Chapter 44 - When Death Is On The Line

When they arrived at Pseudopolis Yard, Cheery grabbed a watchman that didn't look as busy as the rest. "Constable, I need you to escort these two down to our special guest's cell."

"Right, sergeant."

"But Cheery," Myria protested, "I know the way to the cell."

"Maybe so, but they won't let you in unless you've got an escort."

"I see. I had not considered that. But where will you be?"

"I'm going to see if Nobby and Sergeant Colon know anything about bodyguarding, and where we might find one. I'll come see you afterward. Don't leave without me."

"This is understood."

For Myria, since it was her second trip to visit Mister Sharps, the trip down to the basement cells was uneventful. For Jonathon it brought back some uncomfortable memories of the hours he spent down there, waiting for word of his cousin.

"Here you go, sir, miss. Yell if you need anything, and Constable Smallhammers will come a running." He leaned in conspiratorially. "He's mad as a hatter, that one, but seems harmless."

"Thank you."

Myria regarded the cell. It had changed somewhat since her last visit. The small cot had been placed on its side and moved so that it and the table formed a small fort of sorts. On the table was a glass tank, though she couldn't tell whether the newt was in it at the moment. She suspected it still spent most of its time in Sharps' beard.

The bedding, instead of being actually on the cot, was now draped from a hook in the corner and affixed at the corners of the cot and table to form a sort of makeshift tent. She could just see the hint of movement inside in the gloom.

"Mister Sharps, I have a surprise for you."

There was a low giggle from the tent. "A surprise is a sword, that cuts both ways. An unexpected guest, unwanted but stays." Sharps' bearded face peered out. "We do not like surprises. We have always received unpleasant ones."

"I believe this is a pleasant one, Mister Sharps."

"The Renegade says it is a pleasant surprise. But for whom?" He shook his head, but emerged fully from his fortress of solitude.

"Myria," Jonathon muttered, "you really think you can help him?"

"And who is this human? Is he the surprise?" Sharps made a sour face. "We are not impressed."

"The feeling is mutu- oh fine. Hello Mister Sharps."[1]

"Mister Sharps, this is my friend, Jonathon."

"Jonathon. Friend. Jonathon." Mister Sharps sniffed. "We smell flour. And baking soda. And…" he shuddered. "sugar." He looked at the two of them, then cracked a smile. "The butcher, the baker, and the chaos-maker." He laughed. "All three in one room. Shall we guess which is which?"

Myria frowned. "Jonathon is the baker. Yes. But-"

"Then one of us is a butcher, and one a maker of chaos." He gave her a knowing look. "Which one is the Renegade?" He started to spin around the room. "Which one are we? Which one are we? Which one are weeee…."

"Mister Sharps."

"Weeeee….."

"Mister Sharps, we have brought a gift. For the newt."

Sharps mouth closed with an audible click, and he quietly walked up to the bars of the cell. His gaze was suddenly very intent and very aware. "His name is Nedley. You will call him Nedley. He likes insects." There was a pause. "What did you bring him?"

Jonathon held up a small box, from which the quiet chirrups of several of the insects in question could be heard. Sharps beard and moustache spread as he grinned broadly. He demeanor shifted yet again, and he straightened, clapped, and pranced a bit. "Nedley will love this! Crickets! A treat for Nedley Newt!"

Jonathon peered over at the tank, which seemed to have a part that was shallow water and another part of some sort of soil. "Where is… Nedley the Newt… I don't see him."

Sharps looked at the tank in alarm, the whites of his eyes showing for a moment. Then seemed to remember something. Both hands dove under his beard and began feeling around until he pulled them out with a yell of triumph. "Aha! There you are Nedley!" He held the newt gently, and his face actually softened to match. "We have a surprise for you! Yes we do our little Nedley Nedley Newty!" He placed the newt in the tank and then reached out his hand. "You will give us one. He will smell it and then he will stalk it." His eyes flicked to Myria, and then back to the box of crickets in Jonathon's hand. "And then he will consume it."

Jonathon, feeling somewhat uncomfortable about how Sharps had let his tongue roll the word consume around, managed to extract a cricket and handed it over.

"Bah! You have killed it. It is nonfunctioning."

"Sorry. I'm new at catching crickets. Can't you still feed it this one?"

"No. No, Nedley only eats food that moves. You know nothing of newts, baker."

"No, I guess not."

"Get another one. Hold it by the legs so you do not crush it. Yes. That way."

Jonathon managed to get one without killing it that time. "Alright. Now what?"

"We will hold out our hands, and you will drop it in."

The transfer was made successfully, and Sharps hurried over to the tank and dropped it in.

"There!" The cricket bounced when it hit the turf, froze for a second, antennae twitching as it attempted to make sense of its new surroundings. The newt turned, observing it with one eye. "Do you observe? He sees it! Do you see how he flicks out his tongue?"

The cricket, apparently being raised in captivity and having had no opportunity to differentiate between furniture and predator, decided this was a good time to hop on over and check out the very interesting red and black paisley patterned décor over there by the water.

The end was swift and came in the form of a long, sticky tongue and flashing jaws.

"HEEEhehehehe! Got it!"

Sharps danced a little jig, then turned to find Jonathon already fishing out another cricket. Sharps turned to Myria. "We like this human. You may keep him."

"I… yes. Thank you Mister Sharps."

They all watched, fascinated, as the newt stalked and devoured another cricket with a really bad case of underdeveloped survival instinct.

"We have also brought this, Mister Sharps, which Jonathon made especially for you."

She held up the small tin that Jonathon had prepared, and opened. He leaned forward to better see it in the poor light, so she tilted it to better show the contents.

The reaction by Sharps was dramatic. He made a feral sound, something between a growl and a howl, and flung himself backward. He barely missed knocking over the newt's tank, and completely destroyed his fort.

His voice, muffled by the blanket that had managed to entangle himself in, came out as a strangled cry. "You try to kill us!"

"No! No this is the waferbread I spoke of!"

The pile of cloth, cot, and Sharps stilled.

"Waferbread?"

"Yes Mister Sharps. Observe." Waiting for him to get one eye unobstructed, she moved with slow, deliberate movements, picked up a single wafer. While he watched with horrified fascination, she placed it gently upon her tongue, closed her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

He swallowed as well, his mouth suddenly full of saliva.

She smiled. "You observe, that I do not die. You shall not die."

Sharps eyes narrowed "Perhaps… perhaps they are not all the same."

"I promise they are."

"How do we know? You could be trying to kill us. To take our newt!

Jonathon had reached his limit. "Oh good grief." He set down the crickets, picked a wafer from the tin, broke it in half, and held one half in each hand. "Pick one half for Myria to eat. You try the other half."

Mad eyes flicked from hand to hand, from Jonathon to Myria. Gears spun, ground, and managed to catch. "Yes. Yes we will choose. But we will choose a different wafer!" He pointed at Jonathon's hands. "The Renegade will eat both of those halves! And we will choose… a different one! That one! He poked at one still in the tin. "You will break that one in half."

Jonathon rolled his eyes. "Ok fine. Myria." She nodded and took the two halves from him, eating them both with no ill effect while Jonathon reached to pick up the one Sharps had pointed at.

"No wait! We have changed our mind! That one!"

Sighing, Jonathon grabbed the new choice and broke it in half. "Which half, then?"

"That one!" Sharps pointed at Jonathon's left hand.

"Myria, here-"

"No we will take one!" Pointing at his right.

"Alright then. Here-"

"No! The other one!"

Jonathon raised his left hand slightly. "You…. want me to give this one to Myria."

"Yes! No! It is simple. All we must do is determine from our knowledge of you, would you place the deadly ingredients in the left half, or in the right half?"

He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "A clever human would place the deadly ingredient in only half of the wafer, knowing we would demand that they consume one half."

"But Myria ate both halves."

"Yes! But a very clever human would know this, and would not taint the first wafer!"

Jonathon shot a look at Myria, then spoke in an exceedingly calm voice. "You are mad."

"Yes we are mad! But we are canny! We shall not be fooled! You would have known we would demand a second choice!"

"But you changed the one you chose!"

"Yes! But you could know that we would do so! And so all of the others were tainted!"

"Oh good grief." Jonathon looked at Myria again. "Seriously?" She shrugged.

"Mister Sharps, please observe again." She picked up another, and ate it with no ill effects.

"We are not convinced."

"Gah!"

"The one you hold could still be tainted, on one half! We must determine which half. You offered the left to the Renegade, so it would not be the tainted portion!"

"Fine then you take the right half."

"Ah, but you would know we would do so! So we can surely not choose the right half! We must choose the left half!"

"I admit it. You are far too smart for me."

"Yes. This is correct! And thus you will give us the right half!"

"But didn't you just say-"

Sharps quickly snatched the wafer from Jonathon's left hand. Jonathon shook his head and handed the other to Myria.

"But you have blundered! Never go in against… against Mister Sharps when death is on the line!"[2] He threw the piece into his mouth chewing and swallowing, and Myria followed suit.

Sharps' face slowly took on a look of bliss, then horror, and he fell to his knees. "We are dying! We are not smart!" He threw up his hands, as if beseeching them, and then his eyes rolled back into his head.

With a thud, Sharps fell over onto his side in a senseless heap, drooling on the floor.

Jonathon and Myria looked at each other as a few seconds ticked by, and memories surfaced. Jonathon's face twitched. "Well that was a familiar scene."[3]

"I hope that, in my case, there was significantly less … drama involved."

"Yeah. Definitely less drama." He put an arm around her shoulder. "Now what?"

"I believe we request the cell be opened, and wait for Mister Sharps to recover."


[1] He had changed what he was about to say in midsentence, because Myria had given him very human look that said, in effect, be nice.

[2] Mister Sharps, much like a certain Sicilian, was not nearly as clever as he thought himself….

[3] See From Dust to Flesh for Myria's first exposure to bread.