Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater (7 page)

The damned villain jailor lifted Drexel's arms up over his head and picked him up off the floor. With a cruel smile, he shook the boy back and forth a few times before setting him down.

Rorid stood with his hands on the glass and tears streaming down his face. He turned away from his boy's humiliation and locked eyes with Priole. The younger guardsman had also been crying, but his bloodshot eyes held nothing but rage. Rorid felt his own fury rising. Without breaking eye contact, Priole snapped to a salute. Rorid returned the gesture and looked back to his son.

Drexel's trembling reached a crescendo, and his bladder let go. The jailor slapped him on the side of his bag-covered head, nearly knocking him down. Kale and Fitch took custody of Drexel and Ree, then led them out of the room.

"Sir." Priole's voice was low and angry.

Rorid shook his head. He pointed to his ear and then to the wall. He opened his mouth and closed it tight in an exaggerated gesture.

Priole nodded and clamped his mouth shut. His enraged, red face looked ready to burst.

A key rattled in the door. One of the stinking jail-vultures pushed the door open. Fitch entered wearing the beatific smile of a saint. Oh, how Rorid yearned to send him to meet whatever hogshit god he claimed to worship. Kale followed close behind, and Rorid's hands curled into shaking fists.

Some dark part of his mind hoped Priole would attack Kale. Then Rorid would have no choice but to go after Fitch. That entire struggle would be over in seconds. He pictured the bodies of the magistrates lying bloody and broken on the floor. Fantasy, of course. They'd never get away with such a thing.

"It breaks my heart, that this had to happen today," said Kale, not bothering to feign sincerity.

"Nobody made you do that." Priole growled.

"
You
made me do that, guardsman!" snapped Kale. "I will not abide failure."

Fitch chimed in, using his most sermon-like inflection. "Sacrifice for the greater good is the heart of Stagwater. Nothing comes easy. We share suffering as we share triumph!"

"We'll remember your words," Rorid said through clenched teeth.

"Yes you will," Kale said. "Dismissed. Say nothing of this."

Chuggie wondered if Shola would ever tire. Over the course of the afternoon, her years seemed to melt away until she had the body of a thirty-year-old woman. With the return of her youthful strength and vitality, she could scarcely be convinced to sit still.

Singing and dancing through the yard, she instructed her scarecrows to chase her. She sang as she skipped circles around them. They lumbered through the yard after her with stiff legs and lifeless faces. Hands of wood and straw clutched for her, but she just giggled and danced away from them.

Shola's thick, black hair trailed behind her like a comet's tail as she ran. Her drab, tattered clothes fell open frequently, revealing her petite body a piece at a time. She seemed quite oblivious that so much skin was on display. Her laughter filled the yard.

Chuggie tried not to ogle her, but he didn't try all that hard. While he enjoyed seeing her streak past him from time to time, clothes almost falling off, it caused him a twinge of guilt. She'd clearly forgotten how to act around other people in her long exile, and it was wrong for him to delight in that.

He chose to busy himself by hiking into the woods. Autumn's fallen leaves rustled as he walked through them, covering Shola's commotion more and more the further he went. His mind fizzed and bubbled with conflicting notions. On the one hand, he knew he had to be moving on. Winter crawled closer every day, and he had far to travel before the snow got deep.

On the other hand, Shola fascinated him. He knew he'd miss her company if he left.

What if he spent the winter there with her on the cliff?

It was a bad idea. If things didn't work out, he'd be trudging through hip-deep snow as he resumed his journey. Even worse, if things
did
work out, they risked discovery by scouts from the city. Either way, he'd have to live with her eerie scarecrows lurking around the corner every time he took a piss.

Another possibility was to turn south and start walking. Right then and there. Unannounced departure was certainly the option he'd chosen most in his life. He turned south, thinking he'd just walk that way a little and see how it felt.

For all he knew, Shola would grow old again if he left her. But how was that his fault? He was a simple observer to that phenomenon. He hadn't asked for any of this. He liked her, but he didn't owe her a thing. If he went south along the river, he'd find a bridge or a crossing eventually. It would mean abandoning his few possessions, but the only thing he really cared about was his anchor. He held her up in front of his face for a loving look. Fortunately, losing her wasn't a concern.

If he left, he'd feel bad about not saying goodbye to Shola. But many were the farewells he'd never said. What was one more?

Chuggie stood right up to the edge of a rocky cliff that looked down on a swampy valley to the south. He shook his head, smiling. "Suppose I could stick around another day or two, just be to help her prepare for winter. You wouldn't mind that would you, anchor? If you're gonna get jealous, I need to know now."

It felt good to be needed, if only a little, and weeks of walking could wait. Besides, she'd become quite beautiful. Turning down the hospitality of a beautiful woman was probably bad luck.

Not far away, a thrashing in the leaves snapped him out of his thoughts. He readied his anchor as he went to investigate. Nearing the site, Chuggie discovered a small silverhawk standing over a dead rabbit nearly twice its size. The hawk screeched at Chuggie and raised its wings to ward him off.

"Well, stab my face with a pitchfork!" Chuggie chuckled. "Lil' partner, I believe you just caught my supper. Many thanks, mister hawkey."

The silverhawk screeched once more, hopped towards Chuggie, then hopped back again. Chuggie tossed his anchor a few feet away from the angry bird, and it flapped its wings in an unhappy reply.

"You know you can't eat all that anyway. Like I said, I appreciate the gift, and… BLAH!" Chuggie shouted, waving his arms wide as he leapt toward the hawk.

It flapped off, screeching its dismay. Chuggie examined the big hare. He found the whole scenario so amusing, he just had to share it with someone. He bet Shola would be interested to hear all about it. He started back.

When he returned to the little clearing on the cliff, he found Shola grinning at him from her washtub. Her sly smirk dared him to look down at the pale-skinned body below the water.

Chuggie hoisted the rabbit in the air. "You ain't gonna believe this. I'm walkin' along…"

 "Can you do me a little favor?" Shola lifted her arm, as elegant as a swan, and pointed to the fire. "My water's getting cold." While she spoke, she looked right in Chuggie's eyes just like she knew the power she was wielding. That look she gave, the
big eyes
, caused him to put the rabbit story on hold as he grabbed the woven mat next to his feet. He took it to the fire, plucked out some hot stones, and dragged them back to her. "You want these rocks in your water?"

"Take out the cold ones." She pulled her legs up to her body and wrapped her arms around them. Chuggie guessed he wouldn't mind those arms wrapped around him. Maybe even the legs too.

He reached his hand into the water and started pulling out stones. With each stone he took from the water, there got to be more room in the tub. Certainly, Chuggie was due for a scrub, but he'd have to wait for an invitation. "I'll tell you about the rabbit later," he said, suddenly unable to recall his story. "Mind you, it's a story of cunning and guts. Man versus beast, deep in the wilderness. I'm sure of that much."

She laughed and splashed water at him.

Chuggie gave her a chuckle of his own and plopped the hot stones in her bath. 

"That ought to be as hot as you need it."

"How do
you
know how hot I need it?" Shola said as she bit her lip and looked up at him through her lashes.

Chuggie busied himself by picking up the rabbit and heading back over to the fire. He got to work and skinned the rabbit. He stuck a stick through it and lay it over the fire. As he tended the rabbit, Shola sang his name like a song and splashed water in his direction. He paid her as little attention as he could, but her singing and splashing drew his attention like a lighthouse with a foghorn draws a lost ship. He turned the rabbit slowly over the flame but kept one eye on the witch.

"Chuggie!" Shola shouted.

He groaned as he turned. The thought occurred to him that if he really wanted some peace, he ought to get her good and liquored up. A hangover could be a blessing, depending on who it belonged to. Then again, her attention took some bite out of the Autumnok chill.

"Whatchoo want, naked girl?" he answered.

"My water's getting cold, and the air is even colder. I haven't any robes. Bring me my cloak from the house?" Shola cocked her head from side to side. Even at this distance, he could tell she was giving him the
big eyes.

He looked at Shola, then the house, then the rabbit. Then the house, then Shola, then the rabbit again.

"Nah, I think I'd rather watch you walk to the house and…" Those words weren't supposed to be spoken out loud.

"What's that you're saying?" she asked.

"I said I'll go get it for you," he called back.

Chuggie loped over to the doorway of the house, steadied himself there, and looked through the door. In the day's last light, he got a better look at Shola's rat nest of a home. Seemed like she made nearly everything out of woven wicker. Tiny reed sculptures hung from handmade string. Feathers big and small poked out of each sculpture. Bird claws, small animal skulls, and furs dangled from the ceiling. He could barely make out some kind of web up there, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

Across the room, a lump of cloth that could only be Shola's cloak, hung from a rack of antlers. Chuggie lurched forward to retrieve it. His horns bumped into suspended things, so he ducked down low. They tangled the hanging strings, pulling them down, too. He grabbed the cloak. In his drunken clumsiness and hurry to get out, he toppled a few precariously stacked piles of what-have-you. The noise he made was only surpassed by the mess he'd created. He slammed the door shut behind him as if he'd just battled a hellbeast inside.

He made no mention of his troubles when he delivered the cloak to Shola. She stood, turned her back to him, and extended her arms. He wished to drink in the sight of her awhile, but she shivered in the cool air. After an involuntary look up and down her backside, he wrapped her up.

She stepped from the water and hustled toward the fire. Chuggie followed her and took his seat, giving the rabbit a quarter turn.

Only her face, hands, and feet were free of the cloak, and he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. He looked at her feet instead, with bits of grass stuck to them from her walk across the yard. She flexed her toes slowly, and he was certain she knew where his eyes were.

After warming herself a bit, Shola rose and went inside to dress. Chuggie wondered what she would think when she saw the condition of her home. Apologies sprung up in his mind like weeds, but none that were any good. Chuggie hoped the topic simply wouldn't come up.

When she returned, she made no mention of the carnage he'd left inside. Shola wore a buckskin dress, wide at the bottom and tight at the top. Each step she took in the dress seemed like a seductive dance. He pretended to rub his forehead, shielding his eyes from hers, and allowing himself a moment's study of her cleavage.

She carried a tray and a tall gourd. If Chuggie's hunch was correct, the gourd held some sort of liquor. He liked to think he could sense alcohol nearby, but he never told anyone about this.

Shola hummed as she sat on the ground next to the fire. He didn't know the song, but when she got to the chorus, her humming sounded a lot like sex noises.

The rabbit was done cooking, and Chuggie put it on the tray between them.

Pouring him a glass from the gourd, Shola said, "This wine I made years ago from berries and flower petals. It's a bit strong for me, but you may like it."

"I'll only have some if you do. Otherwise I have to suspect poison," he said, with a wink.

Above them, lavender clouds danced in the deep purple sky. In the west, golden clouds curled about the setting sun. For miles around, autumn's red and gold-leafed trees sat in quiet approval.

They ate together in relative silence. Chuggie did his best not to be grotesque, but the rabbit was so damn good he couldn't help but devour it. A cool breeze swam through, causing the fire to pop and smoke to blow in Chuggie's face. He closed his eyes and smiled as it washed over him.

"I need to know a thing or two," Chuggie said at last.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Shola took a tiny sip from her cup.

"How'd you get to be a prisoner here?" He puffed at a cigarette, waiting for her to speak again.

She spoke in a low tone, gazing at the flames. "If you must know, you must know. I don't imagine telling you would hurt much." The bubbly girlishness had vanished from her voice, like there was no good left in the world.

"I was an orphan living in the streets of some city I can't even remember." Shola took a drink of her wine and grimaced. "Sometimes people tried to help me by taking me in, but I always ran away."

Chuggie could certainly appreciate that. Occasionally, running off was exactly what the situation called for.

 "I was drawn to conjury of every sort, and I learned what I could where I could. I had to do things I regretted for people I wished I never knew. I got by like this for a long time. But eventually, bad luck caught up to me when I got to Stagwater."

She drained her cup, refilled it, and passed the gourd to Chuggie.

"And that bad luck's name was Arden Voss. Do you know that name?"

Chuggie shook his head.