Shadows of Tockland

by Jeffrey Aaron Miller

  Officer Mayes growled and thrashed in her cuffs, a dangerous flush rising in her cheeks.

  “I will speak on your behalf, duly elected Councilman,” Mattock said. “It appears all the extra flesh around your mouth makes speaking difficult for you. What is there to be gained by it? For Fayette, the illusion of strength and security, the false comfort of having an ally. For the Southwest, a diversion.” He shook a finger at Peavey. “Ah, yes, see the craftiness of the Southwesterners, as they say, Let us draw the attention of the ruthless General Mattock away from our lands, turn his eye to the east, so that the Southwestern Territories might refortify and recover its strength.”

  “N-not at all,” Peavey said, through a mouthful of blood. “It was all about the sick people. We needed protection from the sick. We drove them out of the city, so they could not harm us, and we kept them out.”

  “You lost your battle with the sick,” Mattock said. “Your city burned, and most of your people are dead.” He stepped away from the dais. Reaching down to his belt, he drew one of the knives. “Now, sir, what is the nature of your conflict with these—these performers. Comments were overheard by my men while you were caged.”

  “They sided with the sick,” Peavey said. “They fired upon us.”

  Mattock pointed at Telly. “Is this true?”

  “Nothing could be further from the truth, your grace,” Telly said. “We, too, were attacked by the hordes of sick people. We do not choose sides.”

  “Do not choose sides,” Mattock said softly. He took another step toward the prisoners, then stopped in his tracks and dropped the knife at his feet. It clattered loudly on the tiles.

  “They brought the sick to our city,” Peavey said. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, but it did little good. Blood poured freely from his busted lip. “They stirred them up somehow.”

  Mattock stepped to the side, drew the second knife and dropped it on the floor. “I do hate to see unresolved conflict,” he said. “Let us resolve it quickly and move on to weightier matters.”

  There were now two knives on the floor approximately five feet apart. Mattock pointed at Officer Mayes.

  “Now, who is this woman in the military costume?”

  “That is Officer Mayes,” Peavey said. “It is no costume. She is a trusted member of the city guard of Fayette. She fought valiantly for the city all through the night and suffered many wounds, not least of which is a broken jaw.”

  “Enough,” Mattock raising a gloved hand. “Captain, unbind her and bring her here.” He pointed to a spot on the floor in front of one of the knives.

  “Yes, sir,” Captain Helt said and approached the contraption.

  As he was unfastening her cuffs, Mattock scanned down the line. His gaze lingered on David, then Cakey, then Karl.

  “This one,” he said, and, to David’s horror, he realized Mattock was pointing right at him. “This young one here. He seems like a strapping lad. He’s also kind of a mess. All of that—that stuff—on his face makes him look a bit mad. What say you, captain?”

  Captain Helt grabbed Officer Mayes under the arm and forced her to her feet. The angry flush in her cheeks had faded, leaving pale, bloodless fear and wide eyes. Helt led her around the contraption and toward Mattock.

  “The boy?” Helt said. “Seems high-strung. It would be interesting to see what he’s capable of.”

  “Good. Bring him,” Mattock said.

  Annabelle uttered a little whimper and tried to reach for his hand.

  “He’s only…he’s…” Telly stared to speak, but at a look from Mattock, he shut his mouth so fast, his teeth clicked.

  Officer Mayes was placed in front of one of the knives. A soldier stepped away from the wall and pointed a rifle at her to keep her in place. Captain Helt returned to the contraption and knelt down in front of David.

  “We will resolve this conflict in short order,” Mattock said. “In the ancient way, and then we will speak of it no more.”

  Helt unclipped David’s cuffs and dragged him to his feet. Poison coursing into his limbs, David stumbled around the contraption and toward the general. Helt placed him in front of the second knife, signaled another soldier to come forward, then released his hold and stepped back. David stood there, the knife at his feet, facing Officer Mayes, dangerously close to vomiting. Mayes, with the bandage wrapped around her head, her swollen eye and hair singed, her uniform, once bright red, now reduced to a dull brown by soot and dirt and dried blood, looked pitiful. A softness, possibly from traumatic injury and swelling, had taken the angularity out of her facial features.

  “Remove the cuffs, captain,” Mattock said.

  “Mightn’t we leave the cuffs and let them—?”

  “Remove the cuffs,” Mattock said again, reaching for the baton.

  “Yes, of course, sir,” Helt said with a nod. “Immediately.”

  He unlocked Officer Mayes’ cuffs and tossed them aside. Then he unlocked David’s. David massaged his chafed wrists.

  “Now, then,” Mattock said, clasping his hands. “Let’s have resolution.”

  But David and Officer Mayes only stood facing each other, he fighting the rising sickness, she looking anxious and uncertain. Finally, the General stepped up to David, bent down to retrieve the knife and placed it in his hands, wrapping his fingers around the hilt. Then he stepped over to Officer Mayes and tried to do the same, but her hand was curled into a tight fist. He struggled to force her hand open, but she would not cooperate. Finally, he drew his baton and smacked her on the back of the hand with it, and she opened up.

  “Take it,” he said, placing the hilt of the knife in her hand and closing her fingers around it. “Use it.”

  Mayes blinked her one good eye and glanced down at the blade. She drew it close to her face, touching the very tip of the blade to her lips. General Mattock stepped back with a broad sweep of his arm. But suddenly she lunged at him, thrusting the knife at his chest. The soldier standing behind her scarcely had time to react. Captain Helt fumbled for his pistol. It hardly mattered. The knife came within an inch of his chest, but Mattock caught her wrist, turned it and twisted her arm behind her back, pressing the flat of the blade against her spine. She grunted in pain and tried to break free, but he had an iron grip.

  “Not me, stupid,” he said. He gestured at David. “Him.”

  He shoved her toward David. David backpedaled to keep from colliding with her, and she went down on her knees. He had an opening. It would’ve been an easy thing to fall upon her while she was down, drive the knife into her back or the side of her neck, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be a brute. He backed away from her, holding the knife loosely between his fingertips. Officer Mayes rose, sniffed and adjusted her grip on her knife.

  “I don’t want to—” David started to say.

  She ran at him, thrusting the knife out in front of her, moving with surprising speed. David flung himself backward, narrowly avoiding the blade, which caught a loose fold of the clown suit and split it open. He landed on his back, used the momentum to carry himself into a backward somersault and sprung back onto his feet. She was still coming, rushing at him, teeth bared, slashing the knife back and forth.

  And the red fog swept in. David growled and leapt at her, feinting to the left. She turned to follow his course, stabbing wildly in that direction, but he dodged to the right, dove into a somersault and sailed past her. As he passed, he held the knife out to one side, arm bent, and let the spinning motion of his body drive the blade into her side. He pierced cloth and flesh with a solid, meaty thunk. From the somersault, he sprang to his feet and into a round off and came to a stop near the far wall, facing her.

  She stood in place for a moment, swaying on her feet. The knife had slipped out of David’s grasp and now protruded from a point just beneath her ribs. She grabbed it with her free hand, screaming through closed lips, and yanked it out. Blood spurted through the ragged hole in her uniform, and her legs buckled. She tossed the knife aside
, grabbed the gushing wound and turned to him. The scream of pain became a howl of rage, and again she came for him. He cartwheeled out of the way, but she anticipated the move and swung the knife in that direction. Upside down, he had to drop to the floor on his back to avoid the blade that sizzled through the air in the place where his guts had been a fraction of a second before.

  He started to get up, but she was upon him, dropping down onto his chest on her knees. She let go of her bleeding wound, grabbed the handle of the knife in both hands and brought it down at his face. David reached up and grabbed her wrists, but she was strong. He only slowed the blade. The point dipped down and down, glinting darkly as it closed in on a spot between his eyes.

  “You’ve got him. You’ve got him!” Councilman Peavey said, speaking with breathy excitement.

  The point of the blade touched his flesh. He felt the cold metal between his eyes, and then his insides broke into pieces. A sound came out of him, low and guttural and inhuman, and Officer Mayes, for a second, faltered. It was enough. Strength surged into David’s arms, and he pushed her wrists back, forcing the knife up. Her one eye widened, as she snarled at him and redoubled her effort. Lifting her knees from his chest, she put her whole weight above the knife and pressed it down. David, still growling like a rabid animal, brought his legs up. His knees slammed into the backs of her calves, knocking her feet out from under her. As she fell, he released his hold on her wrists and rolled to one side. He lost sight of the knife but heard a high clink of metal against tile.

  He clambered to his feet and saw her coming at him again. He had no knife, but, in his red rage, he ran to meet her. She drew the knife back and brought it forward in a sweeping arc, aiming for his throat. He ducked the blow and lunged upward, slamming his forehead into her chin, into the broken jaw. She shrieked, and because her mouth would not open, most of the sound came out of her nostrils. Stumbling backward, she dropped the knife. David caught it in mid air, spun it in his hand, and drove the blade into her chest. It pierced the soft flesh just beneath the sternum then sliced upward, and the force of the blow lifted her off her feet.

  And then, with a final cry of madness, he pulled the knife out and shouldered her aside. She fell to the ground, moaning, tried to rise again, and collapsed. Blood spread quickly across the shiny tiles. And David, the madness lifting, whimpered and dropped the knife at his feet. It clattered across the floor and came to rest in her blood.

  “Oh…no, no…I didn’t mean to—” he said, pressing numb fingers to his mouth.

  And then, to his surprise, he heard applause, and he saw the light shining in his eyes. Turning, he saw faces behind a veil of light, all eyes fixed upon him. But these were not the faces of a cheering crowd, these were faces frozen in fear. And for a moment, he had absolutely no idea who they were. Friends, strangers, madmen? Then General Mattock stepped in front of him, blocking his view, and he was clapping—his gloved hands made a strange muffled sound.

  “Well played,” he said. “Right in the heart. Good show, young man. Very good show.”

  He clapped David on the shoulder.

  “A reserved and uncertain boy,” he said. “Yet you are a graceful instrument of death.” He gestured at Captain Helt. “Take him back.”

  Helt and another soldier walked David back to the contraption. The poison drained out of him, David felt hollow and weak. He looked down at his right hand, at the blood spattered there, and he almost burst into tears. A graceful instrument of death. His mind screamed in agony at the thought. Helt didn’t bother to wipe off the blood, as he cuffed David, forced him down and reattached him to the clip. David saw Annabelle gazing at him intently out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to look at anyone.

  Officer Mayes lay on her stomach, arms and legs splayed, her one eye open but unfocused. The blood worked its way toward the drain hole. General Mattock stooped down, picked up one of the knives and wiped it clean on the back of her uniform, paying no heed to the blood swirling around the soles of his boots.

  “Let us consider the matter resolved,” he said, rising. “The conflict between these performers and the duly elected council of Fayette is decided in favor of the performers.”

  Councilman Peavey was making a strange, rhythmic gasping sound. Was he crying? David didn’t dare look. He didn’t want to know.

  “It is like ballet, the way you move around your opponent,” Mattock said to David. He started to sheath the knife but seemed to reconsider. “The costumed guard with her caveman postures, her hands flopping about, and you, fluid, dancing, turning her attacks against her. Yes, quite a show.”

  He approached the contraption, moving the blade of the knife back and forth in a pendulum motion.

  “And now, duly elected Councilman Peavey, do you concede the point? You were in the wrong, and these performers were in the right.”

  “I…I-I hardly see how the killing of an honorable guard has any bearing whatsoever on whether or not—” Sweat ran down Peavey’s fleshy face, mixed with his blood and dripped off his jowls. He looked increasingly pale and pasty and struggled to speak loudly enough to be heard.

  “The matter is now resolved,” General Mattock said, standing over him, gesturing with the blade. “Will you agree that the matter is resolved?”

  “I…I…” Peavey licked his lower lip. “Yes, sir, I will agree. Very well. The matter is resolved. We were in the wrong. As you wish.”

  “As I wish,” Mattock said. He stepped around the contraption and came up behind Councilman Peavey.

  “If you—”

  Whatever Peavey meant to say was lost, as Mattock pressed a knee into his back and forced him against the bar, pushing it under his chin and squishing the hanging rolls of fat around his neck.

  “Sir—Sir, I…I…I…” The words struggled their way out of his throat like air escaping thick mud.

  Mattock wrapped one gloved hand around Peavey’s forehead and pulled his head back.

  “Sir…I…I…”

  Eyes wide and wet as fish eyes, sweat pooling above his lips and in the creases beside his nostrils. Mattock set the blade against his neck. The general’s face, in contrast to Peavey’s, was calm, mouth turned up ever-so-slightly like a man lost in a daydream. And then David looked away. He heard the moist sound of the knife cutting through flesh and fat and meat, and then a gurgling sound escaped from Peavey’s throat. Blood splashed the tile floor, and Gooty moaned in disgust—he was kneeling closest to Peavey. But it was the sound, that awful gurgling sound, that turned David’s stomach, and it went on for almost a full minute, dying out only very slowly, like some strange machine winding down.

  And then Mattock rose, walked around the contraption and approached the dais. He handed the bloody knife to Captain Helt, then pulled his gloves off and handed him those as well. Then he adjusted the hat on his head—somehow it had come askew—and turned to the surviving prisoners.

  “There, you see,” he said. “We need discuss the matter no longer.”

  Telly seemed about to say something, a big, fake smile plastered on his face, but then he settled for a nod.

  “Get rid of the bodies,” Mattock said to no one in particular. “And bring these people some water. I’m sure they must be thirsty. Captain, how long have they been in our custody?”

  “Since yesterday morning,” Captain Helt said.

  Captain Helt pressed his hand against a wall, and a door, camouflaged against the tiles, swung inward, revealing a room of bare concrete beyond. Another soldier slung his rifle over his shoulder, grabbed Officer Mayes by the feet and proceeded to drag her across the room and through the door. Yet another soldier came over to detach Peavey, who was slumped over the contraption, blood dripping like rain onto his knees and onto the floor.

  “And no food, no water was given to them?” Mattock asked the captain.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then, yes, water,” Mattock said. He lifted both hands toward the prisoners. “Does that sui
t you? Are you thirsty?”

  “Yes, sir,” Telly said.

  “Modestly so,” Cakey added.

  Captain Helt signaled to another soldier, who nodded, stepped up on the dais and disappeared behind the curtain. While the bodies were being dragged out of the room, General Mattock paced from one end of the room to the other, leaving bloody boot prints. In short order, the bodies were gone, the door to the concrete room pulled shut, and only the great pools of blood remained, spreading like ghoul fingers across the floor, flowing in between the tiles toward the drain.

  Finally, a soldier returned bearing a large glass pitcher full of water. At the sight of it, David’s throat burned, and he felt his tongue, as if it were sandpaper, scratching against the roof of his mouth. But the soldier stood on the dais, waiting for the General to acknowledge him.

  “Yes, yes,” Mattock said, after a moment. “Give them each a drink. They’ve earned it.”

  The soldier started with Gooty, tipping his head back—in a gesture disturbingly similar to the way the general had forced Peavey’s head back before cutting his throat—and pouring the water directly into his mouth. He gave them each a drink in order. The water was crisp and cool. David felt it all the way down his throat into his belly. He only got one mouthful, and it was not nearly enough.

  “You’re too kind,” Cakey said before drinking. He smacked his lips.

  Karl, at the end of the row, drank last, and he had only the dregs, hardly enough to swallow, but he drank it, nodded in thanks and did not complain.

  “Good, very good,” Mattock said, when the water was gone.

  The soldier moved back to the dais and back through the curtain. Mattock ceased pacing and turned to the prisoners.

  “The matter with Fayette is resolved,” he said again, and let the comment linger. “Lest you think that settles the conflict between you and I, however—” He held out his hand, flicking his fingers, and Captain Helt passed him the dagger, freshly cleaned. “—I’m afraid I shall have to ask one of you to join the duly elected Councilman Peavey.”