"What?" Laughter exploded from her lips. "He killed Fitch? Tell me more!"
"Mr. Mot Losiat, apparently, found the purse he had gone in search of. Magistrate Fitch looked inside it and went mad. He dove off the bridge onto the rocks below. Multiple guardsmen witnessed the event." Non raised his hand, then wiggled two fingers like legs to simulate the fall.
"Where were you during all of this? Shouldn't you have been there?" she asked.
"I watched discreetly. No laws were broken, so we did not interfere. The vandalism at the gates was too small an offense to warrant our involvement. Fitch's death was clearly suicide." Non's eyes brightened when he spoke of the fallen magistrate.
Fey Voletta smiled like a summer bride as she pictured Fitch leaping to his death. "Ah, well, did Chuggie get anything else from his little expedition?"
"As a matter of fact, he did," Non seemed to smile. Steel Jacks always looked like they were smiling, but Fey could swear that the corners of his metal mouth turned up just a little bit more. "Something that may interest you, Miss Voletta. We are told he carried a dagger made of bone."
"A dagger made of bone?" She rolled her eyes. "Like he found a snapped-off goat leg and sharpened it?"
"Using the dagger, he cut through the northern and southern gates with little effort." Non clasped his hands together over his chest. "You should know he bled profusely from the mouth and moved with unnatural speed."
Fey Voletta pursed her lips. This blade might be worth a look. "Can we see him?"
"Doubtful. It is very unlikely he will return to Stagwater. Mr. Haste and his men saw to that." Non moved closer to the young woman. "Steel Jack autonomy in Stagwater has eroded completely. We insisted that the magistrates deal Mot Losiat fairly. Instead, they drove him away. We planned to persuade him to join us, improving our abilities to protect the city."
"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Her shoulders slumped in disappointment, and she glared at a spot on the floor. Inside her robe, her hand squeezed the handle of a knife.
"As always, be attentive. Perhaps a little more so. And please, Fey Voletta, no killing."
"You can't keep a predatory cat like me trapped in a box with rats forever. Sooner or later there is bound to be a mishap." She grinned, pulling her hood down to cover her eyes.
"Do not worry, kitten," said Non. "We will find you some rats to play with before long."
◊ ◊ ◊
In the blood-red forest south of Stagwater, Chuggie crept as quietly as he could. He'd stashed the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu in his belt, and he was back to his normal, tipsy state. He rinsed the iron taste of blood from his mouth by swigging the stolen rum. Without the bone dagger in his hand, every muscle in his body burned with fatigue. The intensity of that mind-state was fading, and he was glad to have some relief.
Chuggie listened to the sounds of the forest. Nearly camouflaged by the chirp of birds and the wind rustling the leaves, he swore he heard voices nearby. A man's voice rose and fell. In the intervals, he heard a woman, or maybe a child, pleading. Given the recent events in town, he should probably run the other way. But if someone needed help, helping them out might be just the thing he needed to make himself feel better.
The cold-blooded murder of that bartender at the Gulping Goat wasn't sitting right with him. Remorse bloomed in the pit of his stomach like a coffin rose. Chuggie had done some things in his time that he wasn't proud of, sure. Even killed a guy, or three, when they needed killing. But the inky black tentacles of evil that gripped him back in that bar, nothing like that had ever happened before. The shame of it spilled over in his mind like ale suds from a broken tap.
As Chuggie crept deeper into the forest, the voices grew louder. The man's voice was definitely angry. The other voice was definitely muffled and pleading. Sneaking closer, he climbed over stumps and crawled under deadfall. He stopped at the base of a huge blown-down tree. When the tree had gone over, its barrel-thick trunk stayed intact. The roots had torn out of the soil, leaving a pit bigger than any house in Carnietown.
Chuggie squeezed past it and inched closer to the voices. He held his breath and strained to hear. His heart skipped as he recognized a man's voice.
"It's no time for fear, boy," Kale said. "Now is the time to be brave. Didn't I tell you this would be scary at first?"
Kale had a boy tied between two trees. All the kid's weight hung from his wrists and shoulders. "Please, sir. It hurts," the boy sobbed.
Kale pulled a rope and lifted the boy higher. "Now, Olin, I don't want you to think that I don't have sympathy for your situation." Kale's voice became friendly, as if he was trying to soothe the child. "I'm a grown man, son, and I see things you can't. Sacrifice is necessary for the good of everyone. When I was a boy, if I'd had the chance to sacrifice to help others I would have been proud. You should be too."
"P-please let me go, sir!" Olin begged. "Please-please-please! I'll be good! I'll be good!"
"My son, I wish I could make you understand what I'm doing — truly understand in your heart. You'd see this is for the best."
Kale gagged the boy, and Olin's shaky sobbing rose to a muffled crescendo.
"You, my young friend, will have a seat among the angels for your sacrifice. Let me assure you of that." Kale began readying a simplified torturgy harness and attached it to the boy's neck and chest. "In order to lift Stagwater to the heights she deserves, I must use the Pheonal trance. I want you to know how grateful I am to you, Olin."
"That's enough right there." Chuggie stepped into the glade. "Cut 'im down before I cut you down." He walked slowly toward Kale, holding the bone dagger behind his back.
Kale spun around, startled. His expression changed from surprise to joy as he recognized Chuggie. "What are you doing here, drunkard?"
Chuggie put his other hand on the anchor. "Same as you, I guess. Came out to do some killin'. But I s'pose we can make a deal. You let him go, I'll let you go. You don't have to die like your buddy Fitch."
"Sure, sure. Did you kill the city guard as well? What about the Steel Jacks? Are they dead, too?" Kale let the tension off the rope and sidled over to his ax.
"Shit, who am I kiddin'?" Chuggie drew the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu once more. Hungry rage built inside as the dagger-vision fell over his eyes like a veil. "You're dyin' here tonight. I passed your sentence, and I'm sendin' you to whatever hell you can find. No more talk." Chuggie stomped toward Kale, blood pouring from his mouth.
Kale picked up his ax and whirled it over his head. "This is going to be easy." He smiled like a wolf who'd found a limping lamb.
Chuggie could open the goat-face purse and show Kale whatever madness hid within. The Bleeding Jaws of Glughu could have Kale's head and limbs off his torso faster than a bee could sting. Hell, with the dagger in his hand, Chuggie could fling his anchor through Kale's chest and out the other side before the bastard took another step.
But Chuggie had something else in mind. Kale deserved something special.
Kale charged and swung the ax. Chuggie sidestepped with ease, and the ax blade drove into the dirt. As Kale yanked it free, Chuggie sliced the magistrate's shoulder with a casual flick of his dagger.
Kale swung the ax horizontally, and it glanced off Chuggie's chain. The momentum of the miss spun Kale around. Without exerting himself much at all, Chuggie slashed his blade across the base of Kale's neck.
Kale sliced with the ax in a flurry of rage.
Chuggie avoided every blow with ease. He spat a mouthful of blood at his grunting attacker. Kale's time was up. Chuggie swung the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu at the ax, severing the blade from the handle.
Kale stared with a horrified look on his face as the ax blade sailed off into the brush. He looked down at the ax handle in his hands. Holding it up defensively, he scuttled backward a few steps, then turned to flee.
Chuggie narrowed his eyes and heaved his anchor, striking Kale between the shoulder blades.
Collapsing into the brush, Kale squawked like a wounde
d bird.
With Kale incapacitated, Chuggie hurried to the whimpering boy hanging from the trees. He cut the kid down and sat him against a stump. "Wait right here, okay, boss?"
Olin wept into his hands, completely ignoring Chuggie.
With one eye on the trembling child, Chuggie hurried over to the broken pile of Kale and checked for a heartbeat. Kale still lived. Chuggie dragged him across the clearing by the ankle. The man moaned a little, but seemed to lack the strength to resist. His head thumped the ground. Rocks and sticks scraped his face. Dirt and leaves embedded in his clothes as Chuggie dragged enemy to the foot of the fallen tree. He let go of Kale's foot and lit up his boar-tusk pipe.
"Before you go," Chuggie puffed, "I'm gonna let you clear your conscience." He tucked the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu back into his belt. His usual drunkenness washed over him in a dizzying flood.
In a voice so low Chuggie could barely hear it, Kale said, "Doing this… for the good… of the city."
Chuggie blew smoke at Kale. "Oh, this? Nah, I don't have questions 'bout this scene here. I know what this is. I'm wondering about the creature north of town. Do you know what's up there?"
"Of course not. We —."
"I'm gonna share something with you. A good woman named Faben Brassline got killed up there. Maybe that coulda been avoided had you bastards given me all the details."
"Who?" Kale coughed.
"Faben Brassline. She was a Carnie. Some o' her blood's on your hands."
"A Carnie? Ha! Good riddance."
Chuggie disagreed with Kale and expressed it by stepping on his neck a bit.
"Did you know there was a desecrated cemetery up there? Infested by demons 'n shit? Be honest right here." Chuggie took his foot off Kale's neck and kicked him in the ribs.
When he finished coughing, Kale said, "We send our undesirables there. You… you were supposed to die there."
"Yeah, you tried that twice. What about the Steel Jacks? Do they know about it, too?"
"No jurisdiction there." Kale could barely speak, but his eyes were alert and filled with hate.
Chuggie contemplated Kale's confession, snorting smoke out his nose.
"Let… let me go," said Kale.
"Your wounds are far too serious. The humane thing is to put you out of your misery." Chuggie gave a squinty-eyed grin. "See, I saw this big pit right here, and damned if I didn't think of you."
Kale wriggled uselessly on the ground, gasping and grunting. He couldn't make his arms work.
Chuggie paced around the pit. "Y'see, long ago, and I'm just speculatin' here, a storm blew an acorn out of a tree. Miles from here, this was. The acorn landed right in this spot. As luck would have it, that little acorn grew into a sapling. It always dreamt it would find its own special way of makin' the world a better place. As it grew big an' tall, it told all the other trees an' bushes that destiny waited just ahead. They laughed an' told it that big trees make lumber or firewood, an' not much else. Well, that ol' tree ignored 'em all. It just waited for destiny to come a-stumblin' along."
"No, please!" Kale wailed. "There'll be hell to pay, drunk!"
"Then, not too long ago, another storm came along and blew that tree over. It was so big and strong it pulled its roots out of the ground. That's what made this big pit right next to you. The rest of the forest — even the damn moss — laughed at the tree. They said it'd been a fool the whole time, an' now it was gonna rot away on the forest floor. But, guess what?" Chuggie leaned in close.
"I have money," Kale blurted out. "I'll make you a rich man!"
"This tree has a destiny. It is making the world a better place. Do you feel that? It's givin' me chills! All the other trees are congratulatin' your tree, Kale."
Chuggie grabbed fistfuls of Kale's shirt and lifted him up face to face, close enough so Kale could smell the blood on Chuggie's breath.
"You were diggin' a grave for that little boy when I found you, but there's only one grave in the woods tonight. It's yours, Kale, and no man dug it. The world dug your grave. It's waited for you long enough."
Chuggie thought of Faben as he heaved Kale into the pit. Maybe revenge was an empty gesture, as many brilliant minds had said. Sure as shit made Chuggie feel better, though.
Kale thudded flat on his back. He gasped for breath. His mouth worked but no words came out.
Chuggie stood without making a sound and gazed down into the pit. Above him, the trees scratched at the dark, red sky.
Kale almost had his voice back and drew a long, difficult breath. He started to blurt out one last curse when he got a face full of dirt.
The Bleeding Jaws of Glughu cut through the tree's massive trunk in eight well-aimed chops. The roots creaked and crunched as they made their way back into the hole and sealed it up. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it would do.
It may have been the wind, but Chuggie swore he heard Kale's muffled screams. He spat some blood on the makeshift grave, then returned to the terrified boy.
Chapter 17
The sun left behind a furnace-red glow that painted the forest a deep burgundy. Six crescent moons loomed overhead like elders bent in a conspiratorial cluster. Angry, purple-gray clouds crawled across their faces.
The ghosts didn't come near Faben's resting place. The drunken bastard had left a church key in her pocket, which was probably the reason they stayed away. But the darker it got, the closer the spirits came.
Ghosts convulsed and bucked through the tall grass as if they were connected to torture devices. Some screamed and wailed, which made Dawes' skin crawl, but the silent ones were worse. At least with the screamers, he knew where they were. The creepers pressed in closer and closer as the darkness descended. Some of them grabbed for him, others just stared. A little boy with a stretched and twisted version of Dawes' own face pedaled through the clearing on a tricycle. The squeal of his rusty chain played an ominous theme for his own personal horror story.
Dawes didn't know how long the church key would hold them back. He'd need warmth, light, and any little scrap of security he could get. He eyed up all the wood on the ground. He needed a fire.
Dawes took a hesitant step away from Faben. He dashed forward and grabbed a piece of firewood.
"The master is coming," a voice whispered in his ear.
Dawes spun around to see who had spoken. A ghost wearing Faben's face grinned at him. Its smile grew and distorted as its eye sockets deepened, becoming a hideous caricature of a jack-o-lantern.
"What do you want?" Dawes screamed, scrambling back to the cairn. "Just leave me alone. Leave me alone!"
"We want your blood, little man!" a voice chortled from the trees.
Dawes gasped but couldn't catch his breath. That voice belonged to Gargulak. A chill touched his core, but then a revelation hit him.
"This isn't real!" Dawes laughed and pointed at the ghosts. "You're another test! You're a test, and I beat you!"
Dawes fell to his knees and pawed at the stones of Faben's cairn, tossing them aside. The drunk, no doubt nearby, was certainly watching the whole scene with great amusement. Dawes uncovered Faben's face, then her torso. Once her arms were free, he sat her up and gave her a shake.
"Faben! I won this time!" He laughed. Her shoulders felt a bit stiff as he shook her.
All around, the ghosts froze.
"Faben?" He shook her harder. "You can drop the illusion. I passed your test!" Dawes felt reborn. She'd shown him the absolute depths of fear, and he'd climbed out on his own as only a Woodsman could. He cast all doubt aside and imagined telling Fey Voletta about this day.
A tiny shadow darted though his peripheral vision, but it disappeared before he could get a good look. Something to his left — he turned. Something to his right — he turned again. Behind him — he spun.
Dozens of little, snarling creatures skittered out of the shadows. They surrounded him. The forest came alive with the sound of things moving in through the leaves. Trees snapped as something big pushed them down. He snatched up F
aben's podium, ready to face this new test like a Woodsman.
"Put down toy," rumbled a deep but oddly infantile voice. A hulking, shadowy form stomped from the forest.
Dawes froze, trying to access something — anything — useful Faben may have taught him. Not one single thing came to mind.
The little, needle-mouthed monstrosities crawled up his legs and drug him to the ground. Their needle teeth bit deep. Each bite erupted in a geyser of agony. They pinned his muscles to his bones. Trying to move was useless.
The monstrous shadow lumbered up to his circle of safety and stood over him, stinking like rotting meat.
Faben had outdone herself this time. Dawes' vision faded as the black fog of unconsciousness dragged him down.
◊ ◊ ◊
Chuggie carried Olin through the woods as the red sky turned to black. The six crescent moons grouped above were a good omen, he decided. The night clouds reflected Stagwater's orange city light as if ten thousand jack-o-lanterns lit the town. Getting away from the city felt like climbing free of quicksand.
The boy clung to his neck. The deeper into the woods they pushed the harder the boy shivered. Chuggie had hoped they could make it all the way to Shola's, but poor Olin just wasn't in any condition for a late-night hike.
When the path opened up into a clearing, Chuggie set the boy down and wrapped him up in his coat. The kid looked like a dirty little refugee. His teeth chattered and weary tears trickled down his cheeks. Chuggie tried to think of ways to soothe the little fella. He nearly offered the kid some rum, but then he remembered he wasn't supposed to give alcohol to children.
What the boy really needed was a fire. Chuggie located a hefty dead log for them to sit on. He set to work gathering sticks and twigs.
"Hey, kid," Chuggie said, "you thinkin' about helpin' me gather up this firewood?"
Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater Page 21