Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater

by Brent Michael Kelley

  Their loud, slurring voices turned to yelps of pain as the young redhead punched them both in their stomachs. They hunched over, wailing and holding their guts, then shoved their way to the door and disappeared into the night.

  "I'm Fey Voletta." The young woman held out her hand.

  She had some sort of darkish fluid on her hand, but in the dim bar light, he couldn't tell what it was. He gave her a sloppy, oafish handshake.

  "Ray Fervetta, it's nice to meet you. I'd love to stay and chat, but about now bed-ways is best-ways." Chuggie smiled, tipped an invisible hat brim, and stumbled past her.

  He lurched up to the bar. "Baker, my friend, is this a good place to rent a room?"

  Baker grinned. "Twenty bucks an hour."

  "I'm not talkin' about a bonin' room," Chuggie said. "I'm talkin' about a sleepin' room."

  The bartender laughed. "We have those, too, if sleeping is what you really want to do. Sixty a night."

  Chuggie chuckled and shook his head. "I think I'll be heading to my room now."

  "Yes sir," Baker said as he stepped from behind the bar and opened a door.

  Chuggie plodded down a poorly lit staircase. The rough-sawn stairs creaked with each step. The basement was eerie in its dark, empty silence. If he had to leave in the night, he could be in trouble.

  The bare cement of the floor glistened with moisture. He lurched from side to side, bouncing off cracked plaster walls until he arrived at a door with a yellow number '12' painted upon it in.

  "This is it," Baker pointed.

  Chuggie shoved the key into the lock.

  The small, dank room stunk like a wet dog, but at least there were no damnable windows. The glassy bastards always seemed to let the sun in hours earlier than necessary. Chuggie splashed onto the bed. It smelled of dust and mold, but that didn't bother him in the least. It had been a very long time since he'd had a real bed under his back.

  The last clomping footsteps left the bar above as Chuggie watched the ceiling spin. Lying on his back, he grabbed the edge of the bed to keep from falling off. He did his best to enjoy the ride.

  As the room slowly grew drier and drier around him, Chuggie drifted ever closer to sleep. Questions stampeded through his mind like a herd of goats on fire. He tried to ponder them, one by one, but somnias, mischievous little slumber-sprites, danced behind his eyelids and pulled him down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Pounding, pounding. Horrible, hell-born noise hammered at Chuggie's head as he fought to stay asleep. What vile sound chiseled at his dreams? Had the gathered demons of every hell massed upon his brow?

  "Are you in there, sir?" a distinctly human voice called from the other side of waking.

  "No!" Chuggie rasped. His voice answered on its own. "There's nobody here!"

  "There is a Steel Jack waiting for you upstairs." Baker's voice sounded even more agitated than it normally did.

  Chuggie groaned. He sat up squinting at the door. "What does it want?"

  "Mr. Non says he'd like to help you. He says he is at your disposal. I'd like to strongly encourage you come upstairs and meet with him?"

  Chuggie shuffled over to the door and pulled it open. With one eye squeezed shut, he glared at Baker. The man twitched and fidgeted so fiercely, Chuggie was amazed he hadn't come out of his shoes.

  "How do I get you to go away?" he grumbled.

  "I'm honestly more concerned with how I get the Steel Jack to go away. He wants you to go upstairs and see him. Please, please, go and see him." Baker no longer wore his bar-sign collar, but he rubbed nervously where it had been. His gaunt face spoke of no sleep, little food, and plentiful paranoia.

  Chuggie buried his face in his hands. With a gesture, he could tear the water from Baker's body. That would put the poor bastard out of his misery. And if he were a thirteen pound dried-out husk, Chuggie could get some sleep. Of course, Chuggie would likely lose control and wipe out the entire city. He sighed, and instead of committing mass murder, he gathered his things and followed Baker down the hall.

  "You folks ought to clean these rooms. Enough mold down here to choke a fuggin' goat," he said as he climbed the rickety stairs.

  "Yeah, I know," Baker said. He opened the door to the bar and held it for Chuggie.

  Chuggie squinted into the bright daylight streaming into the dilapidated drinking hall. A nice tavern was a thing of beauty. No one should ever lay eyes on a good one in the daylight. Sucks all the magic right out of it. Before Chuggie took in too many of the bar's shabby features, a large metal hand clamped down on his shoulder.

  "Ah, Norchug Mot Losiat! It is so nice to meet you at last," buzzed the voice of a Steel Jack. "I am Non."

  "Hello there, Non," Chuggie said. "Baker here tells me you've got something you want to see me about. Mighty early in the morning for socializing, if you ask me."

  Baker scurried to the far end of the bar and found a glass that needed a polish. His eyes darted from the Steel Jack to the front door.

  Chuggie took a seat. The Steel Jack, being much too big and heavy for a stool, lowered himself to a kind of squat. Non's alien legs bent in two different places, and he held himself motionless. It wasn't as though Steel Jacks had muscles that would tire.

  "You are a unique individual, Mr. Mot Losiat, and we Steel Jacks would like to accommodate you in any way possible." Non's friendly act was as transparent as it was untimely. Chuggie's sorry ass should have still been in bed.

  "How'd you know I was here?" Chuggie's eyes wandered over to the beer tap.

  "Don't you recognize me? I opened the city gate for you last night," buzzed Non.

  "Guess you all kinda look alike," Chuggie said. "Baker, I'll have a pitcher of your best, long as I'm here." Chuggie let his bag fall to the floor and began fidgeting with his pipe.

  Baker's shoulders slumped, and he looked like he might cry. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He began filling a pitcher with none of last night's enthusiasm.

  "How'd you know I was at this particular inn?" Chuggie loaded his pipe up and dug around in his pocket for a match.

  "We heard report of a stranger in an altercation with a local last night," Non said. "Our representative came to investigate and identified you."

  Since the Steel Jacks provided law enforcement, nobody would want to go admitting to any wrongdoing in their presence. That could get a guy locked up. "No, no. Hardly call that brawling. Just some pals rough-housin'. In any case, that shit-pile came at me. I gave 'im a little tap, sure, but he hit the floor like he'd been hit by a fuggin' cannon."

  "You broke his jaw," said Non.

  "Thought I got the nose, too." Chuggie waved at the bartender. "Yeah, bring that right on down. I'm useless until I had my breakfast."

  "I am sure he had it coming," Non buzzed.

  "S'pose some might make that argument, yeah. Hey, Baker. That guy deserve what he got last night, or what?"

  Baker's hands shook so much that beer sloshed over the side of the pitcher. He set it down and shrugged, apparently wanting to stay out of the conversation.

  "Got a match?" Chuggie leaned over the bar with his pipe.

  Baker fumbled around behind the bar.

  Non reached out with one of the little hands coming from his neck. A small jet of flame sparked between two metal talons. He lit Chuggie's pipe and put the small hand back over his head.

  "What brings you to Stagwater, my friend?" Non asked.

  "I was headin' east. I have a tiny bit of business to handle, then I'll be on my way." Chuggie lifted up his pitcher and drank it down. Delicious. The only thing better than beer in the morning was beer in the evening. And beer in the afternoon. Chuggie burped. "In fact, I ought to be on my way already. Time's wasting."

  "What can we help you with?" Non asked.

  "Not one single thing." His better judgment told him not to involve a Steel Jack in his personal business.

  "Nothing at all?" Non leaned forward and placed his metal hand on Chuggie's sh
oulder.

  Chuggie pondered the metal-encased creature for a moment. He glanced down at the hand on his shoulder that kept him from getting up. Maybe he was missing an opportunity here. "All right, you wanna help so bad? Get me a meeting with this guy they call Haste. Can you do that, tin can?"

  Non spread the little hands by his neck in a strange bug-like expression of mock surprise. "Why, what a coincidence. I was just going to see the Chief Magistrate right now!"

  Chuggie narrowed his eyes and studied the Steel Jack. "That is a mighty strange coincidence." Chuggie said.

  "Strange but true." Non buzzed and hummed as he laughed his odd mechanical laugh. "Allow me to escort you."

  Chuggie overpaid for his drink and hoisted up his bag. An expression of profound relief washed over Baker's face. Chuggie wondered if the man might have wet himself.

  With a nod to the bartender, he followed Non's clomping steps out the door.

  Chuggie'd have to be on his guard. A Steel Jack would act like his best friend, but only to distract him from their agenda. Every deal had fine print, and Steel Jack fine print, for some reason, gave Chuggie chills.

  Rubbing his eyes, he stepped out into the blinding sunshine. Chuggie had yet to see Stagwater in daylight. Before he could open his eyes to take a gander, Non opened the door to his sleek black carriage. Chuggie hacked and spat into the gutter. The streets were abuzz with people shuffling to their jobs, but none cast more than a glance at Chuggie or Non. Chuggie tossed his bag into the vehicle and climbed in behind.

  Chuggie sat on the glossy metal bench-seat facing Non as the coach sailed up the lane. Basically an elongated, gloss-black bubble, the thing moved down the street unobstructed. No driver sat atop or inside the coach. Somehow, Non drove the thing without using his hands. The Steel Jack didn't even look forward. But creatures of pure energy didn't have eyes,Se so that explained that. The eye-slots in their metal suits just existed to help put humans at ease.

  As the coach rolled on, Chuggie scowled out the darkened window. Being in debt to a Steel Jack appealed to him about as much as having his eyes chewed out by horny rats. Being coerced into anything — even a ride down the street — made him feel like someone was slipping a collar around his neck. There was always a catch. Nobody gave out favors for free, especially not Steel Jacks.

  "Right. What the hell do you gain in settin' up this sit down?" Chuggie said. He didn't expect an honest answer.

  "I hope you will think of Steel Jacks as your allies in the future. That is all."

  Chuggie leaned forward. "Don't think I'm climbing up in your pocket. I won't be around long enough to go into debt."

  "My friend," Non buzzed, "You owe me nothing."

  "Then let's just get to this meeting. I've already been off the road too long."

  He suspected Non was taking him the long way as the coach wound through the streets, lined on each side with dirty shacks and hovels. Children played on rickety roofs or rummaged through piles of trash. Teenagers, dressed in faded rags, delivered carts of firewood. Awnings, fashioned from old scraps of circus tent, flapped over the windows. Shoppers haggled with fruit vendors, who pushed carts loaded with shriveled melons and baskets of rotten apples.

  Carnietown ended next to a line of small factories. When the coach crossed the boulevard, Chuggie craned his neck to look up at the tall thin houses.

  "Rather than expand outward, Stagwater has grown upward," Non said.

  The homes seemed to be a step up from the shacks of Carnietown, but the people looked just as downtrodden. Children chased dogs up and down the alleys. Old men sat on rugs, smoking from strange contraptions. Women huddled together on porches and balconies, talking about the devil-knows-what. None of them gave Non's coach more than a glance.

  Chuggie lit up his boar tusk pipe. He watched the city go by and blew smoke at Non. Steel Jacks didn't breathe, but he hoped the gesture would at least irritate Non's metal joints.

  The Steel Jack prattled on, pointing out slaughterhouses and small factories. Chuggie ignored Non as best he could. He tried to focus his foggy mind on the tasks at hand. Shola, all for Shola. He closed his eyes and held the rope of hair to his nose again. With a bit of luck, soon he'd return to her with the goat-face purse.

  As they arrived at the town square, Non said, "On your right is the Steel Jack headquarters, should you ever require my assistance."

  "Thanks," Chuggie said. "I'm dyin' to put that knowledge to work for me."

  The coach crossed the square to a building kitty-corner from the Steel Jack barracks. As they approached the riverside, Chuggie's attention focused on the heavy-timbered bridge. It seemed odd that the busy city's signature feat of engineering should be empty of people.

  "This building here," Non pointed to the building nearest the bridge, "houses the Magisterial Council." The coach stopped. The façade of the magisterial building shone bright white in the morning sun, with glinting gold trim and burgundy banners.

  "So what now? Just walk up and announce myself? These are the very same folk tried to kill me."

  "They are expecting me, but they will be getting you too. Don't worry." Non buzzed and hummed so hard his metal vibrated. He sure found something amusing. Chuggie opened the door of the Steel Jack's coach and climbed out. Non followed close behind.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Kale walked down the hall to Haste's office. His step was as heavy and plodding as an ox pulling a siege wagon.

  Already this day had started out wrong. The wretched child in his house had woken up in the night and wanted food. He'd left a blob of spilled jelly and a mound of bread and cheese on the pristine mahogany table, and decorated Kale's walls with jellied fingerprints. Then the child had removed his urine-soaked trousers and left them in a ball on the carpet — the hand-loomed carpet from faraway Seacastle. And if that wasn't enough, the brat had decided to see what he could discover in every drawer of the sitting room. Who knows what he had destroyed.

  Kale balled his fist up. He swung at the bust of a mermaid protruding from the wall. He stopped himself inches before he smashed his fist into her porcelain nose.

  His morning didn't get any better when he met Jaron and Dan on the bridge. Not only had the morons botched their simple task, they had led their intended victim into the heart of the city. There, the drunk apparently vanished into air as thin as Kale's patience. Sometimes it felt like he was completely surrounded by buffoons.

  Kale marched into Haste's office and slammed the door behind him. Fitch perched on the edge of the sofa grinning like a devil, and Haste sat at his desk glaring at nothing in particular. He shoveled sausages into his mouth.

  "Good news this morning?" Fitch raised his eyebrow, as if to imply he'd already delivered his own good news to Haste. When the hell did Fitch ever do anything useful? Never, that's when.

  "Bite your tongue, or I'll cut it out," Kale snarled. "Now that would be a vow of silence we could all appreciate."

  Haste slammed a hand on his desk, then pointed an angry finger at Kale. "If you've got something to report, report it!"

  "My men set up an ambush, as you know." Kale thumbed his nose like a boxer. "But this Mot Losiat character knew all about it. He kicked my men like dogs and bewitched them into bringing him to town. I'd like to know where you get your information, because he's more formidable than you led me to believe." Kale stood in front of Haste's desk with arms folded.

  "Where is he now?" Haste demanded.

  "He's somewhere in the city, that's all I know." Kale could feel his eye twitching. If he didn't smash his fist into someone's face soon, he was going to explode.

  "Well, that's the bad news," Fitch's fingers drummed playfully on his senfen. "Let's hear the good news."

  "When you lift a fucking finger to do anything, you can open your mouth, Fitch! Until then, keep your opinions up your ass where they belong!"

  Haste cleared his throat.

  Kale turned his back on Fitch. "A Steel Jack relieved the watchmen at the southern gate
last night. He let Mot Losiat enter freely, holding my men as hostages. You need to get the Steel Jacks in here to do some explaining."

  "I need?" Haste said. "What else, Kale, would you like to order me to do?"

  Kale said nothing.

  "As it happens, Non insisted that we meet with him later this morning." Haste shook his head. "Cancel your plans for the rest of the day, Kale."

  "Why?" Kale didn't like where this was going. "That meeting's not going to take all day."

  Haste licked his lips. "I'm still deciding whether I put your little friends on the torturgy table, or just you."

  "I'm sure Mr. Kale would be as useful on the table as he is off," Fitch said to Haste, "The man is lost who denies the guiding light."

  "Shut your fucking mouth!" Kale swung around. "I'll shove that damn senfen up your scripture hole."

  "Tut, tut. temper, temper." Fitch shook his head. "We need to use our heads, don't we? We know the stranger is in town, but so do the Steel Jacks. What we have to do is figure out how to get to him first, right?"

  "It's time to put our heads together." Haste covered his sausage platter and wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. "Mr. Kale? Can you calm down enough to be useful?"

  Kale glared at Fitch. Then turned his gaze on Haste. He tilted his head in a curt nod.

  Once he took power, maybe he'd boil Fitch in tar. But the future was wide open, and he didn't have to decide today. First things first; the drunk had to be dealt with.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The boots Shola had given Chuggie tapped noisily on the polished hardwood floor as Chuggie and Non made their way down the hall. Elaborately carved doors like sentries all along the hallway guarded the extravagant paintings and tapestries.

  "Mighty fancy place." Chuggie whistled. "Makes the rest of the city seem poor by comparison." He thought of the Carnietown hovels and people keeping warm around trash fires.

  "Magistrates occupy these offices, but they belong to the people," said the Steel Jack.