The Last Philosopher

Saving an askhole

Another lazy summer week passed before Charlie's anxiety turned into full-blown panic. Waking up sticky from the heat, her stomach was in knots and her heart was pounding. It felt like they were fighting to climb out her throat. With no idea what was going on, she sat down on the floor to do some exercises Herschel'd showed her. The way he talked about deep breathing it sounded like there was nothing it couldn't fix. The worst thing was it worked. It took a minute, but as soon as her heart calmed down she flew out the door. With the panic had come clarity. She had to save Herschel, or the dread would be back.

Sprinting into the office, she almost started crying with gratitude at finding Rascal guarding the cell door as usual. Earl still tried to act like she was just another stray. But he'd stopped referring to her as an it, even accepting that the tougher than bricks dog was a girl now.

Still feeling a bit rattled, Charlie splashed some water on her red face from the wash-basin. Turning to the cells, she was confronted by her desk and its umpteen handy-woman projects. While taking care of Herschel, things had gone undone. It wasn't helping her anxiety. Even so, a man's life couldn't compare to a few projects.

"Hangin' day's only three weeks away," she mumbled to herself with a finger covered in salt in her mouth. She'd been cleaning her teeth, but now her finger seemed to float in front of her eyes as she spaced out.

There wasn't a lot of time to fix this. The hardcore hanging-fans — prepared to pay for the trial — would be here before the market. So, saving Herschel would have to be done and dusted before that. Otherwise, his hanging would become what was thought of as family friendly entertainment. Most couldn't wait for the start of market week.

Her first thought was his defence that you couldn't own living things. When she first heard the idea, it sounded dumb. But the more they talked, the more she liked his weird ideas. But it'd be a hard sell to a crowd of farmers.

Then she remembered that Sam Merrywither had once got off on a plea of not guilty by reason of being a buck ejit. After turning up drunk at the last light church, and using a flowerpot as a bathroom. Bres'd judged the mouth-breather was too drunk to understand what he was doing. Charlie reckoned drunk was like self-inflicted stupidity. That should mean natural stupidity could work as a defence too. And it probably would've, if Herschel was Agalian, or even looked a bit more like them.

After stressing her day away, in the evening Charlie was in the baking hot kitchen at Bern's. In theory, she was helping with supper, but she kept getting angry and dropping things. Fannie put her on peeling potatoes, but the way she violated the poor spuds it left barely anything for the pot.

Even so, Fannie kept a sympathetic ear open, and her grumbling under her breath. Bern's owner wouldn't have been roped in by such an obvious fool's errand. But the blond woman felt the way Rascal acted around Herschel was nothing short of a miracle. They both reckoned that the real problem was popular opinion, people felt Herschel was already convicted.

"I dunno what ta do Fannie! They're going to hang 'im if I don't think of somethin' soon." Charlie plopped another miniature spud into the pot.

"Aww 'unny, ya know I'd helps ya ifin I could. But short of changin' the rulin' right under Bres' feckless nose, I jus' don't see any way."

"Aye, the judge! Who do ya think Bres would listen to?"

"Yar Da maybe?"

"Yeah-no, I already tried, all he said was 'the law's the law'. He'll never try ta influence Bres."

"Well, no one else exceptin' the ladyship could, I bet she could 'ave him runnin' 'round nude in the square ifin she really wanted."

She stared wide eyed at Fannie with feigned shock, and they both burst out laughing.

"Ms Skvosip's mi only chance isn't she?"

"Charlie... ya 'now everyone in town loves ya, but gettin' that one to help, I don't see it." Fannie came over and hugged her from behind.

"There must be somethin' she wants?"

"Even if ya could find somethin', ya don't want ta be in debt ta that old hag."

Charlie spent most of the next day in the marshal's office, silently blaming Earl and talking to Herschel. He still wouldn't tell her what'd happened to him. Even when she was trying hard to find something that might help his case. He was being vague, and pushing only made him dummy up. As the terrible liar he was, his whole body looked uneasy.

"Ya're a real askhole!" She exploded with frustration.

"A what?"

"An askhole! Ya know, sumone who asks a lot af questions, ba never takes any advice!" Charlene meant to sound stern, but Herschel started laughing. Light-hearted little chuckles that made his eyes water. It was the first time she'd heard him really laugh.

"You're right, I am an askhole. And I'm sorry, but I can't go against what I think is best."

"It's nae funny," but it kinda was, and his laughing drained much her frustration. "They're goin' to kill ya, and ya won't even wear a hat to help yarself. I'm the only one trying to help ya."

"I know you are, and I do appreciate it, but my life has had meaning even if my death won't."

"I wish Da hadn't caught ya, if ya'd kept moving, ya would've ended up in Rotemeda. They take all sorts over there!"

That night, her bed itched more than usual as she twisted on the thin straw mattress. Herschel had an answer for everything. Even while he was kind and patient with explaining, it was still annoying. At least he was nothing like Domnall, Stagna's only teacher. Who believed shaming children was the key to learning. Her resolve to save this black-haired stranger had started with pity, but it'd turned into respect.

"I'll get Ms Skvosip's help, no matter wha' the cost," she whispered into her lumpy pillow.

Updated: 19.11.2023