24. The
Sentence.
Akin knew he must think fast. Not only had he not kept ahead of Brand, but Brand had known his destination beforehand in order to beat him to here, kill the two deputies, and somehow make sure that he, Akin, was to be mistaken for a known and hereabouts famous criminal and accused of the crime. Diabolical, and crafty. Akin chuckled a bit, and slightly bowed toward his uncle in congratulations to his skill. Apparently he would have to do his own defending. Perhaps this “Yankee” issue might come into play rather handily. Obviously, Rattlesnake was a local boy, though not necessarily a good one. He glanced around the room noting that he was dressed the same as the rest of the people, including the jury, while his uncle looked much more like the front pew. Not to mention, no one was wearing a black cape. He asked Brand if that was the newest yankee clothing fad, smiling to himself as he could hear that his question had hit home with several of the gawkers and even a jury member or two.
He figured that his best hope was to become one of the local us, and to make Brand one of those hated and reviled them. He did his best to speak with the local deep drawl while he was telling his side of the story – how he and his female companion had found the horses while on a picnic, and had rode into town to turn them to the local sheriff but had been arrested soon afterwards. Perhaps the Marshal had been too busy with a ‘rich yankee’ to listen to a ‘poor local boy’ such as himself. He then wondered aloud where the Marshal had come from, and what had happened to the old town sheriff.
He grinned to himself, as there was a rumbling in the courtroom, people having started muttering and asking each other the same thing. So his guess that Brand would put his own people in the post, at the expense of the old sheriff and his deputies was correct. He could see that Brand was starting to get a bit nervous – the railroading was not going as smoothly as his uncle had hoped. Indeed, more and more people were giving Brand nasty looks, and even the Judge was becoming somewhat curt with him, and with the Marshal. It seemed Roy Bean remembered the earlier sheriff, and inquired of the Marshal as to his whereabouts. The Marshal started sweating, glancing over at Brand nervously.
“Your honor! I’m just a simple country boy, and not used to these types of... proceedings,” Akin continued with a drawl used by everyone else but Brand. “Now, I don't know where this ‘Marshal’ came from to take the place of our missing sheriff. Mighty quick like, I may add. But it looks to me, that he and… the Yankee are in cahoots with each other and want to use me as an escape goat to cover up their own... crimes.”
There was a murmur of approval as every eye moved from him to Brand. Again, his words had hit home with most of the audience. Several people made remarks, some not very quietly, about how would anyone know if the Marshal really were a true marshal.
“And, to steal the horses? Your honor, I brought the horses back to town. I was returning found horses. No one saw me steal the horses... No one saw me do anything to the two missing deputies, but this...Yankee.” The room filled with loud mutterings about how the wrong person was being tried, curses, and even shouts to hang the Yankee.
Akin then talked in a concerned manner about the two deputies. He did not recall any bodies or such around the two horses when he had found them – apparently the Yankee had done something to make them disappear. Roy Bean stared at the Marshal, who reluctantly admitted that the bodies had not been found. Akin remarked that accusing a man of murder with no bodies seemed being some sort of a yankee thing, and not ‘our western justice’. As this struck a chord with the Judge, Akin sat back and put on his ‘poor little ole me’ country bumpkin look. He knew that by now as far as the court proceedings went, Brand was the one under the scrutiny of the law, not himself.
The Marshal looked more and more worried as the proceedings indeed turned very different from what had been expected and he faced nasty gaze and even nastier questions from Roy Bean who seemed sobering up by the minute. Brand, however did not appear very concerned, but rather absent-minded as if he were preoccupied with something else.
The Judge waved his hand impatiently shutting up Marshal’s incoherent babble and turned to Brand. “So, how do we know that it’s not you who shot the deputies while Rattlesnake happened to be nearby?”
Brand’s arm was moving slightly under the cape as if getting hold of something while his face dissolved into a broad smile. Contrary to Akin’s expectations, he did not even try to imitate the local drawl, speaking instead with a distinguishable upper class British accent.
“But, Your Honor, I don’t even own a gun. I’m a peaceful Englishman making a living as a painter and my reason for being in your hospitable country is drawing your marvelous landscapes. I must say this is a very exciting endeavor, and quite different from my previous engagement which was painting the London theatre scene. Like this portrait, for instance…” Brand slid his cape back exposing his gloved hand holding a small canvas. The drawing of a woman in a theatrical costume was rather vulgar, but Roy Bean audibly gasped at the site of it.
“You… you wouldn’t happen to have it for sale, good man?”
“For sale?” Brand gave a tremble to his voice. “What kind of a man do you think I am? To sell a portrait of incomparable Miss Langtry? There isn’t enough money in the whole world…”
Akin felt drops of cold sweat running down his spine. The tasteless portrait could not possibly be Brand’s own work. One may just recall that of Flora still hanging in the Castle, not to mention the masterpieces in his study. It was a common knowledge that the Chaos lords could make the Logrus to bring them shadow objects, but there was no record of the Pattern being used in the same way. Yet, this was doubtless what Brand has just accomplished – somehow retrieving this thing from Shadow. And had not Random said that Brand’s daughter had even greater control? He absolutely must find her… He must look into those gray eyes as if points of daggers and find out for himself what exactly was the extent of powers the Pattern could bestow upon one.
“However, Your Honor,” Brand continued after a well-timed pause, “I’ve no doubt that great Miss Langtry herself couldn’t think of a more deserving man to be presented with her likeness.”
Roy Bean was totally dumbfounded, just staring with an open mouth as Brand approached his table and placed the canvas upon it. “You… you… met Miss Langtry in person?”
“But of course, Your Honor. I spent a great deal of time in her company while I’ve been painting this portrait.”
“You must tell me all about it, good man, as soon as we… ugh… finish this business…” Bean picked up the flask and made a huge gulp. “And I think… we’ve heard enough. The case is clear!” He turned toward the jury. “Well? Is it?”
The jurors wore somewhat uneasy expressions as they whispered among themselves. Apparently neither the case was clear to them nor did they understand what verdict the Judge expected. Finally one of them, a large man of a rugged appearance and attire rose and looked at the Judge uncertainly. “Ugh… not guilty, Your Honor?”
Roy Bean looked at Brand, then at the canvas on the table in front of him, his fingers caressing the handle of the gun lying on the table between the portrait and the law book. When he finally turned his head toward the jury the foreman seemed to shrink to much smaller size under his gaze.
“Err… ugh… I mean… ugh… not guilty of the horse theft, Your Honor, but of the murder… sure… guilty as charged.”
For the first time a happy smile lighted Roy Bean’s face and it could be seen now that he was actually quite a handsome man. The audience however did not seem to share his satisfaction, judging by the number of catcalls and jeers. Suddenly Roy Bean grabbed the gun and emptied it into the ceiling. A few gasps were followed by the dead silence. “The verdict is in,” he spoke very soft as if nothing had happened. “So now, Sanchez Gonzalez…”
“Rivares!” The marshal seemed dead set on getting the name right.
“Yes… Rivares…” Roy Bean lowered his eyes as if getting his inspiration from the canvas in front of him. The pause was long, very long, but not a sound was heard in the crowded room. Finally he spoke again in the same low measured voice.
“Sanchez Rivares, in a few short weeks, it will be spring. The snows of winter will flow away, the ice will vanish, the air will become soft and balmy. In short, Sanchez Rivares, the annual miracle of the years will awaken and come to pass. But you won’t be there. The rivers will run their soaring course to the sea, the timid desert flowers will put forth their tender shoots, the glorious valleys of this imperial domain will blossom as the rose. Still you won’t be there to see. From every treetop, some wild woods songster will carol his mating song, butterflies will sport in the sunshine, the busy bee will hum happy as it pursues its accustomed vocation, the gentle breeze will tease the tassels of the wild grasses and all nature, Sanchez Rivares, will be glad but you.
“You won’t be there to enjoy it because I command the sheriff of the county to lead you away to some remote spot, swing you by the neck from a knotting bough of some sturdy oak, and let you hang until you are dead. And then, Sanchez Rivares, I further command that such officer retire quickly from your dangling corpse, that vultures may descend from the heavens upon your filthy body until nothing shall remain but bare, bleached bones of a cold-blooded, bloodthirsty, throat-cutting, chili-eating, sheep-herding, murdering son of a bitch.” *)
The deputies, with drawn guns, surrounded Akin and quickly whisked him back to his cell in the jailhouse. Surprising as it was, still no one attempted to confiscate his trumps. Would Brand make such a mistake? Perhaps the Judge got hold of him to chat about that Miss Langtry, whoever that might be. In any case, it might be wise to take advantage of it and get out of here. Of course it was sad to leave Viss, but she was not going to be stuck in here either. Doubtless, Brand would conduct her back to her beloved Elektra.
“They really got ya this time, didn’t they?”
The derelict in the adjacent cell was finally awake. They must have moved him during the trial – he had been two cells down the row before. Akin gave him a shrug, he had no desire to converse. But that seemed to be derelict’s intention as he slowly got off his mattress – a rather short fellow, 5’2”, no more than that – walked toward the metal bars separating the cells and then… right through them as if they were not even there. His bright piercing eyes made one forget his disheveled clothes and beard, his dirty fingernails and hunchback. Akin stepped back involuntary, struggling to catch his breath, his heart beating fast and loud. He had never met the man before, nor had he ever thought he would in his lifetime, but apparently…
“Great-grandfather?”
“Yours truly…” Dworkin winked conspiratorially.
----------------------
*)
These are actual words by Roy Bean in about 1881 when sentencing
a murderer Jose Manuel Miguel Xaviar Gonzalez, as quoted by late Mike Royko
in his column “Ohio Judge an Eloquent ‘Weed’
Whaker.”
