Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater

by Brent Michael Kelley

  The bird said, "That's fine,

  Just let turn me loose."

  Clyde said, "No way, bird.

  I'll have no more abuse.

  When you grant my wish,

  You'll be free of that basket.

  Otherwise, little bird,

  It will serve as your casket!"

  With a scared gulp,

  The bird changed his tune.

  He squawked magic words:

  "Zap Zimmy Zappoon!"

  With a flash of lightning

  And a thunderous boom,

  The two were transported

  From the black marble gloom.

  At his home Clyde appeared

  Out of thin air,

  Startling his mother

  Right out of her chair.

  She shouted his name

  And scooped him in her arms,

  Relieved that her boy

  Was home safe from harm.

  "Where have you been?"

  She asked with a tear.

  He said "I was tricked

  By this blackbird right here."

  He held up the basket

  And told her the tale.

  As she listened, his mother

  Had gone a bit pale.

  "Hello!" came a voice

  From outside the door.

  It was Dad! He'd returned!

  Together once more!

  From then on they lived

  Happy as you can get,

  With a basket-bound blackbird

  To keep as a pet.

  As Chuggie finished, he saw Olin sleeping peacefully. It was a good thing he told the version of the story he had. Usually, the family killed and ate the bird.

  Chapter 19

  Fey Voletta followed Non into Haste's office. Under normal circumstances, she'd never be persuaded to visit the fat pervert so late in the evening. Non had something up his metal sleeve, tonight.

  The sweaty, red-faced slob didn't bother with a greeting. "Why weren't you in the square today, Non?"

  "Nice to see you tonight, Mr. Haste. Thank you for seeing us." She could barely bring herself to look at the disgusting pile of a man. Instead, she looked around at Haste's awful stuffed animal heads. What a pleasure it would be to see Haste's head up there with them!

  "No laws were broken in the square," Non said.

  "No laws?" Haste's voice cracked, and his jowls quivered. "A Stagwater magistrate was murdered!"

  "The death of Fitch was a suicide." Non clomped over to Haste's desk with heavy footsteps.

  Haste shook a fist in the air. "Play your games, metal man. Soon Stagwater's laws will make a loyal servant of you and your kind."

  "We serve law, not men," replied Non. "Steel Jacks are thorough in our undertakings."

  "You let a man destroy our northern gate, slay a magistrate, then continue on to destroy our southern gate without any interference at all. Thorough failure, as I see it." Haste dabbed sweat from his face.

  "I don't know, Non. Mr. Haste is acting pretty hostile to a law enforcement officer." Fey Voletta turned and batted her eyelashes at Non. To her chagrin, Non waved her off with a little glance and a twitch of his big metal shoulder.

  "You've read our contract with Stagwater. We are required to serve as long as we are welcome." Non took a quick step toward the Chief Magistrate. "We serve only as long as you cooperate."

  Haste squirmed in his chair. "What is your point, Non?"

  "Part of our service includes developing means and tools to expand our abilities."

  "I don't have time for this tonight. I'll send you my correspondence tomorrow." Haste waved a dismissive hand at the Steel Jack.

  "Non —" Fey Voletta started, but he shushed her again with a sharp wave of his little neck-hands.

  "We planned to enlist Norchug Mot Losiat," Non's voice buzzed louder. "We hold you responsible for his disappearance."

  "We can discuss this tomorrow." He pointed Non and Fey Voletta toward the door. "You're on thin ice tonight, Non."

  Fey Voletta studied Non closely, looking for some sign that he had a backbone somewhere in that metal suit. How could he take this sort of treatment from such a pathetic man? Steel Jacks were such magnificent beings, sadly restrained. The feeling was like seeing a frost lion caged at a zoo, sedated and fat. Such creatures were built for greater things. "You are under arrest for interfering with Steel Jack operations. Will you come peacefully?" Non's voice rang in Fey Voletta's ears.

  "That's better." She smiled and drew her weapon, unable to hide her elation.

  Haste leapt to his feet, knocked his chair over, and jabbed a finger at Non. "You're out of your mind! I run this town. I am Stagwater!"

  "A Steel Jack may not choose which laws to enforce," said Non.

  Fey Voletta licked her lips and raised her knife. "Let me take care of him, Non. Please?"

  "What?!" Haste shrieked. "How dare you?"

  "I like your initiative, kitten, but his crime is not a capital offense. We do, however, hope his sentence will be… transformative." Non turned back to Haste. "Will you come peacefully?"

  "I'm not going anywhere!" Haste bellowed. His round, red face shook as he jumped to his feet.

  Non stepped around one side of the desk, but Haste went around the other. Whichever way the Steel Jack went, Haste kept the desk in between them.

  "My conjury protects this city!" Haste snatched up a silver platter lid from the food service next to his desk.

  Did the slovenly pervert think he could use it to fight off a Steel Jack? Fey Voletta giggled at Haste's impotent attempt at self-defense.

  "Without me, there's nothing to hold the Gooch at bay. This entire shit-pile town will be plunged into Desecration!"

  "You believe you control the creature to the north?" With one hand, Non flung the massive wooden desk across the room. It crashed into the far wall, shattering as it destroyed the plaster. Expensive pens and other desktop accessories flew around the office.

  Haste stumbled back, tripping over his chair. He thudded on his ass, smashing his arm through a glass-top end table. He shrieked as the glass tore into his chubby hand. His breath came in heavy wheezes as he scuttled and clawed across the floor.

  Unfortunately for Fey, Haste's shirt untucked. His gut and ass crack hung out for all to see. She almost gagged, but decided to laugh instead. The sorry son of a bitch deserved all the humiliation he got.

  As Non stalked across the floor with slow, heavy steps, Haste cowered in the corner like a frightened child. He pulled on the curtain and tried to hide behind it but only succeeded in pulling the curtain rod off the wall. It cracked him on the head, and his hands waved in front of his face like they were blocking tiny, invisible punches. The dignity of his position had become as broken and splintered as his desk.

  Non reached out to restrain Haste.

  "You've gone too far, Non! You're going to pay for this! I am the Haste!"

  Non stuffed a gag in his mouth.

  Haste's eyes grew wide with surprise.

  Non had Haste's wrists bound behind his back in an instant. He went to pull a black bag over Haste's head, but Fey Voletta grabbed it from his hand.

  "Allow me, Non." She beamed up at her pal.

  Non stepped around behind Haste and held the fat man still.

  She pulled her hood back and shook out her hair seductively, smiling at the blubbering magistrate. Fey Voletta pretended not to notice as he blew a line of snot onto his upper lip.

  "Oh, Haste," she cooed. "My little honey bear. Finally, I can enjoy your company."

  He grunted and moaned behind the gag as she pulled the black bag over his head and cinched it tight at his neck.

  "I think I like him better this way," Non buzzed at Fey Voletta.

  "Seriously, Non, can I please gut this rat?" Fey Voletta smiled as she ground her heel on Haste's toe.

  The sack of Haste squealed.

  "I am sorry, kitten. You may not." Non placed a consoling hand on her shoulder.
/>   As the Steel Jack dragged the whimpering man away, Fey Voletta pouted. She never got to disembowel anybody.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The giant putrescent baby sat with eyes closed and legs crossed as if in meditation. At its right, Dawes' goat lay broken and dead. At its left, Faben's goat did the same.

  Dawes wished he'd never even seen Fey Voletta. If it hadn't been for her, none of this would have happened. More than that, he wished he'd never thrown in with Faben Brassline. The old summoner had failed him completely. He hoped she had found an appropriate hell in which to spend eternity.

  These thoughts came in flashes between the red-hot waves of fear surging through him as, inches away, a huge demonic infant loomed over him.

  "Blood!" roared all the lesser creatures all at once.

  "Who is god?" the demon rumbled.

  "Gooch!" cried the lesser beasts.

  "Gooch is god." The Gooch got to its feet, stomped over to Dawes, and kicked a spray of dirt in his face. He picked up the dead goats and shoved them down his throat.

  The Gooch clawed at the air above Faben's cairn. The church key still repulsed him.

  The little monsters pulled their needle-teeth from Dawes' muscles and sank them in again. Each puncture caused a fresh symphony of pain. He would have screamed, but he had neither the energy nor the voice. As hard as he tried, he couldn't get to Faben.

  A chill enveloped Dawes as the Gooch t snatched him up. When he looked into its slimy skull-eyes, he felt an endless void staring back. The Gooch's unholy gaze filled Dawes with a sense that he hung just over an abyss of pure madness.

  The Gooch opened its mouth, and the stink of opened caskets poured out. Dawes thrashed in the massive hand. His muscles cried out in anguish where the tiny things had bitten him His weak struggles were nothing in the grip of the monster.

  Could this really be his time to die?

  "Not this way," he pleaded. "Not this way."

  The Gooch shook him and said, "You serve the Gooch."

  The abomination shoved Dawes into his mouth and swallowed him whole.

  Dawes slid down his gullet and fell, but not into the sloppy, wet pit of a giant stomach he expected. He fell through darkness as black as a grave. He fell through pain as sharp as a sea of razors. He fell through death. The wails of the damned blared in his head sounding like horses being eaten alive.

  Shapes formed in the emptiness. Everyone he ever met flickered before his eyes. His parents. Fey Voletta. Faben Brassline. Behind them all, another face waited in obscurity, as if it tried on each of the others as a mask.

  He died again and again, fading back into existence between each death. Death came faster and faster and faster. His alive-dead-alive-dead mind came to grasp the truth: life is a sacred candle-flame, and he'd squandered his.

  No! It was taken!

  The little candle-flame of his soul had once been honest, pure and beautiful.

  They wouldn't let it shine bright!

  His failure made him fall faster through the darkness. He switched between life and death like the beating of a heart, alternating once a second. Twice. Five times.

  Death and life shot through him so fast that they merged into one force. His mind and soul turned gray.

  They made this happen.

  That hidden face behind it all… he knew who it belonged to.

  Of course. The whole time, one being watched all.

  His fear was gone. His flame had been extinguished. His only duty — protecting the tiny gift, holding it sacred — had failed. He deserved — longed for — oblivion.

  Not oblivion… a new god. A god to touch. A god who conquered death. A new flame flickered at his core, oily, like burning fat. It stuck to his spirit like unholy tar. He could never be rid of it. This flame had waited only for him since time began.

  Mine now.

  He was free from choices and desires. His new god stripped them all away. His soul had been Desecrated.

  Gooch gives dark blessing.

  Dawes fell to the ground, transformed. Matted, bloody goat fur covered his deformed, asymmetrical body. Snapped-off goat ribs stuck out at odd angles from his arms and legs. Angry, eyeless goat heads bleated on either side of his face.

  "I serve," choked the desecrated Dawes.

  His new god, the Gooch, cast its gaze on Faben's body. Stones covered only the bottom half.

  Wanting to please his creator, Dawes ran to the cairn. The Gooch wanted Faben, and Dawes served the Gooch.

  Dawes reached for the key in Faben's pocket. Agony pulsed, like electricity, through his body.

  The Gooch roared in pain.

  Dawes couldn't bear the thought of his master's suffering. He pulled his hand away.

  "There are more," said the Gooch. "We go to the man city."

  Of course! Stagwater teemed with things for the Gooch to devour. Dawes' entire body trembled with ecstasy at the thought of an entire city sacrificed to his god.

  To please his lord, Dawes took up the summoner's podium and slid the curved blade across his stomach. Casting the podium aside, Dawes pulled the gash open wider for his god's approval.

  The needle-mouthed skitterers watched eagerly.

  The Gooch nodded.

  The skitterers leapt at Dawes' midsection. Each chomped a mouthful of flesh and tried to make off with it in different directions.

  Dawes didn't flinch or try to stop them. He didn't make a sound as they strung his guts out. As his little brethren dragged his intestines through the weeds, Dawes could only watch with anticipation. He felt everything, every tear of tissue. He reveled in it. He felt his esophagus being pulled from his throat and grunted with pleasure as it ripped clear. If it pleased the Gooch, it pleased Dawes. He stood before his new god, gutless.

  "I serve," Dawes croaked.

  Chapter 20

  Chuggie stoked the campfire while the boy slept. The little runt was completely hidden under Chuggie's coat. He'd have looked like a pile of laundry if it weren't for his breathing. For a moment, Chuggie considered just picking up the sleeping boy and carrying him to Shola's, but there was no need to make things any harder on the boy. If things went the way he planned, they'd be marching south along the river as soon as they had some breakfast in their bellies. Olin would need real rest before they left.

  To pass the time, Chuggie picked up Kale's slug-plate satchel. He'd had reclaimed it for the forces of justice. Kale wouldn't need it where he'd be spending his days.

  Chuggie dumped out the contents. He found money, which he set aside. A box of matches, a few pencils, a tobacco pouch.

  Wedged into the corner so tightly he almost missed it, he found a ledger. By firelight, he began reading the handwritten entries.

  Apparently, Haste had plans to seize control of Stagwater and turn it into a major hub of opium pine production. But the notes said nothing about the effects of opium pine. He hadn't tried any himself in… shit, it must've been decades. The experience had been fuzzy to begin with, he knew that much. In his state of prolonged intoxication, he could scarce remember anything at all about what the stuff had done to him. Apparently, these goons were using it, along with torturgy, to get into Pheonal trances. As if knowing the future ever did anybody a damn bit of good.

  From the looks of it, Kale's plan was to wait for Haste to do all the hard work, then hijack his operation. That sure sounded just like Kale. But Kale didn't have all the pieces. He needed to use torturgy to enter the Pheonal trance and learn the last step he'd have to take to make his plan work.

  Chuggie looked over at the sleeping boy. Olin was to be the last piece of Kale's puzzle. Chuggie had a lot of regrets, but burying that prick alive would never be one of them.

  Inside the cover of the ledger, Chuggie could feel raised conjury marks. There were three moons, four stars, and one sword. Evidently, Kale had locked the journal to keep human hands out. Since Chuggie wasn't exactly human, he'd been able to open it and read with no problem. But a fellow's conjury should disappear when
he dies. Chuggie looked down at the writing on the charmed pages. Kale was still alive.

  Chuggie's left hand went to his anchor. Had Kale clawed his way free of the blow-down? He listened to the sounds of the pre-dawn forest. He heard wind-rustled leaves, early morning songbirds, and Olin's growling stomach. He didn't hear twigs snapped by feet or the cough of a man who'd been buried for hours.

  The fire popped and gave Chuggie a start. He looked down at Kale's notebook and watched as the words unwrote themselves and disappeared from the page. Chuggie tossed the journal into the fire. It flopped open, and he watched the fire crawl up the paper.

  Kale was dead — now. Chuggie spat on the burning journal. He thought of pissing on it, but smelling urine in a fire was no way to start one's day.

  A blazing yellow sun peaked up over the horizon. Chuggie filled the slug-plate satchel with his own belongings. He let the sun get a bit higher before waking Olin. He found a good stick to poke the boy with, then decided on a more gentle approach. He shook Olin's leg until he heard him groaning under the coat.

  After Olin sat up, he moved closer to the fire, wrapped himself tighter in Chuggie's coat, and yawned. He scratched various itches about his head and torso.

  Before long, they set off toward Shola's. Chuggie moved too fast for the groggy boy, so he swung him up on his shoulders. Olin grabbed onto his horns.

  "If I'm carryin' you, you'll have to protect your own damn self from branches."

  "I will," said Olin.

  "Don't go to sleep up there."

  "I won't."

  "Better not piss down my neck, either."

  Olin giggled.

  After a while, the boy started to get heavy. Chuggie thought a bit of conversation would take his mind off his burning muscles. "What do you wanna be when you grow up, boss?"

  Olin paused for a moment as if giving the question some thought. "I want to be a Steel Jack."

  "What? Why you wanna be a Steel Jack?"

  "Because they're big and they're strong, and they can do anything they want."