The Sheriff of Yrnameer

by Michael Rubens

  “MaryAnn?” he said, confused, looking about for her. “Erk!”

  “Hi, Cole,” said Runk.

  Cole’s sense of déjà vu returned. He was once again upside down in an alley, dangling by an ankle, except this time it was Altung who was holding him, and MaryAnn was dangling next to him, struggling to free herself.

  “Hey!” she yelled. “Let me go!”

  The way Altung was holding her, she was facing away from him toward the wall. She twisted, trying to see her attacker and saw Cole.

  “Cole? Cole!”

  He reached out and grabbed her hand, the two of them steadying each other.

  “What is this? What’s happening?”

  “It’s all right, MaryAnn.”

  “Not really,” said Runk.

  “Who is that!” she demanded. “Is this some sort of joke?”

  “This is my good friend, Runk.”

  “Runk?!”

  “Last person you’ll ever meet, sweetie,” said Runk.

  Runk was standing on a rain barrel next to Altung, pointing a very small gun at them. It was an act that struck Cole as rather redundant.

  “Is that a Firestick 2?” asked Cole.

  “Sure is.”

  “Let’s see. Firestick 2 …”

  “‘Small, but Oh My’”

  “Right.”

  “Remind you of anyone?”

  “Hmm. No one really comes to mind. …”

  MaryAnn interrupted.

  “I don’t care who you are, but if you don’t put us down right now I’ll scream,” said MaryAnn.

  Runk chuckled. “Go ahead and scr—”

  “Helllllp!!!!”

  “Go ahead. Scream all you—”

  “Helllllllp!!!!”

  “See, it doesn’t bother me at—”

  “Helllllppppp!!!!!”

  “Okay, that’s starting to get on my—”

  “HEELLLLLLPPPPPP!!!!!”

  “Altung, shut her up.”

  “No, wait,” said Cole. “MaryAnn. It’s okay.”

  “It is?” she said.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  His tone was calm and reassuring, with a quiet confidence. It matched what he felt.

  “It’s not okay,” said Runk. “I’m going to kill you both. And I’m going to kill her first, and it’s going to hurt, and I’m going to make you watch.”

  MaryAnn began breathing faster. Her hand squeezed his.

  “Yeah … I don’t think so,” said Cole. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so relaxed. “When all this is over, I’ll probably be dead, but I think she’s going to be just fine.”

  “Cole, what are you saying?” said MaryAnn.

  “Plug your ears,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  She plugged her ears.

  He didn’t have two good arms. He couldn’t plug his. He’d have nightmares for weeks about the sound.

  Altung jerked spasmodically, his grip spiking sharply, causing MaryAnn to cry out at the sudden pain. Then his hands relaxed completely, spilling them on the ground, MaryAnn yelping again as they fell. Altung sagged down onto his knees and hung there as if suspended, while Cole and MaryAnn scuttled frantically backward until their backs were against the wall.

  “Oh, my God,” whispered MaryAnn.

  “Don’t watch!” said Cole, placing his hand over her eyes to block out the horrific scene.

  There was a slurping, popping noise, almost as revolting as the first noise. Then, slowly, Altung started to pitch forward, like a tall tree cut down at the base, picking up velocity until he collapsed with a heavy thud in front of Cole and MaryAnn. Before Altung’s face slammed into the hard-packed earth, Cole caught a sickening glimpse of the ragged hole where his left eye had been.

  “Ah,” said Kenneth, wiping his ovipositor, “I feel so much better.”

  Runk had not moved. His tiny eyes were wide with shock as he regarded Altung’s prone form, the giant’s left leg twitching slightly. Then his view was blocked by the dozens of eyeballs that surrounded and scrutinized him from every angle.

  “Kenneth,” said Runk, still stunned.

  “Runk! How wonderful!” said Kenneth. “An amuse bouche for the kiddies!”

  A tentacle swept him up. Cole closed his eyes, not wanting to see what happened next.

  “Cole, what’s going on?” said MaryAnn.

  “You don’t want to know,” said Cole.

  There was another wet, popping noise, like a cork being shoved into a watermelon, or a small creature being shoved into a hole in a much larger creature’s head.

  “There, that should keep things in place,” said Kenneth, and Cole heard him slapping his tentacles together like a workman finishing a task. “Oh, Cole—I have your change.”

  “Full house, jacks high,” said Cole, laying down his cards.

  “Crud,” said Joshua, tossing his hand in.

  “Mmm-hmm,” said Bacchi, in the tone of someone who had just confirmed something he had been suspecting.

  “Why do I keep losing?” asked Joshua.

  “Because Cole is cheating,” said Bacchi.

  Joshua looked at Cole.

  “It’s true,” said Cole, shuffling the deck with his one good hand, his other arm still in a sling. “Consider it a life lesson.”

  It was a quiet afternoon, edging toward the evening. The air was getting crisp. They were sitting on the porch of the jailhouse, Cole and Bacchi smoking cigars and drinking shersha. Joshua had a citronade with ice.

  Bacchi had staggered into the village the day after the party, bedraggled and dehydrated, missing most of his tail.

  “But, that thing, in the pit,” said Joshua. “I saw you fall!”

  “He spat me out,” said Bacchi. He sounded somewhat insulted.

  At the moment he was watching Cole deal the cards. When Cole finished, Bacchi reached over and picked up Cole’s cards, swapping them for the hand Cole had dealt him. He fanned the cards, examined his new hand, and sighed.

  “You knew I was going to do that,” he said.

  “Mmm-hmm,” said Cole out of the corner of his mouth as he puffed on the cigar.

  “That’s impressive, with one hand,” said Bacchi.

  “Mmm-hmm,” said Cole.

  Bacchi shook his head and tossed the cards into the center of the table. Joshua followed suit.

  They’d been playing for about an hour, low stakes, and Cole had managed to approximately double the amount of money he’d received from Kenneth, meaning he now had slightly more than six NDs in front of him.

  First there was the principle of the debt, Kenneth had explained, plus interest, handling charges, transport costs, food, fuel and lodging, bribes. …

  “That diamond was worth tens of millions,” said Cole.

  “Oh, yes, definitely, even with the confiscatory fee I had to pay to fence the thing.”

  “So what happened to the rest?”

  “I donated it to my favorite cause!” said Kenneth.

  “Don’t tell me. …”

  “Yes!” said Kenneth happily. “Would you like a tote bag?”

  In the end, there were enough IPR tote bags for everyone in the village. Even Stirling accepted his, at first scowling, guessing where the funds might have come from to support such largesse. Then he smiled.

  “You know what?” he told Cole. “I sort of like this.”

  Cole checked his watch. MaryAnn would be there soon for their date. He smiled at the thought. Their Date. He put down his own cards to tap the ash off the cigar. Joshua watched him as he examined the glowing tip, then put it back in his mouth.

  “Can I try one?” said Joshua.

  “No,” said Nora.

  “Where’d she come from?” said Bacchi.

  “She does that,” said Cole.

  Nora climbed up the steps of the porch and pulled up a chair to the small card table, obliging Cole and Bacchi to move to the side to make room.

 
; “Deal me in,” she said. Cole reached for the cards and she stopped him. “On second thought, I’ll do it.”

  As she dealt, she said, “Philip was looking for you, Joshua. You’re supposed to be on the farm helping the other kids.”

  Joshua looked to Cole for help.

  Cole chewed on his cigar. “Come on, now, you don’t want to take my deputy from me, do you?”

  Joshua smiled, then looked anxiously at Nora. She was concentrating on her cards, reordering them. “No,” she said at length, “I don’t suppose I do.”

  “All right!” said Joshua. “Give me one of those!” he said, reaching for the cigars. Nora slapped his hand away.

  “No.”

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  Bacchi sniggered.

  “Shut up, Bacchi,” muttered Joshua.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Cole. He tossed in his bid. “Gotta be careful with this one, Joshua,” he said, inclining his head toward Nora. “She’s nearly killed me about three times so far.”

  Nora, eyes on her cards, raised him. “How do you figure that?”

  “Well, I count at least twice on the way here, and then you go pushing a button while I’m in a field surrounded by high explosives.” He checked the stakes. “I raise you five.”

  Bacchi and Joshua folded.

  “You’ve been misinformed. I wasn’t the one who pushed the button.”

  Cole looked up from his cards for the first time. “What?”

  “Wasn’t me. I call. Three queens.”

  Cole lay down his pair of tens. As she scraped the pot over to herself he said, “So who?”

  “Hi, Cole!”

  He stepped down from the porch to greet MaryAnn, hesitating this time not from awkwardness but from distraction.

  “Hi, MaryAnn,” he said, and leaned in to kiss what turned out to be her cheek.

  “Hi,” she said, then leaned back to smile at him. A complicated smile, the eyes sending a different message than the mouth. And sure enough: “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “If it’s about the button, I already—”

  “The button? Oh, right. Yes, I pushed it, just like you told me.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s very … brave. That must have been very hard for you.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “That was easy. It was clear that had to be done. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

  “Right,” said Cole, aware that everyone on the porch was observing them intently. “Maybe on our date—”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

  “Right. The date. Okay. Uh …” He glanced over at the porch again, then placed a hand on her shoulder and ushered her several steps away from their audience, then a few more just to be safe.

  “So,” he said.

  She took a deep breath. “Cole, there’s no other way to say this. I told you before that I came to Yrnameer after a painful relationship. My boyfriend and I had such ups and downs, such good times and hard times. … Well, I’ve been in contact with him, and it’s clear that he’s grown a lot. He’s a different person now. You see, Teg’s realized that he—what? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Cole? It’s very hard to talk to you through that.”

  Cole, his voice muffled because he’d pulled his collar up and over his head like a turtle, said, “You’re going to tell me how handsome he is.”

  “Oh my God! Do you know him?!”

  Cole made a grunting noise. He was now deflating into a squatting position, jacket over his head like he was shielding himself from a blast.

  “That’s amazing!” said MaryAnn. “You know, he used to have a ship just like yours? It even had all those stickers and decals on it! How wonderful that you know him! Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

  Cole, under his jacket-tent, said, “Yes. He’s very handsome. Very, very handsome.”

  MaryAnn gave him a fond, lingering hug, her breath warm in his ear as she whispered, “Thanks, Cole. I knew you’d understand.”

  They watched him walk heavily back to the porch and drag himself up the three stairs like he might not make it to the top. He lowered himself with effort into the chair that Joshua scrambled to position for him, accepting the glass of shersha from Bacchi and draining it without a sideways glance.

  Then he sat, blinking slowly, his eyes focused on nothing. Finally, Nora said, “Cole?”

  When there was no response she said it again: “Cole?”

  He turned his head lethargically to look at her. Her expression was full of concern and compassion.

  “You all right?” she said.

  He stared at her dully for several slow, deep breaths. Then a little shudder ran through him—once, twice, a third time, and he shook his head and rubbed his face and looked around at his surroundings like a man waking from a trance. He realized they were all watching him.

  “Of course I’m all right!” he roared. “Deal ’em up!”

  “That’s the Cole I know!” said Bacchi, clouting him on his bad shoulder as he refilled his glass.

  “Deputy,” said Nora, dealing the cards, “I believe the sheriff needs a cigar.”

  “That’s right!” said Cole. “The sheriff needs a cigar!”

  Nora took the cigar from Joshua and lit it, taking a deep drag before popping it into Cole’s mouth. And as Cole picked up his hand and chomped on the cigar and felt the shersha smoothing out the rough spots in his brain, he glanced at his tablemates, and then out at the peaceful town, and then up at the sky, and thought, This is good. This is right. He was the sheriff.

  “What’d you say, Sheriff?” said Joshua.

  “What? Oh, I guess I said, this is g—”

  He was interrupted by a crashing noise coming from somewhere down Main Street. Then another crashing noise. Then some smashing, followed by some growling, mixed with screaming.

  “Oh, for farg’s sake, what now,” said Cole.

  Mayor Kimber came running up to them, out of breath.

  “Sheriff,” he said, panting, “Ed’s gone quagga!”

  “What? What does that mean?”

  “It’s the interaction of the moons with the rin grass and bad yog juice! That’s what it does to Hennies! They change!”

  “Change?” said Cole, standing up. “What do you mean—whoa!” He’d just caught sight of a large, white-furred creature with fangs and claws and burning red eyes, wreaking havoc at the other end of Main Street. “That’s Ed? Has this happened before?”

  “Of course! What do you think happened to our first sheriff!”

  “You had another—”

  “You’ve got to do something, Cole!” said the mayor, grabbing Cole by the arm and pulling him down the steps and shoving him toward Ed, who was now holding the carved wooden himphyn that decorated the outside of one of the bookstores over his head.

  “That thing has to weigh five hundred pounds,” said Cole, just before Ed heaved it through the air.

  “Sheriff!” said Kimber.

  Cole looked up at Nora, Joshua, and Bacchi.

  “Go get him, Sheriff,” said Nora.

  “Right,” said Cole.

  “You need help, Sheriff?” said Joshua.

  “Nope,” said Cole, unholstering his gun.

  “No guns, Cole, that’s Ed!” said Kimber.

  “Right. Of course.” He looked at his gun, sighed, and handed it to the mayor. “Farg me,” he said, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and marched resolutely toward Ed.

  “All right, Ed, this is your sheriff speaking. Ed, come on. Ow! Leggo! Ed, be reasonable! Ow! Owww!!!! Ed! I’m the sheriff!!!”

  Elsewhere, more trouble was brewing.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to offer my deepest thanks to my agent, John Silbersack, to his assistant, Libby Kellogg, and to everyone else at Trident Media Group; to Marty Asher at Vintage/Random House for his great enthusiasm, Jeff Alexander at Vintage for his insight and advice, and Dan Frank at Pantheon for thinking
hardcover; to Paul Kaup, Steve Wilkinson, Chuck Graef, Kosta Potamianos, and Kathy Egan for always being my first and most enthusiastic readers; and to my parents, family, and friends for their wonderful support.

  About the Author

  Michael Rubens is a writer and television producer whose credits include CNN, Oxygen, the Travel Channel, and The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. He lives with his wife and daughter in Brooklyn, New York, to help alleviate that area’s dire shortage of writers and television producers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2009 by Michael Rubens

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Pantheon Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

  Pantheon Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Rubens, Michael.

  The sheriff of Yrnameer / Michael Rubens.

  p. cm.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-37855-2

  I. Title.

  PS3618.U236S54 2009

  813′.6—dc22 2008049525

  www.pantheonbooks.com

  v3.0

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments