Morning.
Hack Scudder was halfway into the driver's seat of the carnival manager's Model T when he heard an unmistakable click behind him.
He backed out of the automobile and cautiously turned around.
The gun trained on him was almost as big as the man holding it.
"Step away from there, Hack," Samson said in a flat voice. "I don't know what'll happen if you're shot with a rifle, but I'm guessin' you don't know either."
No. And you wouldn't believe how many times I've been tempted to aim one at myself and find out.
But Hack didn't want his brains blown out at the moment. If I die or fail... So he walked a few paces away from the vehicle to indicate he was cooperating. Samson relaxed slightly, but didn't lower the gun.
"Plannin' to 'borrow' the boss's Tin Lizzie?" Samson shook his head. "Seems we learn more every day about what you're capable of."
Hack wasn't surprised by the contempt in the other man's eyes. He felt nothing but contempt for himself.
But he still attempted a defense, hoping it might induce his onetime friend to let him make off with the automobile. "Samson, you don't understand about last night. What Flo was objecting to -"
"Wasn't what's normally thought of as rape," Samson cut in. "I know that. She told us.
"But under the circumstances - her feelin' the way she did, not without reason - it was rape. An' you know that."
Hack flinched under the other man's steady gaze. With hot tears welling in his eyes, he mumbled, "Yes. You're right. I do."
Then the tears came in earnest, and he ignored them, blurting out, "Samson, you have to let me go after her! I'm sorry for what I did. I was angry, out of control, it'll never happen again. But if Flo's out there on foot, trying to walk to the nearest town, there's no telling what kind of danger she may be in!"
"She ain't on foot, an' she ain't in danger," Samson said more kindly. "Ruthie's drivin' her in one o' the carts" - horse-drawn, of course - "an' we both chipped in to give her what money we could."
"Oh," Hack said in a small voice.
So that was where Ruthie and her child had been all night. When Hack came to, he'd found himself being given a dose of his own medicine: trapped in Ruthie's padlocked wagon. Nearby rousties had eventually heard his yells and broken the padlock. He knew he looked a sight, unkempt, unwashed, clad in the soiled shirt and pants of yesterday's elegant tuxedo outfit. But from the moment he found Flo's belongings missing from his now-doorless wagon, his only thought had been to go after her.
"Where did they go?" he asked, not really hoping for an answer.
To his surprise, he got one. "May as well tell you, 'cause there's only one place Flo coulda gone on short notice, an' you'd think of it soon enough. To yer friend Miz Donovan." That would be near Tipton. "Ruthie plans to come back after gettin' her that far.
"Miz Donovan will help Flo settle somewhere else, where you'll never find her. We think even you can be trusted not to beat information out of a lady.
"Meantime, my job is to watch you like a hawk - well, maybe more like a dwarf with a rifle - till Ruthie gets back an' enough time has passed that we're sure Flo is safe."
"But she won't be safe!" Hack protested. "Samson - I don't know if she told you everything I did last night. There was something terrible...something she would have let me do, any time, but it may be more dangerous than she realizes..."
Why am I raving like this? I don't believe any of that crap!
But in his mind he was hearing the old refrain again, the warning his father had been drumming into him since before he reached puberty.
"If you die or fail, and you have a son, the responsibility will pass to him."
I don't believe any of it...
But if the Templars' claims are lies, where do my powers come from?
I acted like I believed it last night. "Make someone else do it. Make someone else."
How could I - how could any man - attempt something so obscene? Try to produce a son to force this on him?
To Samson he said, "I may have gotten her pregnant. And if I did, there are reasons why she probably should have an abortion."
Samson was shaking his head. "Sorry. She wants nothin' more to do with you. So maybe she will abort any child o' yours, but you'll never get a chance to tell her to."
"Please!" All Hack's defenses crumbled. "Please, Samson," he appealed brokenly, "I can't lose her. Sh-she's the only good thing in my life!"
But he knew what the answer would be before he heard it.
"Was the only good thing in yer life."
Then, to his surprise, the dwarf laid a consoling hand on his arm - though the other hand still clutched the rifle. "Come on, Hack. Let's go back to yer wagon, get you cleaned up, an' see about fixin' that door. Can't stay here all day - we both got acts to do."
"Yes. All right."
This job is the only "life" I have. If I throw it away, I'll go completely to pieces and be no use to anyone.
"And, Hack?" Samson was almost, not quite, smiling. "For now I'm hangin' onto this gun, watchin' you whenever we're not performin'.
"But after things settle down, I promise I'll hold still an' give you a chance to slug me as hard as I did you."
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Evening.
It was a very big snake, a most impressive snake. A perfect snake.
The crowd in the packed tent oohed and aahed as The Gentleman Geek, known to a select few as Henry ("Hack") Scudder, held the wriggling snake aloft in his white-gloved hands, letting it twine itself around one tuxedo-clad arm.
For Hack, it was a relief to be back onstage, with at least a chance to lose himself in the invented persona of The Gentleman Geek.
The Gentleman Geek, who entertains and does no lasting harm, is real.
Hopefully more real than Hack Scudder, who may or may not be destined to save the world...or to lose the world, and with it his soul...or to die in a moment of weakness, or fail in a moment of another kind of weakness, and pass the burden to a son he fathered in a moment of the most unforgivable weakness of all...
The Gentleman Geek is real.
The Geek gripped the snake's head in his right hand, letting his left hand and arm support most of its weight. He smiled at the audience.
Taking care not to dislodge his top hat, he leaned forward slightly...and bit the snake's head off.
One healthy bite was all it took. He felt the snap as his teeth tore into the creature's neck, felt his mouth fill with scales and blood and flesh and other unnameable snake parts, felt the convulsive twitches of the dying animal.
Heard the approving roar of the crowd.
As always, he'd succeeded in not getting blood, or any form of messiness, on anything more than his lips and gloves. His tuxedo was still spotless.
If I'd done this without gloves, Flo wouldn't have let even my hands touch her.
He made a show of savoring, in a very genteel way, the delicacy he'd sampled.
He did not, of course, swallow the head. I wonder if I could swallow a small head without disrupting the act? I'll have to experiment with that, off-stage. Plenty of leisure to experiment now, with no squeamish girl in my wagon...
He laid the snake head on the table he used as a prop, daintily unwound the coils from his arm, and laid that section there too. Still no stains on the tuxedo.
The crowd was buzzing, some patrons so excited they were bouncing up and down in their seats.
The Gentleman Geek toyed with them. He fastidiously removed the gloves - managing, as always, to do it without soiling his fingers. Used the basin of water on the table to clean his lips and rinse out his mouth. Let the audience see him take a peppermint candy from his jacket pocket and eat it, to sweeten his breath. Donned a fresh pair of gloves.
Making them wait for the climax they'd heard about, the part of his act that was truly unique.
At last he smiled at them and said, "That was good. This snake gave me a most rewarding experience.
"So I think it would be ill-mannered on my part - downright uncouth! - to leave the snake dead. Don't you agree?"
"Yes! Yes! Agree! Agree!" They were on their feet now, stomping, clapping wildly.
He picked up the severed sections of the snake, held them together, and...did whatever it was he did. He himself wasn't sure.
The snake turned its head to look at him, gave an insulted hiss, and began wriggling as actively as before.
The crowd went wild.
The Gentleman Geek laid it down, released it, and watched it slither away. Shunning the limelight, making for the darkness backstage.
He thought of the girl he loved, doing much the same thing.
Yes, I violated Flo last night, and I'm not proud of it.
But everything the Templars have done to me, all my life, has been a violation of me, of the person I had a right to be.
Did I take a year off some human's life when I restored that snake?
If so, Pa, I hope it was yours.
The clamor of the audience brought him back into focus. As usual, these country folk loved what they'd seen. Also as usual at this point, they were arguing among themselves, evenly divided as to whether he was a miracle worker or a sleight-of-hand magician whose substitution of one snake for another had been too quick for the eye to see.
He held up his hands to get their attention. Nodded grateful acknowledgment of the tips they'd tossed onto the stage, but didn't start collecting them. Not yet.
He gave a graceful bow, top hat in hand, which elicited more applause. "Thank you, thank you!" He beamed at them. "Such an appreciative audience deserves an encore.
"Would you like to see me repeat the act using a chicken?"
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The End