Chapter #7Arresting Developments by: Seuzz   You peer at Nate Shabbleman, the town constable. There's no light in his eye, no air about him, to suggest he's anyone but who he seems to be. And he's shown up too soon for it not to be him."
"They ain't takin' any hints," he repeats.
"Then yer not tryin' hard enough. From a college, yew say?"
He nods. "So they say. They look kinda big, tho'."
That they do. Nothing 'collegiate' about the guys that Nerio employs. "How many?"
"Half a dozen. Dunno how many more--"
"All in one car?"
"And a big RV like thing," he says.
"Mm. An RV'd be a nice thing t' have," you muse. "Fetch a little bag of our 'product' from Zach. Get in the RV an'--" Nate returns your grin. "Fetch young Will too, pin a star t'is shirt. They'll think twice if'n there's two o' yew."
"I can hannle 'em, Grandmother."
"A grandmother don't wanna worry. Fetch Will." It'll look less funny if young Will is running in and out of the house, carrying your orders to Nate.
You linger a bit, then struggle to your feet and lurch your way back to the living room, where you pull down one of the little figurines that Grandmother uses to spy on the town. The floorboards creak as you go into the back, and lock yourself in the study where she does her nastiest work. "Damn this old body," you sigh as you settle into the chair. Grateful for the temporary release, you grasp the figurine and close your eyes.
* * * * *
You are wheeling over the town, a spirit of watchful malice. The old houses and bent trees fall beneath you as you arc higher into the air, then plunge toward the church. It's made of stone, blackened with age and evil, with grimy windows and a steeple that lists alarmingly to one side. You perch across the street, folding invisible wings, and watch.
Six figures are pacing about the church, pointing to details and acting like they're interested in it. Poor bastards: they're not good at acting, and it doesn't take long before you notice that they're repeating many of the same motions and gestures. Even if they weren't strangers, a watcher would soon detect something funny about their antics.
Ten minutes later the old police cruiser pulls up next to the RV. Nate gets out, along with another figure. Nate is in his thirties, and he wears an old uniform; the other is only twenty, dressed in dirty jeans and a dark blue work shirt. His hair is black and lank, his features pale and pinched. But he's the handsomest man in town, as befits the crown prince of Cuthbert: Will Shabbleman.
Nate bangs on the door of the RV; Paige opens it. Words are exchanged, and Nate and Will disappear inside. The door closes.
A minute passes, and Muniz exits the RV. He calls to the Nerio squad; there's a brief conference, and the soldiers pack into their car and drive off. You're glad Paige has had the presence of mind to get rid of them, for it will look less funny if only the RV remains behind.
You watch and wait. Long minutes pass: maybe half an hour. Traffic is light in Cuthbert, and only a few cars go past, driving slowly. You ponder where to put the balance of Diana's squad of infiltrators.
The sun shines down. It's a nice day. There might be birds chirping, but the ethereal body you are guiding can only see, not hear. Interesting that Grandmother knows this magical technique, but it's a very old one; the knowledge is probably common to many adepts of the occult. Certainly it accords with some of the oldest legends about witches and warlocks, and their ability to step outside their bodies.
You're glad to have this reason for stepping outside of Grandmother's.
A movement catches your eye: the door to the RV opening. Nate Shabbleman steps back out, his dirty felt Stetson in his hand. He rubs it on his forearm and sets it back on his greasy hair. He looks around. A moment later Will Shabbleman joins him, pulling the door to the RV closed. They exchange a few words, then Nate slaps Will lightly on the stomach and leads him back to the squad car. Slowly, they pull into the street, execute a U-turn, and drive toward the Big House. The RV remains parked.
With a silent sigh of reluctance, you let the scene vanish.
* * * * *
Your bones and muscles grumble as you lean forward to unlock the door to the study. You pant and puff as you lean back again. You twirl the handles of your cane.
Footsteps outside, and a knock at the door. "Come in," you call. The door opens, and Nate and Will step inside. They close the door behind. "Yew take care o' them outsiders," you ask.
"Rather the reverse," Will laughs nastily.
"What're we gonna do wit' 'em?" you ask.
"That's f'r yew to decide, ain't it, Grandmother?" Nate asks with characteristic deference.
"Aye, but we got t' make it look convincing, don't we, Nate?" You mull a bit. "We'd like t'have that RV, wouldn't we? Yew think Zach'd pay a fair price f'r it?" You twirl a cane. "Mebbe even exchange his life, his body, his mind for it?"
Nate rubs his mouth. "An' Zach's got his boys he can order aroun' f'r us," he muses.
"His barbeque, too," you add. "Will, you could help Zach gut and strip six fellers we don't want folk findin', right?"
He smiles unpleasantly. "He's showed me how to handle the knives, Grandmother."
"Good. Take the RV back to the jail, put them outsiders in a cell. Well, all but two," you correct yourself. "Then take it o'er to Zach's. Show 'im its insides, introduce him to one o' them passengers. Affer that, take it o'er to th' pens, invite Bo in f'r another meetin'. We need Bo t' help us take care of ol' Henry."
"'That's four accounted for. Th'other two?"
"Mind that l'il Sally don' catch yew makin' mischief. So when yer done wit' Zach an' Bo, Aunt Sarah'll make a fifth. F'r the last one, use yer own intuition. Summ'n who kin help keep folk from askin' impert'nent questions."
"Yes'm. An' Tabb?"
"Tabb's gotta look affer that boy, keep 'im healthy while we're here. Put 'em both in a cell. That'll make it look good, an' give Tabb sumthin' t'occupy his time."
Nate nods, and nudges Will. "Come on, Willie boy. We got us th'owner of a fish fry ' to catch."
But now you remember something. "Will," you call, and he turns in the doorway. "How many of yewr ... 'belongings' are yew wearin'?"
He looks puzzled, then makes a face when you point to his crotch. "Only what no one'd miss if they looked at me." He shifts on his feet. "We couldn't get that bit o' jewelry off him. Then after I got the tattoo on, I realized why it wasn't coming off."
"Make f'r an awkward surprise fer Rosalie when yew went to bed tonight," you say.
He leers. "Maybe you was wanting me to try making a little boy to go with our two darling girls?"
"Send yer wife o'er here. She kin spen' her nights unner my roof f'r th'duration."
"Aw," Will says with a remorse that sounds mock but is probably genuine.
Your eye turns inward. "Have t' ponder that," you murmur to yourself.
A silence descends.
"Ponder what, Grandmother," Nate asks.
"Never mind!" you snap, then catch yourself. "Certain complexities strike a body is all. Where's Paige?"
"Still in the RV. Gotta special place for her?"
"No. Brief her on who the targets'll be. She can pick 'em. Yew can go now." They shuffle out.
You lean back in the chair, wrapped in thought. Will and Rosalie and their two little girls. That's a problem.
They are Grandmother's most long-range experiment, one she hardly dares dream will come to fruition as her lifespan draws to a close. The breeding of "blood" is Cuthbert's deepest project--the attempt to raise to a still greater pitch the natural talent that flows in the Shabbleman family. So Will and Rosalie were bred from the best and strongest stock. Not that Grandmother had seen any signs of success in the two. Will had turned out crafty, but that didn't matter much: Cuthbert has always been ruled by matriarchs. His main purpose had been as a stud. Rosalie had been a deeper disappointment, proving only a useless girl possessing a quiet stamina but no skill at anything else. Grandmother had pinned her hopes on their children.
There are two of them, little girls aged one and two, taken from Rosalie to be raised here in the Big House. That fact unsettles you. What should you do with them?
You can imagine Hyde-White's preference: to bring the children, at least, back to England for study and even possible dissection. It's a loathsome thought, made not less loathsome by your own curiosity about what Grandmother might have bred. Balanced against your reluctance to explore them, though, is an almost equal reluctance not to leave them in this town, to Grandmother's mercies after you have relinquished control of her.
Well, you'll have time to consider the future. It will take many days to clean Cuthbert of its treasures. You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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