Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater (34 page)

Olin took three more backward steps. He pulled his old torturgy mask from inside his jacket and clutched it to his chest.

"
Run, damn you
!" Chuggie hollered, stomping a foot at the boy.

Olin jumped at the scolding, turned, and dashed off into the dark. As he ran, he pulled the mask over his head once more.

Chuggie fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face, joining the blood trickling from his mouth. Rage and despair bubbled in his guts like lava.

The scarecrows stampeded toward him, driven by the furious shrieks of the witch. Chuggie readied his anchor, swinging it overhead in broad circles. One scarecrow raced past him, hot on Olin's trail. Chuggie blasted it in the back with the anchor, and it exploded into splinters.

Another tackled him, but Chuggie rolled through the attack. He chopped it to pieces and swung the anchor through two others. The scarecrow mob seemed to forget about Olin as they chased Chuggie through Shola's garden.

The goat, still tied where he left it, panicked at the sight of the oncoming horde. It bucked and jerked against its harness, kicking at the air.

Shola's unintelligible wails cut through the howl of the wind. Chuggie ran to the goat. It struck out at his head with its front hooves and tried to ram him. He caught it by a horn and held tight, but it yanked away, nearly pulling his shoulder out of the socket.

The Bleeding Jaws of Glughu fell to the dirt.

As the goat tugged him this way and that, the old drunkenness spilled into his mind. The goat tossed him, and he toppled hard to the ground.

He tried to shake away the dizziness while his eyes fought to focus. He saw the whitish blur of his dagger and lunged for it.

No sooner did he get a hand on it, than a team of scarecrows piled on his back. Their hands of sticks and straw clawed at him. Some used their plank arms to batter him. He pushed and shoved them away even as he strained to draw what moisture they possessed.

They tore gashes in his chest and ripped his clothes as bits of pumpkin and gourd mashed into his face. They weren't living things… maybe they didn't have enough water to make a difference. Before he finished the thought, he noticed the mob on him had grown lighter. He snapped off an arm, then a leg. They grew lighter and more brittle, until the whole bunch of them crumbled on top of Chuggie. He grunted and rolled to his feet.

Shola cackled as she rode into the yard on a strange and twisted scarecrow. Instead of a head, it had a seat. Its legs were reinforced, and its arms were long enough to reach the ground. On either side of her, scarecrows of the more traditional variety carried torches.

"Now you!" Chuggie He held his hands out toward Shola and pulled at her moisture with all his might.

She laughed. "Oh, my dear drunk idiot, you can't harm me. Now come and look inside my purse!"

As she opened the purse and pointed it at him, Chuggie pulled harder. She remained unaffected.

"That won't work on me, darling. Not anymore. I am protected from you."

He saw it then, a webwork of invisible energy wrapping around her and spreading over her scarecrows. He sensed something of himself in the web. A deep moan escaped from him as he realized what it was: somehow, the witch had transformed his love for her into a barrier against him. Had the goat-face purse helped make that possible?

She continued pointing the open purse at him. "I'm going to Stagwater, Chuggie. If you don't join me now, you die here." The torch light flickered across her wrinkled, skeletal face. Her eyes glinted madly as they reflected the light of the flames.

"Come on, goat. It's time to go back to town." Chuggie turned toward his goat. The goat wouldn't be making the journey back to Stagwater. During his wrestling match, he hadn't only sucked the scarecrows dry. The goat had mummified. Its lips had pulled back, leaving a twisted goat-smile beneath nearly empty sockets. Its skin stretched tight over its ribs, splitting in places.

Shola crowed hoarse laughter as Chuggie kicked the goat to pieces. He weighed his options and decided he had four.

He could stand there and let the witch kill him. While that relieved him of responsibility, death held no appeal, and there'd be no one to warn the city.

He could stand and try to fight her entire army with the Bleeding Jaws of Glughu and his boat anchor. That scenario seemed closely related to the first, and it would probably end the same way.

He could fight his way through them and go after Olin. But being near Chuggie would kill Olin faster than the wilderness would. Leaving the boy alone gave him the best chance of survival.

The fourth and best option was to get to Stagwater before she did. The Steel Jacks and city guard could repel her attack. Innocents could be saved. They had to be warned. Chuggie looped the chain around his chest and picked up the goat's dried head.

The scarecrows formed an ever-growing crescent around him as Shola clapped her hands with glee. She hooted, rocking back and forth atop her creation.

He held up the goat head like an offering. "You ever see those guys who wear animal skulls like helmets? Never made any sense to me. If you try to make one o' your own you find out there's all kinds o' pointy bone projections inside, an' the brainpan ain't shaped at all like a man's head. By the time you get it whittled down so it'll fit, it's too thin to give any protection." Chuggie narrowed his eyes at Shola.

"If only I had time to nail you to my tree. I can only
imagine
what your torturgy would unlock!" Shola screeched. "Lucky for you, I have an appointment in town. Midnight has power!"

"Then I'll see you there, you mother of whores!" Chuggie heaved the goat head at her. He didn't expect the projectile to pass through her web of protection, but it did. The skull smashed into her with the force of a puff cannon pellet. Her arm shattered with the impact, and she fell to the ground screaming. Chuggie spun and raced north, fast and alert thanks to his dagger.

"Open the cave! Gather your brothers! Bring
all
of my children!" Shola's shrieks filled the night.

Wind wailed through the trees as the downpour began. Flashes of lightning occasionally lit Chuggie's way, but he needed no light. The Bleeding Jaws of Glughu showed him all he needed to see.

Thunder boomed like whole damn sky was collapsing.

Fey Voletta sat on top of a cabinet in the Steel Jacks' workshop, hidden among the shadows.

"Please, relax, Mr. Haste. We have no intention of killing you. Now stop struggling. You're going to damage yourself." Non loomed over Haste, as did several other Steel Jacks.

Haste wheezed and snorted like a hog. He coughed violently as a Steel Jack removed his gag.

"This is illegal!" he shouted. "I command you to stand down and release me!"

Non leaned down close. "You have no authority over us. Law does not exist in Stagwater. We Steel Jacks are leaving."

Haste's voice cracked, "Then leave! We don't need you. We never did!"

"I am afraid that is not true. There are forces that wish to attack this city. We could have protected the people here, and we tried to do so. Norchug Mot Losiat, the man you tried to have killed, is a powerful creature indeed. We sought to enlist him with the Steel Jacks. With his help, protecting Stagwater would have been easy. You and your people interfered, however, and now our man is gone." Non scraped a metal finger on the anvil next to Haste's ear. Haste winced.

"You should have told us what you knew!" Haste quivered as if fear and anger overwhelmed him. "Made us aware of your plans."

"No!" Non boomed. "You have known all, yet you chose to seek greater power. You never acted in service to this city."

"It's Kale, isn't it?" said Haste. "He's been plotting against me for years, but I've known all along. Tell your new master Kale that —."

"Kale is dead," Non said. "Killed in the forest by Mr. Mot Losiat. I assure you, no one is pulling Steel Jack strings in Stagwater."

"
My
conjury protects Stagwater!" Haste shrieked. "
My
influence keeps this city from chaos! Without me, Stagwater will be a helpless child in the wilderness!"

Non forced the gag into Haste's mouth once more.

Haste resumed squirming and squealing.

"I am not sure how much you really know of the Steel Jacks," said Non. His buzzing voice took a friendly tone. "You see, we have advanced technological knowledge. Sometimes we share that knowledge with mankind. Among our abilities is flesh-craft. The torturgy you use stems from our flesh-crafting techniques. But you humans are so backward. You find one way to use a tool, and you assume that is the only way that tool may be used. It is amusing and sad at the same time."

The Steel Jacks surrounded Haste in a tight circle. The lights went down, leaving only the glow of Steel Jack eyes.

Fey Voletta leapt silently to the floor and crept over to get a better view.

Non's eyes flickered brighter as he spoke. "Tonight you'll receive an advanced tutorial in Steel Jack flesh-craft. I hope the honor is not lost on you."

Haste's pig noises reached a comical crescendo.

"Oh, do not fear. You will be very much alive when we are through. You will be alive and free to live out the rest of your life however you see fit."

The Steel Jacks began their frenzied surgery upon Haste in near silence. His wheezing and grunting was punctuated by the sound of metal tools clinking against porcelain. The smell of human waste and blood filled the room as the light of Steel Jack eyes shone down on Haste's quaking flesh.

Fey Voletta covered her nose with her robe as she watched in giddy delight.

The creature that had been Dawes trudged through the darkness, a willing scout for his dark god. His re-creator had made him into a creature of grotesque beauty, and he had no more use for a name.
Desecrated
was the only name he needed.

The little ones scurried about him as he pushed through the branches and brambles. Their devotion to the Gooch deserved bloody rewards.

The man-city wasn't far now. A few short miles. All that waiting flesh.

With a choked whisper, he spoke his prayer, "In death, I serve the Gooch."

Midway through Haste's time on the table, Fey Voletta grew bored.

"Non?" she asked. "Do you need me down here?"

The leader of the Steel Jacks issued a vibratory chuckle. "Do you have other business to attend to?"

"I don't know…" she smiled a coy smile. "Perhaps."

"Please, kitten, do not let us keep you from your rats." Non shooed her away like a child. "We will summon you when we are ready for departure."

Her heart sang as she bounded off. She felt free and joyous, lighter than air. When she stepped out onto the street, she felt like singing. Even the chill wind could have been summer's own breath as it whipped her robe around.

There were barely any people on the street to share her joy, so she skipped her way to a nearby neighborhood. She needed an entire family,
any
family, with whom to celebrate.

She approached a house with the name "Stagson" painted on the weathered wooden gate. What better place to begin the celebration of her departure from Stagwater?

A man sat at a table in the dining room. As she snuck up onto the stoop, she saw two child-sized chairs. This was definitely the place.

Fey Voletta entered, leaving the door open. The raging wind slammed it against the wall. She hid behind a cabinet as the man of the house jumped from his seat.

He rushed to the door. "Hello?" he called as he poked his head out the door.

"What was that?" called a woman, presumably his wife.

"Wind blew the door open." The man pulled his head back in. He locked the door, and tested that it wouldn't blow open again. He took his seat in the dining room once more and resumed reading his paper.

Fey Voletta tiptoed up behind him. She slid a long knife from her robe without making a sound. She had the knife in his side and a hand on his mouth before he knew she was there.

"Shhhh," Fey Voletta, whispered with a gentle voice. The blade in the man's side was significantly less gentle. As he gasped futilely for air, she continued, "I've stabbed through your liver, up into your lung. I cut through your diaphragm, which is why you're having trouble breathing. I'm sure this is very painful, but I don't want you to make any noise, okay? If you do, I'll do the same thing to the rest of your family, got it?"

He twisted his head to look at Fey Voletta. His eyes were wide with shock and disbelief.

"Are you alright in there?" the man's wife called out. Her footsteps grew closer.

Fey Voletta twisted the knife, and the man wailed. His wife's footsteps broke into a run.

"Oh, well," said Fey Voletta, smiling an icy smile. She leaned down and whispered in his ear, "I was going to kill them anyway."

She made short work of the wife and debated leaving the children. Was there anything sadder than an orphan? She stabbed her mercy into the two young sons, sparing them the orphan's life.

Fey Voletta wiped the Stagmans' blood on a curtain and left the house whistling a happy song. Four was a good start. She wondered if she could get to fifty before Non called her back.

Back on the street, she heard the music and laughter of a nearby tavern. She followed the sound down an alley, dancing as she went. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so free, so empowered… so lustful. Death was a love song, a seduction scene between herself and the blades she revered.

She heard young, male voices.

"Hey!" she called from the shadows.

A young man walking with two others heard her and stopped. "Hello? Are you talking to me?"

"Of course I am," she giggled. "Come here and help me lift this thing. You look strong enough."

The young man shrugged at his friends and walked into the alleyway. "Uh, so what do you need help lifting, miss?" he asked.

"My dress," she moaned in his ear. Then to his pals she called, "You boys can run along. I don't think this one's gonna need any help from you two."