by Tara Basi
“Seven, how does it feel to be justly doomed? Is it true that Meryl Streep will be playing you in the forthcoming movie – Piss Pots and Me: The Truth Beneath the Gown?”
Liberté is speaking with Sapphria’s soft voice. I feel exhausted and drained. I cannot concentrate.
“Pardon?”
“Shocking! Just when you think Seven might show a bit of humility and remorse, she’s already trying to wriggle out of her punishment. This is the Inns of Court Shopping Channel, and you’ve been watching Sapphria’s True Truth infomercial.”
His blinding light is abruptly extinguished. The change strikes me like a blow, and I slump to my knees.
“How you have fallen.”
Liberté has lost the sensual and beguiling tones of Sapphria, and his own voice is back. It echoes and reverberates as if he were speaking to me from a tomb buried deep in the earth. Each word rattles my bones. His breath carries the stench of decay and is as cold as a corpse.
“How does it feel, Seven, to be cast down and out?”
I have not the strength to answer or even to try and understand Liberté’s questions.
“To lose all that you love?”
There is only one thought in my mind. Weakly, I call out, “Zero!”
“You’re going to the depths of the pit.”
“Zero! Zero, help me! Zero!”
“We have so much in common.”
“Leave me be, foul monster!”
“I wish I could. But we are twins, you and I. One cannot exist without the other. Soon, very soon, your idleness must come to an end. Sacrifice of the innocent won’t cut it this time.”
A chilly blackness falls across my eyes.
Chapter Seventeen – Imprisoned
When I open my eyes, it is as if they have been smeared with a thin film of oily water. My sight is confused and indistinct. Are those old pine boards above my head? Can I see a faint splash of faded red? Is it lettering? Could it be? My old heart leaps at the thought. Has everything been no more than a phantasmagorical hallucination? I open my eyes as wide as I am able and concentrate. I am lying down. The boards are fading and turning to black stripes. There is no lettering, only a shimmering red light. I am not home.
Immediately, my hands clutch at my chest. Thank goodness. I am still gowned. Lifting my head a little, I see thick, wavy, black lines. Looking around, that is all I can discern. I am so tired; everything is uncertain and blurred. My head is unbearably heavy. I cannot hold it up, and it falls back down onto a hard, wooden surface.
Tick.
It is seventeen past seven. Only a few minutes have passed since the axemen abducted me and brought me here. It seems that I fainted away, and it is unsurprising. Their unexpected appearance was shocking and my abduction, in such a humiliating manner, traumatic. The axemen’s touch was brutal and cold, quite unlike the warmth and comfort that Zero provides when he takes my hand. It is a wonder that my heart did not shrivel and die at the very moment I was seized. The insertion of an Encounter with the insidious Liberté was almost too much to bear. Poor Zero. I hope, at least, that he is well.
A thought most shocking and horrible sweeps away my melancholy musings. Immediately, I sit up and struggle to my feet so that my gown drops around my ankles. The wooden planks under my feet are soft and wavy as if they were somehow elastic. I find it necessary to clutch at a cold metal pole to steady myself. I am calmed that my under-gown garments are no longer exposed to prying eyes. I choose to imagine that the axemen would have acted in a perfunctory manner and left as quickly as they could after depositing me wherever here is.
The blurriness in my eyes and the lightness in my head is slowly dissipating. A pungent sulphurous smell of burning assaults my nostrils. Here is very warm. Uncomfortably warm. There is the taste of ash on my tongue, making it difficult to swallow. A low noise, similar to the pops and plops of the Prof’s workhouse, fills the air. These are different. The tone is in a lower register, as if whatever might be boiling is of much greater viscosity than the liquids in the Prof’s beakers. While my eyes are not yet fully functional, I seem to be alone. If I am alone, it would be pleasing. It has been some time since I was.
“Hey, darling, you ain’t the one we’ve been waiting for, are you?”
My chin falls onto my chest, and I inhale the warm, smoky air, deeply and slowly. It seems there is no escape from unwanted Encounters. I am assaulted by a coughing fit, and my eyes are burning. The atmosphere is most polluted. Searching for the source of the uninvited question, I survey my surroundings, starting with my immediate vicinity. My vision has cleared. I am enclosed on all sides by solid metal bars. The floor is made of hardwood planks with a single hole in one corner that is approximately the size of my hand. The space is only a little larger than my workhouse. Despite the oppressive heat, a coldness is freezing the breath in my lungs. Looking up, what I see elicits a strangled yelp. The ceiling is constructed of the same metal poles as the walls, and there are thick chains connected to four corners of my enclosure. The cables climb high up into the darkness and disappear. It is a disorientating and terrifying sight that forces me to grab hold of the nearest wall bars for support. My sudden movement causes the floor to wobble and tremble. Its unsettling and unsteady movements echo my mental state. My knees kiss the wooden planks, and, for the first time, with my face pressed tightly against the bars, I am afforded a dreadful view of what lies beneath. I shriek loudly and collapse backwards onto the floor of my cage.
I hang precariously high above a cracked and burnt landscape, which is criss-crossed with bloody red rivers of molten rock. If the academicals or Priest had burned me alive, then my blood would have boiled up and burst through my blackened skin and perhaps resembled the scene below. The landscape of this grotesque place, with its awful smells and sights, roils my stomach. My thought is to rip away my gown and shower the small hole in the floor with my wretch bile. Then I remember I am not alone. The odorous stench has a tinge of the odious Liberté about it. I must hope that it is not Liberté who has accosted me with yet another false voice. I suck down the burning fluids and press my fists against the hard floor. The pain is a welcome distraction. Recovering a little, I use the support of the bars to stand up and seek out the other who spoke earlier.
I have two neighbours. They hang, like me, in space, suspended over the desolate and burning vista. Their cages are identical to mine. One lies to the right and one to the left, and we three are alone in the void. If we stretched out as far as we could, through the bars, our fingertips might just meet.
The strange question originated from a thankfully gowned fellow who is holding onto the bars of his cage and staring directly at me. The occupant of the other cage is sitting quietly on the floor with his hooded head in his hands. Both of my unwelcomed companions’ gowns are decorated with alternate hoops of black and white, and their garments are of poor quality: much patched and despoiled with an unsavoury melange of stains. The horizontal black bars decorating their gowns clash disconcertingly with the vertical bars of the cage, producing a quite dizzying effect. I can see no obvious embroidery that would reveal their names, craft or status.
“You deaf, dear?” my inquisitor bellows.
A sniffle and a forlorn sigh betray my weakness, despite my determination to be strong. And it is wrong of me to judge. My own gown is hardly pristine. I curl my fingers tightly and swallow away the thickening in my throat. These unknowns share my plight. Maybe they have useful intelligence.
“My apologies. My name is Abi. I am a little confused. What is this place?”
“You don’t know? Are you a bit daft? It’s okay if you are. Ges is a bit daft as well.” He is pointing past me at the figure on the floor of the other cage. Ges hasn’t moved or given any indication that they are aware of my presence. “I’m Dis. We’ve been waiting for someone. Name of La Deux. Isn’t you, is it?”
“I believe, despite my experiences this day, that my mental facilities are unimpaired. Two giant axemen brought me
here. I am progressing an appeal against my Judgements, which are numerous. My hearing is scheduled for later this evening, and I am called Abi.”
“Yeah, we saw them axemen. Nice fellows. You like the sound of your own voice, don’t you? But you don’t sound daft, except for that appeals nonsense. Never going to happen. Your second name ain’t La Deux, is it?”
“I do not have a second name. Are you quite sure about my appeal?”
“I’m sure. Even if it does happen, it won’t change anything.”
“Why ever not?”
“You are a little bit daft. This is where they hold you, before … you know?”
“I most certainly do not know.”
“Before the … nailing up.”
Those words strike me like two blows, to the temple and the torso. I find myself staggering away from the support of the bars and falling to the floor. My bones are cold. So very cold. I fling my arms around my shoulders to try and stop myself from shaking. My tight embrace delivers no warmth or comfort. Tendrils of frost from deep inside me are reaching out towards every extremity.
“I am to appeal. Tonight.” The words sound hollow, even to my own ears. I listlessly rearrange my gown hoops and draw my legs up to my chest, resting my forehead on my knees. I rock back and forth, trying to believe that I shall soon awaken. This is all but a morbid dream.
“Sorry, darling. Maybe, you’ll get your appeal. What does old Dis know?”
It is not right to think only of myself. I lift my head. “I am sorry for you too, Dis. What mendacious falsehoods have brought you here?”
“Oh, we ain’t innocent or nothing. We’re thieves, no denying that. I’m a good thief, actually. Ges is a terrible thief. Got caught with a stolen judging pig. What kind of idiot would try and steal one of them? That daft kind,” Dis says, waving his hand in the direction of our silent companion.
I am intrigued and welcome the distraction of thinking on something other than my surroundings and my own fate. I address the silent Ges: “You spirited away a pig judge from the House of Pointlessness?”
Dis answers on Ges’s behalf. “Not sure about spirited. Ges runs up during some kind of hearing and grabs the pig by the trotters, swings it over his back and scoots out of there. Course, the axemen is after him like lightning from a storm cloud.”
The image raises a faint smile and a little hope in my heart. “Ges, was it your intention to strike a mortal blow against an absurd and venal justice system?”
Ges raises his head and looks at me for a long moment before answering, “Nah, I just like bacon.” Ges has a gentle voice.
I cannot bear to think about my own circumstances. I persevere in my investigation of the purloined pig. “Surely, there are easier ways to acquire bacon. You must have had a philosophical and political desire to break the back of the evil justice system with this bold act of revolution?”
Ges strokes his chin. “No.”
“I told you he was daft.”
I refuse to give up and cling to my little hope. “Why a judge pig, Ges? Surely, your act carried some symbolism beyond mere sustenance?”
“Ah, no. Justice pigs, them the juiciest. Everyone knows that. Anyway, same Judgement, whatever the pig. Might as well go for the tastiest. Right, Dis?”
“Sure, Ges, sure.”
It is disheartening that this brave act by Ges had such a simple larder-filling purpose. I can feel my own dark thoughts scratching for attention, and then a timid smile flickers into life. Ges’s little act of rebellion, however inadvertent, is a dam holding back memories of Judge Forgone Conclusion’s final words. “Brave Ges, your courageous act clearly demonstrates the iniquity of a justice system, which does not value its own porcine judges over their farm fellows, and, by so doing, clearly demonstrates that their judging abilities are no better either.”
Ges seems unimpressed by my discovery. He is no more animated than when I first saw him. Ges looks over towards me. “All this pig talk got me thinking about crackling. It’s a terrible mighty urge.”
I clench my fists. I cannot let my own dread overwhelm and smother my reasoning. If even one scream escapes my mouth, I fear that I will never stop. I focus on the plight of my companions. “I am sorry, Ges, that I do not have any cooked pig parts about my person. Tell me how you were captured. Did the axemen apprehend you?”
Dis laughs and Ges answers, “Them axemen got a serious weakness.”
“Really, Ges? They seem exceedingly capable and very frightening.”
“Stairs.”
“Stairs, Ges?”
“Yeah, they can’t do stairs.”
“Thank you, Ges, for that potentially useful insight. How, then, did you become incarcerated in this place?”
Dis answers, “Idiot brings the damn pig and a bunch of constables to my door. Gets us both a whole mess of Judgements.” From his tone, Dis appears accepting of the situation rather than being angry with Ges.
“Perhaps you too can appeal. I have a solicitor and a barrister. They seem somewhat competent, despite their eccentricities. Though, in truth, I am rather confused about the outcome of my last hearing.” Scratchy little frosty fingers close on my innards as the memories come back. I shake my head to push them away.
“Thanks, love, but we don’t have the lodgement money, and it’s too late now. We ain’t even got the buttons for the nailer-uppers when the time comes. You ain’t got any spare buttons have you, darling?”
“I am truly sorry. I have … lost … my buttons.” Those few words and their deeper meaning unleash a wave of wracking sobs from my breast. Zero is lost to me, my appeal is lost and all chance of returning to my workhouse life. Claws tighten on my throat. My lungs are filling with burning ash.
“That’s alright, love. We’ll keep each other company. Don’t you worry about the buttons.”
“She don’t sound like no criminal type, Dis.”
The words of Ges are a slap to the face. A reminder of my truth. The cold fingers release their grip. I cough hard to clear my lungs. “You are absolutely correct, Ges. I am not a criminal. I am not. I will have my appeal.”
“That’s the spirit, love.”
“But, Dis, you said them legalisers just spin things out till the money’s all gone, and then you still get nailed up.”
“Shut up, Ges! Maybe it’s different for her. Right, darling?”
I press my hood gauze into my eyes to wipe away the tears and rise, a little unsteadily at first, to my feet. “Thank you, Dis. I trust in Zero, my appeals process administrator, and if I can assist you and Ges, then I shall.”
“Don’t you worry about us, Abi. We’re getting what we deserve. Some buttons is all we need.”
“So, what you done? How’d you end up here?” Ges asks.
It is a dreadful question. With a shudder, I think back over the day’s events to the first Judgement that Mary M delivered of Disturbance Potential. The first nail. It was only hours ago. What an absurd and meaningless crime to be convicted of. Yet, on darker reflection, that was not how all this began.
“My nightmare, the Terrors, ceased this past night, and all my troubles stem from that. Though I cannot explain exactly why.”
“Getting a Judgement for that don’t seem fair.”
“Ges, the Judgements, and they are so numerous I do not even recall all of them, only relate indirectly to the end of the Terrors.”
“Weird! Do you remember any of your Judgements?”
The memories of those terrible accusations bring out a strangled sob. “I do, Dis. The very last was the very worst. Abominable Soul Eater.”
“Did you?” Ges asks.
“Did I what?”
“Eat any souls?”
I smack my fist into my palm and crunch my jaws before replying, “Ges, I can imagine the theft of a pig. I can even imagine how it might be accomplished. Can you imagine eating a soul and how that might be accomplished?”
“Don’t mind him, Abi. Like I said, he’s daft. Course she didn’t
eat any bloody souls, Ges. They’re not like a rasher of bacon, you idiot.”
“Just asking. Sorry, Abi.”
I sigh and try on a smile. “That is quite alright, Ges. I too have many, many questions.”
“What are the Terrors, Abi?” Ges innocently asks.
That question. Probably the only question that really matters. What have I been told? On recalling the events of the day, I cannot help myself. A bubble of strained laughter bursts out of my mouth like a happy scream. “Apologies, Dis, Ges. It is just that I have been told so many absurd things about the Terrors: that they are the squeaky wheels on my solicitor’s handcart, a giant frying pan, a kitten called Tiddly Widdly, a great work of art, a powerful force that binds the universe together, that it is my imaginer and more. Nothing of what I have been told provides any insight into the truth of the Terrors’ nature. To me, it has only ever been a terrible nightmare of endless struggles by a Great Artist to finish their canvas.”
“Well, I guess you’d know better than anyone else.”
How very insightful of the so-called daft Ges. It is exactly the case. Whatever anyone else might opine, only I have actually experienced the Terrors. “Thank you, Ges. That is the first sensible thing I have heard anyone say about the Terrors.”
“Really? Hear that Dis? Who’s daft now?”
“You, you daft idiot!”
My poor companions are quite charming fellows, even if they are pig rustlers. “May I ask, Dis, how long have you been imprisoned here?”
“How long’s it been, Ges?”
“A long time, Dis, a long time.”
“I don’t rightly recall, Abi, but like Ges says, it’s been a long time.”
“Who is this La Deux person that you have been waiting for?”
“Don’t know, do we, Ges?”
“No clue.”
“Then why, may I ask, are you waiting for this La Deux?”
“It’s like this, Abi. Our Judgement was a bit on the wacky side. Come sentencing, has to be the three of us. So, we’re hanging around here, till La Deux comes and then there’ll be the Final Judgement. Which was okay with us cos it postpones the old nailing up.”