Fortune's Fools

by Paul Tomlinson

  The horse took a step back then, dislodging the corpse, which fell sideways into the wet grass.

  “I have a feeling this is going to be a long night,” Anton muttered.

  “Idiot!” Edison yelled into the horse’s face. He leaped aside as the horse took off at speed, dragging Griselda’s body, bouncing over the uneven ground, along behind it.

  Edison and Anton gave chase.

  “The principle,” Edison lectured, “is simple: the rope is attached to the corpse here. The loose end is thrown up over this stout branch here… At least it is on the second attempt… Third time lucky...”

  “Allow me.”

  “Thank you. This end is now attached to the horse’s harness. At the given signal, the horse will move forward, pulling the rope, and raising the body into the air. We will then push the cart under the suspended body, and cut the rope. The body will then fall into the cart.”

  “Then all we have to do is chase after the horse again. When we catch it, we harness it to the laden cart. What could be simpler?” Anton said.

  Edison took hold of the horse’s harness and tried to urge it forward again. He tried to tempt it with a shiny red apple.

  “When bribery fails, resort to force. Would you be so kind, Mr. Leyander?”

  “With pleasure, Mr. Edison.”

  Anton whacked the horse on the behind. Again, the horse jolted forward, pulling the rope.

  Griselda’s body shot up into the air and disappeared into the foliage above. The rope grew suddenly taught, the horse came to an abrupt halt, whinnied, and then stood panting. It rolled its eyes, the way horses do when subjected to such indignities.

  “So far so good.” Edison rubbed his hands. He and Anton went over to the cart. They each lifted a shaft and pushed. The cart did not move.

  The horse snorted derisively: It is not as easy as it looks, is it?

  Anton took the brake off and removed the wedges, and they made another attempt. Slowly, creaking, the wagon moved backwards. They positioned it over the small pile of leaves which Griselda’s body had dislodged when it shot up into the tree. Anton set the break.

  Edison drew is knife and sawed away at the taught rope. The rope parted with a twang. The horse took a few steps forward, reassuring itself of its freedom, then stopped in order to watch.

  Of the body, there was no sign.

  “It must be stuck,” Anton said.

  Edison shot him a withering look.

  “Well?” Anton shouted up at the tree.

  “She is stuck.” There was some rustling of leaves above. “And it is not very dignified,” Edison said. There was more rustling, and the whole tree shook and swayed. “It makes my eyes water looking at her, there’s a branch stuck right up...”

  Branches splintered. Leaves rained down. The Griselda-cadaver plummeted like a stone. Or perhaps eighteen stone. There was a loud thud, and an earth tremor that was probably felt a mile away.

  “Well?” Edison called from in the tree. His face appeared through the leaves. He looked down to where Griselda’s body lay on the ground next to the wagon. “Shit!” Edison said. “I think I shall stay up here and sulk.” His face disappeared.

  Anton groaned and crawled out from beneath the headless corpse.

  “The principle is simple,” Edison muttered.

  “What?” Anton gasped

  “Nothing. Just hold her there. Good, now we have her on her feet – sort of. Keep pushing!”

  “Now, lean your shoulder into her stomach,” Edison said. “I am going to ease the top of her forward onto your back – I know she’s heavy, but it is simply a matter of balance. Once she is balanced on your shoulder – Yes, like a sack of potatoes, then you will be able to straighten up and ease her onto the cart.”

  Edison and Anton disentangled themselves from the heap of bodies on the ground.

  “This time you try and balance her on my shoulder,” Edison said.

  “She obviously didn’t grasp the principle,” Anton muttered.

  “Has it stopped bleeding yet?” Anton asked.

  Edison took the red-soaked handkerchief away from his nose.

  “Just about.”

  His eyes were blood-shot and his moustache was stained with blood.

  “I told you she was too heavy to lift,” Anton said.

  “I did it, did I not?”

  “Well, yes – but you burst a blood vessel in your nose, and the way your veins were standing out, I thought you were in danger of exploding in a shower of blood and flesh.”

  “I was worried that my groin would give out at one point,” Edison admitted.

  “Have we got all of her?”

  “All except one ear,” Anton said.

  They harnessed the horse to the cart and headed back towards town.

  A not insubstantial bribe got them through the town gate. Their cargo was not examined by the gatekeeper, and was simply logged as ‘assorted meat products.’ It was several hours after midnight and the town was virtually silent. The cart’s wheels rumbled and squeaked over the wet cobbles. They pulled up in the yard behind The Siren’s Head.

  Anton Leyander and Edric Edison stood at the bottom of the little staircase that led up to Edison’s room. They looked at the corpse at their feet.

  “A leg each?” Edison suggested.

  Anton shrugged. He bent down and grasped the nearest clammy ankle. Edison did likewise.

  “It should not be too difficult,” Edison said. “If we get the timing right.” He could summon no conviction. “One, two, three.”

  A step at a time, walking up the narrow stairs in step, Edison and Anton heaved the dead weight up towards the landing.

  At the top of the stairs was a sharp turn.

  “We cannot do this together. You go up and I will stay behind her,” Edison suggested.

  Anton found himself taking more of the weight as he and Edison tried to manoeuvre the body around the bend. Anton’s grip began to slip.

  “She’s going!” he hissed.

  “Hold on!”

  The body bumped down the stairs. It landed in a splay-legged heap at the bottom.

  “You let go,” Edison accused.

  “I did not.” Anton held out his hands. Two patches of wrinkled fabric clung to his palms.

  “It would appear that the skin comes off when the cadaver gets past its best. You have to dig your nails into the flesh a bit... What a strange expression,” Edison said.

  “I always look like this when I am about to vomit,” Anton said. He scrubbed his hands clean on the legs of his breeches.

   

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  “She’s a bit grubby,” Anton said.

  The Griselda-cadaver was laid out on the floor of Edison’s room. Her head and arms were lying close to their original positions.

  “We’re going to have to wash the bits before we can sew them back together,” Edison said.

  They fetched a tub and set it before the fire. As quietly as they could, they built up the kitchen fire downstairs and set pans of water to boil.

  By dawn they had Griselda’s body in a bath of water with a foam of soap on top of it. The room was damp and steamy, and if either Anton or Edison noticed that the room smelt of damp and steamy dead things, neither of them mentioned it.

  No thought had been given to how they would get Griselda, wet and slippery with soap, out of the bath, but they had managed thus far and were optimistic that they could cope. They were also much too tired to worry unduly about the matter. By this stage, the worst had to be over.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Edison and Anton exchanged worried glances.

  “Who?” Anton mouthed.

  Edison shrugged. “Get in the bath,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Get in the bath, hide her bits under you.”

  “You jest, surely?” Anton stripped off his shirt and wandered over to the tub. He looked down at the scummy water unenthusiastically.

 
; There was another knock, louder.

  “Quickly,” Edison urged.

  Anton was about to remove his breeches, but thought better of it. He tugged off his boots and climbed gingerly into the water, settling down to straddle the half-submerged corpse. He redistributed the foam to cover any suspicious areas of greyish flesh, then nodded to Edison that he was ready.

  They sighed with relief as Grimwade ambled into the room carrying a bundle. Edison closed the door behind him.

  “Some of her clothes and face-powders, lip-paints and such,” the hunchback said. Grimwade placed the bundle on a chair. “How are we this morning, boys?” he asked brightly. The hunchback glanced round the room. He frowned. He squinted and surveyed the room more carefully. “Where is she?” he asked.

  “Taking a bath with Anton.” Edison grinned.

  “Good morning, Mr. Grimwade.” Anton held out a foam-covered hand.

  Bemused, Grimwade shook the hand. He threw it back into the tub when he discovered it wasn’t attached the Anton.

  “You are taking a bath with a dismembered corpse? You are weirder than I thought!”

  “Do not worry, Mr. Grimwade. She be back together before you know it. We’ll deliver her to your home around noon,” Edison said.

  Grimwade looked into the foamy water, unconvinced. He shrugged, and turned to Edison, about to add something else, but was distracted by the fact that Anton was using Griselda’s arm and hand as a back-scratcher. “Show a little respect, please: that is my wife you are sitting on,” Grimwade mumbled, turning to leave.

  Edison closed and locked the door when Grimwade left.

  Anton leaped quickly from the tub, stood shivering beside it.

  “Are you all right?” Edison asked.

  “Of course. I love bathing with decaying corpses. Why would I not be all right?” He picked up the arm and began stirring the scummy water with it. “Anyone for Griselda soup?”

  They decided to skip breakfast and proceed immediately with the reassembly. They bailed out the tub, then managed to tip out the body onto the floor. It lay there like some hideous beached albino whale. They patted her dry, trying to leave her skin intact.

  The day remained overcast and candles had to be kept lit in the room. Rain streamed down the leaded window panes. Lightning flashed periodically.

  “Was she this bloated when she was alive?” Anton asked.

  “I do not remember. She seems bigger. Perhaps she is simply filled up with gas? I have heard that, on occasion, corpses sit up and belch.”

  “Or fart?”

  “Possibly.”

  “The ends of these arms have become a little frayed: it will not be easy to try and join them back onto the body.”

  “The neck has suffered the same fate. Perhaps we might take a sharp knife and trim away the ragged parts, making a smooth edge to join up to.”

  “I do not see why this could not be done. Provided that we do not become over-zealous in the trimming.”

  Edison and Anton looked at each other and smiled. They both began waddling around the room, imitating no-neck corpses whose hands grew straight out from their shoulders. They collapsed into giggling fits.

  “I am fairly certain we are both on the brink of insanity,” Anton said.

  “Were you any good at needlepoint?” Edison asked.

  “I excelled at everything,” Anton said. He picked up a needle and a spool of thick black thread. “How does one attach the needle to the thread?” he asked.

  “You know,” Anton said, as they sat in the flickering light of the candles, sewing the limbs back onto the corpse. “I feel as though we ought to raise her up into the sky and harness the energy of the lightning, so that the spark of life returns to her flesh.”

  “And why do you feel that?”

  “I am not sure. But imagine Grimwade’s face when she walked in, large as life!”

  “Larger!”

  There was a knock at the door. Grimwade moved to answer it. It was the appointed hour: on the other side of the door would be a messenger, with news that his beloved wife’s body had been discovered on the outskirts of town. The hunchback allowed himself a slight pause and smiled broadly, then adopted the expression of worried husband and wrenched the door open.

  Grimwade gaped.

  Griselda was wearing the clothes Grimwade had delivered to the inn earlier. Her eyes were open and her face was flushed with colour.

  “Grisly!” The colour drained from the hunchback’s face, as Griselda shifted her position, seeming to stare straight at him. One of the house maids entered the hallway, having heard the knock at the door.

  Griselda rocked forward on her toes. Once. Twice. Then fell forwards onto her face in the hallway.

  The house maid let out a startled shriek.

  Grimwade let out a sigh of relief.

  “Do not stand there blubbing,” Grimwade shouted, a quite convincing sob catching in his throat. “My wife is lying dead on her face. Fetch help to bring her in and lay her out with dignity.”

  The maid hurried away and returned moments later with two burly male servants. The men squatted on either side of their dead mistress and slid their hands under her, ready to lift.

  “She does not smell so good,” one whispered.

  “She never did,” replied the other.

  “Grab her arm!” Grimwade urged suddenly, as her bulk shifted.

  There was the sound of stitching ripping.

  “What is it? What is going on?” Grimwade asked.

  “Her arm has come off.” The servant’s face was white as he looked down at what he held.

   

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Grimwade paced to and fro, chewing at a thumb nail.

  Distracted, the undertaker looked up. “Is something wrong, sir?”

  Grimwade shook his head, and waved the man away. He was clearly agitated.

  The undertaker shrugged and returned his attention to the measuring of Griselda’s body, which was laid out on an old table in a cool back room in Grimwade’s house.

  “It will be an expensive casket, sir. It will require a large amount of good quality material to fashion it. And then there are the fittings, and the lining, and the shroud...”

  “Do not reduce this to a matter pounds, shillings and pence: the cost of the coffin is of no concern; all I want is to provide a dignified and tasteful burial for my wife. She deserves that at least, given the indignities she has suffered in life; and indeed in death.”

  The undertaker smiled to himself. “My apologies, sir. But I did not wish to seem to be trying to profit unduly from your bereavement.”

  “The gods forbid that you should ever be accused of such a thing,” Grimwade muttered.

  The undertaker frowned: he wasn’t very good at detecting sarcasm. “Sir?”

  “No matter. Just get her nailed in a box as soon as possible, she is beginning to stink the place up.”

  “You will not want the casket open to allow the relatives a viewing?”

  “Who would want to look at that? They did not like to look upon her when she was alive. They are unlikely to find her any more pleasant a sight now she is dead and decaying.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Grimwade was concerned with more than the logistics of Griselda’s interment. He wanted it achieved quickly, before anyone had chance to closely observe the body, and before any of Griselda’s family learned of her death and ordered the burial delayed until their arrival. While he was satisfied that he himself could maintain his innocence throughout any subsequent questioning by members of the family, he was concerned as to whether Edison and Anton would remain equally stolid. Might they not be induced into revealing the truth, either by monies or agonies? He paced the carpet and spat little pieces of fingernail about the place.

  “Well, that’s me about finished. When would you like to view designs and samples at my premises?” the undertaker asked.

  “I do not need to see samples, I know what wood look
s like.”

  “But sir, you will wish to select a casket of appropriate design to contain the mortal remains of your... lovely wife?”

  “Your most expensive coffin is a large and ornate affair, with brass-work and inlaid veneer and other trimmings that make it look like an over-decorated birthday cake, am I correct?” Grimwade asked.

  “Well, sir, I would not describe it in such terms...”

  “But it is hideously ornate and hideously expensive?”

  “Well, I...”

  “What I want to buy from you, to house Grisly’s grisly remains, is your most expensive coffin. I want it to be obvious to everyone that I have spent a large amount of money on this funeral. I want them to think that I loved my wife so greatly, that only the most expensive casket was suitable to house her. Do you understand me?”

  Grimwade had spoken the magical words which freed the undertaker’s smile. He quickly recovered and presented Grimwade with his most solemn expression.

  “I understand perfectly. I assure you that you will not be disappointed in us.”

  Grimwade ushered him towards the front door. “I am sure that I won’t be. But you must understand: I am eager to have her in the ground. Any additional charge that you might need to make to ensure this matter achieves the swiftest attention will, of course, be paid.”

  The undertaker could not help himself. He grinned broadly. “Of course, sir. I will leave you now and get straight to it. And may I say what a pleasure it is to do business with... er... to meet a gentleman of such obvious good taste and with such devotion to your grisly wife, er, that is, your wife Griselda.”

  Grimwade closed the door on the undertaker and leaned back against it. He sighed heavily. Then he smiled, and headed for the cellar stairs.

  Gosling bent and poked the sharp end of the knife into the lock of the ankle manacle and twisted it, probing gently. He had already bent the knife during previous attempts, but this time the mechanism gave and the manacle sprang open.

  Grimwade entered, twirling the key ring on his finger.