by Martin Kee
“Well…” He looks out into the desert. He still hasn’t found the words, found a way to make sense of what he knows or how he knows it. Dreams are like that for him these days. Disjointed, random flashes. Words that mean nothing. “Maybe it’s not an umbilical cord at all. Maybe it’s some sort of machine.”
“I’ve thought that as well,” she says. “But it’s not. It can’t be.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“It’s nothing,” she says with a nervous laugh. She shakes her head and waves the comment away. “I’m already in it up to here with the people of this town. I don’t need to be reported for blasphemy too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Like I said, nothing.”
The water boils over, sizzling, giving her a good excuse to leave the room again. She returns with the mugs, handing one to Veerh.
He takes one with a sub-arm, grunts a Thank you.
“Anyway,” she says. “Even if it was something to do with his umbilicus, it’s just odd that he’d be gone and one of the taalbstriders as well.”
“You think he ate it?” Veerh asks.
Bex makes a face. “Doubt it. He hardly seemed interested in them until I cooked one for him.”
“Maybe he felt ashamed and hauled it off into the woods.”
“Maybe. Or…”
“Or what?” he asks.
She seems to struggle with the words, and a darkness falls over her features for a moment.
“Some animals wander off when they’re wounded, or close to death.” She takes a sip of the tea, hiding her face.
“Is he wounded?” Veerh asks.
“Not that I could tell, but he’s always sucking on that tube and I just worry that with him being so premature and all.” She takes another drink. “I think he might be dying.”
Veerh wants to find something soothing to say, something that will ease her fears, but he knows he can’t. Not without confusing her further.
It’s not because he doesn’t believe her. Quite the contrary: Veerh has a pretty good idea that the giant is alive and well. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he suspects it’s the graft she’s given him. But now’s not the time to discuss it or the dreams he’s been having.
When will be a good time?
He ignores the voice.
Before he can say anything, there’s a commotion outside, a growing chorus of voices, songs overlapping. One of his deputies, Deputy Ca’aam opens the door and leans in. “Morning Patcher. Morning Sir.”
“What’s the problem?” Veerh asks. He hasn’t seen the kid so agitated. If he didn’t know any better the Ameer himself was arriving on a litter, asking to speak to the town.
The deputy glances at Bex, then at him, mouth set. “You’d just better come this way, Sir.”
Veerh looks at Bex, as if trying to think of some last minute words of encouragement, but she waves him away before he can speak.
“Go on,” she says.
“You’ll want to have your tools ready,” Ca’aam says to her. His face is unreadable.
“Is it Scoop?”
The deputy ignores the question, looks back to Veerh. “Sir?” His eyes are filled with urgency.
Heaving himself up from the chair, Veerh leaves the room, wishing he could muster the courage to say what’s really bothering him, but it’s just too confusing, too complicated for even him to understand, interfering with his job as Preserver. There was a time, when he still had many of his own birth limbs, that he could have perhaps, made more sense of the dreams. Now, it seems harder and harder to keep one thread of thought in his sleep-deprived mind.
They reach the front door and he looks out with dismay at the crowd. They’ve formed a mob along the fence that protects the clinic’s tiny front yard. Bodies press against the barrier, a random landscape of limbs and heads. But instead of facing him, they all stare away, at someone approaching. As the crowd parts, Veerh sees the caravan that had left only a day or two ago. The traders wail in mourning as they approach the clinic, their shells glittering with decorations and tassels, their mouth open and skyward, crying out to the Godcloud.
The mob parts and a woman comes forward, her headpiece dirty, her face smeared with grief. Pel’ch, the Lady of Meat and Bone as she is sometimes referred to when she isn’t around. She’s the local baroness, a powerful woman. But her face sags now, vulnerable, fragile, pain stressing every stitch and fiber of her skin. She holds in her arms a bundle of blackened meat.
A child.
Veerh sucks in air. “What’s happened?” he asks, keeping the voice of command. Strength is what’s needed right now and reactions will only breed more drama.
“Can’t you see with your own eyes?” The matriarch steps forward, throwing her arms out, thrusting the blackened creature in his face. “My daughter! This is what it did to my daughter?”
He holds eye contact with her. It’s vital not to be caught up in the emotion of the moment, even when the victim is so clearly evident. Immediacy is key, and he needs information right now. Let the family and the town grieve. Veerh has work to do.
“Who did this?” he asks. “Was this poachers?”
“No.” Her face twists in grief. “That… that thing. The giant. It did this.”
Veerh allows his gaze to drift down to the body in her arms—burnt beyond any recognition, the arms pulled in and twisted, the body flayed and divided, the head arched back in pain. It’s hard to look at, but he has to look, has to force the image into his eyes so that he might see clearly. The girl was Kloe’l, the daughter of this powerful trader. Merely days ago, he’d seen this child running through the roads, laughing, playing, teasing and being teased. Lack of sleep makes it difficult to separate the shock of what he sees from the duty he must perform, makes it hard for the image not to feel like one of his dreams.
“How are you so certain that it was the giant?” he asks.
Disbelief. “How can you even ask that?”
“I ask a simple question,” he says.
“Of course I know! I saw footprints, saw it running away. Even our driver saw it lumber off into the woods, just before…” Her voice cracks with a squeak and she pulls the charred body close, cradling the bundled girl, keening.
Veerh feels the eyes of the village on him. The scrutiny seems to have its own physical weight.
“You must understand,” he says. He speaks slowly, carefully. “We have to be certain.”
“I know what I saw. My driver knows what he saw. I think it’s you who don’t understand.”
Some of the crowd murmurs with low, unsettled song. Nods of agreement.
“If justice is to be served—”
“Justice!” She spits over the corpse onto Veerh’s foot. “You seek justice for an animal? It should be flayed, quartered, sold, and rendered. Alive, it could do this again.”
He ignores her. “My job is to find the truth and enforce the law, Matriarch. Please. Tell me what you know.”
“The truth,” she says. “Take my child. Do your autopsy. Tell me what truth you see.”
“We’ll take the corpse to the Patcher for—”
“Patcher! A Patcher!” The Matriarch laughs, high and shrill. “You take my child to the same fraud who harbors the very animal that did this? She’s no Patcher. She’s nothing but a lunatic Tender. A hoarder!”
“She is the most practiced in this field.” Veerh says. “Are you suggesting there is a better qualified person to perform—”
The crowd parts again and this time it’s the Mayor who approaches. Mayor Den’k glances around, his cluster of a dozen eyes landing on every detail. Several eyes roll and his gaze lands on Veerh, who concedes a small bow.
“Mayor,” Veerh says.
“We require the Patcher’s clinic,” the Mayor says, his multi-lens eyes looking all directions at once. One stays on the girl’s body for an inordinate amount of time. “I will perform the autopsy myself.”
Standing outside, creating a spect
acle for the entire village. None of this is how the law should be enforced. When he was younger, Veerh had worked hard to instate a process, one that would find the truth above this kind of lynch mob that’s governed so many towns. And now, in the course of a day, it’s all collapsed around him. He sees their eyes. Scared. Angry. They’ve never liked Scoop living here to begin with. They just couldn’t find a good enough reason to outwardly protest until now.
So distracted with the mob in front of him, Veerh hasn’t even realized that Bex stands at the door to the clinic.
“What?” Bex screeches from behind him, storming forward to the front of the yard. “I am the Patcher here! What makes you think you can perform—”
“I have been trained in my early years,” Den’k says. “I’m more than equipped to analyze the deceased. I can do it objectively. Can the same be said about you, Tender?”
If she had grafted blades, Veerh imagines Bex would have flayed the man right there. She lunges within an inch of his face.
“You have no right!” She draws a hand back to strike, and it’s only through instinct that Veerh manages to keep her from striking the Mayor, taking her wrist in a manipulator. “This is my clinic!”
Veerh turns to Ca’aam, pointing at Bex. “Give her a safe distance from the crowd,” If the Patcher starts a fight, he isn’t sure he can keep the mob from swarming her. In her rage, Bex seems unaware just how precarious her position actually is.
He leans in towards her. “Are you mad? Get back.”
Bex’s eyes go wide. “But—”
“Just get inside. Now.”
She acquiesces, barely. Backing away from the crowd and into the front door.
Veerh faces the hundreds of eyes and clears his throat. They don’t just want access to the Patcher’s clinic. They want to overrun it. As soon as he allows even one in, someone will flip the latch on the gate and the entire town will arrive, pitchforks in hand, looking for Scoop. Thankfully, Scoop isn’t there, but that just means the mob will look for another excuse, another person to blame. They will go after the next best thing. They will go after her.
“Mayor,” Veerh says. Three eyes roll to stare at him. “As Preserver, I ask that you reconsider this. Bex has performed dutifully since taking over the clinic. Her expertise would prove insightful.”
“Preserver-Veerh,” the man says. “I trust you are aware that with my background, I am officially the senior medical authority. Bex has never been officially granted permission to run the clinic, and considering the recent upheaval in the Tender’s Guild…”
“What?” He takes a step back. Eyes from the mob bore into him. “What’s happened?”
“The Tenders Guild has gone silent. Considering the latest instability in the Ameer city, I don’t consider the Matron Tender to be as valid a spokesperson anymore anyway. Their time has passed a generation ago. You can’t expect these people to listen to a Tender when she herself flaunts her hubris, hoarding an animal even from her own Matron.”
A pause, enough time to breathe.
“I see.” Veerh flips a blade on one of his arms, nervously.
“Now, if you will just let us through.” Den’k says, stepping forward and past the old soldier. He raises his voice so that the crowd can hear. “The townsfolk have every right to know what’s gone on here. One of their own has suffered greatly. This is a terrible loss for our community, Preserver.”
More try to follow, threatening to pour into the clinic like so many swarming insects. Straightening his posture, Veerh lets a few of his blades fall open and into view, casually, like a morning stretch, but it’s enough. A few of the crowd look at one another warily. One or two step back.
“There’s nothing to see here,” he announces to the crowd. “Unless every one of you are trained in the biological arts, I suggest you go back to your homes until this is sorted out.”
A few in the back turn and leave, their curiosity not enough to override their own sense of self-preservation. But more people murmur and press in, filling in the gaps left by the deserters. It’s clear they aren’t moving.
The Lady of Meat and Bone unfurls her limbs, hands Veerh the body. Veerh tries not to show his shock: the body is so light—like carrying a paper effigy.
“Let’s take her inside,” Veerh says, his eyes still on a charred limb visible through a parting of the blanket. “We’ll sort this out in there.”
“I think the matter is already sorted, Preserver,” the Matriarch says, her voice shrill and pointed.
Someone hisses in the crowd and Veerh bristles. A few more spectators in the back recoil and walk away. He’ll be damned if he lets them continue this bullying behavior on account of the girl. It’s almost enough to think they care more about embarrassing Bex than solving this.
But they don’t want this solved. They’ve already made their decision. They just want you to carry out orders. You’re a tool, not a politician. You are a weapon and nothing more.
Veerh reaches the front steps and then addresses the crowd, the body of the girl in his arms. “Only the Mayor and the Matriarch beyond this point. The rest of you will stay outside the yard. I catch anyone trying to enter the gates or paddocks, I’ll donate your arms to a thrid.”
The words bring nervous chittering from somewhere in the back, but nobody moves. Pel’ch, Ca’aam, and Den’k follow him through the door of the clinic. Bex is there inside. She looks at him without saying a word. He can see on her face she knows.
Bex straightens, looking past him. “Mayor. Matriarch.” Her eyes fall on the bundle in Veerh’s arm and for a moment it seems as if she might cry.
“The Mayor has requested that we use your facility to conduct the autopsy of this young girl,” Veerh says to her. He keeps his voice even, official.
“A girl?” she asks. “What happened?”
“Your beast is what happened!” Pel’ch wails.
Veerh interrupts before she can continue.
“It appears the woman’s daughter has been attacked.”
“Burned! The monster burned my little girl!” The guild matriarch sways in her grief, pointing a frail manipulator accusingly at Bex.
Den’k glowers at Veerh. “Preserver, could you please hurry this along? Can’t you see this woman is in terrible pain?”
“Let me—” Bex says.
“Please,” Veerh says, lowering his voice. He places a manipulator hand on Bex’s shoulder. “Don’t fight this just yet.”
Bex’s gaze travels from Veerh to the body, from Den’k to the deputy and finally the Matriarch. She nods, and movement floods into the room as Den’k and the deputy begin preparations at the surgery table. Veerh places the body gently on the surface, then steps away. He takes Bex by the arm, pulls her a few steps from the action.
The screech of metal chair legs and the clank of tools masks Bex’s low voice.
“What is going on?” she demands, looking up at Veerh. “Why is nobody telling me anything? Is that—” She gestures at the bundle resting on the table. “That isn’t Kloe’l. I just saw her the other day. Just before Scoop…”
Although the Mayor busy in his work, and the parent is preoccupied with the autopsy, crying and moaning as the body is exposed, Veerh keeps his voice low.
“I saw the body,” Veerh says. “The child wears the pendant of the guild. If the Matriarch is correct, we may have a problem on our hands. Scoop will have a problem as well.”
“What does that mean? What sort of problem? Do they already have a suspect?” Veerh watches realization flood into her face. “Scoop? You can’t be serious.”
“Nothing’s proven yet,” Veerh mutters. “But it’s either very good or very bad that your giant is not here.”
“How so?”
“Good that they cannot mob him and take him away immediately. Bad that his absence presents a lack of alibi.”
“But he wouldn’t!” she says. “I can do a better job at the autopsy anyway. I can prove his innocence.” She pauses, an unsettled calm comi
ng over her. “They don’t care if he did it or not, do they? They just want someone to blame. That’s why Den’k is doing the autopsy.”
He can see the frustration on her face as voices echo from the back of the room.
“Come on,” Veerh says. “It’s better if we’re present at least.”
Den’k hovers over the table and Veerh sees up close just how extensive the damage is. The Mayor pokes and prods through the blackened tissue. It flakes and snaps under his tools like dried leaves. There’s hardly anything left of the girl.
“You can see the bite marks here,” Den’k says, pointing at a section of exposed bone. “It bit clean through. You can even see where it’s gnawed here on the leg. Look at the scale of the bite marks as well. I can only think of one animal with a jaw this wide.”
“Where is the animal?” The Matriarch asks. “I wish to see it. We must deconstruct it and measure the jaw line. The rest of the body will be disposed of accordingly.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Veerh says. “Just because the bite marks are from a larger animal doesn’t mean they belong to Scoop.”
“Fine,” she says. “Bring him out and we can measure him alive.”
The request takes him completely by surprise, and Veerh freezes. He glances at Bex, hoping she’ll come up with a save.
“He’s out, chasing down livestock right now. It can take time to bring him back in,” Bex says.
“So you let the creature out?” Den’k asks. “That’s highly unusual. Even dangerous, don’t you think?”
“He likes his exercise.”
“How long before you can bring him back in?”
“An hour or so.”
“And do you allow this creature out in the evenings?” Den’k asks. His many eyes focus on her.
“No,” Bex says. “He’s in his barn every night.”
“Is it possible he could have gotten out? He’s quite strong. I’m sure our Preserver can attest to that.” He turns to Veerh, giving a thin smile.
“The creature is strong,” Veerh agrees. “But he is also docile.”
Den’k lowers his surgical tools. A low, cynical chuckle vibrates in his throat. “That docile creature killed three poachers on its own. One of them could scarcely be salvaged at all. His body was nothing but a black spot in the dirt. You’re here to tell me that you honestly think that thing is harmless?”