Petty Squabble [ROUND 3] [Goldhenge]

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SpoilerHaha good luck with this post

ONE MONTH LATER

”So how do I look?”

”Um.” Tom had an answer to this question but couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being tested somehow. “How does it feel?”

”It’s not so bad as they make it out to be in that movie. Actually, I think it’s a little looser than it’s supposed to be. Tighten me up a bit?”

Tom’s fingers fumbled with the strings, steadying himself against his wife’s body. A growing dependence on strong Goldhenge coffee gave him jittery fingers, even at night. He pulled the strings on the corset. Clarice’s torso responded by contracting in some areas and bulging in others.

She turned around, laying her fingertips against his (shrinking by the day) love handles. Her smile shone amber in the light of the lone candle on the windowsill. A breeze blew in over the Impassables and blew her hair onto his face. Clarice Broderburg was radiant. “As the day I first met you” would be the saying, but the day he’d first met Clarice she’d been wrist-deep in finals and self-confessedly hadn’t showered in three days.

It was months later--the night of the spring formal, probably--that he got to know what he somewhat self-ashamedly still thought of as the real Clarice: Clarice at the height of her beauty, the height of her confidence. Knowing that this was an image she had labored to construct in that womanly way he would never really understand didn’t make it any less real. Even then he’d be able to fantasize that it was all for him--at the same time comfortable knowing that it was all for her.

“You look gorgeous,” he said.

Thomas Broderburg kissed his wife. There was something in every kiss they shared now that felt like the way it did when one of them returned from a week-long trip. The radiance she exuded reminded him of the way she looked--the way it felt to be around her--when she’d been pregnant with Emma. That glow, old cliche as it was. Maybe it was that they’d come out the other side from all that death that could come back to them at any moment; maybe it was just that he hadn’t seen her under an electric light in a month; maybe there was just something invigorating about coming home from ten hours a day of dirty work at COFCACo, doing whatever was asked of him. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and the fact remained that their marriage was more passionate than ever.

”Anyway, I hope you don’t expect me to sleep in the thing.” Clarice turned around again. ”Let’s get it off of me for the night.”

”Can do,” answered Tom, kissing her neck and loosening the strings.

There was a sound of someone throwing a switch--and a pale yellow light through the window.

Tom snuffed the candle and looked out the window. “You’re going to want to see this, honey,” he exhorted. Clarice rushed over. In the middle of the town square stood Envoy, a dozen streetlights giving him a dozen spider-leg shadows stretching to the inn, the cathedral, the COFCACo building, the monument, the whole town. The robot raised its hands triumphantly--a powerful gesture that seemed to gather all of the new light into its arms. A familiar voice--COFCA seemed to have settled on someone to be Envoy’s mouthpiece when addressing the town, at least--emanated from the COFCACo speaker system:

”Citizens of Goldhenge! We at COFCACo apologize for interrupting your slumber. We felt that the daytime was not auspicious for rolling out our latest new public service. It’s a little something we call a “STREET LAMP,” and it’s going to make Goldhenge a safer, more comfortable, and more productive environment for you night owls out there. If you have any questions, please contact your COFCACo representative. Thank you and goodnight!”

There was a rustling sound--that would be the stranger next door drawing his curtains. Tom followed suit. The blaring lights dimmed to a dull red glow insinuating its way through the woolen curtains.

“Progress marches on,” noted Tom. “Now, where were we?”

Afterward Clarice lay in bed staring at the glow through the window. She hadn’t been functioning on this little sleep since the first couple weeks after Emma had been born. It wasn’t the same, though--apart from the fact that Emma wasn’t making a noise from the kids’ room where Alison, God bless her, had volunteered to babysit. Clarice had vivid memories of those first steps toward a new motherhood, of being able to endure everything that would break a human body that wasn’t dedicated to the purpose of being a mother. This was different. Something about the potential energy in this place. Something like music from another room, but there was no music.

The way she felt was like sleepovers. Way back when over at the Paulsons’ house. Whispered secrets and card games and stolen wine from the top cabinet. Lying on the air mattress in a nightgown with the TV still on and always wanting to feel free and taken care of at the same time. Feeling safe.

The magic of those nights before everything. That was the feeling.

The streetlights went off right before dawn.

* * * * *

”--An’ I told them that ye were good people and not to be trifled with such things.” Parsley scratched his beard angrily. “However, they claim, and there is righteousness in this claim, that the will of God makes no exception for good people and rather demands more of them in troubling times.”

”The Holy Order--and I know this is one of those things you aren’t going to hear right, Parsley, because you’re you--the Holy Order,” repeated Clarice, “If they ever actually saw a demon, would try and get a good deal for their souls.”

”They’re all a bunch of crooks,” corroborated Tom. “Look, Parsley, we just finished replacing every shred of clothing we had on us with, you know, fit-in-y stuff. That, food, and rent, that’s all the money we make, right there. There’s nothing.” It wasn’t entirely true, but “there’s not much” didn’t seem as strong of an argument, and Parsley was beginning to get on Tom’s nerve. “I’ve asked COFCACo to let go of a little money in advance but they put all the gold they’d accumulated onto those damn street lamps.”

”I like the street lamps!” voiced Ethan. “The Envoy guys say it’s safe to go out at night now!”

”Not for you, it isn’t,” barked Clarice.

”Listen well,” said Parsley. “Try as I might to spare you from the lash o’ the law, the Holy Order serves a just cause and we all must pay our dues in spite of the circumstances. The demons’ power grows each day value coin over faith. The past two nights many villagers complained of strange lights yellow lights washing over the village square! If that’s not an illusion born of gold-lust, then I--”

”I know you’re trying your best, Parsley,” said Tom. “But I can’t say the same for those Holy Order types. Three people dead since we’ve got here! All drained of blood! And every time the taxes go up! When’s it going to stop?”

”You know it’s a vampire, right?”

”Quiet, Ethan. Alison, can you take him out of here? I don’t know that I want him hearing about this if he’s going to get these kinds of ideas.”

”I’ve already got one baby,” teased Alison.

Clarice suppressed an adolescent smile. “Be nice.” She patted Alison’s head. Baby Emma cooed.

Alison shrugged. “Come on.” She beckoned Ethan out into the hallway.

”--An’ if your guild cannot provide ye the proper wages to pay your dues to the Order while also keeping food in the mouths of your children, that’s their own failure to fulf--”

Alison shut the door. “God, they’re like little babies. Speaking of which, here.” She handed Emma over to Ethan.

”Hey! No fair!”

”Life isn’t fair, Ethan. It’s all about luck. I’ve gotta get something from our room, so don’t do anything stupid for five seconds.”

Ethan looked down at the baby sitting contentedly in his awkward grasp. “I hate you,” he told her. Then, whispering: “Not really. I love you, Emma. But don’t tell anyone or they’ll want me to love them, too.”

”--Not to beat the middle school history drum,” complained Clarice, “--But it is absolutely a case of taxation without representation. Everyone on the Holy Council is native to this dimens--”

”Here.” The door opened. Alison entered proffering a fistful of gold coins. “Here’s your stupid money. Now can we all pretend we don’t hate each other for five minutes?”

Silence. Tom sat down on the bed. “Alison, sweetie?”

”I found it,” preempted Alison.

”In the inn, which you aren’t supposed to leave unsupervised?” demanded Clarice. “You ‘found’ it at the inn, right, Alison?”

”Clarice. Honey.”

”Oh, acid lakes and flying robots, that’s nothing. Just wait four round three, the magical land where you can just find twenty gold coins lying on the ground--”

”Clarice, we need this.” Tom walked across the room to his daughter. “We’re going to talk about this,” he said. “And you’re going to tell us where you’ve been going and what you’ve been doing and why you felt that you had to lie to us, okay? But thank you for helping.”

He took the money. “Take this to your friends at the Order and don’t bother us for a little while,” he told Parsley.

Parsley lowered his head. “I’m terribly sorry for causing a scene. I worry for the town, is all. And for your family. Some of these men at the order--they aren’t as discerning as I am. Lack my nose for the true path.”

”We know you have our best interests at heart, Parsley. We’re in this together.”

”Aye.” Parsley winked from the doorframe. “Never forget it, milady.”

Mom sat on the bed next to Dad. They held hands. Alison’s parents had two ways of holding hands--the real one, when they’re being all disgustingly old-person sweet on each other, and the fake one, where they think that if they link arms they’ll merge into some sort of double-sized parent-bot like in one of Ethan’s cartoons. This was a fake handhold. Parents united. This meant trouble.

”I need to know if you’ve been stea--”

”COFCACo speaking here. As we understand that the presence of our new ‘STREET LAMPS’ may have temporarily confused your sense of time, we would like to remind you that the standard COFCACo work day begins in two minutes. To avoid having this problem again, buy a COFCACo pocket watch, available at your nearest COFCACo retailer.”

A burst of feedback from the speakers punctuated the urgency. Clarice sighed. “Whatever you have going on, it can wait for one day until we can have a talk about it. Take care of your little brother and sister, Alison.”

”You’re a mature and bright young woman,” added Tom on the way out the door. “And if you can put that intelligence to use to help your family. But we need you to be honest and forthcoming with us. We’ll talk tonight.”

Leaving Alison alone. She lie in bed for a minute thinking, then walked over to the room next door and took Emma out of Ethan’s arms.

“They’ll be okay, I think,” she said.

”Good,” replied Ethan. “Not that I care,” he added, after a moment’s thought.

* * * * *

“--don’t know me from Adam. So long as they can determine I wasn’t involved with the old Council--and I wasn’t--there’s no reason they wouldn’t put me through if I were elected.”

Envoy sat chin-in-hand, feigning a casual disinterest. Tom realized that there were a dozen at least COFCA members listening to his words, but was trying to buy into the illusion of a private conversation rather than a speech before a committee.

“I’m just saying, puppet organization or no, I want my family to have some kind of a voice in this town. And I know you aren’t happy with those Holy Order crooks nosing around in everything you’re building here.”

”Tom,” said the radio. Envoy gestured thoughtfully along with the COFCA representative’s words, about half a second later than it should have. “You do have a voice in this community, because you have a voice with us. COFCACo is Goldhenge. If that sounds like an exaggeration, it won’t be in two more weeks.”

”Well, then you have two weeks until you provoke them into doing something desperate.” Tom sighed. “Look, I know you’ve thought this out way better than I have, but… maybe I have a perspective you don’t. Do you have a plan for if they try something?”

Envoy rested its elbow on its knee smugly, with a grating metallic scrape. “We’re workshopping several plans. By the time the week gets out we’ll--”

”Envoy! What’s the meaning of this?”

Mayor Benny Diccioni Giacomo Honorope Pontiff X, burly, mustachioed, perpetually caught up in his opulent gilded robes, marched staff-first into the COFCACo lobby, brandishing his cross at the handful of employees scattered about.

”Mister Mayor!” Envoy stood and threw out its arms, the action lagging three seconds behind the greeting. “What a surprise! We weren’t… expecting you this morning! What can COFCACo do for the council?”

Benny splashed a vial of holy water in Envoy’s face. When the robot did not react--at all--he leered as though trying to find eyes to make contact with. Frustrated, he turned to Tom instead. Tom looked like he could be bullied. “COFCACo thinks they can turn night to day, do they? Consorting with dark powers to throw demon lights all over our sacred monument and township, is that it? One might think before indulging in such brash behavior one might first think to consult authorities both worldly and divine. And I am authority both worldly and divine, and yet I heard none of this until you woke me up in the middle of the night with your proclamations!”

Tom put the reception desk between himself and Benny, who was taller than him even without the pointy hat. Envoy remained stock-still, suggesting that his puppeteers were deliberating a plan of action. Tom opted to stall. “Your honor, my men put up half those streetlamps. If there were any ‘dark powers’ involved, I would have gone to the nearest Holy Order...er… and let them know about it days ago. Barring that, I don’t see--”

“Blind! Blind servant of thy COFCACo masters are you! And the Holy Order sees with eyes both worldly and divine. I had one of my oracles look into your star-lamps and she says, and I quote, ‘Six faces has he, riddle-master, thief of the Light, entrapped below.’ Does that not sound to you like the true name of a demon, one with the power even to steal light from the sun and bring it forth upon the night?”

Tom considered this. “Actually, that sounds like--”

”Sounds like an overzealous oracle,” blared the speaker. Envoy approached Benny menacingly. “If the Holy Order is resorting to the unreliable art of prophetic interpretation to find your demon, maybe they’re tired of working in darkness. Maybe they should be grateful that COFCACo is shining a light into the dark corners of Goldhenge.”

”Maybe COFCACo should stop shining their lights where they have no business looking!”

“If I may, Benny, Envoy,” said Tom. “As far as I’m concerned, this is all a matter of failure to communicate.”

“Oh, there’s a failure to communicate,” growled Benny. “A failure to communicate to your Order when you’re going to subject the town to your unholy experiment, and a failure on the Order’s part to properly communicate the consequences of failing to communicate!”

“And that could all be solved,” suggested Tom, “By putting a COFCACo representative on the Holy Council?”

Benny and Envoy glared. “As a non-voting member, of course,” clarified Tom, backing against the wall. “To start. Open up a line of communication.”

Benny turned to Envoy and scoffed. “I have the suspicion this one’s talking about himself.”

Tom shrugged. “I’d certainly be willing to volunteer.”

”I don’t know,” blared the speaker, “That we’d be comfortable willing to put our project manager at that level of risk. The Broderburg family’s well-being is essential to everything we’re hoping to accomplish.”

”I hope you’re not insinuating that association with the Holy Order is somehow dangerous,” warned Benny.

”There’s no need for modesty,” insisted the speaker. “We know you’re all putting yourselves on the line every day to counteract the influence of the demon hordes.”

Benny looked Tom up and down. “Aye, our lives and often our dignity. We’ll take your ‘non-voting member.’ And he’s to let us know everything you get up to before you do it--or else. Council meeting’s in three days. We’ll have words before then, I’m sure.”

Benny twirled, tripped over his robes, composed himself and marched out. Envoy turned to Tom. “Explain why you did that.”

”Clarice was talking about having a voice in the community… and this will help us keep an eye on Parsley, cause he’s in way over his head with these… honestly?” Tom grinned. “Tax exemption.”

Envoy crossed its arms. “Don’t do anything stupid in those meetings,” ordered the voice from all around.

* * * * *

Alison lay on her bed, cradling her dead cellphone and imagining, as she often did lately, that if she had paid more attention in science class she would know how to charge the battery using only a potato and a bucket of water.

The cloth diapers took some getting used to, but Emma was behaving fabulously overall--as she had been this whole month. Emma’s continued good health always seemed like a good alibi to Alison every time she snuck out for a couple hours while Mom and Dad were off working for Envoy; Mom could never imagine that Ethan could watch over a stupid (beautiful) baby for a little while without some catastrophe striking. How did they expect to survive this thing if the grown-ups couldn’t trust the kids?

Still, for some reason--despite having basically saved the entire family from those tax guys--Alison felt guilty enough to obey her parents and stay inside today. It was probably just nerves from having to tell the truth to Mom and Dad after work--making her feel like she had done something wrong by lying, even though she hadn’t, because if she’d tried to tell the truth they would have tried to stop her.

She guessed she could also still be guilty because she had basically killed Na--

*RING*

”Phone call?” asked Ethan. “Is it Mom?”

Alison hesitated. “Yeah, I think so.” She picked up the COFCACo phone and held the ear-bit to her ear. “Hello?”

A gruff voice came over the line. “Allie! We’re missing you today.”

“Oh, hi, Mom.”

The voice went quiet. “You got company, girlie? We can be quiet-like.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him.” She muffled the phone and turned to her brother. “She was wondering if you could run down to the general store and grab some soap. We’re almost out.”

”Hmmm. Um.” Ethan looked at the floor. “Does soap cost money?”

”Yeah. Here.” Alison took a silver piece from the stack of coins under her bed and tossed one to Ethan. “Off with you. Be safe.”

When Ethan was out of the room, she turned back to the phone. “You can’t call me here!” she yelled. “My mom’s the operator. If anyone calls this room except her, she knows about it.”

“Don’t worry about it. She’s on break,” said the voice. “Looked like yer dad had some good news for her, so one of the other girls took over.”

“Fine. Look, I’m not playing today. I had to spend half my winnings just paying off you guys’s taxes, so--”

“Ha! The house always wins one way or another, girlie. That’s a good lesson to learn. Anyway, look, we got a couple o’ wizards in town lookin’ to play, an’ they’re clearin’ us out. Some o’ the boys been wonderin’ where our lucky charm is.”

“It’s not my fault you all suck at cards!” yelled Alison. “I might be there tomorrow. I don’t know. Maybe never. I got in trouble with my parents. I’ll let you know when I can, okay?”

The man on the other end took on an antagonistic tone. “Listen, Allie. So long as your winning streak plays in our favor, you’re gonna be our friends. But if you become a fair-weather lucky charm, people might start asking what it is about you’s so lucky in the first place. People been throwing around the D-word already.”

Alison rolled her eyes. “How can you tell people I’m a demon without admitting you run a casino out of your church? You’re not all that scary, whatever the town thinks. I’ll come around when I feel like it or when I need the money, okay? You don’t own me.”

She could hear a few voices whispering tensely on the other end. “Alright. See you when we see you. Sorry ‘bout the threats, Allie, eh? We don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“Whatever.” She hung up. Those Holy Order guys. All they cared about was money.

* * * * *

”Are you supposed to be here all alone, kid?”

”Hey, John!” Ethan instinctively hid the soap behind his back. John was cool, but he was still mostly evil, so it was best not to tempt him to take your all your stuff. “Have you seen the new lights?”

”Not running.” John patted the nearest lamppost with one hand. “I just got in this morning.”

”From space?”

”Yep! Outer space even.”

”Did you bring presents like you promised?”

”I did!” John reached into his bag. “For the young man, I bring--” he pulled out a brightly colored box. “--SPACE CANDY!”

”Awesome!” Ethan took the box excitedly and stashed it next to the soap.

”Yeah, yeah. Now, I have a present for your sister, too, and I don’t know if I’ll have time for a visit before I have to be getting back to space, so if I give it to you now, will you promise to pass it along to her?”

”Promise!”

”Alriiiiight. But I’ll be coming back here at some point, and if I find out there’ll be trouble, I’ll turn evil again and kill your whole family. That cool?”

”I said promise!”

”And your word is your bond, of course. Sorry I ever doubted you.” John produced a smell plastic object attached to a cord. “It’s crank operated. It should work, but if there are any problems, let me know. I wrote my number on the bottom. Tell her not to abuse it.”

”Cool, thanks.” Ethan took the phone charger out of John’s hand. “Hey John?” he asked shyly.

”Yeah, kid?”

”What do you do in space?”

”John chuckled and rubbed Ethan’s hair. “I’ll, uh. I’ll let you know when you’re older, kid. You run along now.”

Ethan took off in the direction of the inn. John leaned against the lamppost, casting his eye upon the golden monument at the center of town.”

* * * * *

”Sorry--an underground casino?”

”Yeah. It’s mostly just cards and dice. They don’t have slots or anything.”

”You were sneaking off to a casino every day without telling us?” demanded Dad. “And leaving Ethan all alone with Emma?”

Alison nodded. “You said be honest. I was making money. I’m lu--I’m good at it. It’s all about telling when grown-ups are lying to you, and I figured that out years ago.”

”Try and calm down, Tom.” Mom gripped Dad’s hand--this was a genuine one--and Dad’s brow unfurrowed by a few degrees. “We need to think about what this means. All this money we’ve given to these people and this is what they’ve been doing with it--gambling.”

”Yeah. I know. It’s just… for them to drag my daughter into it.”

”No one dragged me, Dad,” insisted Alison. “I found them. I was bored.”

”Alison,” said Mom. “You’ve got your cellphone working again, right?”

Alison sulked. ”Kinda.” She pulled the phone out of her pocket. “There’s no service except for Tom’s number, and I can get the Goldhenge operator by hitting zero. And if you--yeah, that’s it.”

”What about the camera? It has a camera, right? That still works?”

”Uh-huh.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. Dad said, “You can’t honestly think about doing anything with--”

”Don’t you think we ought to have it? In case we need it, we’ll have leverage. Which would be useful in case anything goes wrong with your new job--”

”’Leverage.’ Listen to us. I never wanted to get into politics. Alright, but only if we can be sure it’s safe for Alison.”

”It will be.” Clarice turned back to Alison. “Do you think you can get in there one more time--just one--and get pictures of everyone you see gambling there on your phone?”

Alison nodded. “Easy. You want me to spy on them?”

”Kind of. But make sure you’re not putting yourself in any danger, okay?”

”Okay. I’ll be fine, Mom.”

”And after that you’re not going to that church any more unsupervised,” added Dad.

”Okay. Are we going to be okay for money?”

”Absolutely. I’ve got a new job on the council so we don’t have to pay those taxes anymore. So we’ll be good from here on out.”

”Okay. You can have the rest of what I made, if you want.”

”You can keep it,” said Mom. “It’s your money. But you have to learn to be responsible with it.”

”I will.”

”Okay. I’m going to go get Ethan for dinner.” Mom headed out the door towards the other room.

Alison leaned over to Dad. “Hey, dad?”

”What is it, Sweetpea?”

”I found something else but I don’t know how Mom will take it so I figured I’d tell you first.”

Tom stood up and closed the door. Then he turned back to Alison. “What did you find?”

She held the cellphone up to his ear. “You have to hit zero first to get to Goldhenge,” she explained.

Beep.

“This is your COFCACo telephone operator,” came the cheerful voice on the other end. “With whom may I connect your call?”

“Okay. But then--I found this totally by accident. If you type in star-six…”

Beep. Beep.

Tom couldn’t mistake the voice he heard on the other end.

”QUESTION 294,578: Why is this happening to me?

“QUESTION 294,579: Is anybody out there?

“QUESTION 294,580: Why are you doing this?”

Alison hung up. “It just keeps going,” she said. “I know Mom’s still mad at him because he kidnapped Emma, but… we have to help him, don’t we?”

Tom sat down on the bed, head in his hands.

* * * * *

Tom didn’t notice that Clarice had gone to bed in her corset and skirt, and neither did she. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t sleep, it was that the idea of sleeping seemed wrong to her. She felt like she had somewhere to be. The thin walls of their room at the inn pressed down on her. She felt like she heard music from another room, but still there was no music.

It took until she hit the creaky board in the hallway that she realized she had left bed. She was about to turn around and head back--to try and get some sleep, part of her said, and another part said before it’s too late--when there came another creek, responding to the first.

This was the creak of the door to the next room over opening. Had she still never met the man who lived there? She had been picturing an old man turned recluse from memories of some war. This was not what she saw.

The man looked as young as Clarice felt, but he smelled like old wine and old books. His arms stretched out like oak branches to fill the doorway as though he were supporting the entire inn. He was thin, and looked hungry.

“You’re Clarice,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” she responded, feeling as though she were confessing something. “And you are…?”

“I don’t do names. I like words. Flesh. Do you like the way the word flesh sounds?”

“No.” Of this, and of little else, Clarice was certain.

“Well, I do. All the old holy books repeat it over and over. Flesh. The biggest problem in any religion is the problem of what to do with flesh. They spend so long explaining the soul they forget about all the baggage. Did you know that my time has come?”

“I...” Clarice looked around. She was afraid of something but it wasn’t him. “I thought maybe.”

“I want to make a religion that starts with the flesh and works from there. But I don’t want to write any books. Will you help me?”

She changed her mind; she was afraid of him. “No, I won’t.”

She was afraid that if she took her foot off the board it would creak again. This was the most important thing. This was the thing to fear. There was a light behind the man. This was when she realized that it was the streetlights.

The man frowned. “Pity. Well, then, I suppose I’ll have to help myself.”

Creak

And then the vampire was on her and his teeth was in her neck and it was just like in the movies except she was inside of it and she could feel the blood all draining into and out of her neck she could feel the blood surging she didn’t understand how all her blood could move that fast and then there was none left there was nothing she was empty air and blood and Clarice and everything empty

He caught her in one arm as she fell. “Stay with us for a while longer, Clarice,” he whispered in her ear, giving back something he’d taken. There were multiple ways to turn a victim, and this was the most cruel. Clarice’s soul took root somewhere in the empty hollow it had left behind. She gasped a gasp that did not contain a breath. He was still standing over her, smiling a bloodstained smile. “You’ll serve me in due time,” he said. “For now, go back to your family.”

He stood her upright, dusted her off and retreated back into his room. Clarice stood in the hallway and tried to catch her breath.

She caught it, but it wasn’t the breath she had lost track of in the first place. It was a broken breath, and empty.