The Twins of Noremway Parish (28 page)

He was back to guarding the jailhouse before long, partially because the only person that could fill in for him was dead. In most cases, the chancellor (or mayor) could fill in as sheriff in lieu of the deputy, but seeing that the mayor was dead and had not yet been replaced, and the chancellor was a bit under the weather, he had little choice but to go back to work.

Not that Noremway Parish had serious issues with law and order. Without a sheriff or deputy on duty people weren’t apt to start looting or killing each other, but Franz knew he needed to get back on his feet nevertheless.

Peyton Morgan, the proprietor of the only bar in town, could always be counted on to keep his patrons under control. No major bar fights had occurred in years. Drinking wasn’t really a big thing in the parish, but apple beer was a drink everyone could enjoy (with the exception of the kiddies, of course). He hadn’t been to the pub in a while. That had always been the deputy’s thing, but now that the deputy was gone, the bar was somewhere he had to start checking on himself.

Besides, he figured he could use a drink; several in fact. It didn’t matter that he was on duty. The only person who could do anything about it was the chancellor, and Franz had him wrapped so tightly around his thumb there was nothing the man would actually do. He may go to the pub later.

As he stepped into the jailhouse for the first time in four days, he came face-to-face with what he initially thought was a demon. He was a man who was there but somehow
not
there at the same time.

A demon? He couldn’t say for sure if that was an accurate description. Either way, the demon was sitting at his desk sifting through a pack of playing cards, flipping random ones out occasionally as he saw fit while blinking in and out of existence. Franz bent and picked up one of these cards: the Joker.

“
Hello, Franz–it’s about time we met.” The stocky, bald man had his feet propped up on the desk as he leaned back in the chair. “Sorry about your eye, but that was pretty damn entertaining, wouldn’t you say? I’ve never seen a real life werewolf before.”

“
Get the hell out of here.”
Werewolf? Is that what happened to me? I was attacked by a werewolf?
Then another thought:
Urey is a werewolf.

“
Aw, is that a way to talk to your new deputy? Of course it isn’t, so let’s start over.” The man took his feet off the desk, put all four chair legs on the floor, and stood. He offered his hand in welcome.

“
New deputy, eh? Urey didn’t mention a new deputy. Who the hell are you really? Tell me.”

“
We both know Urey is out of commission. He’s a werewolf now, although I find it rather amazing that no one but Plague and Urey himself seem to be aware of this fact. Even you seem to be unsure about it, and he tried to rip your head off.”

“
It’s been a confusing couple of days.”

“
Aye, agreed–but damn entertaining.”

“
Get out; not in the mood to chat it up with Hell’s rejects.”

“
The name is Zuriz Falcon, at your service–or perhaps you are at mine. No bother, doesn’t matter, never mind.”

“
What do you want?”

“
You, of course; love the eye patch, by the way. You look like a pirate. Arghh!” Then he laughed as if he had just made the funniest joke.

“
What are you laughing about? Get out of here.” Franz was becoming impatient. Whoever this Zuriz Falcon was, he wasn’t welcome here. He was nothing but a goon who seemed to think there was nothing better in this world than to laugh at nonsense. But maybe it was the setting. If he wanted to talk at Peyton’s Pub, that would be fine with him–great in fact. It would give him an excuse to get drunk under the guise of being on duty: interviewing the new deputy. That is assuming he really was a new hired hand. He had his doubts. He made a mental note to bring it up with Urey later, assuming he could find him.

“
Want to have a few drinks down at Peyton’s Pub? I hear the apple beer is to die for,” Falcon said, his hand still out as he waited for Franz to take it.

Oh what the hell,
he thought and finally grabbed Falcon’s hand. The mysterious man had a look in his eye that said he was friendly: friendly to his sort anyway. As he held the mysterious man’s hand, he felt the pain in his face disappear. He could feel the bones knitting themselves together.

They walked out of the jailhouse together.

***

The pub was nearly empty, which was unusual, but Franz had a feeling the owner and bartender, Peyton Morgan, James’s older brother, was enjoying the quiet because it surely wouldn’t last long. People would be coming in any minute. There probably wasn’t much opportunity for peace these days. The hustle and bustle in and out of the parish’s only real bar was often something to be admired. “Business is
always
booming at Peyton’s Pub!” read the marquee under the big, glossy letters Peyton’s Pub.

Peyton did not share his younger brother’s personality at all: not even close. He was an outgoing man, and good looking despite being almost sixty years old. “I wear my age well,” he said. This, despite the fact that he owned and operated a bar, was a testament to his claim that, “I only sell the stuff, I don’t drink it!” He was happy to see the sheriff walk through the door, especially after what had happened a few days ago.

“
Nice eye patch, Sheriff,” Peyton said and began pouring out a glass of apple beer. Apple beer—called “Morgan’s Delight” by some—was a favorite in Noremway Parish. Even the friar had been known to come in and grab a pint or two on occasion. Decon Mangler hadn’t had a drink in roughly a week, however, not since agreeing to care for those twins. Those—what did his sister-in-law call them? Those
abominations
. He had no opinion either way on the issue; it didn’t really concern him so long as business was still booming. As long as Rita and James kept growing the apples, and someone was still growing the grain, he was happy. Everybody could do what they wanted, and he wouldn’t think twice about it. Besides, he suspected that when the two-headed creature came of age, he’d be an everyday customer; tended to be the case with people down on their luck.

These thoughts and more occupied his mind during slow times.

As the sheriff walked in, Peyton noticed the man behind him was someone he’d never seen before, but that was alright; everyone was welcome here.

“
Here you go, Sheriff,” Peyton said, handing the glass to Franz. “And what can I get you, mister…”

“
Zuriz Falcon,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m new here. I love it here, but I don’t need a drink; never had the stomach for it. Just here, chillin’ with the sheriff.”

“
Chillin’?”

“
Term from another time. You know, just relaxing, enjoying the scenery, the people, the
opportunities
here.”

Peyton brought out a glass and poured an apple beer for himself. “My dear old sister-in-law grows the best damn apples this world has ever known,” he said after taking a drink. “I can drink this stuff until I can’t stand n’more!”

The sheriff laughed, obviously thinking of Peyton’s constant claim that he never drank the stuff.

“
What’s so funny?”

Franz smiled. “First, I thought you didn’t drink the stuff. Second, I think you have a higher opinion of Rita than anyone else—even your own brother.”

He finished the first glass and poured a second. “Aye, I probably do, but you know what, brother? I think maybe that isn’t really saying much.” Franz kept smiling. The fact that he was able to do so seemed miraculous to him. Less than an hour before, he had been feeling the effects of a broken cheek bone, broken nose, and broken jaw; but now, as he smiled, he was sure that these problems no longer mattered. Zuriz Falcon had cured him somehow, which was amazing in itself.

Who is this man?

Falcon smiled, which seemed a permanent facial expression.
He looks just like a bald Joker,
Franz thought. Falcon pulled the green cloak up over his head and said, “You know, I think I will actually take a drink.”

As Peyton poured another glass of apple beer, several patrons walked in and sat at a round table in the middle of the room. Another man came in and seated himself at the piano in the corner, and immediately began playing a tune. It was something that Falcon had never heard before, but the tune was a popular one in Noremway Parish. Others entered the pub and immediately began dancing. Men and women, husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends all came together to dance for this song.

“
Is this normal?” Franz asked Peyton, who shrugged and said business had been great since they had gotten the piano a few weeks before. “It was one of the last things Tomias Waterman did for us here at Peyton’s Pub. He was always a great supporter of what we do here, God bless his soul.”

“
Let me have a hand at the piano,” Falcon said, grinning that Joker smile again. When the song ended, he moved to the bench in front of it and began playing a tune that no one, not even Franz, had ever heard before. It was enjoyable to dance to, nevertheless: very enjoyable in fact. Indeed, it was at once lovely and energizing.

“
What do you call that?” Peyton asked when Falcon came back to the bar.

“
Piano Concerto Number Nine by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. A very lovely man I once knew in another life. We enjoyed playing his concert pieces together, especially this one. My memory is still a little vague, but it was in a place called Europe.”

“
Never heard of this ‘Europe,’” Peyton said.

“
I’m not surprised. That was a long time ago; probably about 5,000 years ago if I had to venture a guess. It’s really hard to know for sure though. Either way, I’m surprised I still remember how to play it. I seemed to have forgotten just about everything else.”

“
Five-thousand years!” Peyton looked shocked. Franz admired Falcon thoughtfully. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t just any man. Phoenix felt his reconstructed jaw line, and knew this man was some sort of demon, devil, or other wonderment of nature: perhaps a god. “Well damn!” Peyton exclaimed. “This is on the house!” And he poured both the sheriff and his new deputy another glass. He poured glass after glass until there was none left.

By evening, Franz was completely inebriated, requiring Falcon to carry him back to the jail house, propping him up behind his desk like a sleeping guardian of the watch.

***

The next day, the day the twins were under the knife, a slightly hung over Franz Phoenix came by the cathedral. “Hey, Decon, Teret; what’s going on?” By the happy expression on their faces he already knew the answer; he could tell they both were brimming with excitement over something.

“
Franz, this is the best day of our lives,” Teret said.

“
It certainly is,” said Decon, giving Teret a quick glance that said more to Franz than he had meant to. “The twins are being separated today.”

“
Well, isn’t that something,” he said.

“
Aye, it is,” said Teret.

“
Well, take care now, you two little love birds,” he said teasingly and rushed for the door, seeming as though he now had something important to do.

***

Back at the jailhouse, Franz found Zuriz Falcon waiting for him. Again, he was drifting in and out of existence. One moment he was clearly visible, the next he was either gone or somewhere else entirely. “Who are you, seriously? Answer me.” Franz was abrasive, confrontational, and he wasn’t going to allow Falcon to get out of an explanation. “And don’t say you’re my new deputy. Are you the Father of the Darkness, the Lord of Chaos?”

“
Aye, I suppose I am, but fear not, Sheriff, I come in peace,” said he with that insidious Joker grin and a harsh laugh.

Franz grabbed for the crossbow that usually hung on the wall behind the desk, but realized it was missing. They never did recover it from Gool. In fact, Gool’s current whereabouts were completely unknown.

“
I wouldn’t waste time searching for a weapon, Sheriff. You won’t find one that would work on me,” he said. “Besides, I really am a friend. I thought healing you would have at least earned me some trust. No?”

“
Father of Darkness…” Franz repeated and stepped toward Falcon. “You spoke about coming from a time in the distant past. Is that true? Did you really live 5,000 years ago?”

“
Time is relative. I have memories stretching back to before the Creation. You know, I can clearly remember a time billions of years ago, but my memories from 2,000 years ago seem vague, fuzzy, like those escapades were nothing but a dream. So, to answer your question, I am still trying to figure it all out. I have only the faintest clue how I ended up here in Noremway Parish.”

“
What is it you remember last?”

“
A great battle–the details are vague, a little fuzzy. I remember a blade—a large sword of some type—going through my side, or my gut. And I lay there dying. No, someone was carrying me as I bled to death. I bled all over this person. He had long hair. I remember that–I can remember it was stained with blood: Dark red blood: my blood.” Falcon stood and walked over to a small mirror near the jailhouse entrance. He examined his baldhead and his sharp, chiseled features; the small nose, bigger than average lips, slightly pointed teeth. “You know, I remember being much handsomer. In one of my previous lives, I had long flowing black hair. I was tall and muscular–a ladies’ man if there ever was one.” He looked back over his shoulder at Phoenix, who only shrugged.