The Miscreant

by Brock Deskins

  “Anyway, the view was beautiful, but when I told Garran I needed to get home before my father saw I was gone and got worried, he grabbed me and pinned me to the ground. His breath reeked of alcohol.”

  “It always reeks of alcohol! That’s not evidence!”

  “It is evidence of your wickedness and delinquency!” Larkin shouted.

  “I would like to call back the dictionary so the council can also look up redundant.”

  “Your sentence is going to be redundant!”

  “Could someone bookmark the page with impartiality on it? I think the pastor might need to refer to it often.”

  “I am going to refer my gavel to your thick skull if you do not be still! Go on, Miss Alessi.”

  Claire’s eyes became watery and tears streamed down her face as she sobbed and choked out, “Then he tore at my clothes and…and…”

  “We do not need the details, child.”

  Garran said, “I’d like to hear them, particularly the part where she begged me for more as I brought her into the throes of ecstasy.”

  “As if you could!” Claire screeched.

  “You little bastard!” her father shouted as he lunged at Garran.

  Pastor Larkin banged his gavel on the table, and it took several men to keep Butch from throttling Garran. It took a full two minutes to restore order.

  “Mayor Alessi, are you ready to give your testimony?” Pastor Larkin asked.

  Butch glared hatefully at Garran, his eyes little more than slits, and his lip twitched in unsatisfied anger. “I am.”

  “Start with when you discovered your daughter was not at home.”

  “I discovered Claire was not in the house. She’s a good girl, and I immediately assumed something untoward had happened, so I rounded up a few of my neighbors to help me look for her. We were in the woods to the north of town when I heard her shout.”

  “Did she sound distressed?”

  “Yes, she called out for help.”

  Garran quipped, “If you had been a few minutes earlier you would have heard her calling out to God.”

  “You sonofabitch!”

  It took the entire front row of spectators piling onto the infuriated mayor to keep him from reaching Garran’s throat. Even so, Butch managed to crawl halfway out of the mound of bodies and grabbed Garran by the ankle. Garran used his free foot to stomp at his hands and landed a few kicks to the top of his head.

  It took nearly five minutes to regain control. Butch was covered in sweat from his exertions, and several fresh bruises dotted his face and balding head. Pastor Larkin ordered a few men to stand as bailiffs between Butch and Garran to prevent further violent outbreaks.

  “What happened when you and your friends found your daughter?”

  “We saw Claire sitting in the clearing.”

  “What was the state of her clothing?”

  “Her blouse was torn.”

  “Did you see anyone with her?”

  Butch pointed at Garran. “I saw that animal. He ran the moment he saw us, naked as the day he was born. That proves his guilt!”

  “I ran because you and your goons were going to kick the crap out of me, which you did!”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t string you from a tree then and there!”

  “Because you know what your daughter really is, and that would have made you a murderer.”

  “Are you accusing my daughter of immoral ways?” Butch asked, his voice low and threatening.

  “I’m saying she’s been tapped more than a maple grove during sap harvest.”

  Butch released a strangled cry and lunged, but the wall of men between him and Garran thankfully brought him to a halt. Thinking he was safe, Garran failed to see the gavel flung by the pastor. The wooden mallet struck him in the forehead and knocked him from his chair.

  “I warned you!” Pastor Larkin shouted.

  Garran clapped a hand over his bleeding wound. “Ow, shit, right in my stitches!”

  Thinking it was either part of the trial or simply taking advantage of the situation, Dwight hurled an empty flask at him and narrowly missed his head. Garran snatched up the gavel lying next to his knee, threw it at Dwight, and hit him square on the nose. Dwight’s eyes crossed as his nose swelled to twice its normal size and began pouring blood.

  Nina lurched to her feet, reeled back her handbag, and charged at her son. Garran hooked his chair with his foot and slung it into her path. She caught the chairback across her thighs and tipped forward over the seat, her ruffled dress inverting and cascading over her head.

  Bereft of his gavel, Pastor Larkin pounded on the table with his shoe in an attempt to restore order. It eventually took the bailiffs to separate the combatants and hold them apart before calm was finally restored.

  Pastor Larkin’s face was flushed, and sweat plastered his thinning, gray hair to his forehead. “Mr. Holt, I will give you one opportunity to give testimony in your defense. I warn you, if you intentionally become provocative and incite further disruption, I will adjourn this council and render a verdict. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Garran replied as he pressed a wadded cloth to his wound.

  “Good, please tell us your account of the events.”

  “Claire and I had agreed to meet that night in the woods. She was waiting for me when I arrived.”

  “Had you and she had similar…liaisons before?”

  “Yes, about a week prior.”

  “Liar!” Claire shouted.

  Pastor Larkin tapped his shoe heel on the table. “Miss Alessi, you said your piece. I will give you the opportunity to challenge his or his witnesses’ statements later. Proceed, Mr. Holt.”

  “We engaged in a mutual amorous exchange.” Garran looked at his stepfather who was pressing a handkerchief to his nose. “That means I plowed her field, Dwight, since you looked confused.”

  Dwight glared and looked around as if in search of another bottle to throw, and Pastor Larkin banged his shoe on the desk. “Mr. Holt, you walk a thin line.”

  “Sorry. Claire became upset and told me I was not going to ruin her engagement. When she heard her father call out, she tore her shirt and cried for help. Knowing they would beat me regardless of whether or not they believed our tryst to be consensual, I ran.”

  “Why did she become upset?”

  “She was afraid I may have knocked her up.” Garran looked at Mayor Alessi. “Wouldn’t you feel like a real shit heel if you had to explain to your grandson how you killed his father?”

  “No daughter of mine will ever birth a spawn of yours! I’d drown it first!”

  “I’m not much for church, but I’m pretty sure God frowns on that sort of thing. I think you and Pastor Larkin might want to have a long talk before you condemn yourself to hell.”

  The pastor looked at Butch intently. “I am certain the mayor is just upset and would not commit such an unforgivable sin should such a conception come to pass. Do you have any evidence to support your defense or discredit your accuser’s accusations?”

  “Yes, I do.” Garran looked to the back of the town hall. “Matt, did you find anyone?”

  Matt stood up. “I found three who were willing to talk, but I’m pretty suspicious of a couple of others.”

  Claire turned and saw the three young men standing near the back next to Matt. “Lies, they are his friends and are just trying to protect him!”

  Garran wagged his head and gave Claire a disdainful look. “Claire, really, Curtis? He has the mind of a child.”

  Matt grinned and shouted, “Yeah, but he’s got the dong of a horse!”

  Pastor Larkin rapped on the table. “Mathew Bodine, you will conduct yourself better!”

  “What? I’m just saying he should affix a wheel to that thing to give his back a rest.”

  Curtis grinned idiotically, the hall erupted in laughter, and the pastor pounded his desk as if he were nailing it back together.

  “Regardless of whether or not these assertions are true, th
ey do not prove your activities were consensual, so I see no need to have them testify. Do you have any other evidence that will prove beyond doubt that yours was a mutual relationship?”

  Garran looked at Claire. “Claire, since you did so many nice things for me, especially to my penis, I’m going to give you one last chance to withdraw your accusation and admit the truth.” Claire crossed her arms and looked away. “So be it.” Garran pulled out the note Claire had written him. “Pastor Larkin, would you please give this to Mayor Alessi to verify it is written in Claire’s hand?”

  The pastor motioned to one of his “bailiffs” to pass the note to Butch. The mayor took the scrip and studied the writing, his face reddening to ever-darker shades with every word.

  “Mr. Mayor, is that your daughter’s handwriting?” Pastor Larkin asked.

  Butch swallowed several times and worked his jaw, but he could only nod as the words refused to leave his constricted throat.

  Garran asked, “Would you please read it aloud for the council?”

  Butch pinched the paper between his thumbs and index fingers and made to shred it. “Like hell I will!”

  “Mayor, destroying evidence is a punishable crime!” Garran warned.

  “I’ll rot in jail before I let anyone see these words!”

  Butch tore the small sheet into fours, shoved it into his mouth, and started chewing. Three bailiffs took ahold of him. One tried to retrieve the paper and nearly lost a finger for his efforts.

  “Mr. Mayor!” Pastor Larkin shouted and drummed on the table.

  “That’s all right, Pastor,” Garran said, “I have it memorized. The letter reads: My dearest Garran, last night was amazing. When you used your mouth on me, I thought I was going to die. If you are the devil, then I am ready to denounce God if you would…”

  Claire stood and shouted. “I withdraw my accusation!”

  Garran played his eyes across the assembled crowd. “Hear that, ladies? Ready to denounce God for some of this.”

  “That is enough out of everyone!” the pastor shouted. “In light of the mayor’s actions and Miss Alessi’s recanting, it is the judgment of this council that all charges be dismissed against Garran Holt.” He turned to Claire. “Miss Alessi, levying false accusations, particularly of this magnitude, is a very serious offense. Mr. Holt would be within his right to lay charges against you for which you could face severe punishment. I hope Mr. Holt agrees with me that the humiliation you suffered today is sufficient to teach you never to do such a thing again.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Garran answered.

  He had had enough of the council hall and was ready to enjoy his freedom. Besides, Claire was unlikely to face any sort of real punishment. Garran picked Ada out from the crowd, met her eyes, and returned her smile. Besides, he had better things to do with his time and did not need the distraction, but first he would write up a consent contract. He might be an idiot, but he was no fool.

  CHAPTER 5

  If Garran thought his ordeal was over, he was quickly disabused of such a notion. Dwight and two of his friends waited for him outside and grabbed him by each arm when he stepped from the town hall building. Two more pushed Matt away.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Garran demanded.

  “You’re going back to your room, and this time you’re going to stay there until I let you out,” Dwight answered.

  “The hell I am!”

  Garran lashed out with a foot and kicked the man holding onto his right arm in the crotch. The struck man cursed and stumbled, but he did not release his grip. With several shouts of profanity, they forced Garran facedown into the street and twisted his arms behind his back.

  “You’re going to do as you’re told, boy! For once in your life, someone is holding you accountable for your actions.”

  “You can’t do this! I didn’t do anything!”

  “You done plenty!” Nina shouted. “All your life I let you get away with running wild, making excuses for your behavior, and blaming it on not having a father.”

  “Maybe I would have had a father if you hadn’t latched onto the first floating piece of garbage to come along and save you from spinsterhood!”

  Dwight jerked his chin, and the men yanked Garran to his feet. “If he struggles, break his damn arms.”

  The men forced him to walk but stopped when Claire ran up and slapped Garran in the face. “I hope you burn in hell, Garran Holt!”

  “Damn it, I just got that to stop bleeding!”

  Garran’s captors forced him to move around Claire and frog-marched him to his home, up the stairs, and into his room. They shoved him forward hard enough to propel him to the middle of the room and secured the door. Dwight had installed a simple crossbar on the outside. There would be no escaping that way. Still, this was a bedroom, not a prison, despite their intentions. It should not take much effort to break free.

  Matt called up from below his window. “Garran, so what’s the deal?”

  “Dwight’s locked me up again and barred my door.”

  “Do you think this is what he was talking about not mattering what happened at your trial?”

  “I guess.”

  Garran heard a door slam open below, and Dwight burst out of the house. “Get out of here, you little rat!”

  “Screw you, Dwight, you don’t own me,” Matt challenged.

  Matt beat a hasty retreat when Dwight rushed at him with an axe handle. “If you come back, I’ll have a word with your father!” He glared up at Garran. “You’re not getting any help escaping this time, and if you do get out, I’ll break your damn ankles!”

  Garran responded by peeing out of the window and laughing uproariously as he chased Dwight back into the house with his stream of justice. As fun as that was, Garran needed to take Dwight’s threat seriously. If he did escape, there would be no coming back. It was quite possible he had finally burned the last of his rather flimsy bridges.

  Dwight pounded on his door with a heavy fist. “That just cost you a day of meals, you little shit!”

  “You can’t do that! There are laws, and I have rights!”

  “I’ll pass on your complaints to the mayor, but something tells me he’s not likely to be sympathetic to your plight.”

  Garran sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. “Well, this sucks.”

  ***

  Boredom was worse than any torture Garran could imagine. Dwight quickly learned to use the kitchen door during his comings and goings to avoid being bombarded with whatever Garran could fit through the bars covering his window. Matt came by occasionally, usually after dark. Dwight had made good on his promise to tell his father to keep his son away from the house. After a week of incarceration, Garran finally decided it was time to make his escape.

  Fashioning a pry bar from a chair leg and the hinge from a chest, he worked several floorboards loose, pounded the nails flat, and set them back into place to prevent his mother from seeing them when she brought his food. He needed to wait until his mother left the house, which, unfortunately, was not often. Shortly after Nina brought him breakfast that morning, Garran saw her and Dwight walking away from the house toward the center of town. This was likely to be his best chance at escaping.

  He pulled up the loose floorboards and began kicking at the ceiling boards. The wooden slats grudgingly gave way beneath his pounding boot heel with the screeching of nails protesting their forced removal. He held his foot in check a few inches above the hole in his floor when he heard the kitchen door open and voices emanating from below. Garran gathered up the floorboards and put them back in place.

  The heavy crossbar clattered to the floor outside his room, and the door opened. Dwight and two of his drinking buddies stepped just inside the room. Garran could tell by the grin smeared across Dwight’s face that whatever his reason for coming, it did not bode well for him.

  “Let’s go, boy,” Dwight commanded.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’re going outside, and that’s a
ll you need to know.”

  Garran kept a wary eye on the three men as he stepped past them into the short hall atop the stairs leading to his room. If this was a trick and they jumped him, he had three nails hidden in his hand with the points poking up through his fingers. They might give him a beating, but he would do his damndest to take out some eyes in payment.

  Dwight and his retinue guided Garran toward the center of town, and his anxiety increased when he noted an unusually large gathering of people in the village square. His stomach lurched and sent bile coursing up to his throat when he saw the armed soldiers in the center of the gathering. Did the mayor and council lie about his exoneration regarding Claire and were sending him to prison? When they reached the town square, Dwight gave him a shove and propelled him toward the waiting soldiers.

  “Garran Holt?”

  The man who spoke was a grizzled veteran, given the scars on his hands, face, and likely numerous places concealed by clothing and armor. He was shorter than Garran was by a couple of inches but sported a bit more mass. His hair and beard were a ruddy hue streaked with gray. His creased face bespoke of a character that demanded discipline and was adept at receiving it.

  “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

  The man stepped closer. “My name is Cyril Godfrey. I am the commander of one of the king’s labor camps. Your parents have relinquished their custodial duties to me. You will work in the labor camp until you come of age where you will be given the option of leaving or continue working as a paid laborer.”

  “This is bullshit! I don’t want to work in your goddam labor camp!”

  “It is not up for discussion. Failure to follow the rules or attempt to escape is a criminal offense that can result in additional terms of indenture.”

  “This is slavery!”

  “We prefer the term vassalage.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you call it!” Garran spun to face Dwight and his mother. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s for your own good,” Nina said. “You won’t stay out of trouble, you don’t accept any punishment for wickedness, and you refuse to get along with Dwight.”

  “He’s an abusive drunk who enjoys beating us both, and your solution is to sell your son into slavery? You know what? You deserve each other. Do you think you’re going to have a nice happy home because I’m gone? I was the only thing keeping him from beating you worse than he does already.”