Chapter 5: Chapter 4: County, Cripple, Kidnapped Child

 

I must have passed out in the sweltering heat of summer. Who could have guessed it was summer, pitch black as it has been?

In any case, I awoke to a respite from the heat with two large shadows looming over me. I opened my eyes, crusted over and dry, to peer upon two gaunt faces. On my left, a squat man in a bronze cuirass. He was a territorial overseer before the collapse. His clothes and armor hung loose, no longer the portly man he once was. On the right a stronger, handsomer, all around more picture of a knight stood. He wore an impressively stylized set of steel armor with gold embossing and a complex series of interlocking joints that no smith could forge. Important, well fed, perhaps even a Psychic.

My eyes lolled to the side, focusing on the flask of water that hung off his belt. Kind of them to send someone so well equipped.

Wonderful, unironically.

###

            The blast that sent old man Ward into a clump of twisted limbs and nightly pain for the rest of his life has been thoroughly described; and yet, thoroughly does not equate with completely.

            The shockwave parted the low-lying mists like a strong but short-lived zephyr. Yet the explosion resulted in an additional effect that tore through the surrounding countryside and knifed through the fog: sound. The acoustic waves bounced off the occasional tent-pole tree and echoed through the raised farm embankments, but in the mostly flat countryside, the sound stampeded unencumbered.

            So with greedy, gossiping words, the sound of the explosion told to three living beings that something was amiss: The first was a bird; it flew away. The second, it just so happens, was also a bird; it didn't fly away strangely enough. The last to receive the news was human though, a tenant farmer on the nearest grid. While he could not decide for or against flying away, he did pull out his phone and hold down the button for an emergency call.

            "Yea. Hello? You're going to want to send one of everything up to Ward's place. Best case? A gas line blew out. Worst case. . . . Well listen, we all know about that man."

            And so it was that a caravan of emergency vehicles blared sirens through the town square heading north.

            Joshua bolted upright in his hotel bed, just catching the yellow and blue flashing lights infiltrating through the tiny slats in the room's blinds. Joshua looked left in the direction of the red-shifting noise. He then moved his gaze right, pondering. Finally, he looked dead ahead.

            "Kael."

            Fifteen minutes later with bare feet and baggy eyes, Joshua found his way to the front desk of the inn where one of the three usual attendants sat. He could recite all three of their names without difficulty, but Joshua wasn't quite able to match names with faces. He squinted and read her shiny metal nametag: Doree.

            "What's the news on those sirens Dor–" Joshua began.
            "Sir, I'm with someone else right now." The woman waved her hand to a man that stood at the desk. Joshua could see the twinges of her mouth tweak in annoyance.

            The man was nondescript. In fact, the man could have been the origin of the word. He was the paragon of the average, light-ish skinned, brown-haired, medium build with an unassuming profile that would plague a manhunt in this part of the world.

            His personality had more of an edge than the average schlub though as he turned on Joshua. "You're being a real prick right now, kid."

            They were roughly the same height, but the stranger did his best to loom over him. Joshua double-checked the man's feet to ensure the heels were flat on the floor.

            "Word to the wise old dude, never talk about a kid‘s–" Joshua stopped midway through saying a joke he already knew wouldn’t land. The man's hard stare was so judgemental that Joshua did a quick 180 with his mood. "You want me to stand behind you and wait patiently? Fine. Not like there's an emergency outside," Joshua ended in a mumble. He took two exaggerated steps back and made to admiring the man's overcoat while he waited.

            Doree and the man resumed their conversation: "Listen, here's my card," the man said. "Just call if you hear anything. And you," he said, turning on the spot, his gloved hand pointing at Joshua's chest and threatening to poke at his ribs. "Have you seen any new children in town? I'm looking for a young child, she has been kidnapped."

            Joshua blinked frantically at the news. Two missing people in a small town like this? A coincidence that was not. "You're a what? Private investigator?"

            The stranger shifted annoyed before reaching into his duster's breast pocket and pulling out a slick leather wallet. He flapped it open, revealing a picture and a badge. "County detective."
            In some parts of the world, county denoted a small territory of a state, but Sela operated by its own historical peculiarities. The County here was a job title like a sheriff, but for the state. The profession arose from some business five hundred years ago with a count– the last count in this part of the world. He had been tasked with keeping the peace and by all estimations did such a bang-up job that the people immortalized him to this day with the title- County.

            Joshua suspected that if that count had actually done a good job, they'd be using his name instead of his title. Or not. Maybe the count had a bad name. Wouldn't do any good for the state to send a "Bob" to your city. The name "County" bore some aesthetic weight.

            While Joshua had only arrived in Sela two weeks ago, he was acutely aware of what the County represented. Whenever he and Kael went to a new country, the first thing they did was memorize information on police activity. They never set out to break laws, but things happened. Best to know who to avoid.

            With the badge still inches from his squinted eyes, Joshua proffered his hand. The County's lip curled up to a sneer before handing his badge over.

            Joshua took the heavy wallet and looked at the picture, the fancy holograph type set, the I.D. Number. He bounced the badge up and down testing the weight. Finally, after pushing down on the metallic badge with his thumbs, he brought it up to his mouth and bit down.

            The County's speed surprised Joshua. He had only just confirmed it was in fact made of honest to Goddess brass when the man pulled it out of his grip.

            "What is wrong with you?" the County bellowed.

            Joshua noticed the subtle raise of his main hand, of the seething control that could be seen in the tense neck muscle. This man's first instinct was actually to hit Joshua. Not that Joshua would have minded. He probably would have found it hilarious just so long as no arrest followed.

            "Let me know if you see anyone suspicious checking in," the County agent said to the clerk, pausing to wipe the shiny brass badge against the outside of his thigh. "And I better not see you again." This last statement was to Joshua. With that, he barged out the door, letting in a flurry of blistering cold wind.

            Joshua mosied on up to the desk and rapped his fingers nervously. "Get a load of that guy, huh?"

            "You're leaving tomorrow, yeah?" The woman asked.

            "Yes. . . ."

            "I don't know anything about the emergency sirens," the woman huffed. "Do you need anything else?"

            "It's just weird isn't it?"
            "Huh?" Doree couldn't be bothered to look up from her work.

            "Weird. Someone else in town looking for a missing person. Strange coincidence." Joshua rhythmically thumped his fingers on the counter, each beat sprouting a new vein in the woman's forehead.

            "You fed me the exact same line about coincidences when I told you about the Man in Black," the receptionist said. "I know Paul's mom, and he's not out of the hospital yet."

            Joshua leaned over the counter trying to get a better look at the clock far in the back. "I was with Paul all night so don't go complaining to me. It's not that bad anyway, he'll be back on his feet in time for the festival."

            "And if he does miss it, we Northerners have two harvest festivals a year. Because that's what's important about that boy's broken leg, right? Clearly that's why I'm bringing it up."

            Joshua pulled back and lost the glib smile. He wasn't spectacular at evaluating other people's emotional states, but once they started getting as sarcastic as himself, that was normally the queue to pull back. "Touche, touche." Joshua quit strumming and straightened his posture. "Can you just run his badge number on that computer there and I'll leave you in peace."

            Doree smiled. "Even if I wanted to, it's not on the card." Doree held up the thin piece of laminated paper with the Selan colors. It had a name, a phone number, and a verifying phone number. No badge number. "Anything else I can do for you today?" She took a pause. "Sir. I'm sure you don't need me to call the verifying number."

            "0366Yb¬0076," Joshua said. "It's the correct number of digits for a Selan County but I'd like to double-check it anyway." At her flustered look Joshua continued. "Verification numbers are so easy to cheat. Trust me. 0366Yb¬0076."

            Doree eyed Joshua skeptically but sat down all the same, clicking through her computer. "How could you possibly memorize that? You had it for two seconds max. Before you acted like a fool."

            "Yes. Two whole seconds." As the computer buffered, Johsua kept talking to fill the dead space. "I didn't go to school. Sort of. . . home taught. The first thing we learned was how to memorize information. You do it by memorizing something else first."

            " I saw that on television. People take a place they know really well and, I don't know, visualize it? See the memories they are looking for inside rooms."

            "Kind of. Memory works by linking things you know together. So wee little ten-year-old-me sat down and memorized the entire Mainal National Atlas. If I need to memorize anything new, I just put a picture of it on that map– in my head. The badge's first two digits are 03, so I think Ribediah.

            "I don't know where that is."

            "If you're using the religious atlas like I was, third nation on an island as far west as possible. Right in the East Gulf. If you're using the standardized Piet‘s Atlas Compendia, smack dab in the middle."

             Doree gave a nod that could have been anywhere between approval and 'shut up'. "I found the County's website by the way. Give me those numbers again?"

            "Wanna give it a try first?" Joshua cleared his throat and continued on after one look. "0366Yb¬0076."

            The keyboard ticked thirteen times more and then an extra thump for the enter button.

            "He's legit. Picture and everything." Doree stood up and smiled. "Maybe we should run the information you and your brother registered under now?"

            Joshua chuckled. "I can save you some time– totally fake. Not really a crime in your country, though." He winked coyly. "We checked."

The second thing Joshua and Kael did before entering a country (after brushing up on policing procedures) was find out the laws for false identification. This wasn't to say that even the strictest laws would scare them off. Joshau liked knowing how flippant they could be; Kael kept a careful eye on how flippant Joshua was being.

            With their business concluded, Joshua moved for the door, ready to venture out and find out what had caused such a ruckus with the sirens. One step into the icy slurry, Joshua looked down at his bare feet. With a yelp and a curse, he sprinted back through the carpeted lobby and to his room. 

            Upon arrival, he let out a large hippopotamus yawn. He put on shoes and a jacket, and then he decided to play nap-roulette. The rules were simple: you lay down and take a nap without an alarm. Might be ten minutes. Could be two hours. It had once been eight.

            This time Joshua slept for two and a half hours. He would have snoozed longer, but the sheer volume of work he still had to do woke him up. He needed to 1) investigate the sirens, 2) quit his job, and 3) find Doctor Bartholomew. Even awake now with the sheer stress of it all, Joshua still laid in bed fully clothed, staring at the ceiling for twenty minutes. He wasn't procrastinating the work; he just needed a second to himself.

            Finally, he rolled out of bed. Shuffling over to the mini-fridge under the television, Joshua fumbled around inside until he found his prize. With a stiff drink of piney, caffeine-rich paline canned and ready to go, Joshua slumped out the door and into the town square with not-exactly-gusto.

###

            The investigation into the sirens went as such: Joshua approached random people on the street and then asked, "You hear those sirens? Weird, right?"

            It took a while.

###

            Around midday, Joshua rapped his knuckles against a farmhouse door and waited patiently.

Apparently the sirens were for a gas line explosion at the edge of town. Joshua presumped his brother was repeating history: If the locals hadn't heard otherwise, then why would Joshua worry? With number one on his list so speedily resolved, Joshua jogged down the very road from the night before and right on over to the old Farmer's place.

Joshua took a deep breath, a pit in his stomach. He never told the Farm he'd be gone soon and now he had to outright quit. Joshua didn't like disappointing people- the real problem. Something as simple as quitting a temporary job as a field hand made him feel like throwing up. Shuffling his muddy boots on the porch, Joshua shrugged his shoulders and looked around. The planting circles in their steamy soil hadn't been touched since he left work yesterday. The rusted red crane dibber with its circular pancake-shaped claw still sat out of commission by the barn.

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            The Farmer hired Joshua because his dibber broke down, but did that mean the old guy couldn't do anything on his own? If Joshua left tomorrow, would he be up the proverbial creek? Of course around these parts, it was a sure thing the Selans would find a way to add 'steam' to the saying. Wait, did they invent the saying "out of steam"? Joshua audibly gasped at the possibilities.

            At the point when Joshua was focusing on something completely different than his purpose here, the door swung open. He blinked repeatedly, shocked out of his revelry and tried to regain the mental thread.

            "You're late," the Farmer said with a low and gritty throat. "Nothing got done right because you were late."
            "Well, I can see that." Joshua shot a coy glance to the last incomplete planting circle he had made the day before. "I got. . . busy."

            "I heard."

            "You heard? I've never seen you leave the house."

            "Small town. You hear things."

            Joshua sighed. "Whatever. Doesn't matter. I'm here to quit, not work. Me and my brother are leaving town tomorrow and I won't be able to help you anymore."

            "I know. Didn't expect you to stay around as long as you did. Was just hoping that I'd get some warning before you shirked off."

            "It wasn't intentional. I was busy all night and had to sleep when I got back to the hotel." Joshua's voice sped up, pitched higher. He didn't appreciate moral confrontation.

            "I heard–"
            "Yes, yes," Joshua soothed. "You heard, and you're giving me a hard time anyway. Maybe quit the run around and hire someone to come out and fix that crane."

            The Farmer's stiff face skewed with some emotion for a split second before returning placid. "I did have it fixed, three days ago. You were here."

            Joshua bit his lip thinking back. As observant as he might be, he had to pay attention to pick things up. On a second pass, he was forced to concede that might mean he wasn't actually observant. "Wait, hey," Joshua slowly said, putting two and two together. "If the machine is working, why are you giving me a hard time? You could have done everything today without me. And the day before that."

            "Working the crane is still work, and you were doing a good job for cheap. Plus, I wasn't going to have you working the field today. We're ahead of schedule and it's a holiday. I figured we'd take it easy and get the wagon ready. Paint it. Load up the hay stacks. Get ready for old Mare-y to give rides around town tonight."

            "I can still do that. Paint in the barn?" Joshua started marching towards the termite-ridden building without a go-ahead but then stopped, as another voice piqued from behind.

            "I already did it!" A mousy voice sounded from within the house.

            Joshua backed up and squinted, just making out the outline of the Farmer's little girl inside. Emily had spent plenty of time watching Joshua work from a distance these past few weeks, always too timid to come close. She slowly scooched forward and grabbed one of the Farmer's legs, leaning forward outside without actually stepping foot. Large muddy swaths of paint so brown it looked like varnish coated her face. The goop tarnished the delicate white dress beyond repair.

            "Why did you let her paint with that on?" Joshua asked.
            "I didn't tell her to paint wearing that." The Farmer cocked his head in challenge, as if that was the plainest fact in the world. "I left her to it once we got going, and then she went and changed. Why was that again, dear?"

            The little girl beamed with a mouth so wide open that it showed all her teeth. "I was so excited for the festival that I didn't want to forget to go. I knew if I was dressed for it, I wouldn't forget."

            "And. . . ." Joshua really dug into that word.

            "And that's why I'm in such a bad mood," the Farmer finished. "Do you know how expensive it is to clothe children?"

            Joshua looked down at his own clothes in confusion before glancing back with a devilish light in his eyes. "Oh right. I forget most people have parents who love them and take care of them."

            "Yes, well," the Farmer's continence finally broke as his cheeks turned beet red and his eyes found the ground suddenly interesting. "Help me load up the hay stacks and I'll pay you for an hour's work plus give you a ride into town."

            "But why is she wearing the dress still?" Joshua said.

            "Because. . ." Emily's nose twitched as she contemplated. "I have to live in the messes I make, right?"

            The Farmer sighed. "Live with your own mess. With."

            Joshua fussed with the curls on his head and looked around. "So she's wearing that to the party, or. . . ."

            The Farmer's face continued its color-changing dance and went pallid. "Go change dear." Waiting for her to traipse up the stairs in heavy stomps, the Farmer leaned in. "It's real expensive to clothe children."

            As it turned out, Emily had done an adequate job. Paint splashes marred the dirt and hay and walls, but they also coated the wagon in the same way an explosion would cook a marshmallow.  It only took Joshua another fifteen minutes to touch up the wagon before it looked good to go for the night. Bending around, looking for splattered paint on his own clothes, and then placing the half used paint cans on the shelf, Joshua perused the ingredient list because it was there. He didn't understand much more than a word or two; Kael probably would. He knew all about molecules and crap like that.

            Next came the hay stacks which Joshua happily slung over his shoulder and stacked in the cart. He just kept nodding as the Farmer stood nearby talking about Emily. Joshua had never met the girl's mother and he highly suspected she was no longer around. He would never ask though; he already had a lifetime of those conversations.

            With the last haybale loaded and its pointy red ends ready for some butts, Emily rejoined them. Apparently, the ruined white dress was her only flashy ensemble because she now wore a tiny pair of blue jeans and oversized flannel shirt with sleeves so large that she flapped them like bird wings. She crawled up into the wagon and pulled a thick strand of hay out of the packed bundle. She put it in her mouth and Joshua smiled. Kids liked you to smile. His smile skewed sideways as she began vigorously chewing on the straw and then spitting it out. He couldn't blame her for balking at the taste of dried grass and iron, but that didn't explain why she did it in the first place.

            Joshua didn’t get children.

            With nothing else productive to do before leaving, the Farmer invited Joshua inside. All Winter's Harvest didn't start until dark, so they could come back and tack the horse in thirty minutes. The Farmer was forced to offer Joshua a quick explanation on why "tacking" a horse wasn't animal cruelty and just meant saddling. With that preliminary cleared, Joshua graciously accepted the invitation to wait.

            Joshua and the Farmer plotzed along, eyes on their steps. They walked a shoulder’s width apart, not a word between them. Behind, Emily made little jumps, following their footsteps.

            "You know," Joshua began, "I don't think I know your name after all this time."

            The Farmer's face screwed up into incredulity. Before finding the words in that middle stretch of mud and grass the Farmer called a yard, the faint outline of a white hatchback framed itself into view through the one break of the surrounding embankment. The high beams cut through the fog, temporarily blinding Joshua before the car stopped in front of the farmhouse, thirty feet away.

            The Farmer gave a questioning gaze to Joshua who just shrugged.

            Joshua, the Farmer, and Emily advanced across the steamy yard. The dark-tinted windows of the car were uninviting and the only sloshes of mud it bore were newly made. As they were right up on it, not the driver's side but the passenger's door swung open, almost shakily. A metal rod poked out and then a casted foot. The other leg swung around and revealed a brace clinging from ankle to hip.

            "Peter!" Joshua called.

            A boy's pale face emerged from the car and turned even paler. The bulbous end of the crutches sunk into the ground like hammered fence posts and he warily looked away from Joshua to the Farmer.

            "Isn't that the boy you ran into traffic?" the Farmer asked under his breath.

            "Obviously."

            "Why would you do that?" Emily whispered.

            Peter fought his way against the mud with cheap aluminum and closed the gap between them. His chin stayed tucked to his chest and his eyes stayed firmly on the ground. Only a slight tilt, but Joshua could have sworn that the boy's body was angled away from him.

            "I. . ." Peter took a breath as he came upon them. "My mom says I need to apologize."

            "For what?" Joshua asked with open eyes. "If anything this is my fault."

            "It obviously isn't your fault, but I'm not here to apologize to you anyway." The boy took a breath and braced himself as if he was to jump in cold water. "Sir, I'm sorry for spending the week trying to scare you." His eyes wandered as high as the Farmer's chest. "It was stupid. I should have known better. Uh– no. That's what I had to say."

            "Oh, that's alright. Completely alright," the Farmer said. "You weren't causing no harm. And if that poor horse hadn't gotten hit by a truck, I'm sure it'd be a real laugh when the rest of us found out."

            "That's what I said–" Peter paused to look over his shoulder at the running car. "But my mum and dad both think I'm making fun at you, more than with you." Peter tried to raise a hand to scratch his head. He managed that for only a split section before teetering and desperately grasping for his crutches again. "Anyway, let me know if you or anyone else needs work. I'm grounded until I can pay mom back for a new horse."

            "You're daddy not letting you off easy, huh?" the Farmer chuckled. "That's good to hear. How a kid should be raised. Just because a family has got money to own horses in the first place doesn't mean they shouldn't teach values. In fact. . . ." The Farmer scratched his chin and looked down to Emily. "Seems like that's a good lesson, right Emm? Maybe you should be looking for a job too. Buy me a new dress."

            "Why would you need a new dress?" Joshua asked, not paying attention to the conversation.

            Peter wavered hesitantly before nodding and awkwardly turning around. The Farmer chuckled again and ruffled Emily's hair, a firm hand on her back guiding her to the house. But Joshua stood still, his head askew as the conversation ran through his brain.

            With Peter halfway to the car, Joshua called, "Hey, wait up!" Peter's face scrunched up in psychic pain as Joshua jogged forward, pulling alongside the cripple. "You said you've been pranking the Farmer for a week. Yeah?"

            Peter's eyes wandered the scenery before nodding. "Sure."

            "The Farmer has been talking about some 'Man in Black' for close to two weeks. How does that add up?"

            "I only started dressing up like that and taking the horse out at evening time because that crazy old man was yammering on about some nutty stuff. So clearly I'm not the first one playing games; I'm just the one who gets punished. Serves him right if he's haunted for real."

            "Hearing you say it like that, I don't think it's my fault anymore. You really are kind of a jerk."

            "Thanks."

            "Anytime." Joshua took a deep breath. "But let's focus on the big picture here. The 'Rider in Black' theory might be out because that's just you on a horse. But still. The rumor about the 'Man in Black' is unsolved. Someone else was skulking about. The Farmer did see someone else."

            "Listen. It's getting dark and I need to get home. The painkillers are wearing off and everything."

            "Sure, sure, sure." Joshua's voice sped up. "But don't you see! Something very, very wrong is going on here." He stepped forward and grabbed Peter by the shoulders. "What do you know about a kidnapped child? Any new children in town? Have you seen the County doing anything odd?"

            Peter's face sunk into a mixture of terror and focus, trying not to fall over as Joshua shook him.

            That didn't matter though. Joshua couldn't quite piece it together, but things were starting to add up. Just Doctor Bartholomew. How did he fit into all of this? One question to answer, and it would all come together. Joshua just knew he was on the verge of the ultimate realization.

 

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