Ghastly Glass

by Joyce; Jim Lavene

  “I can’t believe something like this could happen here. I wish you’d seen who did it.”

  “Me, too.” He half smiled (a kind of yucky sight because of the blood all over his face). Then his already messed-up face contorted with fear. He held out one bloody hand and started yelling, “No! No!”

  All I could think of was that his attacker had returned and was standing right behind me. I pushed back hard with my legs, hoping to throw whoever it was off balance. My effort met a hard wall of human flesh. “Bart?” I craned my head around to see him standing there.

  He wiggled his fingers. “Hello, lady.”

  “Keep him away from me!” Roger yelled. “I’m not ready to die!”

  “He’s not really Death,” I tried to explain, but Roger was too frantic to listen. All he could see was the large figure with the scythe. Maybe he thought he was dying.

  Anyway, it was just as well when he passed out again. Bart offered to lift him, but I didn’t think that was a good idea. “He could have internal injuries. We have to leave him here until the paramedics come.”

  He nodded. “You think the same person who hurt him might have killed Ross? ”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  It only took a few more minutes for two security guards to arrive with paramedics. I was grateful to Bart for waiting. Being between the Squire’s Lane houses had never made me nervous before. Now I wasn’t sure if I’d ever cut through here again.

  Bart and I followed Roger’s stretcher into the spotty sunlight after I picked up my pile of clothes. A few drops of rain were coming down. The whole day seemed to be in bad shape. Maybe it would have been better if it rained and everyone went home. Maybe the Myrtle Beach police were right and the Village wasn’t safe anymore.

  “What’s that on your hands?” Bart looked at them. “Did you cut yourself?”

  I looked at the red all over my hands and arms. It was paint. “Wait!” I called out to the paramedics.

  They stopped for me, and I approached the stretcher and saw the red lettering on Roger’s chest. I hadn’t noticed it earlier because of the shadows between the houses. Now it was smudged from my efforts to make him comfortable, but it was still legible.

  “It says the same thing as all the rest of them,” Bart noticed. “Death shall find thee. But why is Roger alive? Ross is dead.”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”

  After that, Lilly Hamilton and her cameraman showed up and turned the whole thing into a media circus. Detective Almond appeared with two uniformed officers at his side. They questioned Bart and me separately while the rain began falling in earnest on the cobblestones. Visitors ran through the main gate or holed up in eating areas, hoping the downpour would pass. Residents watched as Roger was put in an ambulance, muttering to themselves about what was happening to the Village.

  “What about this black elf?” Detective Almond scratched his head as he read from his notes. “Where did he go?”

  “Black Dwarf,” I corrected. “I don’t know. I don’t think he could see Roger in the shadows.”

  “So you don’t think he was involved?”

  “Not really. He’s not even three feet tall. I don’t think he could do this much damage.”

  “You never know.” He checked his notes again. “You said he was going to see the king. Where would that be?”

  “The castle, of course. On a day like this, Livy and Harry aren’t going to promenade.”

  “Of course. How silly of me.” He shrugged and frowned. “If you people would just make sense out here, it would help a lot.”

  I didn’t feel like arguing with him about that. “Can I go now?”

  “Go on. If you see that boyfriend of yours, tell him I want to talk to him.”

  I didn’t have to, because just then Chase arrived with Lonnie and a few other security guards. Detective Almond beckoned and Chase followed him, with a worried backward glance at me.

  I tried to mouth that I was okay, but Chase isn’t a great lip-reader. I was already soaking wet and cold. The Monastery Bakery was packed with visitors, so I walked over to the Honey and Herb Shoppe next door.

  “My dear, come and sit down,” Mrs. Potts, the owner, said by way of welcome. “You look dreadful! Let me make you a nice cup of tea. I believe I have some borage here, maybe with a touch of chamomile. That will make you feel much better.”

  I always forget how nice Mrs. Potts is. She’s been here forever but isn’t as temperamental as some of the other shop owners. Today, she looked very grandmother-like in her white mobcap and starched white apron over a sky blue dress. She was fussing a little too much over me, but it made me feel safe and I welcomed it.

  “What happened out there?” She seated me at a little table by the window that looked out into her neat garden. I could see a real pumpkin growing there.

  I explained a little, not going into detail. Everyone would know everything soon enough. “I just can’t believe this could happen here.”

  “No, indeed.” She shook her head and put a few of her delicious honey cookies in front of me on a pretty lace napkin. “This is a respectable place. I think it’s time the bailiff makes sure everyone else realizes that as well.”

  “Not so respectable,” a woman dressed in non-Renaissance fashion stated. “My brother disappeared here two months ago. But no one seems to know what happened to him.”

  “This is Jeff Porter’s sister, Jennifer,” Mrs. Potts told me. “Jeff used to work with Chase.”

  “I remember.” I held my hand out to Jennifer. “I’m Jessie Morton. We’ve all wondered what happened to him.”

  My casual inquiry brought on a long bout of tears and the story of Jeff’s disappearance and everything she’d done to look for him. It sounded like a case for the police, but she scoffed at the notion.

  “I’ve tried everything. Police. Private detective. I’m reduced to hanging flyers all over the Grand Strand.” Jennifer handed me a flyer with a bad photo of Jeff on it. “He’s got to be somewhere.”

  “If I hear or see anything, I’ll let you know,” I promised, carefully folding the flyer and putting it into my belt pouch. “I have a brother, too. Jeff probably just forgot to call.”

  I asked Jennifer to join me for tea, but she was in a hurry to walk through the rest of the Village. Mrs. Potts sat beside me knitting as I drank my tea. Her marmalade cat, Jasper, sat at her feet. It was all so homey and sweet. Maybe that’s why I never spend much time here. I’ve always been a little darker than homey and sweet. But after the day’s events, it was comforting to be here.

  When Chase appeared in the street again, I tapped at the window and waved to him. The rain was still coursing down and he was as soaked as me. He didn’t waste any time coming inside where he enfolded me in his arms and lifted me right out of the chair.

  “Oh my!” Mrs. Potts exclaimed, leaving her chair and bustling into the kitchen. “I’d better put on more tea.”

  “I didn’t know what to think when I saw you,” Chase whispered. “Detective Almond told me what happened. Are you okay?”

  “I was fine until you squished me.” I buried my nose in his chest and realized that I was crying. “But that’s okay. Bones are overrated. Just hold me like this for a lot longer.”

  He obliged until we both felt better, and then he took a seat opposite me at the little table. “This can’t go on. If anything else happens, they’re going to shut us down. There has to be someway to find out who’s behind it.”

  The door to the shop opened and closed, but I didn’t pay attention until the floor creaked and groaned under Bart’s weight.

  Mrs. Potts came back in from the kitchen, kettle in hand, and said, “Oh dear! I never expected to see you here!”

  “Hello, lady. Can I sit down?”

  Handling it like the trooper she was, Mrs. Potts smiled. “Why, of course! I’m sure I have a chair here somewhere that will fit you. I think we’ll need more honey cookies, don’t you?”
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  So the three of us sat at the little table by the window. We were like big, dirty giants relaxing in a neat doll-house with Mrs. Potts scurrying around trying to make us comfortable.

  “These are good.” Bart ate the last six cookies. “But too small.”

  “I think I have an idea,” Chase said after a few minutes of brooding into his cup of tea. “I should’ve thought of it sooner, but I was hoping it would take care of itself.”

  “Whatever it is,” Bart said, “I want to help. You know that, don’t you?”

  Chase gulped down the rest of his tea and ate his honey cookies. “I do. And I’ll need all the help I can get. Come on. Let’s go.”

  “Could I get some of these cookies to go?” Bart asked Mrs. Potts.

  She blushed prettily. “I’m afraid you’ve eaten all I had. But I’ll be baking later if you want to come by in the morning for more.”

  Bart agreed, and I picked up what had been my clean, dry costume. “Portia and Beth are going to kill me. I’ll never get another costume again.”

  Chase summoned the heads of the guilds to meet at the castle that evening when the Village closed. It was almost unprecedented in the history of the Village to have all the guilds in one place at one time. For the most part, the guilds don’t really get along. Each one is sure it is better than the others and they all have secrets they jealously guard.

  But Chase said come and so they came. Master Archer Simmons, head of the Weapons Guild, walked into the castle joking with Da Vinci, the head of the Artist Guild. Harpist Susan Halifax, head of the Musician Guild, kept a wide berth between her and Da Vinci. Robin Hood, head of the Forest Guild, walked in with several of his Merry Men, but the extras were turned away at the door by Gus Fletcher. After all, the meeting was for the heads of the guilds only.

  When the room was full with members from all of the guilds, the Brotherhood of the Sheaf, the pirates, and the nobility, Chase got their attention and settled them down fairly quickly. “I brought you all together because we have one last chance to keep Renaissance Village open. As of today and the attack on Roger Trent, the Myrtle Beach police have said that any additional incident will cause the town council to shut us down.”

  Immediately, worried conversation broke out among guild members who usually never spoke to those outside their own groups. Many of them didn’t even know Roger had been assaulted. As the story buzzed around the room, tempers rose and words became heated.

  “If you let the Weapons Guild members patrol the streets, ready to do battle, we can take care of this,” Master Archer Simmons promised.

  “If we let you patrol the streets, we might as well all live somewhere else,” Little Bo Peep, head of the Entertainment Guild, retorted.

  A lot of people agreed with her. Robin Hood laughed at the idea. “If they patrol, then so do my Merry Men. It’s only fair.”

  Everyone seemed to agree with that statement. I stood in the midst of the crowd, not my rightful place since I didn’t head any guild and wasn’t even a permanent resident. I guessed everyone knew Chase and I were together and just accepted me there.

  Still, I wouldn’t have been there at all except that Chase had placed me and Lonnie in the crowd to hear what was being said. I wasn’t sure whether he suspected someone from the Village of the attacks or if he just wanted to hear the crowd gossip.

  “Exactly!” Chase yelled out over the bickering crowd. They all grew silent at the sound of his voice. “We’re going to have to work together to keep the Village open. I need everyone’s eyes and ears open in the next few days. I don’t care if all of the guilds patrol the streets so long as commerce continues and our visitors keep coming.”

  Lord Dunstable came up to stand beside Chase. “As duly appointed representative of the nobility, including their Royal Highnesses King Harold and Queen Olivia, I am here to say that we back the bailiff’s plan to keep the Village open. We offer our assistance with the help of our knights and lords and ladies. They will do what they can to flush out the knave who is responsible for these acts of atrocity.”

  “Hey!” the head of the Knave, Varlet, and Madman Guild protested. “It wasn’t one of us!”

  Lord Dunstable cleared his throat and apologized. “I did not mean to imply anything by that, my good sir. Perhaps a rephrasing of my words is in order.”

  “Don’t go through all that again, please!” Merlin, head of the Magical Creature Guild, implored him. “I think we’ve got the idea.”

  The crowd turned to him, a bony old man in his sorcerer’s robes.

  “Why doesn’t the Village hire more security?” Hans Von Rupp (Debby’s blacksmith boyfriend) of the Craft Guild asked. “Why do we have to protect ourselves?”

  Merlin started to answer, but Chase took over again. “Because we need people who know the Village. Detective Almond is already planning to send in several plainclothes police officers. The problem, besides them not knowing what to wear, is that they don’t know their way around. We need each other to make this work.”

  Everyone laughed, recalling other times the police had tried to dress officers to blend in with the Renaissance theme. Their efforts had ranged from 1920s gangsters to Roman soldiers and everything in between. What Chase said was true and we all knew it.

  “We’ll do our part,” Robin promised.

  “Without lifting all the toaster ovens in the Village, I trust?” Brother John, head of the Brotherhood of the Sheaf, interjected.

  Robin grinned (not a good start). “Of course not! You can trust us, Brother Monk.”

  “We’ll all help, Chase,” the head of the Musician Guild vowed.

  It was a remarkable moment, something that would live in history. All the guilds agreeing on something was unbelievable. I guessed with their livelihood on the line, they could all find something they had in common. The Village made money for these people. No one wanted to be out in the cold on the Strand plying their wares alone again.

  “All right! That’s what I wanted to hear!” Chase pushed his fist into the air in that time-honored salute of triumph. “We’ll start tonight with the biggest guilds who can spare a few members to patrol while the Village is closed. There won’t be any visitors to work around, so a few should do.”

  “But no one has been hurt at night,” Hephaestus of the Food Guild remarked. “Why not wait until tomorrow?”

  “Because that person is out there. Writing on the walls is just part of the problem. It seems to be part of a larger pattern. Maybe if we can stop it, we can stop the violence, too,” Chase explained.

  “What about that snoopy reporter, Lilly Hamilton?” Little Bo Peep demanded.

  “I’d be glad to take care of that problem,” Grigg said with a grin.

  “Who are you representing?” Lord Dunstable asked him.

  “I’m representing the pirates,” Grigg told him with a glance at me. “Our Pirate King had an unfortunate accident this afternoon. He was unable to attend.”

  “No one needs to do anything with Lilly Hamilton,” Chase said to a chorus of guffaws that implied most of the men thought Chase wanted to do what they wanted to do.

  “Yeah, Bailiff,” the head of the Knave, Varlet, and Madman Guild said. “Like we aren’t all thinking what you’re thinking.”

  Chase glanced at me, a little red spot on each of his cheeks. He settled the crowd down again and got everyone in line with the plan to protect the Village.

  Was he really thinking about hitting on Lilly Hamilton? I couldn’t believe it, but I also couldn’t explain that guilty look or that unusual flush. Of all people! Lilly Hamilton! What could he possibly see in her? The fairies threw themselves at him all the time. Lady Godiva actually removed her bodysuit and rode naked to the dungeon to impress him two years ago. But no! Chase wanted that stupid ex-weathergirl turned Myrtle Beach Katie Couric wannabe. I missed the tail end of the meeting dwelling on it.

  “So did you guys hear anything besides what everyone was yelling?” Chase asked me and Lonnie after the gui
ld heads were gone.

  Lonnie shrugged and scratched his little rat face. “No, boss. I didn’t hear anything except what you heard.”

  I couldn’t say what I’d seen and heard. I mumbled something similar to what Lonnie had said, all the while looking at Chase’s handsome face and wondering where I went wrong. My grandma always said to be careful of the pretty boys. Chase qualified for that. Certainly all the women in the Village wanted him. He could’ve swatted them away as they were thick as flies.

  But instead, he wanted Lilly Hamilton.

  I was almost too depressed to care about what happened to the Village. Lonnie picked up some plastic-wrapped food and headed back toward the dungeon. Chase and I took the long way around, past Baron’s, Lady Cathy’s Crochet, and Bawdy Betty’s.

  “I was thinking maybe I should stay at the dungeon tonight and you stay with Debby just to be safe,” he said to me.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  The moonlight gilded the Village around us. Crews had cleaned up the spiderwebs (big mistake), leaving the buildings looking mostly normal. The lights in the pumpkins still burned at the entrances to each house and shop, but someone had apparently turned off the bats and werewolf soundtrack. It would be easy to believe we had been transported into a real Renaissance village.

  “Wrong? What gives you that idea?” I sure wasn’t going to talk about it. If Chase wanted Lilly Hamilton, she was welcome to him.

  There was something going on between Fractured Fairy Tales and the Romeo and Juliet Pavilion. Two men were digging what looked like several holes. Beside them were tombstones. That was just what we needed right now. A graveyard would make everyone feel so much better.

  “You’re upset about Roger,” Chase guessed.

  Hit the buzzer! Could he be any more wrong? “Yeah. That’s it.”

  We stopped walking only a short distance from the new cemetery. Chase stood in front of me and refused to budge. Every time I tried to walk around him, he got in my way. He’s not exactly a mountain (or even as big as Bart), but I couldn’t get around him. “What?”