The Flesh Eaters (17 page)

“Really?” Fairlie leans forward. “I have heard of those things. Witches and warlocks and Black Mass. But is this true?”

“Aye. I have received very good information that there is a murdering fiend who has been sacrificing innocent travelers to the devil. Probably made some kind of pact with him.”

Fairlie’s eyes open wide. This is the most exciting news he has heard in a long time. “How fascinating! I mean, how terrible! Do you mean that someone around here is doing that?”

The Sheriff nods.

“But who? You can tell me. I will not tell a soul. Where are you going?”

“I have arrived.”

“What?”

“Here.” The Sheriff points to the floor.

“Here? Here? Oh, I understand.” Fairlie laughs heartily. “That’s very funny. You’re jesting with me, Sheriff. Ha! Very good. You had me scared for a moment.”

“It is no jest.”

“It is no jest. Ha! And your face is so serious! That’s very funny, Sheriff.”

The door opens abruptly and a deputy enters. “We have looked all over and found nothing,” he says.

Fairlie is surprised. “What is this?”

“Could you not have taken longer? It’s most comfortable by this fire,” the Sheriff grumbles. “Oh, well, never mind. I’ve learned to make sacrifices. You have looked thoroughly?”

“Aye.”

Fairlie’s face reflects his growing confusion and anger. He is about to protest, but the Sheriff raises a hand to silence him. “And you have found nothing?” he asks the deputy again.

“Nothing.”

“Too bad. Still, it does not really make any difference.”

Fairlie cannot restrain himself. “Sheriff, kindly explain what is going on here! Who is this man? What is he doing? What are you talking about?”

The Sheriff claps his hands. “Admirable! Admirable! A very good appearance of indignation. Just what I’d expect of one of the devil’s own.”

“The devil’s own! I do not—”

“You don’t need to do this for my benefit. I accept that you appear—note,
appear
—to be indignant, and. I will humor you. This man is my deputy, and he has been searching around this inn. An accusation has been made—the source is very reliable—that you slaughter visitors here so that you can offer them up to the devil.”

“That’s preposterous!” Fairlie exclaims. “Absurd! A damnable lie! I deny it completely!”

The Sheriff brushes the words away. “The accusation has been made, and I must investigate it.”

“But your man said he found nothing!”

“I would not expect him to find anything. Anyone in congress with the devil would be far too cunning to leave traces of his evil behind.”

“This is ridiculous!” Fairlie shakes his head. “I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.”

“I take note of the fact that you admit you are damned—as any worshiper of the devil would be.”

“Who is my accuser? Let him face me. I will denounce him for the vicious liar he is! I demand to see him.”

The Sheriff tells the deputy to bring in the accuser. Then, alone with Fairlie, he speaks in a friendly, man-to-man way.

“You know, it would be much easier for all of us if you would confess. Look, we are both men of the world. You have your beliefs, I have my beliefs. So what? Your beliefs happen to be murderous, criminal practices, and I have discovered them. So what? That doesn’t mean we can’t be civilized about it. Let us be reasonable.”

Fairlie’s eyes grow wide with horror, but his response is interrupted by the return of the deputy with the filthy beggar.

“There he is, there’s my witness!” trumpets the Sheriff. “What do you have to say now, Master Fairlie? I have you, don’t I? Will you confess?”

Fairlie stares at the man, who looks somehow familiar. “Who is that?... Rob Varney, is that you? Aye, it is. You’ve changed much since I last saw you. You were always a villain, but I never thought you’d do something like this! Sheriff, if this is your witness, you’ve made a big mistake. This man came to me one day, starving and begging for assistance. I did not like the look of him, but I thought it my duty as a Christian to help him if I could. I let him stay here and work for me—in the stables, drawing water, cutting wood, whatever needed to be done. I gave him a dry bed and good food— and then I discovered that he was stealing from my guests! That is one thing an innkeeper cannot permit. I should have turned him over to you for punishment, but he begged for mercy, and I only told him to leave. I have not seen him from that time until the present moment.”

The Sheriff has listened to Fairlie’s explanation with a bored expression, twice yawning openly. When Fairlie finishes, a full minute passes before he is brought back to the present by Rob Varney’s demented cackle.

“Killer! Killer! Killer!”

“This is the man whose word you accept against mine?” Fairlie asks. “This filthy, crazy, pathetic creature?”

“I know! I see! Killer, killer, killer!” Varney shrieks.

“Rob Varney, I know you are lying, and you know you are lying,” Fairlie shouts. “Tell the Sheriff you are lying. Tell him!”

Infuriated by Varney’s mocking, toothless smile, Fairlie moves toward the beggar, who cringes in fear behind the deputy.

The Sheriff grabs Fairlie’s arm. “Stay! You cannot go frightening the witness.”

“You mean you believe that... that madman?”

“It’s not my place to believe or not. We had best go into town where this can be settled properly.”

Fairlie still cannot accept the reality of this situation. “Sheriff, you have known me for years. Perhaps I don’t attend church as frequently as I should, but I am still a good Christian. Surely you cannot think me a murderer in league with the devil?”

“I do not think.”

“That is obvious.”

“I only do what I have to do. Will you come peacefully, or must I chain you?”

“There is no need to chain me.”

“Good.”

At the door, the Sheriff stops. “Before we go, may I have another sip of that excellent ale? This is a thirsty business.”

Fairlie speaks through clenched teeth. “Sheriff, you will understand if I do not further extend my hospitality.”

Looking wistfully at the keg of ale, the Sheriff shrugs, then sighs at the thanklessness of his lot.

Heavy drapes cover the stone walls of the Magistrate’s large room, but they fail to make it pleasant. Like the Magistrate, the room is austere, spartan. The Magistrate sits at a big table on a platform, flanked by the Bishop and several other men.

Rob Varney and Fairlie stand before the tribunal, the Sheriff behind them. The disreputable Varney is bent almost double in his usual crouch. The innkeeper’s customary good humor has totally vanished; even his wiry red hair seems to bristle angrily.

The inquiry is almost over. The Magistrate speaks in a thin, hollow voice.

“And is that all the material to be heard in this matter, or is there more, Sheriff?”

“That is all, my lord. I think that—”

“Then I will summarize the situation. Rob Varney has laid the charge that Master Fairlie, innkeeper of The Three Bells, is guilty of murdering travelers who stop at his inn. Also that he is a practitioner of the black arts and a worshiper of the devil. If true, these are most serious offenses against both civil law and God’s law. For his part, Master Fairlie denies the charges completely. He lodges a counter accusation that Rob Varney is a thief and a liar, and is guilty of slander and perjury. Rob Varney maintains that he has seen Master Fairlie commit these acts, and Master Fairlie maintains his innocence. Sheriff, is this a fair summary of the matter at hand?”

“It is, my lord, and if I may say—”

“And you have discovered no further evidence that could assist us to resolve the issue?”

“No, my lord, but that does not mean—”

“Aye, Sheriff.” The Magistrate displays his rare, humorless smile. “We are well aware that you have already pointed out at great length that in a case such as this the absence of evidence is not particularly significant. If the charges were true, we would not expect evidence to remain, and therefore the absence of evidence tells against the prisoner.”

Fairlie bursts out, “But my lord, how can you say that—”

“You have had your opportunity to speak! I will not tell you again to remain silent. Do you understand?”

Fairlie bows his head.

“On the other hand,” the Magistrate continues, “the absence of evidence might support the claim of innocence. This is a case of great complexity, and it does not seem to me that the truth of it can be discovered by human intelligence. Do you agree?”

The other members of the tribunal look somewhat mystified, but nod their agreement.

“Though it may appear somewhat unconventional now, I feel that we must rely upon older methods to determine truth and innocence. As they say, ‘Where man’s intellect fails, God’s wisdom must prevail.’ I believe the water test is appropriate in this instance. Do you agree?”

Again the others nod.

“Then, Bishop, will you assist the Sheriff in making the necessary preparations?”

“Certainly,” the Bishop says.

“Sheriff, you are authorized to conclude this matter as quickly as possible. This inquiry is now ended. Rob Varney and James Fairlie, your fate is in God’s hands. Remember, innocence and truth have nothing to fear when He is the judge.”

The Bishop says, “Amen,” and the others echo him. Only Fairlie keeps silent.

The dawn has come—a dull, damp day. Wisps of mist hang over a small pond, connecting the gray sky to the gray water. A narrow pier extends out over the pond, and the Bishop stands at the end of it. The Sheriff, Varney, Fairlie, and several guards stand at the shore end of the pier, watching the Bishop. All except Varney and Fairlie are warmly dressed against the cold.

The Bishop raises his hands in prayer. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I bless this water. Lord, water is the purest of the elements Thou hast placed upon this earth. Let Thy pure water assist us in determining the truth. Let it accept innocence and reject impurity. Let it be the means by which we, Thy humble servants, can understand Thy divine wisdom and act according to Thy wishes. Bless this water, O Lord, and make it pure. Amen.”

The Bishop walks back to the others, and the Sheriff begins the trial.

“James Fairlie, you will be tested first. Do you understand what will take place?” Fairlie does not answer, and the Sheriff shrugs and continues. “You will be thrown into the water. If you are innocent, the pure water will accept you. If you are guilty, the water will reject you as impure. Do you understand?”

Fairlie responds with great bitterness. “I understand very well what will occur.”

The Bishop says confidently, “If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear. God is great and merciful.”

“I do not know much about God,” Fairlie sneers, “but I begin to learn a great deal about men. Unfortunately, my knowledge comes too late to be of value to me.”

The dampness makes the Sheriff shiver despite his thick cloak. He orders a guard to secure the prisoner. The guard wraps a thick rope several times around Fairlie’s chest.

“What is this for?” Fairlie asks.

“To retrieve you from the water,” the Sheriff says, and ignores the innkeeper’s contemptuous snort. He orders the guard to proceed, and Fairlie is marched to the end of the pier, where the free end of the rope is tied to a piling. At the Sheriff’s signal, the guard gives the bound man a shove.

Fairlie splashes into the water and sinks. Soon the water settles, and only the rope can be seen floating on the smooth surface. The Sheriff and the guard stare intently at the water. After a moment the surface is broken by Fairlie, gasping for air and thrashing. When it becomes obvious that the innkeeper can swim and will remain afloat, the Sheriff orders the guard to haul him out.

The guard drags Fairlie up onto the pier, then removes the rope and marches him back to the Sheriff. Rob Varney has edged slowly away from the others, his one eye gleaming with pleasure.

“There can be no doubt,” the Sheriff says. “The water has rejected you. The case is proven.”

Fairlie is shivering violently, but with a great effort he manages to control himself. “All that has been proven is that I can swim, and that I was unable to drown myself, which is what I tried to do. It seemed a better end than the one I face now.”

The Sheriff is scornful. “You have been tested by water and found guilty. You will be taken to await execution!”

Varney jumps up and down, cackling with glee. “Guilty! Guilty! I told you, I told you!”

Fairlie is capable of accepting his unreasonable fate, but Varney’s exultation is more than he can tolerate. Turning to the Sheriff, he says, “This is a serious matter, is it not?”

“Of course.”

“Serious enough to justify a further test to make doubly certain?”

“What do you mean?” The Sheriff wonders why these people cannot leave well enough alone.

“I mean that Rob Varney should be tested.”

Varney is suddenly wary.