Frank Tuttle - The Broken Bell

“Worse? Boss, you don’t know them like I do. If they think you and I…if they, um…what could be worse?”

I put my hat back on. “Not the time or the place, Miss. Tell me about the errant Mr. Smithy. That’s an order.”

I put my head back and suffered the bumps and didn’t listen to a single word Gertriss said.

I fell asleep again halfway back to Cambrit. Gertriss says I dreamed, and they must have been troubling dreams, because I clenched my fists and mumbled. If she caught any of the words she had the good grace to pretend otherwise.

I stumbled out onto the sidewalk while Gertriss counted coins. The cabman made a pass at her, which she ignored, and when I saw he meant to repeat it, I glared and he snapped his reins and took his leave.

I had just enough time to thank my errant guardian Angel that Mama wasn’t outside on her stoop waiting for us when Mama flew out of her door and stomped toward us, her grizzled old face set into a wrinkled scowl that would have turned Trolls, had any been lingering nearby. She had Buttercup by the hand, and though the tiny banshee tried to resist Mama’s pulling, she was dragged along anyway, blinking in the light, her false wings sagging and drooping.

I ushered Gertriss inside and said the magic word-beer.

I have an icebox in the back now. It’s a tiny one, barely big enough to hold a chunk of sawdust-covered ice and eight tall, dark glasses of Biltot’s best, but it will keep them chilled for a week.

“Boss? Now?”

“Two. One for me, one for you. If Mama doesn’t like that, tough. Go. I’m in a mood.”

Gertriss went, vanishing about the time Mama came stomping through my door.

“Where the Hell you been, boy? And where is that niece of mine? I reckon we all got to have a talk.”

She let Buttercup go. Buttercup did a little hop-skip and hugged my knees, looking up at me with something like worry on her fragile little face.

“Your dolls are in the back, honey,” I said. “Go play while the grownups talk. Scoot.”

Buttercup nodded and vanished.

I could see Gertriss’s shadow under my backroom door. I knew she had the beers, and I knew she was lingering, probably giving Buttercup a hug, taking a few extra seconds before facing Mama’s inevitable assault.

I sank into my chair and threw my hat at the rack and missed and didn’t give a damn. My joints ached, my head was stuffed with cotton, and I was thinking it was time to remind one and all whose hospitality it was they were abusing.

“Where I’ve been is working. Same for my associate. She answers to me, and I don’t answer to anybody. She and I are going to drink a beer. You can have one, or you can not, or you can leave. But I’m not about to be yelled at or have my staff yelled at by the general public. Is that clear?”

Mama made strangled snuffling noises, but stood her ground.

“Gertriss, our beverages. And bring the folding chair for our guest. If she’s staying. Are you staying, Mama?”

Mama surprised me. “You knows I am, boy. And, boy, I reckon I’ll have one of them fancy beers. Seein’ as we’re all drinking to excess these days.”

I heard glass tinkle as Gertriss pulled another Biltot out of the icebox.

“I didn’t know you liked beer, Mama.”

“I reckon there’s lots you don’t know about me, boy.” Gertriss came in, beers and chair filling her hands, and Mama helped her without a word, save for a single “thank ye” that was neither dripping with sarcasm nor delivered in a hiss between clenched gums.

“Mama’s being polite, Gertriss. I think we’re in for some bad news.”

“That you are, boy. Miss. I reckon your boss has done told ye about the Sprangs?”

Gertriss nodded. She hadn’t touched her beer. Mama guffawed and drained a quarter of hers in one loud draught.

“This ain’t half bad.” Mama wiped her lips. “Go on, drink it. It ain’t like you’re a little ’un no more.”

Gertriss nodded and took a sip.

“I done wrong, to both of you,” said Mama. “I told things I hadn’t ought to have told. I done it thinkin’ I was protecting you, niece. I didn’t have no way of knowing it would bring them Sprangs all the way here, to do what they come to do.”

I shut my mouth by filling it with beer.

“Mr. Markhat knows you didn’t mean any harm.”

Mama took another expert swig of my uptown beer. “And what about you, child of my sister? You have a right to be angry. And a right to say so.”

Gertriss clenched her beer so hard her knuckles went white and shook her head.

“You didn’t kill anyone, Mama. I did that. That’s why they came.”

“We both knows why you kilt that man, child. Neither of us blames you.”

I nodded. “He had it coming. I’d have killed him myself, had I been there.”

Gertriss was shaking. She couldn’t speak. I wasn’t surprised-she’d been with me for more than a year, and we’d never discussed this in any but the most oblique terms. Getting it out wasn’t going to be easy.

“I still can’t believe I ever agreed to marry…him.” She spoke in a whisper, after a long bout of shaking. “I never…loved him. But all the other girls were married, and there weren’t many men left, and I’d given up on coming to Rannit, did you know that, Mama? I hated Pot Lockney. Hated the pigs. Hated it all-but I was afraid. Afraid of leaving. Isn’t that stupid?”

“No, child, not at all,” said Mama. Her voice had no rasp, no bluster. “I was afraid too. They sold me to a tinker. Did you know that? Nine years old, and sold to a man my grandfather’s age, because I was stunted, and had the Sight. I really ought to send a pox upon them.”

Gertriss laughed despite herself. I raised an eyebrow at Mama. She didn’t respond, so for all I know that story was the truth.

“So when Harald started coming around, I went out walking with him. I knew what he was. I’d heard the stories. But he was sweet. Brought me flowers. Said I was pretty.”

“He was right about that,” I said.

Mama shushed me with a glare.

“He said he’d buy us a farm. Said I could raise the swine, and he’d herd the cattle. Said we’d have a big fine log house and two horses and a well of our own.” She took a big draught of beer, and her face went pale. “Might have been the promise of a well that pushed me over the edge. All those years of hauling buckets.” She shook. “And then one night he came around drunk. He wasn’t talking flowers and log houses. He…He…”

“I reckon we knows that part,” said Mama. “So you kilt him. And rightly so. Harald Suthom was a mean drunk, quick to rape, and from what I hears quick to kill. Ain’t nobody cryin’ no tears for his worthless ass, child.”

I’m not sure Gertriss heard. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide. She was looking at me but not seeing me at all.

“I tried to just get out of the house,” she said. “All I wanted to do was get away from him. Come to Rannit. Get away from him. But he wouldn’t let me go, Mama. He hit me, knocked me down. I kicked him but he was too drunk to even feel it. He pushed me down on my bed, and I always sleep with a knife under my pillow. A good plain sharp knife, that’s what Daddy always taught us girls. A good sharp knife, put where you can reach it when you need it most.”

She blinked and was back with us.

“Daddy would have been proud. A good sharp knife, where I could reach it. Harald didn’t even know I’d cut him at first. He was laughing when he died. Laughing and cussing. Then he just fell on me. Dead. Stinking. Dead.”

Mama rose and went to Gertriss and hugged her and whispered for a long time. I sat there awkwardly and drank beer.