In which the
author explains all to the few. Here
y’are. Warning for foul
language, brevity, and slight perversity.
Blair and Jim were sitting next to a haystack – not that one, another one a ways off. If they turned their heads they could see Simon and the constable trying to sort out the crowd, so they didn’t turn their heads. William paced up and down in front of them; Blair thought he could see the slightest wisps of smoke trailing from the ghost.
“They’re supposed to do stuff like that anyway,” Blair thought. “But Bijel never does. Maybe it depends on how you died. Or where you went…”
“So, William – “
“I’m in Hell…”
“Yeah, I was wondering about that–“
“No, I’m in HELL, you little piece of –“
“------?”
“I’m dead, you jackass, my body is a flambé, and the only person who can see me is a midget jewboy.”
“Noticed that, did you?”
“An insolent dirty little…”
“Uh, you might want to rethink your attitude there, Smokey – Sorry, Jim, you dad is getting on my tits - So, William…Lord Burlington, whatever… who done it?”
“Well, I was going to drag the whole thing out. Eventually, you get me to grudgingly admit that I don’t know. In fact, it’s more like ‘How the f**k should I know?!? Last thing I remember is falling asleep in my study with a glass of brandy and the dogs snoring at my feet. Next thing I’m the barbeque special in Allritas’ second rate Olde English version of Colonial Williamsburg. The woman is mean, I tell you…but I don’t get around to that for pages and pages. First I torture you with hints that it might have been Jim.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Blair,” asks Jim, “What’s going on?”
“Well, the author of this story has come to the realization that this will take too long to do right, but she feels guilty for abandoning the few people who are waiting for the ending, so she has decided to see if she can finish the whole thing, uh, right now.”
“And just how would you know that?”
“Ummm…my amazing psychic abilities?”
“Anyway,” says Lord Burlington, fuming more noticeably, “ I was talking here. Simon joins forces with Constable Whatisname to solve the crime, since they’re the only two non-suspects out of the whole crowd. Whole place oughtta burn, if you ask me…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Look, I can just leave if I’m bothering you.”
“No, come on, we need closure here-“
“And that’s another thing. What the hell business did she have trying to write historical English genre fiction? We all talk like Pauly Shore.”
“C’mon…you know you want to tell us.”
“Oh, very well. Let’s see…most of this stuff wasn’t written down. Jim and the Candy Girl get a little amorous – you know, redheads – and you get all bent out of shape, worrying that you’ll be put out in the street again sort of thing, while Jim continues his ‘How to Take Command of the Guide’ research, unwittingly throwing you into the arms of the Mayor’s wife – a veritable Brunhilde if I ever saw one – culminating with you being propositioned by both halves of the Bodmer duo. Which is a little sticky because Jim is related and Christmas would be uncomfortable, but it would have made for some pantomime.”
“Uggghhhh…. I’m glad I don’t have to go through that.”
“Why not? They’re both in love with you, Madame Bodmer has that mother fixation, and you did save Jim, so throw in some hero-worship, you could have been in Cockaigne, my boy! A mother and a lover rolled into one, and the Mayor for dessert!”
Blair moaned loudly.
“What?” Jim whispered, backing away in a marked manner.
“Jim, every freaking person in this story acts like I am a piece of Brighton Rock, and I’m getting pretty freaking sick of it. I have STANDARDS, do you hear me? I am not a table leg!”
“Just what is my dad saying to you?” Jim asked.
“Later, Jim, I’ll explain it all to you later. It’s getting dark and Allritas has miles to cover. You want me to translate as we go?”
“Uh, maybe not. You can give me the short version when all this is over.”
“Gotcha, Big Guy.”
“See, it’s stuff like that,” said William. “You don’t half ask for it, little missie. Anyway, Allritas was interested in the fact that during the time this story takes place, rapists were dealt with leniently - a slap on the wrist and then his friends would buy the next round in honor of the virile guy, while the victim, especially a male victim, received all of society’s scorn. A willing participant in the love that dare not speak its name? Never ever spoke about it. So the author wanted to make you the object of desire for a gay man, or in this case, bi. It’s more interesting because you were a person who would have learned the larger society’s rules, even if you didn’t agree with them, and the villagers were these pagan swingers.
“That is sexist and disgusting!”
“Yes…and that’s what makes it fun. How far to go, how far before it’s not funny, the teeth just showing under the grin and all that stuff. Just look at how I’m written.”
“You’re a pig.”
“Not always! Check out the episodes, I’m not nearly as bad on TV as I am in most fanfiction. But back to this story –you spend a lot of time hiding from both Bodmers. Notice how this author starts a lot of problems and then walks away? Amateur. What really happens next is that the bad boys of Burleigh, Bruce and Allan, resurface. In their fields. As human scarecrows. A good time is had by all. Old Will, their father, decides that it is all you two’s fault, and tries to take his vengeance – poison, glass in your snack, a scythe when you’re walking alone in the country – sound familiar? – and my son saves you… and then he saves you some more… and I think once you save him, and the townsfolk, idiots though they are, think that there might just be something to Old Will’s suspicions. This makes them rather proud of Jim, in fact.”
“Oh, I couldn’t have done it?”
“Not a chance, saint-boy! The very idea… anyway, in the meantime you have been hard at work deciphering the old guide text that Bijel oh so conveniently pointed out to you, thereby giving the author something else to have to look up –
box ciphers, in fact. There was going to be an authentic representation so you could show off your brainpower – and this, almost as much as real life, did her head in. No, I’m taking the piss, nothing compares with RL, but still, it’s a pain in the ass writing for you, did you know that? Just how brilliant do you think these authors are?”
“I am so sorry that I make it hard on authors.”
“Well, this one is no Einstein, I can tell you that, so take the exposition of your brilliance as written, and let’s get on to the juicy stuff – the book was basically Peyton Place.”
“------?”
“Oh that’s right, you younger generation… It was the Spanish soap opera version of life as Samuels and Ball knew it. And nobody knew it as well as the old sentinel-guide pair. They thought they would be replaced post-haste after their demises, and that the info would come in handy for the new pair, and they were right, if a few decades off. You were up in that attic for days reading.”
“Does this have anything to do with the exposition or is it just another loose end?”
“Kind of both. She wasn’t sure at this point who did it and the journal could be a ringer, or comic relief, or proof of guilt – remember, this story was supposed to end a long time ago. And then it was going to end with that little postscript chapter where Jim gets his own back at me – thank you so much! – and then I died and she was in way over her head.”
“Do we have to keep talking about her?”
“Ok, you little prick, you finish the story. I’m dead; I don’t care. Maybe you did it. With a revolver. In the library.”
“Study, you said.”
“Oh, yeah…at least you’ve been listening. Now you have to understand, all of this stuff has been happening at the same time… well, not exactly, but you get the idea – Jim with redhead, you beavering away in your office, villagers being picturesque, you running away from a random Bodmer, Old Will leaping out of the shadows like Wile E. Coyote, Jim trying his best to make you over into a proper guide, ‘civilized’ conversations between Bijel and myself, hints about your dreadful childhood…Will Jim drag you off to a better town? Do you two survive? Hah, don’t make me laugh! The author’s not insane. So, into this mess is added the final component–“
“Do we find out what Jim did to me before he gave me back to the villagers at the beginning of the story?”
“No. That was on purpose. Sort of a ‘how evil is the reader’ sort of thing.”
“How about a detailed description of the bonding process?”
“Not a chance.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“I’m with you all the way on that one, bub. Anyway, the missing plot point is that Simon and Constable Johnson have been on the case, lining up suspects left and right. Basically everyone could have done it and almost everyone would have been happy to – evil sods that they are. Simon discovers he has a talent for detective work and almost wishes he weren’t a gentleman so he could pursue it. Possibly he has been infected with that same strain of Good Samaritanism that seems to have taken over my son.
The game is thick on the ground. From the guide’s journal you read that Miller, the miller, is the natural father of both Mrs. Bodmer and her sister, making Jim his grandson… and there’s a slight resemblance there as well… he certainly doesn’t look like me. Mayor Bodmer could have wanted to avenge you, his wife, and/or his town. The Missus doesn’t know about Miller as far as anyone knows, but she has the same reasons as her husband, plus revenge for her sister and her nephew.
And by the way, just what the hell was I supposed to do any differently? I doted on Jimmy, simply doted on him, until he started showing signs of that vile affliction. And really, in a way, it would have been better if he had had some physical deformity. To have been tricked like that! After I had wasted all that time on him…”
“Father of the Year, you are. Are you sure I didn’t kill you in my sleep, because right now it’s looking awfully good.”
“Sorry, lollipop, no such luck. Mmmm, let’s see. Jim for obvious reasons; Friars because I had just sacked him for withholding information – he was loyal to the town and James, and I really couldn’t have it; Old Will – those scarecrows were a nice touch, don’t you think? Oh ho! Surprised you there…”
“You killed Will’s sons?”
”Well, not personally. Much too messy. It was done, let us say. They had actually attempted to blackmail me with disclosure of the family curse to my friends in town. Do you know one of them had the nerve to shake his grubby finger in my face? And they waved around Jim’s engraved flask, the thieves, stole it off the carriage or something. There was no way peasants that brazen were going to settle for one payment. Best thing really. Let their father think they had run off-“
“To the cornfield?!?”
“I didn’t put them there, I assure you. Just admiring the work of someone else.”
“I want a drink so bad.”
Jim needed to do something. “Good idea. I’ll be right back.” And off he went, long way round to the banquet table to get something potent for both of them. The body still smelled like roast pork, even from his spot at the other end of the green. It was hell being a sentinel.
Meanwhile, back behind the other haystack, William was warming up to his subject. “Nice touch. Of course whoever it was had to dig them up, so it had to be either the men who carried out the job or men who heard about it through the grapevine … which means… almost anybody, I should think.”
“It does seem to be that kind of town. Togetherness taken to extremes. So who did you hire then?”
“Well, it was Friars of course, and whoever he got. He is my man.”
“Was your man.”
“Good point. Another motive for him then.”
“But you know who did it!”
“Play the game…play the game or I shan’t tell.”
“All right, who else?”
“You know that saying about how a great man can be counted by his enemies?”
“No.”
“Pity. Neither do I really, hoped you could recite it for me. Still, it was something like that and it’s true never the less. Everybody hated me. Cowley the cobbler – poked his daughter. I did I mean, although who knows, maybe him too. Haley – tried it on with his wife, the screaming cow. Biggs and Toby – wouldn’t have tried their women, too bloody big the both of them. No it was a little something about land rights – they thought they had some or some such nonsense. See, everyone wants a little piece of what’s mine, thinks I’m jolly old Father Christmas…”
“Uh huh.”
“Schoolmaster Deal…same as Bodmer really. Caught him once with Colonel Sweeney, arse over the stile in my far pasture, almost fell off my horse. No reason for him to go on about it like he did. All I did was make them…well, let’s not say, shall we?”
“No, let’s not say.”
“No sense of humor. That’s what’s wrong with fairies.”
“You need to stop now.”
“Well, no need to get huffy about it. Bit of fun, that’s all… anybody else? Well, I guess wives and children, friends… And of course that brings us to my batch. Steven could have done it, but why? James had already promised to pass on the title in favor of him. Bit of a hurry maybe? And the wife, well she would have done it in a heartbeat if she could have gotten away with it, but she’s been in London for weeks, and believe me, she doesn’t have the brains to come up with something long distance…Have you guessed it yet?”
“Are you actually happy that your family would want to see you dead?”
“Not like it’s a new thought. And they didn’t do it. There’s your hint.”
“You know, your tone of voice keeps changing. It’s creeping me out.”
“No rewrites. One draft. You don’t get whipped cream and cherries with this one. Now think!”
“Um, Deal is too timid, unless it was poison, but he could never do the scarecrow stunts… I think I would know if it was the Bodmers; they’re easy to read…come to think of it, I am the town empath. In a few days, I could suss out the guilty party on the basis of that alone. This story wouldn’t be worth bothering with.”
“Yeah, you might be right there, but you’re still cold.”
“Look, I’m tired, Jim is tired, and by now I think the audience is past tired. Speak now, etc., etc.”
“The other two scarecrows were just to scare Will into keeping his mouth shut. He had started to mouth off that he was going to get Steven to pay for the Ellison’s sins. Friars did it, but nobody suspected him because he was too far away to have killed me, and there was no reason for him to have killed those worthless pieces of –“
“And Jim didn’t sense it?”
“Hey, they had been in the ground awhile. And nobody knew Friars had snuck back for just one night. Everybody thought he was long gone.”
“Next you’ll be saying that Will killed you, out of some sort of early psychic revenge.”
“Okay, spoilsport, here’s your bedtime story – Last night, I died in my sleep. This morning, the maids who came in to clean the fireplace grate found my body, and assumed the staff had accidentally killed me with carbon monoxide because the fireplace vents were improperly placed – somehow…Allritas hasn’t done that research – because both dogs were also dead and there was no sign of foul play. They called the butler, who wrapped all three of us up in a rug, the two dogs and myself, and the three of them carried us out to the stable, where he planned to put our bodies in the hay for safekeeping until he could take us out to the woods for an unfortunate riding accident. Unfortunately for him, the place got very busy and the girls ending up in a far stall with my body while the poor butler pitched the dogs out the window and lit back to the house with the rug. So the girls turned me into a scarecrow with some old clothes one of them swiped from under a bunk, and decided to add me to a pile of already made scarecrows that were waiting on a wagon to go to town… The things that go on while these people are supposed to be working. Scarecrows, dozens of them, all made on my time!
So I ended up on the back of Miller’s wagon, and got dumped with the other ‘dollies’ on the commons for the teenagers to come and pick through for the race. The kids take them away to decorate their scarecrows before the race, but I was deemed too heavy - and dumped into the hay that was being used to set up the bonfire with the rest of the rejects. No hocus pocus at all.”
“So it was all a misunderstanding?”
“Well, if you call trying to cover up criminal negligence a misunderstanding, then I guess it was, but that’s not quite the end. Of course in the long version of the story, I don’t know any of this stuff. I fell asleep, and woke up smoked. This is just the cheat sheet version, because somebody has to tell the reader what was supposed to happen. So, look Ma, I’m omniscient! The butler and the two maids have been biting their nails all day waiting for the ax to drop, and are they going to be secretly relieved when the townspeople become the number one suspects. They spend the rest of their lives thinking that they saved a fellow servant from the gallows, and wonder who amongst themselves could have made such a dreadful mistake.
Well, I could have told them. No servant. Rather, a dozen or so matronly women. The Ladies Aid Society had decided to take things in hand, one by one, without telling each other. Now there’s a wonder! For once, they had all decided to keep a secret – that they were each dosing me with small measures of a woodland plant, the effects of which should have been to produce a much more mellow squire. Unfortunately, twelve times the dose for ‘mellow’ produced rather the wrong effect, and they had gravely underestimated the amount of brandy I consume in a day. The dogs were an unfortunate byproduct of the fact that I do not like to drink alone. And so, a crime of sorts was committed where the perpetrators believe themselves completely innocent and therefore will not turn up on your ‘radar’… the old bats killed their first victim in well over a hundred years and don’t even know it!”
“You’re not going to tell them, are you?”
“No, you’re not going to tell them. If I could, believe me, I would, the meddling old bags. But since we’re sharing… I have one last thought for you, Blair old buddy, before your sentinel comes back. Remember that free love pagan ethos… think May Day, my anthropological friend; you know the traditions. Think fruit and nuts. And get ready for a few surprises.”
”Jim! Jim! I really need that beer!”
The End.