James Enge - This Crooked Way

"It's not Charis," he said. "It's a golem in Charis's image. Not Charis's own work, clearly."

"You can tell?" I asked faintly.

"I taught Charis how to make a decent eyeball," Morlock grumbled. He unrolled the sheet in his hand and glanced at it, adding, "The life-scroll isn't in his handwriting. And the stupid thing couldn't even speak properly. Not the product of the establishment's greatest wonder-worker."

"But maybe," I guessed, "the chief assistant master thaumaturge-intraining?"

"Exactly," Morlock approved. "Thend: get him."

Death and justice, that annoyed me. Sure, Thend was big and strong for his age (almost fifteen). But I was about to point out that just because I was thirteen years old and a girl, it didn't mean I couldn't slap someone like Stokkvenn around and make him like it. Then I looked Morlock in the eye (those flaring gray irises were not painted on) and I decided it wasn't the strategic moment to say so.

"Fasra," he said to me, "drop the brass shutter over the window, bolt it, and stand by the door. Here." He tossed me the knife in his hand and said, "We may have company soon."

I was tempted to ask who'd died and made him God. On the other hand, I'd learned the hard way that sometimes it's smart to listen to someone who knows more than you do. I bit my tongue and did as he asked. He busied himself behind the counter, pulling things out of drawers and looking at them.

Pretty soon Thend appeared, dragging a squealing Stokkvenn behind him. "He was trying to go out the back door," Thend said to Morlock, and tossed the shopman up against the counter in front of Morlock.

"You bolted it?"

"Yes."

"We may have guests. Will it hold?"

Thend shrugged. "Not forever."

Morlock turned to Stokkvenn. "You wrote this," he said coolly, waving the life-scroll of the dead golem.

"No. I-"

"I'm not asking you; I'm telling you that I know. You keep the register here-the ink is still on your hands-and the life-scroll was written in the same handwriting. You made this golem of your employer. Why?"

Stokkvenn quacked wordlessly for a few moments and finally said, "The Sandboys made me do it."

If he'd said the Fluffy Puppies I couldn't have been more surprised. In my mind's eye I pictured a Sandboy as a friendly little figure made of sand, sitting on a beach somewhere.

"Who are the Sandboys?" Morlock asked.

"The Sandboys! The Sandboys!"

"Yes: them. Who are they?"

"They're the biggest water-gang in town, that's all! They wanted to take over Charis's business, but he wouldn't sell. It got pretty ugly. Then the big bucket of the Sandboys sent for me and he said they were moving in, whether Charis liked it or not. There was nothing I could do about it. If I went along with them, they'd keep me on to run the business for them. I was supposed to make the golem of Charis to keep up appearances. The gangs can't own businesses, you know-not legally."

"Fasra," said Morlock, "is there anyone outside?"

The shop was on the edge of a marketplace of a big city on market day. Of course there was someone outside, and I almost said so. But then I figured he meant someone in particular, so I had a look.

"Uh," I said. "A bunch of guys with metal sticking out of their faces. They've got swords and clubs and they're staring at the shop."

"The Sandboys," Stokkvenn said, shrugging. He was a little more at ease, looking Morlock in the eye now. Like he was thinking, Maybe you have my number, but someone else has yours.

"Stokkvenn," said Morlock, "your story doesn't work."

Stokkvenn instantly lost whatever ground he'd gained. "It's all I know!" he cried. "It's the truth!"

"It may be all you know, but it's not the truth. I was lured here with an authentic-looking message; either Charis or an excellent forger wrote it. It accompanied an immunity-pass which must have taken a great deal of expense or effort to acquire. Why would your Sandboys take the trouble?"

"I don't know! I can't tell you what I don't know!"

"Where is Charis, the real Charis, now?"

"I don't know. I think the Sandboys took him. He's probably dead."

"Unlikely. I think he's still alive, and someone wants me to lead them to him. Any thoughts, Stokkvenn?"

"None. I'm sorry. I've told you all I can."

"Hm," Morlock said. He dropped the life-scroll and vaulted over the counter. "Unfortunately, I believe you."

"Unfortunately?" Stokkvenn repeated faintly as Morlock took him by the shoulders.

"Unfortunate for me," Morlock said, "since all my questions are unanswered. Unfortunate for you, because you are now useless to me."

Morlock nodded at me, and I swung the shop door wide.

"No," Stokkvenn gasped.

"Coming out!" Morlock shouted, and threw Stokkvenn headfirst, stumbling into the street. There were some shouts, and meaty thumps, and I heard Stokkvenn's voice sobbing. A few moments later, when I peeked past Morlock out the door, Stokkvenn was gone. I never learned whether he lived or died.

"Not fair, Crookback!" someone shouted. "You said you were coming out!"

"I didn't mean me," Morlock called back. "Come in, if you like. I am Morlock Ambrosius; I await you."

There was some audible grumbling at this. They'd have had to come through the doorway one at a time, and apparently they'd heard some stories about Morlock that made them reluctant to try it. We'd only been travelling with Morlock a couple months, and I could have told them some stories myself.

"We'll burn the place down!" someone shouted.

"So what?" Morlock replied easily. "I'll walk away in the flames, and you will not follow me."

It was true that he could do that, but Thend and I couldn't. I hoped he was bluffing and looked anxiously at Thend. He shrugged and grinned nervously.

Morlock shut the shop door and barred it. He went over to the lifeless golem and ripped its ears off. He did something to them-I couldn't really see it in the shop's dim light, and what I saw I couldn't understand-and then he took one of them and fixed it to the doorpost with a long shining thing like a glass nail.

"Find the roof door," he said to Thend and me.

"Are you sure there is one?" I asked.

"I hope there is," he said and turned back to the golem ears, muttering a few words in a language I didn't know.

We found the roof door pretty quickly: it was a kind of a hatch in the ceiling of the back room. We called Morlock and he came back, one of the ears still in his hand. He handed it to me, thanks a lot, and climbed up the ladder to the roof hatch. He unbolted it quietly and tentatively peeked out. It was sort of funny, or would have been if I hadn't been holding a severed ear.

He lowered the hatch and dropped down to the floor. "Go on up to the roof," he said to us. "Stay low. I'll join you in a moment."

I was going to hand him his nasty ear back, but he'd already turned away. I followed Thend up to the roof and we crouched low, to keep out of sight of the Sandboys in the street before the shop (and, presumably, in the alley behind).

"Shut up," Thend whispered to me.

"I'm not doing anything," I whispered back.

"I heard you move and say something."

I'd heard the same thing, but it wasn't me. I held up the golem ear. Startled, he put his ear against the thing and then gestured that I should do the same from the other side.

We heard Morlock's voice as he moved around in the shop downstairs: -`blood of Ambrose'-unlikely. This really might be phlogopos juice, though. Yes. That'll do." After a few moments the severed ear emitted a crackling sound.

I realized that he had somehow enchanted the golem ears. We were hearing what the ear nailed to the shop door was hearing. This was what I thought, but what I said was, "He talks to himself when he's alone!"

Thend shrugged. "Sure. He's almost completely crazy: hadn't you noticed?"