Alex Bledsoe - Burn Me Deadly

I arranged my sword at my side so the hilt didn’t dig into me. The three boys watched, fascinated by the weapon. I stretched out my legs, forcing them to scoot over.

The little girl, Helene, just sat staring at me. I smiled at her and winked. The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly.

I closed my eyes in what I thought was a simple blink, and when I opened them again we were rattling into Neceda. Man, the way I kept nodding off it was a miracle I survived the last two days. I sat up, momentarily disoriented, and startled Helene, who’d curled up beside me under my arm. The three boys sat in a huddle at the front of the wagon bed.

We passed the remains of the stable, where a few wisps of smoke still rose from the rubble. People gathered at the far end of town, and a fresh rope hung from the gallows oak. Apparently everyone from the countryside had come to town for the event; word of a hanging typically spread fast. More kids ran loose, and hawkers sold ale, food and little souvenir hangman’s ropes. A good execution rivaled the excitement and economic boom of the annual harvest festival, and Neceda responded with new levels of spontaneous greed.

The cart that would bear the prisoner up the street to his demise was parked outside the jail, so we hadn’t missed the show. A smaller, rowdier and more inebriated group waited to pelt the condemned man with vegetables and eggs when he emerged. I climbed stiffly out of the wagon, thanked the family and looked around for someone I knew.

Angelina and Callie stood at the back of the more subdued crowd at the gallows. Both were dressed for work at the tavern, which by law would remain closed until after the execution. Callie bounced in place with excitement, and I spotted two teenage boys discreetly enraptured by the parts that bounced the most. “Ooh, do you think he’ll come when his neck breaks?” Callie asked Angelina. “I hear men do that. I wonder if women do?”

“One easy way to find out,” Angelina said, as usual looking vaguely bored. Like me, she’d seen enough hangings to be neither impressed nor curious about them. Her eyebrows went up as I approached.

Callie also did a double take. “ Wow, Mr. LaCrosse. You look worse every time I see you lately.” She leaned close and whispered, “Or are you in disguise?”

Angelina ignored Callie, plucked some hay off my tunic and said, “If you came into my tavern like this, I’d throw you out.”

“No, you wouldn’t. So who are they hanging?”

“Some weird guy who lives out in the woods,” Callie said before Angelina could respond. “He cut up one of those nice moon priestesses. They say he might have burned down Mr. Pinster’s barn, too. That’s his wife over there.”

Bella Lou, dressed in an old shawl, huddled protectively over her children. Even at this distance I saw their wide, terrified eyes as they clung to her. She had her back to the wall beneath the high, tiny cell window where, I assumed, Buddy was being held. Two men screamed drunkenly at Bella Lou, and one of them scooped up a handful of dirt from the ground and threw it at her. The others laughed.

“Makes you proud to be a Muscodian,” Angelina said flatly.

“She deserves it, I bet,” Callie said. “Maybe she even helped.”

“That’s probably it,” Angelina agreed. “Should hang those little babies, too.”

As always, Callie missed Angelina’s sarcasm. To me she said, “She’s been outside the jail all night, screaming that it’s all a conspiracy. If it was a conspiracy, they’d have killed him somewhere else and just told us about it. You taught me to think like that, Mr. LaCrosse.”

I shook my head, gave Callie a quick peck on the cheek and pushed my way to the jail door. Gary’s man Russell was on duty outside to make sure the taunting crowd didn’t become a lynch mob. They had splattered the wall around the small cell window with tomatoes, eggs and anything else that would stick and stain, and detritus also covered Bella Lou. She did not look my way.

Russell held his shield in front of his face. “No one’s allowed inside, sir,” he said in a voice that almost cracked from stress.

“Russell, I know the guy you’ve got locked up in there. I need to talk to Gary about him.”

Russell lowered the shield in surprise. “Oh! Sorry, Eddie, I didn’t recognize you with the haircut. Did you lose a bet?”

“Funny. Now let me in.”

“I can’t. I’ve got strict orders.”

“Strict orders from Gary?”

“No, from the guy from the capital, Argoset. Only his assistant, that big guy, can go in.”

I leaned close. “You know what I know about your sister.”

He went paler than he already was. “Now, come on, Eddie; that has nothing to do with this.”

“I need in, Russ.”

“I can’t.”

I shrugged. “Then I can’t be responsible for who finds out about Elaine.”

Russell sighed. “If I lose my job, I’m moving in with you and Liz.” He opened the door behind him, quickly shoved me through and then slammed it shut.

Gary Bunson’s office was to the right, across from the two cells. Only one cell door was closed, and the other deputy, Pete, stood in front of it. He frowned when he saw me. I went into Gary’s office.

Gary sat behind his desk, his feet propped up. He had his normal wide-eyed, vaguely panicked expression, the one that showed up any time he had to actually do his job. He wore his real uniform, too, down to the medals for longevity on his chest. They were the only ones he was ever likely to win.

And he wasn’t alone. Daniel Argoset stood at the window looking out at the crowd. He was also in full gear, resplendent and yet somehow immature, like a very solemn boy dressed in an adult’s work clothes. Maybe that’s why he pushed so hard to be taken seriously. He looked surprised when he saw me. “Mr. LaCrosse.”

I ignored him. I put my hands on the desk and leaned over it. “I need to talk to you,” I said to Gary, trying to impress him with my urgency and seriousness. “About this hanging.”

He looked at me, then at Argoset, then back to me. “Uh… what about it?”

“I don’t think you have the right guy.”

“I’m pretty sure we do,” Argoset said.

I kept my eyes on Gary. “Then let me talk to him.”

“Why?” Argoset asked.

“Yeah, why?” Gary repeated. Sweat beaded on his upper lip.

It was clear who was in charge, so I turned to Argoset. “Because it may all be a frame.”

Argoset smiled patiently, condescendingly. My fist ached for his teeth. He said, “Mr. LaCrosse, I handled this situation, not Magistrate Bunson. He approached us; we didn’t go after him. The man confessed.”

“Then it won’t hurt to let me talk to him.”

Argoset’s eyes narrowed. “I’m curious why you want to.”

“Because he might have done it for reasons other than guilt. Maybe because someone threatened his family if he didn’t.”

“And who would do that?”

“Ever hear of Gordon Marantz?”

Gary sat up so quickly he nearly fell from his chair, and exclaimed, “What?”

Argoset looked dubious. “Why would Gordon Marantz even care?”

God damn, I was tired of talking. “Gary, I really need you to grow a pair right now and let me talk to this guy.”

Gary looked from me to Argoset. Argoset said, “It is your responsibility, Magistrate Bunson. You know my opinion.” He dramatically resumed looking out the window.

Gary sighed, turned deliberately away from me and pointed to the key where it hung from the wall. I took it and went down the hall to the closed cell. Pete looked at me suspiciously and put his hand on his sword hilt. “How’d you get that?” he said, nodding at the key.

Gary called wearily from his office, “It’s okay, Pete; he has my permission.”