Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

As I was driving up the highway, I saw a flock of buzzards circling a kill some ways up the road. A deer, probably, pulverized by a late-night long-haul trucker that didn’t even notice the bump.

Then, coming in low and from the west, a jetliner coming in for its final approach at the regional airport. It turned, and for a moment it lined up perfectly with the vultures, seeming the right size and the right shape to appear as one of their flock orbiting a meal.

They hung there, together, in space, for a moment. A fraternity of flyers, elegant gliders, and all of them driven by death.

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What had led him to this state? Chip’s hands tightened around the wheel of the rental truck with all his worldly possessions inside.

There’d been the left on Swanson St S. That had been the GPS’s fault; it clearly hadn’t been updated to reflect the brand new one-way streets nearby. And then the left onto Marble Pkway, intended to correct for an earlier mistake but one that led to a half-hour causality loop of one way streets and left turns.

God, it was hard enough to make a right in that thing, that big, ponderous, boxy truck. A few go-around in the rental place parking lot just weren’t enough. Chip was now convinced he needed a full-on truck license to operate the vehicle safely.

He’d mistaken Smith Rd. for Smith St. and taken that left. Gotten caught in the wrong lane on East Loop, left turn only, left lane MUST turn left. And now, here.

Ahead of the truck was a morass of road construction, with tore-up pavement that looked too narrow to contain its bulk. And to the left, a low bridge with a crash bar and a bright yellow sign proclaiming that it was only 12’ tall.

Chris had no earthly idea how tall, or how wide, his rented truck was. And the light was changing, with angry honks coming in from behind.

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“Hmph,” she said. “Small towns. You know, I moved to a small town once. It’s where my folks came from, a long time ago. I thought it was going to be a new beginning for this city dweller.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t.”

“They pretend to be something they’re not, and when they start letting you in, you won’t like their meanness.”

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“Are you sure?” the self-proclaimed emperor said. “The killing-me train is leaving the station, last chance!”

Luma laughed despite herself, though she quickly regained her composure after a scowl from Kotoi.

“In that case, may I suggest that since you have caught me at my desk, I might make a decree for you in exchange for my freedom?” Altzairu said. He patted the paper, blotter, and inkwell in front of him in turn. “No one is going to go against my say-so. Would you all like pardons, maybe? Some riches? Just say the word.”

“We could have him release all the political prisoners,” Harria said to Kotoi. “Your brother. Sassha.”

“No,” Kotoi said. “Any piece of paper he signs will be ripped up the instant we’re out of his sight. There’s no trusting anything he does.”

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They found Altzairu in his office, signing a stack of decrees, dressed in a simple military tunic with no visible medals.

“We are taking you prisoner,” Kotoi said, leveling his pistol at the self-proclaimed Emperor.

“Oh?” Altzairu laid down his pen, calmly. “I am your prisoner, then.”

“Just like that?” Harria said, confused.

“Just like that,” Altzairu said, folding his hands in his lap with a smile. “I am unarmed, after all, and you are armed. So, now that I am in your power, I assume you wish to kill me?”

Harria looked at the others, confused. “What?”

Luma and Puxik looked at one another, baffled; only Kotoi did not waver. “What makes you think we want you dead?” he said.

“Well, the fact that you’re pointing a gun at me, for one,” said Altzairu. “I assume you mean to avenge yourself upon me for something I have done? Very well; I’d appreciate if you could be quick about it.” The Emperor opened his tunic, revealing his undershirt.

Wide-eyed, Kotoi looked down at his pistol. A simple squeeze would do the deed at this close range.

“This isn’t what we talked about,” Harria said.

“I for one admire your dedication to dying for your revenge,” Altzairu said, looking Kotoi square in the eye.

“Dying? You’re unarmed,” Kotoi whispered.

“Of course. But I heard no shots, which means you must have infiltrated here quietly. But my guards will not ignore a gunshot from my private quarters, and they will cut you all down once the deed is done. But that is a small price to pay, is it not, for making your mark on history?”

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How far outside
Must the impostor go
To find what little joy
Can be felt in the morass
Of anxieties that make up
Daily life in the waning days
Of life as we know it on earth

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The ancient castle of Dwynnwaithe was built at a crucial seaport by a lord named Henry the Jocular during the years after the Norman conquest. Henry had intended to leave the fortress to one of his three sons when he died, until all three drowned in a storm while crossing the Channel. Rather than see the edifice go to his hated nephew, Henry the Jocular had a stonemason carve a message on the highest battlement:

Whomsoever stands here and places his mark shall be lord of Dwynnwaithe.

This message was considered to be legally binding at the time, so when Henry died, the castle passed to his steward, who raised a crude banner of his own design in that spot.

For the next 800 years, Dwynnwaithe became the site of an elaborate game of capture the flag. Anyone who could tear down the old banner and raise their own was considered to be the rightful lord, whether by subterfuge or conquest. The people of Dwynnwaithe Village also considered the inscription binding, and on those occasions when someone tried to exercise lordship without placing their mark, they boycotted until the letter of the law was met.

The castle was slighted after the Civil War, and fell into disrepair thereafter, though the lord of Waitheshire made sure to hang his own banner over the remains all the same. During the First World War, the banner fell down in a storm, its wooden post rotted.

Not long after, a seagull alighted on that spot and, as seagulls are wont to do, left his chalky white mark. To the people of Dwynnwaithe, this was fair enough; they converted the remains of the castle into a bird sanctuary, which it remains to this day.

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“Tell me, do you need to complain in order to perform your duties?”

“No, Sergeant Popov,” came the refrain.

“Now, I understand that a good complaining can seem to lighten the load after a long hard day of Army labor such as this,” Popov continued. “But it also sucks the morale out of everyone. Tell me, soldier, do you have a wife?”

“No, Sergeant Popov, I have not yet had the privilege.”

“Well get one! In addition to the obvious benefits, she will give you someone to complain to. Look at me! Do you think I am not full of complaints? But I can’t be voicing them to my men, now can I?”

“No, Sergeant Popov.”

“Exactly. So every time I have a complaint, I set it aside for later. Then, when the deployment ends and I return to Mrs. Popov, I complain to her, then.”

“Surely, Sergeant, that is a sure way to a divorce?”

“Nonsense! She gives as good as she gets, that woman.Do yourselves a favor, all of you, and get a ‘Popov’s Wife’ to complain to after we are done, to keep the negative chatter down. Just don’t get the wife of the actual Popov, which is me, or I will have to kill you.”

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“My law has kept this valley safe for ten years,” Rolf Law said. “You think you can do better, stranger?”

Bee met Law’s gaze. “If I did, I wouldn’t say so.”

“Well, that’s the first smart thing you’ve said since we started talking,” the sheriff laughed. “You hear that?” he added in a booming voice, so that all those nearby could hear. “This here stranger has just realized the value of keeping one’s mouth shut before damn fool stuff falls out of it!”

No one responded, as Law swept his eye across the onlookers, so he went on: “It’s a harsh law for a harsh land, stranger. You have a problem with it, you leave my valley. You stay here, especially now that I’ve taken the time to learn you the rules personally, you’re bound by my law. That means trial by ordeal, or the gallows, if you step out of line.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Bee said evenly.

“Good. I hope not. I hope this little talk has got you straightened out,” Law said. “Because you’re real close to stepping out of line, stranger. Real, real close. If I was you, I’d lay low for a bit, make sure that Rolf Law doesn’t see you while he’s still got an unfavorable impression. You hear me, stranger?”

“I hear you.”

“Good.” Law whipped his hand in a circle above his head. “Let’s move, boys! Afternoon patrol isn’t gonna walk itself.”

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“Bee” Hoover looked up at the bodies hanging from the gibbets. Tanned by the fierce sun, not even the circling buzzards wanted them. “Who are they?”

Tam Frederick continued to chew on the toothpick, and did not look up. “That there’s Blacklaw Hill. You obey the law, or the Hill gets you.”

Bee shuddered. “Do you know who they are?”

Taking out the toothpick, Tam flicked a mote of spittle off of it. “Well, let’s see. We got us Johnny Hammer, Addie Greenwood, and…uh… Jere Hardison, I think.”

“There’s four of them up there,” Bee said, looking up at the bodies and counting silently.

“Don’t rightly remember who the fourth is, lessin’ it’s still Bettina LaChance.”

“What did they do?” Bee said. “Murderers? Rustlers?”

“Nah,” Tam said with a solemn head-shake. “Johnny Hammer was a carpenter, but he was known to nail more wood than he needed to make cabinets. Hah! Addie Greenwood was accused of being a witch, and she want to the gallows rather than do a trial by ordeal. Jere Hardison was accused of shoplifting, but he refused to plea, so they hung him as if he was guilty. Bettina LaChance, well she was a gossip, plain and simple.”

“And the penalty for all that was…death?” said Bee. “On whose authority?”

“The law,” Tam replied. “Sheriff Rolf Law. Judge Rolf Law, too, and I think there might be a Marshal Rolf Law and a Coroner Rolf Law in there someplace too. You know what’s good for you, you mind all the laws and all the Laws.”

“And how will I know what’s punishable by death in town?” said Bee.

“Easy,” replied Tam. “Everything, unless you go through a trial by ordeal. Enjoy your visit, stranger.”

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