Chuggie and the Desecration of Stagwater by Brent Michael Kelley Read Free Book Online Page A

hand.
    "This report is incomplete, soldier," Kale stabbed at the paper with his index finger.
    "That's right," Fitch agreed with an overenthusiastic bob of his head. "Incomplete."
    "The last line of this report should say you observed him travelling north." Kale turned his leer on Priole and leaned toward him. "Why doesn't it?"
    "Um, I don't know, sir. Is that why we're here?" Priole looked grim. "This is not good, gentlemen," Kale's chair screeched as he slid it out from the table. He stood up. "Your orders were to bewitch him and send him north !"
    Rorid stared straight ahead at the ill-gotten insignia on the man's chest. The damned magistrates could take a turn as guards if they thought it was so easy. "I'm not a conjurist. I bewitched him. I don't know why he didn't go, sir. I did my best."
    "Best!" Kale scoffed. "You'd best watch your tone."
    "Sir, he was just a drunken junk man, without weapons. He didn't pose a threat." Rorid held his tongue, hoping Priole could do the same.
    " We determine who's a threat and what constitutes a weapon. Just because you don't see something doesn't mean it isn't there, guardsman."
    Fitch stood next to Kale, looking a bit feminine by comparison. His voice rose and fell as if delivering a sermon. " You are Stagwater's armor. If orders aren't followed, the armor falls to pieces."
    "I don't know why you didn't just have us arrest him if it's such a big deal." Priole blurted out. "We could have done that, no problem… Sir."
    Kale pounded his fist on the table.
    Rorid knew trouble was on its way. He glanced at Priole. His head hung down, and his face was red.
    "My son," Fitch's lip twitched as he spoke, "If you'd accomplished your mission, this mischief would be resolved. As it is, the man is still at large, still threatening Stagwater. Your incompetence has put us all in great danger."
    Danger? If the threat was so great, the drunk should have been arrested, not sent north. Rorid understood: he and Priole were scapegoats for the magistrates' blunder.
    "On your feet!" Kale barked out the words like an order. "We're taking a walk."
     
     

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    Chuggie tromped around Shola's yard carrying firewood and stacking it next to the house. He pulled turnips and dug potatoes in her garden, placing them in her rickety storage shed. He felt a wave of embarrassment every time he looked at the area he'd trampled the night before.
    And something else itched at his mind. Shola sat weaving wicker at the table by the cliff. Each time he passed her, she looked a little bit younger. At first, he'd convinced himself that his mind was playing tricks on him. But on his first pass, she'd looked like a skeleton wrapped in cobwebs. At breakfast, she looked old, sure, but not more than seventy. As the morning progressed, though, her face and bosom filled out noticeably. Her dirty-white hair darkened. Her shoulders lifted, her neck straightened.
    With an armload of wood, Chuggie stopped in front of her.
    Humming and rocking in her chair, Shola looked no older than fifty years old. Her eyes were no longer milky and dull. The left had gone bright white and her right a brilliant, deep blue.
    Baffled, Chuggie dropped the wood directly onto his feet. "AACH!" He hopped around, hissing and swearing, then took a block of wood in each hand and flung them over the cliff.
     "My, my," Shola said. "If you're tired you should rest."
    Chuggie limped to his seat at the table. He stared at her, blinking. "Are you getting younger, Shola?"
    "Are you taunting me now?" Shola frowned.
    "Take a gander in a mirror and see what I mean."
    She narrowed her eyes and got slowly to her feet. She hobbled off in the direction of her crooked little house. Her movements were still those of an ancient crone.
    A minute later, screams erupted from the house. Objects crashed about inside. Chuggie rushed to the house to make sure she hadn't injured herself. He stuck his head in the door.
    Shola poked at her face, pulled at her skin, and