Lore of the Underlings: Episode 8 ~ The Trial, Page 4

  Worried her maiden hood left her exposed, she tried to hide in the shadow of Qoqo. It didn’t work. He saw right through her.

  “Yes I can see you’re a novice miss.”

  Sweet sixteen tasted sourness.

  “But enough of this nunsense! You’re here to bare witness. It’s time to drop the sister act.”

  Young Yo, though, was taken aback and stuck to her guns, her vow of silence.

  Judge Hurx would hear none of it.

  “Listen. We’re all done with choir practice. Here comes your solo. Get ready to sing.”

  Xoxo stepped out but kept quiet, peeking, ducking him, waxing mute. She poked Qoqo in the back.

  They had prepared for this. Qoqo spoke. “I have taken my own vow sire — to be my homegirl’s guardian angel. Role model, friend, her wings when she needs them, and her hero if she falls. Blood-bound I swear not to falter, come hell or high water, gloom or doom.

  “Justice, I am the voice. Call your tune.”

  Fyryx, tongue-stung, stared her down then broke into a surprising swoon. “Noble words good lady Yo… Loyalty… that’s a trait I value…” He all but bowed. His voice nearly cracked. He choked back a tear. “Accept my respect.”

  That said though, he let out a “But” and a bark. You know, your typical Fyryx.

  “Did you really expect an exception, a pass for this loved one, nun of the above? Let me assure you, lass, that you’re mistaken. I have a host of questions…”

  Just then an outer Guard rushed in.

  “Pardon, m’lord!” He was winded.

  “What is it?”

  It was the fearsome northerner warrior Goth-syr, and he carried something. “Special delivery, sir my sir!”

  The white-clad fighter goose-stepped across the room in no time. Everyone watched. Even the Hurx boys had a look-see, poking their heads out the fore chamber hatch.

  The pale pikesman handed over his package, whispered a message, and fled the hall.

  Fyryx unwrapped the bundle. His eyes lit up.

  He hoisted a girly journal.

  “Now, what a fortuitous turn of events… My friends! Some timely new evidence!”

  Xoxo recognized it and shuddered.

  “The diary of this Miss Apprehension.”

  Fyryx tried to crack it open. A hawk’s jaw lock prevented him. “Seems to be sealed. If you’ll do the honors…” He thrust the book at its teeny owner.

  Author Yo, though, proved reclusive, acting reluctant to show her hand. Judge Hurx all but threw the book at her, shoving it in her direction again.

  This time she reached out a trembling limb and bared an arm, her soft bronze skin.

  “Take it!”

  She took the prized possession. Then, holding the journal in her left, she used the right to unveil herself.

  Smaller than Qoqo and cuter still, Xoxo was a kewpie doll. Her face was rounder than her sister’s, her hair longer — a full, flowing mane. Mother nature set the tone, the hue of her locks like virgin soil. Sweet and fertile, a farm boy’s dream. Pick of the crop. Top of the cream.

  Treygyn looked drunk from drinking her in. He gazed at Xoxo. She at him. Each one mouthed the other’s name.

  Treasured, her eyes glowed heavenly gold. And yet molten. Vulcan hot.

  Fyryx looked not too sure what he witnessed, but he wanted to break it up. “I see that you see your leaver-boy Yin. So, let the record show, you’ve ID’d him. Happy?

  “Now on with the unlocking!”

  Xoxo slipped a ring from her finger and put it in the keyhole. Click. Leaves unfolded by the hundreds.

  “Read it,” Fyryx ordered. “Quick.”

  That commandment made her cry. She was speechless, petrified.

  “Objection!”

  It was Minyon Myne.

  The elderman stood on his makeshift bench, holding a pale palm up in protest. Yet he was calming in dissent. A voice for the voiceless. Public servant.

  Poor folk had no better advocate. His black coat was good as a law suit.

  “Your honor sir, if it pleases the court…”

  Judge Hurx grumbled. “It does not.”

  “This kid’s book isn’t a legal exhibit.”

  “Legal schmegal, elderman. Sit.”

  “But…”

  “Overruled. You’re trying my patience.”

  “What about self-incrimination? Badgering? Hearsay? Leading the witness?”

  “And your point is…”

  “Justice sir.”

  “I am justice, minister…”

  Minyon winced but sat back down, saving his breath — at least for now.

  Fyryx resumed. “Without further ado… assuming none of you object…”

  Xoxo and Qoqo traded looks. The older Yo girl snatched the book of secrets. Then she faced the music.

  “It’ll be okay sis. I’ve got this.”

  Fyryx assessed then acquiesced — though not without his signature gesture. He waved dismissively at the pair with the air of a temperamental conductor.

  “Much a duo about nothing. What’s a maestro supposed to do? I know…” He reached for his sky-high hat and pulled out a constable’s hand baton.

  “Now one of you yo-yos had better start singing or I’ll bring yo’ ma and pa Yo in to question.”

  “No, no!” cried Qoqo. “Not that! I’ll do anything…”

  “Then set your way-back machine for last Sunnyday, and let that diary speak for itself.”

  Qoqo fanned the leaves of grass and found a passage three dawns past. In fact, it opened on its own.

  She blushed to be in Xoxo’s head. “Forgive me my sister,” she said. Then she read…

  Sunnyday, Lune 21st ~ Good morning, dear diary! It’s finally here. Eve’s eve. Can you even believe it?!

  You know tomorrow’s my fave every year. But this one’s gonna be THE best ever. The Revels and my b-day together. Yay! And not just any birthday. The big sixteen. Pretty sweet, right? You and I both know what that means, girlfriend.

  So long folk school. Adios scrollbooks. Bye-bye bookman and your bad breath.

  By the way, at the end of rune class yesterday, Trey did something kinda funny. He wanted to carry ‘em home for me — my books I mean, not old man Dustum. Ew!

  Anyway, that was super weird. Weird in a good way I’m saying. It’s just… we’ve been friends for like forever. Longer than Layly and Vallon and me. So, why go Romeo all of a sudden? Or am I misreading him? Guess I hope not.

  Can’t wait to see what happens today…

  Ciao for now diary. Talk to you later.

  Afternoon delight ~ Hey, a little update diary. Yup, you got it. He did it again! Carried my keepsack, ten scroll rolls, and rune board all the way home to the back of the Inn. And then he turned red when we said goodbye, like he wanted to… like he was gonna… Oops, that’s mother. Gotta go. Time for work. And some Trey dreaming.

  My heart’s beating like a drum. Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Trey Treygyn.

  Qoqo tried to hide a grin. She flipped the page. Her face turned grim.

  Night of the living dead ~ Help me diary. This can’t be. I pray it’s a nightmare. Wake me please.

  Or let death take me as I sleep.

  The reaper has come to harvest my life tonight… and love dies on the vine.

  I’m sick to my stomach. I’ve got to think. Maybe if I write it out…

  Qoqo paused and checked with her sister. Xoxo nodded to go on.

  It happened about an hour ago. I was minding the tavern as usual — you know — tending to tables and dodging the drunks. I must have been acting distracted though, cuz I dumped my tray on Mr. Boxbo and doused Mr. Ixit in pyne tree gin. By then it was already half past dinner when one of our Keep’s fattest cats strolled in…

  “Elderman Mastafard Plymix!” crowed father, “I’m honored. Please sir, be my guest!” And he ushered the nobleman off to our very best table, booting some plain folk first.

  “Treasure, good innkeeper. Right by the hearth. N
ow fetch me some supper and drink. I’m parched.”

  “Straight away lordship. Xoxo! Come!”

  I knew that tone and I came running.

  “But what delicious dish is this?” the elderman asked. He leered at me. “I’m always looking for pretty young things…”

  “Beg pardon?” said father.

  “For Fardy, I mean. A match for the hand of my handsome son. A damsel worthy of elderdom. Comely yet motherly. Yes, like this one…”

  “Ah!” answered father. He grinned, plotting something. “May I present my younger daughter. Xoxo turns sixteen tomorrow.”

  “Mmm…” The elder ogled harder. “So, just old enough to wed. And you implied you had another? A home-maid buffet or smorgasbord?”

  Father called into the gaming hall for Qoqo, who’d been dealing cards.

  “Here’s our first born. Runs the casino. Cunning, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  But Qoqo looked clueless at the moment. “There’s a new menu,” I whispered. “We’re on it.”

  The men entered into negotiations. Mother entered the room. She’d caught wind.

  “A word with my dear wife, Master Plymix?”

  “Make it a clause, my in-laws to be!”

  As they conferred, we overheard. Mother and father were secretly giddy.

  “Wife, I have a scheme today.”

  “Husband, you must have read my mind.”

  “Our chump’s come in.”

  “We just need to scam him.”

  “And leave this lowlife lot behind.”

  “I’m thinking a con job should do the trick.”

  “A shell game…”

  “Or hoax…”

  “Like pig-in-a-poke.”

  “Classic.”

  “Then we sneak up the social ladder.”

  “And break into high society.”

  “Slick!”

  “First class, here we come at last!”

  “But that’s not even the best part, sweetheart, compared to the bride price we’ll exact.”

  They laughed.

  Then father turned serious fast. “It better be major, we’re losing cheap labor — no matter which minor, more or less…”

  “Well, speaking of less, that’s all we’ll get unless we go take care of business. We’ve got to strike while the ironwood’s hot and seal the deal before he’s not.”

  “Right you are as usual wife! I propose we close this ruse by making a daughter he can’t refuse…”

  What happened next I do not know. We waited for word, a sentence.

  “Xoxo!”

  My name became the kiss of death. The hug of a newborn ugliness. I swear I heard a prison door. And just like that my life was over.

  Qoqo offered herself instead, but they didn’t buy it. She protested.

  “Mother! Father! Don’t be misled. Fardy’s thirty and a bubble-head. Blows on his drug horn all day long.”

  “Silence girl! The deal is done.”

  Lord Plymix beamed and made the announcement. “So shall our clans be joined as one!” His face was flush with success and wine. “The wedding will be on Moonday morn.”

  I turned to my parents and begged them to listen. “But Treygyn,” I cried, “is my one true…”

  “Who?”

  “Treygyn. Treygyn Yin.”

  “Yin?!”

  “You stay away from him!”

  “Him and the rest of his oily clan.”

  “But…”

  “We’ve got a blood feud brewing against them.”

  Suddenly I felt light-headed, woozy. Someone said, “Look how she swoons for her groom…”

  Boom.

  I woke on the floor of my room.

  Diary, wherefore am I me? To be wed or not to be… A winter of honor but discontent, or glorious summer with this son of Yin…

  Treygyn hung on her every word. Heads shook. Folk bowed. Freebird cooed.

  Ho-man flashed the stranger a cliff note, just for a sense of the suspense. “Miss must dis her parents’ pride or kiss her star-crossed guy goodbye.” John Cap already knew the plot.

  “Is that the last of this epic?” asked Fyryx. “I’d hate to miss the tragic ending. The smoking gun. Any clue to who done it.”

  Qoqo looked ready to lie then sighed. “No, there’s more sir.”

  Xoxo whimpered.

  Lune 22nd, Mid Summer’s Evil ~ Unhappy birthday to me, dear diary. Now you can be my obituary…

  Her sister’s words left Qoqo speechless. Dumbstruck. Choked up. In distress.

  “Start spreading the news girl,” Fyryx pressed.

  “Sir?”

  “I’m taking over as journalist.” And he grabbed at her, nabbing the cub writer’s notebook. “This just in — let’s read all about it…”

  The story, however, took a twist. It bit him on the fingertips.

  “Guard! We have a hostile witness!”

  Xoxo stepped forward. “Wait! I’ll confess…”

  Uncomfortable silence followed her offer while Fyryx rubbed his reddened hand and shook the bee-sharp sting from his fingers. “Now we’re talking,” the justice smirked.

  He chucked the book and the thing took off. It flew like a foo bird back to its owner.

  She steadied herself on the mother shell. Then Xoxo told what she had to tell.

  “When I woke on the morning of Mid Summer’s Eve, the Revels were already underway. I could hear happy noise through my window pane. So I hid from the day and prayed for rain.

  “By noon my friends had heard the news and came to find the rumors true. They sat at my bedside, Lay-Hay and Val, as if I lay dying. We cried for a while. But once our tears had all run dry they dragged me off to the festival. They meant well. ‘It’s your birthday girl.’

  “This fest was the biggest I’d ever witnessed. I guess because you and your Guard weren’t there.”

  Judge Hurx glared. She bit her tongue. “Just kidding…

  “Then I bought a jester’s mask and vanished into the madding crowd. Funny how there was a peace to the loudness. A calm that came from being anonymous. I in the storm. But it passed too fast. My cover was blown and there stood Treygyn.

  “Somehow my lost love found me out. Trey — remember? Let’s play it again…”

  He knew the scene by heart it seemed. The lad looked sad. This was no act.

  “They say you’re to marry Fardy Plymix.”

  “Yes, the wedding has been arranged.”

  “And you love him?”

  “I swear on my father’s honor…”

  “Then live long and prosper.”

  She paused. “He was gone.”

  Xoxo had to turn away from Treygyn the prisoner. She looked guilty. “If only I could have revealed it, my lie…”

  She stopped herself and wiped her eyes.

  “Anyway, that brings us to yesterday — everyone knows what happened then. The strangers showed up and the Keep shut down. Father locked us in the Inn. It wasn’t till late that I snuck out to find him. I had to. My gut knew that Trey was in danger.

  “By then the sky was crying, our town drowned in shadow, mourning the moon. Worry cloaked the folk I met. They scurried, in no mood to talk. Not about Treygyn anyway. No one had seen him. The buzz was invasion. The reason they swarmed for home sweet home.

  “Their beeline thinned into a stream and then nothing. The signs became clear. He was not to be found.

  “So forlorn, alone, and soaked to the bone, I headed home too to my room at the Inn. But I’d no sooner fallen in bed than I heard them…

  “Someone below… throwing stones at my… uh-oh…”

  Xoxo slowed. Her voice trailed off. As if she’d made a grave mistake.

  Fyryx’s ears pricked up. He smelled blood.

  “I should have guessed they’d send news of your precious — sympathizers or lookouts no doubt. Guard! Round up the usual suspects! We’ll find who’s behind all this.”

  Xoxo looked flustered. She tried to re
cant. “On second thought, sir, it was only the wind.”

  “Only the wind? You’re hiding something.”

  “No!”

  But her big, wide eyes betrayed her. Judge dread followed them to her friends. “And still the plot thickens. Four more co-conspirators…

  “Never mind, pikesmen. The gang’s all here.”

  He turned from Xoxo looking woeful and neared the third turtle, the cluster’s last stand.

  The two pairs of teenagers saw him coming. “Hey Lay-Hay,” nudged pal Val. “Whoa!” Slymie poked Goo. And they knew they were in a world of trouble.

  “So what do we do now?” asked flaxen-haired Vallon.

  Pimply Goolox gulped. “Got me.”

  “D’oh!” added pudgy Billyum Slyme, though Layly just trembled, keeping mum. The flowers festooning her long mane withered then tumbled to the shell below.

  Meanwhile, Fyryx caught some of their sideshow and that was enough to set him off. He lashed out unleashing a reptile hell.

  “Terrapin Union of Syland — assemble!”

  What followed then was a sight to behold. A feat from some fable or tall tale of olde.

  Sort of a turtle ballet, you might say.

  The two lesser tortoises pulled off a plié and let down their witnesses nice and easy. Three pirouettes and a leap of faith later, they stacked up again but upside down. Baby-back. Wee one on the bottom.

  Pop hopped on top of mom and kid, completing the great un-pyramid. The gang of four formed a chorus line and did their best to just hang on.

  His honor got hotter under the collar. Steamed. Stoked watching their histrionics. His skin burned from the blazing sun.

  “Prepare for a cross examination!”

  Fyryx clicked his tongue at Ho-man, who snapped to attention with pad and pen.

  “Court clerk! Bring that comfy moccasin. Time for an encore. Your soft-shoe routine…” All the while he had his eye on Slymie. “Kick it off with him.”

  Goo knew what he had to do. Some fancy footwork. A pas de deux.

  He lined up Billyum’s makeshift slipper and stomped. Six hands shut Slymie’s mouth.