Brechalon

by Wesley Allison

  "That's not Drury! I don't know what that is!"

  Turning, Chapman ran up the stairs, oblivious to the open-mouthed stares of the boys. He ran past the bunkroom and down the corridor to the north wing. He ran into the door of Prisoner 89's cell, banging it with his fist, as if she could open it from the inside. Finally he rummaged through his pockets for the great key and unlocked the door, rushing inside.

  Chapman screamed. Karl Drury was hanging, naked, upside down from the ceiling. His neck had been sliced open and his blood had been drained into the piss pot on the floor beneath him. His gut had been sliced open and long lengths of bowel and a few internal organs hung down like ghastly wind chimes.

  Chapman screamed again, as he felt the feather light touch of the woman on his shoulder.

  "I needed more ink." Her sultry voice cut into his soul like a knife cutting through pudding.

  She stepped past him and picked up the bucket of blood, tip-toeing like a ballerina to the north wall of the cell, where she dipped her fingers into the gore and began painting strange images onto the stone blocks. As she drew, she spoke to herself. Chapman didn't need to hear what she was saying. It had been bouncing around in his head since he had gotten up.

  "One thousand nine hundred seventy-nine days."

  "Stop it!" he shouted. "Stop it! Stop counting!"

  The woman turned toward him and grinned fiercely. "Not much longer now- just a few more days. Go on back now. Don't want to draw suspicion."

  He crept out of the chamber like a dog that had been beaten. He didn't go back to the south wing though, instead climbing the stone stairs until he found an alcove with a small opening to the outside world. Here he dropped to the ground and curled up into a ball and wept.

  * * * * *

  "That's pretty," said Senta. "Is that a sunset or a rainbow?"

  She was walking down Contico Boulevard, hand in hand with her cousin Bertice. Mrs. Gantonin, who lived next door, had told Granny about a family whose boys had died and who were now giving away their clothes. With a house full of children, free clothes were not to be overlooked lightly.

  "What are you talking about, you little bint?"

  "Up there." Senta pointed off to the right.

  "Didn't you learn that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west? That way is south. How could it be sunset? Besides, it's only half past four. I'd still be at work if they hadn't run out of number four thread."

  "A rainbow, then?"

  "There's no rainbow. There's not been a drop of rain for a week. How could there be a rainbow. I don't see anything at all."

  "Well, I see something. It's swirly with red and yellow and blue and purple, like a storm that's coming, only made out of colors."

  "You need to get your eyes fixed, you do," said Bertice, giving her arm a yank.

 

  Chapter Seven: Victories

  My Dear Miss Dechantagne,

  It was with deep regret that I left your company on the twenty-fifth, but I ease the ache within me by recalling the week that I spent with you. Surely no other fine lady of the Great City can equal you in hospitality, graciousness, or dare I say beauty.

  The funds that you forwarded for the new machine have been received and put to good use. I have hired a new assistant in whom I see a great deal of promise. With her assistance and with the aid of Mr. Murty, of whom I believe I spoke during our conversations, we should be ready to begin construction within a matter of weeks.

  I will of course keep you informed of the major milestones as they occur, but I would very much enjoy a visit by you to University Ponte-a-Verne. I believe you would find the architecture and the gardens to your liking and the village has many interesting sites as well. I would be more than pleased to extend some semblance of the kind courtesy that you offered me.

  Eagerly awaiting your next letter,

  Your humble servant,

  Merced Baines Calliere PhD.

  Iolanthe folded the letter closed, and with a satisfied smile, placed it in her letterbox. Clearly the Professor was smitten. She thought that he was someone that she could marry. He was certainly interesting, from a well-placed if not wealthy family. He was intelligent and relatively resourceful. Best of all he seemed willing enough to be led, which would spare her from the tiresomeness of a man who would pretend to be her master. That there was no spark of passion, at least from her perspective, didn't bother her. She had never known it and she didn't believe it existed.

  She placed the letterbox in the bottom drawer of her private desk just as the head butler entered, carrying a silver tray.

  "The morning post has arrived, Miss."

  The letter from Professor Calliere had arrived on the evening post the day before. Iolanthe typically did not open her letters until she was ready to reply to them, but she took the bundle of envelopes, tied together with a bit of red ribbon, and looked through them. There was a letter from Mrs. Godwin back in Shopton, Mont Dechantagne and there were several bills from the carpenters that should have gone to her solicitor. Then there was an official looking envelope with a golden wax seal, which when opened, was revealed as a hand-written note from the Prime Minister.

  Dear Miss Dechantagne,

  I have made the arrangements we discussed earlier. The vehicle in question will be under refit for the next nine months, so I suggest you plan your timetable accordingly.

 

  With Regards,

  E. P.

  "Why Prime Minister, how very cloak and dagger of you. 'The vehicle in question.' No one would suspect that a vehicle under refit would be a ship." She laughed.

  "Muh? Miss?"

  "What is it, Zeah?"

  "Are um? are you really going to Mallon?"

  "If I do, don't worry. You shall go with me."

  "Muh? me?"

  "Of course, Zeah. Why, I wouldn't be able to function without you."

  "But, what would I duh? do?"

  "I'm sure we'll find enough to keep you busy." She smiled. "Now, have the car brought around. My brother and I are going out."

  Zeah raised his eyebrows. He hadn't seen much of Master Terrence at all in the three months he had been home. But he hurried off to see that the vehicle was made ready. It was more than simply bringing it around. Care had to be taken to see that the boiler was filled with water and the firebox was filled with coal, and lit, and that a good volume of steam was allowed to build up.

  Half an hour later, Iolanthe sat impatiently behind the steering wheel. Her leather driving gloves just matched her green day dress. The tall black top hat with white flowers that she had chosen was tied to her head with a large strip of green ribbon. Zeah, who stood on the sidewalk, watched as her eyes grew narrower and narrower. He was very happy when at last Master Terrence walked down the steps. Terrence wore a new grey suit with a red plaid waistcoat. He had shaved, but had dark bags under his eyes. Rather than climbing into the passenger seat, he walked around to the driver's side.

  "Move over," he said.

  "I'm driving," said Iolanthe.

  "No. No, you're not."

  "It is the year of our Lord eighteen hundred ninety-seven and women can drive."

  "Some women can drive. Not you. Scoot over."

  Iolanthe pursed her lips but moved across the seat to the other side, careful not to smash her bustle. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited for her brother to climb in and get settled. He released the brake with his right hand and stepped on the forward accelerator with his right foot, and they were off.

  "Where are we going now?" Terrence asked.

  "King's Park Oval. You remember where it is?"

  "Of course I remember." He pressed his foot down on the decelerator and whipped around the fountain of Lord Oxenbourse and drove north up Scrum Boulevard. "Why are we going there?"

  "West Brumming is playing Ville Colonie."

  "I thought you hated cricket."

  "I don'
t hate cricket."

  "Yes you do. You hate all sports."

  "I don't hate sports." Iolanthe explained. "I just don't see the point of watching a group of men you don't even know play at games, let alone of rooting for them. I went to one or two games when I was at university."

  "Well, St. Dante isn't playing. So why are we going now?"

  "I thought it would be good for you to get out of the house for a bit. You've hardly gone out of doors since you arrived."

  "Hmm," said Terrence noncommittally. He concentrated on his driving but after a few minutes felt his sister's eyes on him. "What?"

  "Perhaps you should visit a bordello."

  Terrence almost lost control of the vehicle and swerved into another lane. "Kafira!"

  "I know men have needs."

  "Iolanthe?"

  "Perhaps that's why you're feeling poorly."

  "Please stop talking."

  "When was the last time you were with a woman?"

  "If you don't shut up, I may never be able to be with a woman again."

  "All I'm saying is that it may not be healthy to keep things bottled up, so to speak."

  Terrence stamped down on the forward accelerator taking the steam carriage near its top speed of forty miles per hour, but had to almost immediately decrease the speed to turn off onto the grassy drive to the cricket grounds. Thankfully Iolanthe remained quiet as he parked the car at the end of a line of similar vehicles. He climbed down and walked around to help her down. She opened her parasol and took his arm and they walked toward the bleachers.

  "Just think about it," she said.

  "Shut up," he snapped, and then muttered, "I shall be able to think of little else."

  Ville Colonie had been designated as the visitors, randomly it seemed as this was the home grounds of neither team. Ville Colonie was a village on the small channel island of Petitt Elvert, while West Brumming was a small town about fifty miles north of Brech City. The team members from the north were dressed in white shirts and grey dungarees, while the team from Ville Colonie, as might be expected from those descended from Mirsannan immigrants, were flamboyantly arrayed in bright blue stripes. Next to the home team hutch were several dozen chairs around tables with large parasols, where all of the women and the men who were with them sat, while next to the visitors' hutch was a grandstand filled entirely with men.

  "Good heavens," said Iolanthe. "I had no idea that cricket was so popular. There must be four hundred people here."

  "I doubt there's anyone left in either of those towns." Terrence led his sister to one of the few remaining empty tables, pulled out a chair for her, and then sat down himself.

  The two team captains joined the umpire on the pitch for the coin toss. It was determined that Ville Colonie would bat first and the players took their positions. The West Brumming bowler was getting his eye in as a heavyset blond batsman waited. At last the match started as the bowler sent a beautiful bouncer down the wicket, but a loud crack indicated a shot and the two batsmen, including the big chap, went running.

  "Would you like something to drink?" Terrence asked.

  "Is there a waiter?" wondered Iolanthe, looking around.

  "No, there's a snack kiosk over there." He pointed to a small shed just beyond the visiting team hutch. "What would you like?"

  "I don't suppose they have any wine."

  "I doubt it."

  "A beer then."

  Terrence took his place in the queue, only occasionally looking back at the game. He wasn't really that interested in cricket, even though he had played it at university. There was no point in telling Iolanthe though. Once she had her head set on something, it wasn't likely to change. He purchased two bottles of beer, which came in tall brown bottles with cork stoppers.

  Just as he turned around to leave, he was approached by a young woman with long red hair. She was dressed in a long brown skirt and a white blouse and looked as though she might have just come from a factory job. She was pretty, in a course sort of way, and she wore no makeup.

  "Can you help me, sir?" she asked, and then turned and began to walk away before Terrence could answer.

  He shrugged and followed her, a beer bottle in each hand, around the corner of the kiosk and between a pair of small sheds. As he made the second corner, Terrence came face to face with three men. Two of them were brandishing knives. For a second he didn't recognize them. Then suddenly he did. They were three men outside Blackwood's. The memory of the white opthalium made his eyes water slightly. What was it that Blackwood called the first fellow? Mickey, Mikey, Mika?

  "Thanks luv. Hurry on your way," said Mika to the girl, who quickly left. He then turned and smiled unpleasantly at Terrrence. "You're so happy t'see me your eyes are waterin' eh?"

  "I'm sentimental," Terrence replied.

  The toughs had chosen their spot well. They were shielded from the street by a hedgerow and from the cricket game and the spectators by the sheds. Without conscious thought, Terrence's mind ran through his options. He could drop one of the beers and go for the pistol in his pocket. He could simply bash the bottles into a couple of skulls. In either scenario, he'd probably take at least one knife blade. He could always yell for help. There were plenty of people within earshot, probably even a copper. Again, he'd probably get stabbed. Besides, he'd never yelled for help in his life.

  "Care for a beer?" he asked.

  "I'm goin' t'enjoy lettin' the air outa you."

  Suddenly there was a loud report followed by a wet smack and the man behind Mika, Mika's brother Terrence suddenly remembered, dropped to the ground with a massive hole in his chest pouring out blood like a johnny pump. Before anyone had time to think or to move or to think about moving, three more shots rang out. The beer bottles in Terrence's hands exploded and then a good portion of Mika's jaw was ripped off his face. He dropped to the ground with a gurgled scream, while the third man in the group turned and ran. Terrence turned to his left, still holding the shattered remains of the bottles, to find Iolanthe in a cloud of gun smoke, a .45 caliber pistol pointed in his general direction. It was an exact match to the one in his pocket save only that hers had a pearl handle.

  "Kafira's tit, Iolanthe! You almost hit me!"

  "You're welcome," she replied, closing her left eye and taking a bead on the fleeing man's back.

  "Let him go," he said, and looked down at the sad remains of Mika, now whining pitifully.

  A police constable came jogging up from behind Terrence, followed by a few cricket players, one carrying a bat, as well as a few stout fellows from the grandstand.

  "These men were trying to rob my brother," said Iolanthe, stepping forward.

  "Oh, it's you, Miss Dechantagne," said the constable. "Are you injured?"

  "No PC, thank you for asking, but I believe one or both of the men I shot may be in need of ambulance service."

  The constable knelt down and checked Mika's brother for a pulse.

  "This one doesn't need an ambulance. He's dead. What are these boys doing so far from the Bottom?"

  "Not to belabor the point," said Iolanthe. "But I believe they were practicing daylight robbery."

  "Even so. Will you be leaving now?"

  "Of course not. The match is not over." She flipped open the revolver and used her fingernail to pull out the spent cartridges. "Come along Terrence."

  The constable left for the police telegraph box to call for an ambulance, while a man from the grandstand rendered what aid there was to give. Everyone else, including the Dechantagne siblings wandered back toward the game. Terrence, who was still holding the spouts and necks of the broken bottles, dropped them in a dust bin as they rounded the corner to the snack kiosk.

  "Where did you have that pistol?" he asked. "You don't have a handbag."

  "I have plenty of room for it under my dress."

  He glanced at his sister's form. While the top of her dress was very form-fitting indeed, the bo
ttom half of her, thanks to her bustle and voluminous undergarments, blossomed out to such a degree that she could have hidden the arsenal for the good part of a rifle company within her skirts.

  * * * * *

  "I make a hundred and fifty feet," said Lieutenant Arthur McTeague, without taking his eyes from the binoculars.

  "Decrease elevation two degrees," called Lieutenant Augie Dechantagne.

  "Ready!" called Corporal Worthy from the centermost 105mm howitzer.

  "Fire!" There was a long pause and then a distant explosion.

  "Oops. You're long," said McTeague. "I mean, longer."

  "Kafira damn it!" yelled Augie. "I said decrease elevation! Decrease!"

  "Sorry sir! Ready sir!"

  "Fire!"

  "On target," said McTeague, after the wait.

  "Lay down a pattern of fire!" The five guns began rapidly firing, only to be immediately reloaded and fired again.

  McTeague lowered his binoculars and pulled his earplugs from his pocket. Stuffing them into his ears, he walked over to stand next to Augie.

  "Why are we shelling this village again?"

  "I didn't ask," Augie replied.

  "Do you suppose they're going to counter-attack?"

  "It's not my job to worry about it. It's theirs." Augie pointed to the line of Royal Marines, their red coats and white pith helmets clearly visible halfway between the guns and the lizzie village that was rapidly becoming a flaming hell.

  "Well, I suppose they needed to be taught a lesson. Put the fear of God and his Majesty into them."

  "This will certainly teach them something," said Augie.

  * * * * *

  "It says here that the remaining robber will be moved to Herinnering Gaol as soon as he is ready to leave hospital," said Mrs. Colbshallow, her face buried in the morning paper. "And Miss D is being considered for a Citizen's Safety Award."

  "It's considered safe to shoot two people now, is it?" It was Merriman, the main floor butler. "If I'd shot two men, I'd be in prison. She shoots two men and they give her a bloody medal."

  "Best not to think things like that," said Zeah.

  "Especially out loud," added Yuah.

  "It's you, Yuah, that she usually wants to shoot," said Barrymore, the upstairs butler, grinning.

  "She can't shoot me. She couldn't live without me."