The Story of a Fallen King

The falling of the rain was more of an erratic annoyance on the face of Dr. King Schultz. The spring had been damp. His joints were to the point of freezing. Schultz was grateful for the dentistry cart Fritz dragged behind him. He passed a weary hand over his gray eyes.

"The years drag on," he said, "Do they not, Fritz?"

The horse in front of him bobbed his head and snorted. Schultz smirked fondly. Fritz had been with him for years, even before he and Kaspar had sailed on a merchant schooner to America. The sweet horse was a warm reminder of a time gone by.

The sound of a rolling thud met King's ears, and he turned. With a gloved hand, he flipped open the small hinged flap that allowed him to see the interior of his cart.

King exhaled at what he saw. "It seems, my Fritz, that our dear departed Johnny Crank is fidgety even in the afterlife." The good doctor laughed at his quip. The cattle thief Johnny Crank had been known in life for his twitchy demeanor. At that moment, his corpse had proved just as restless. The slack-jawed cadaver lay slumped near the back of the cart, his chin stretched, pressed against the wooden paneling.

"Whoa, Fritz," murmured King. Fritz snorted again before coming to a gentle halt.

King jumped off the cart, his joints creaking. He trotted to the back of the cart, and threw the doors open. Without hesitation, he strapped his fingers under the green suspenders of Johnny. With a grunt, he flipped the corpse onto his back, and straightened out his legs. Placing his hands gently on either side of his face, King adjusted the cattle thief's neck and head. He patted Mr. Crank's forehead. "I hope you're more comfortable," he said, and burst into a low chuckle. He closed the doors again. "Did you hear that one, Fritz?"

Fritz did not snort. "Fritz?" shouted Schultz. He frowned, and latched the doors together before cautiously moving towards the front of the cart. "Fritz, my dear—"

King's blood ran cold in his veins. His tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth, and his ribs contracted within his chest.

"Hallo, King Schultz."

Standing before him was a brick wall of a woman. She had hair black as tar, and eyes to match. Her countenance was fiercely gorgeous. Her features recalled a painting or a sculpture. Her thick limbs were relaxed, but her hand did not rest on the gun holster to her left. King was not confused by her ease; she could destroy him without a gun if she so chose.

"H-Hallo, Helga," he whispered. His breath caught, deep in his belly. He felt himself begin to sweat. Fritz nickered nervously behind him, and King was dismayed to hear his beloved companion backing away, retreating.

"Und hallo, Fritz!" Helga shouted to the horse. "Und auf wiedersehen!" She flashed a smile, showing all her teeth. They were a stony gray.

"A bounty hunter!" she exclaimed; now addressing King. She held out her arms genially, her black eyes flashing. "And how are you faring?"

King swallowed his heart.