest than he felt the agony of a certain realization. Tats was down there. Such decisions are made not with the benefit of careful reflection but with the lightning strike of the gut and reveal so truly the character of a man that he himself becomes the student, and his instinct the teacher, as to the extent of his loyalty.

  “Get Tats now!” he commanded Harold.

  “Are you sure?” Harold asked.

  Chapter 16

  BLOODBATH IN SIVINGDEL!

  LIMB STACKED UPON LIMB!

  KNEE DEEP IN BLOOD!

  NOT SINCE THE DAYS OF THE BARBARIANS!

  Hutherton turned to this latter article:

  “Not since the invasions of barbarian hordes from the east centuries ago has such bloodshed been seen.”

  Hutherton scanned these articles with mixed emotions. Whereas the faux crime wave generated by Ambassador Rochten had filled him with glee, and the headlines highlighting the sc
offlaw attitude of the public towards SISA had filled him with fury, he wasn’t quite sure what to think about this.

  Part of him was ecstatic, for he had felt the time was right for a new piece of legislation after the fiery speech given by Ralph Hannensehn, but that was a mere two days ago. He had still been recovering from his humiliation due to the district court judge’s decision invalidating SISA as unconstitutional, in spite of the encouragement he had received from DA Hannensehn’s promise to fight the decision.

  But another part of him was rather unnerved by the grisly nature of this slaughter. Had Ambassador Rochten grown worried that Hutherton had been too demoralized and thus generated another crime wave—this one a real monster—in order to lift his spirits? He found the timing between the judge’s decision and this carnage-filled spectacle to be suspicious to say the least.

  The details were also sketchy. The police had arrived at an alley near a notoriously dangerous bar after hearing bloodcurdling screams and shouts from several blocks away. By the time they got there, almost everyone was dead, although there was one man clinging to life. He was barely conscious, was missing both legs, and was bleeding profusely. He had babbled some incoherent nonsense before going to meet his maker. Something about a bird.

  The police had found “SG” (the DA’s term for Smokeless Green was starting to catch on) on several of the corpses, and a few swords were found littering the alley. The police explanation was that these men were likely members of rival drug gangs and had decided to settle their differences the old-fashioned way.

  Hutherton himself was actually quite shocked that the violence had gone this far, and he found himself wondering whether this was the zenith of depravity amongst the growing underworld or if the time would come where such massacres would vie for a small slot on the back page.

  He felt that regardless of the answer to that question he now knew that it was time draft a new bill. The police were going to have to be properly enabled to handle this growing menace, or it was only going to get worse.

  This was going to be a busy day, and he planned at the end of it to run his thoughts by the ambassador and see if he couldn’t shed any light on what happened in Sivingdel. Sivingdel was a city second in size only to the capital city and was often considered a rival for preeminence. It was a younger city and had been growing at a far quicker rate. Its people were known as being entrepreneurial and ambitious. This massacre made Hutherton wonder whether it might not be the dominant scene for the illegal SG trade.

  Hutherton did what he usually did when his brain needed a little kick start, and once his nose was finely powdered he picked up an ink pen and piece of paper.

  The Safer Streets Act

  It being necessary to enforce the provisions of the Safety in Selegania Act (hereinafter “SISA”), the senate hereby creates an agency charged exclusively with the task of enforcing SISA. The agency, to be called the National Drug Police (hereinafter “NDP”), shall be given broad latitude in the fight against violators of SISA, and to ensure it be thoroughly equipped to said aim, an annual appropriation of one hundred million falons shall be allotted thereto.

  Hutherton looked at the parchment with mild pleasure, but the deep wound to his ego from a mere two days ago forbade him ecstasy. He needed to consult with Ambassador Rochten.

  This pleasure would have to be delayed, as it was merely 10 a.m. He finished up his breakfast, got dressed, and hurried off to the senate.

  No one rose to give an inspiring speech about the need for a new law to prevent the massacre in Sivingdel. Instead, it was just one boring debate after another on mundane topics. But this was more than fine with Senator Hutherton. He didn’t just want this law, he wanted to be the sponsor. But he listened to his inner voice, which told him to see the ambassador first.

  All in all, it was a good day. More than one person stopped by to compliment him on his courage in sponsoring SISA and to tell him “to hang in there” because it would be found constitutional once all the dust settled. Little by little his confidence was starting to rise.

  When the senate let out at 5 p.m., Hutherton felt a bit sheepish about going straight to the Gentlemen of Selegania Club. He usually didn’t go there before 9 p.m., but he had heard they served some pretty good meals late in the afternoon, so he crossed his fingers and went in. To his delight, he saw the ambassador right away. Had the man’s nose not been buried knee deep in the newspaper, Hutherton might have privately deemed the man a lecherous old goat for arriving at such an early hour, but it seemed the ambassador was at the club with business in mind.

  Before Hutherton got within eight paces of him he looked up suddenly and with a warm smile said: “Senator, will you join me?”

  “It’s what I came here for,” Hutherton replied frankly.

  “I had a feeling today’s news might stimulate your appetite for a bit of discussion on public policy. Am I wrong?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  Hutherton handed him a copy of the proposed bill.

  “Not bad,” Rochten remarked. “Maybe a little ambitious,” he then added, as an afterthought.

  “The appropriations amount?”

  “It appears we’re both turning into mind readers.”

  Hutherton chuckled slightly.

  “Yes, the appropriations. Now, don’t misunderstand. In two years, maybe even one, a hundred million falons might not seem like such a bad idea. In fact, it might seem tame. But do you really think the political climate is fertile for such an investment?”

  “Well,” Hutherton began, starting to feel a bit foolish, as he always seemed to in the ambassador’s presence, yet without feeling he was being belittled but rather enlightened, “I thought that with the massacre and all . . . .”

  “Yes, an opportunity that must be exploited. There I agree with you. But you’ve overshot. Firstly, it wasn’t here. It was in that far-away city that many here in the capital deem inferior, and thus, to a certain extent they might pass it off as something to be expected of those uncouth Sivingdelians. Secondly, an appropriation of this magnitude will call for a tax increase, which will make the other senators nervous. They have constituents to face in just a couple years, and while the voter’s mind does not excel at memory, increased taxes seem to be a bit of an exception to that rule. Thus, an appropriation of this magnitude would ultimately have to convince the taxpaying voter.

  “Now, here’s what I suggest. Change the appropriations to ten million. That should be small enough that with a bit of adjustments made to other budgets you can avoid a tax raise. In the meantime, you will need to make sure this new agency produces outstanding results. You are going to have to see to it that only the best policemen get into this agency. Then, it will be a matter of waiting until something happens that makes the massacre in Sivingdel look tame by comparison or for a series of similar events that happen in quick succession that truly inflame the populace. Then, you will need to act quickly and sponsor a bill drastically increasing the appropriations to the National Drug Police.”

  “I see the logic in what you’re saying, ambassador. As always, I should add,” Hutherton said, smiling.

  “I’m glad you’re receptive to counsel. An old man like me has been around long enough to learn a trick or two,” he said with a wolf-like gleam in his eye.

  “I should take advantage of the moment to discuss something I’ve been rather reluctant to heretofore, but I feel it is time.”

  This got Hutherton’s attention.

  “You do realize, don’t you, that it would be wise to eventually work out some agreements with one of the major players in the underworld?”

  Had any other man suggested such a thing, Hutherton would have struck him across the face and left the room, and even with Ambassador Rochten he could not completely hide his distaste: “Work out some agreements?! Ambassador, with all due respect, I thought you understood the danger SG poses to the social order if not carefully restrained. To engage in secret dealings with one of these men wo
uld mean, no doubt, to shelter his organization, which would, no doubt, be rather large, which would, no doubt, mean the riff-raff of this country would have ready access to a substance any gentleman knows instinctively does not belong in the hands of the vulgar!”

  “Senator, senator,” Rochten began calmly, with no malice in his voice. “Do you never play chess?”

  This question took Hutherton aback. And he was reluctant to give the answer, since he wasn’t sure what the ambassador was driving at.

  “No,” he said cautiously.

  “I will teach you sometime, should you so desire. In chess, you rarely go for the kill all at once. If you do, you will unwittingly expose yourself. Pick your opponent apart bit by bit. Let me explain what is going to happen in this country. In multiple areas, low-level thugs will vie with one another for control of SG. It will only be a matter of time, before some rather powerful individuals emerge from this struggle. I can assure you that what happened in Sivingdel was simply the beginning of that struggle.