I have to admit that maybe I've been a bit
harsh on Jeffrey. Certainly harsher than I was when we had Evangelina under
lock and key.
My memories of the aftermath are a little
vague, now, but after I rammed in Jeffrey's face with my fists I recall
ordering someone, anyone, to put him in chains. Given his frail, dishevelled
form I think that may have been overkill, and when I visited him this morning I
knew at once that'd I'd made a mistake.
Jeffrey, once an king and now a criminal,
was dressed from head to toe in hard-binding steel. I don't know who did the
deed (possibly Horace the Blacksmith - he showed up in town a few weeks ago,
did I mention that?), but they'd managed to construct a complex amalgam of
chains, bars and handcuffs to keep Jeffrey locked in a rigid, upright position,
pinned against the left wall of his prison. He couldn't sit, he couldn't lay
down, he couldn't move his hands to get at the plate of food that had been
haphazardly thrown at his feet.
I cringed at the smell of the room.
Apparently he also couldn't relieve himself anywhere other than his pants.
Grabbing a key off of the wall beyond the bars, I opened the door and set
Jeffrey free, undoing the many clasps that kept Jeffrey in place. He tumbled
onto the floor in a heap, shuddering and grasping for an upturned cup that
still had a tiny pool of water inside.
I was disgusted. Shutting the door again, I
went downstairs, into the Beefiary, and got Jeffrey a proper meal. Nothing
fancy, just a cut of beef, some bread, a heap of mashed potatoes, and a big cup
of water. Bora passed the food to me without comment - we've been real weird
around each other lately.
Because.
Y'know.
Uh.
Ahem.
So, Jeffrey.
He was still licking at the cup's insides
when I came back in. He hadn't been given any water the whole time he'd been
locked up. Hell, apparently barely anyone even bothered to look in on him.
Guess I underestimated the hate for the man in Pubton.
"Thank… you…" he rasped, accepting
the cup and shakily lifting the water to his lips. Forgetting my anger in a fit
of humanity, I helped him. "Agh. Ah. That's… that's much better. Dr…
Dragomir, was it…?"
Leaving the plate of food on the floor, I
closed the cell door and sat outside. "Yeah. Finally remembered my name,
huh?"
He nodded, slowly lifting himself onto the
bed and the plate onto his lap. "Yes… you were one of the guards.
Everything from back then… a bit hazy… but I remember that. You… you did that
thing… with my dragon…"
The flight. I remembered. "Yeah.
Barrel. Or, uh, what was that dumbass name you gave him? Apocalyptor? Very
classy."
Jeffrey winced. He chewed on his piece of
meat in silence, legs together, shoulders hunched, head down, eyes on the
plate. He seemed incapable of looking me in the face, suggesting to me that he
remembered more than he let on.
"There's going to be a trial." I
paused a few moments, gathering my thoughts. "You did a lot of bad
things."
Jeffrey's mouth opened, twisted, uttered a
few nonsense syllables, closed again. He kept chewing.
"There will be a judge. And a jury.
And a sentence. S'more than you ever gave anyone else, but that's what you'll
get. You understand that?"
He nodded.
"You can… get a lawyer. Or something.
I guess your wife can do that." I cleared my throat. "In case you're
wondering, she's not on trial or nuthin'."
"I figured. I'm glad."
I thought back to the life-sized doll of Daena
I'd seen more than a year prior. I believed him. "Yeah. So… um… all this
is up to me, you know. It's kinda my call. If I don't want there to be a trial…
well, people will be mad, but… there won't be one."
"But you want a trial."
"… yeah. But… I'm willing… to give you
a chance. To… to see if you have a good excuse."
He looked up, but he still wouldn't look at
me. His gaze rested on the wall behind my head. "An excuse?"
"Yeah. Like… did The Baron make you do
everything…. everything you did?" A dim sense of building heat tickled the
back of my neck. "The executions? The tortures? The stupid decrees, like
that shit about standing in one place all day? Or wearing weird socks? Or… or…
or the hole? Was that all his fault? Did he make you do everything?"
His knees shook, and he bit his lip. I swear
I heard him mutter 'the penguin, the penguin' under his breath.
"Who was it? Did they make you do
anything? Or did you do it all yourself? If you don't give me an answer you'll
go to trial, and even though I really want that I also really don't want that,
so gods dammit give me an answer, please, just… please! Did you do all of that
yourself?"
His body quaked. He looked like he was on
the verge of a complete breakdown.
I didn't care. I couldn't take it. I leaped
out of my chair and grabbed the bars, aware of the heat, of the slight burn on
Jeffrey's cheek, of my hotter-than-usual hands, wondering why, why the hell did
that keep happening? What the hell was, what the hell is, wrong with my
gods-be-damned fingers? "TELL ME! DID YOU DO ALL OF IT? IS EVERYTHING YOUR
FAULT? DID YOU TORTURE US BECAUSE YA FOUND IT FUN? OR FUNNY? YOU SICK FUCK,
TELL ME WHY YOU TREATED YOUR SUBJECTS LIKE GARBAGE!"
Jeffrey yelped and fell back on the bed,
clutching for the covers. I raged against the bars of the enclosure, sorely
tempted to grab the key off of the wall again and give him another gap in his
teeth. To make him burn.
The rage only subsided when he began to cry
and whimper, his stinky rear end waving pitifully in the air as he shoved his
head under the blankets. He is a beaten and broken man, more than I thought,
and I suspect - based on what he said - that Jeffrey's been fragmented ever
since he established his castle.
"It was the voice!" he cried,
forming a knot of old wool and cotton around his head. "The voice! Always…
always saying… do this, do that… make them… hop on one foot… today… run and
dance… the next… arrest if they don't, arrest if they do… policies, policies, I
just… draw a tiger… drawing… there, the voice, ever since that day… from the
pit, the chasm… the day my wife got stuck…"
"What?" A current of shock shot
through my brain and dulled the anger. "Wife… got stuck? What do you
mean?"
"The voice!" Jeffrey howled
again. "The voice! The voice! First just in my head, then… then the
penguin… gods, oh, gods, the penguin, he told me… he made me play… always
playing, always testing… the thing in the dark, the thing with the bleached
skull and the green eyes… promised, he, they, it… promised… the hole… it would
make the voice go away, make me a real king… but… now… not a king… voice is
gone, but… king… no… everything… everything, chasm, chasm…"
He collapsed into the bed. I listened a
while longer, trying to ask questions, not understanding the non-answers he
offered in reply. Eventually, disgusted and confused, I left. I learned later
that he ranted for almost three hours before falling asleep. Maybe under normal
living conditions he'll be more lucid, and I ordered him regularly fed, watered
and clothed to make sure that happens.
The trial goes forward. Jeffrey is disturbed,
but he needs to be judged. And I know just the person to ask.
Sincerely,
Dragomir the Mayor
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