Rhistmaege

Muck Sooth

Consciousness returned. Dovi no longer fluttered at the flame. He was reborn. Gray eyes blinked. What in Heolor happened?

"Prrrrrrrr." Gussie's citrus eyes narrowed and closed. She nuzzled further into his chest and purred contently. Cobblestones poked his bottom and back, but something soft cradled his head. No signs of Lebonicus, Vis or Stigion.

He raised his hands to his neck and grabbed his wrist. Shockingly, the skin was creamy smooth. Not a hint of injury. Dovi pushed himself up on his elbows. Gussie's eyes opened wide. Nothing stirred in the alleyway. The soft cloth beneath his head was a rolled-up barman's apron. Sneedelton?

He brushed Gussie away and pushed himself to his feet. The black cat stretched, then bolted to the box crate and disappeared from view.

Dovi forced his breathing to slow and marched to the Rag-Tab's side door. He knocked tentatively. Don't say anything stupid. Just ask him what happened? And remember to say thank you.

After waiting a full minute, he rapped harder and took a step back.

Sneedelton pushed the door a quarter open, and stared down at Dovi with furrowed brows.

"What's this at? You. Looking for a handout? Read the sign: No Beggars. No Charities. No Solicitors. And I seen nothing and heard nothing. Boys' trouble is boys' trouble. Take your problems someplace else. Now get or I'll put a foot sideways up your arse." He pushed his wide girth through the doorway forcing Dovi to back away.

"B-But sir. I-I just wanted to say thank you for helping m-me," stuttered Dovi.

"Help? Boy, Lebonicus must have knocked you silly. I ain't help you with nothing. And don't mention my name again. Go. Leave me be." Sneedelton turned and slammed the door back against the splintered frame.

Dovi rubbed his temples. I don't understand.

With no answers forthcoming, Dovi turned and ran back to the alley's mouth. A sudden gust of wind buffeted his cloak behind him. Coal-tinged  clouds rolled heavy upon the far edge of Wroughton Grove. He pulled his cloak tight and hurried past Tick Ballock's Tannery and Clintaffenner's Foundry. Should I stop and tell Rabby? A good meal and a warm blanket in the solitude of a horse barn sounded appealing. Father's going to whoop me for being late. Best to get it over with now.

Dovi left the busyness of Wroughton Grove behind, and trudged down a tertiary path leading through the bogs surrounding his family pig farm. Rows of stunted pines twisted up from the brackish quagmire. I hate Muck Gully. At least this wind has spared me from midges.

As if on queue, the steady breeze abruptly died down. A heavy stillness seeped into the swamp. Chirping treefrogs lost their song. Fat bullfrogs' boisterous bellows grew silent. No shrieks from the Thistlejays. No crittering from the any of the small, critterish things. Only your imagination.

Despite attempts to will away the subject, Dovi's incessantly whispering mind untombed a frightening old wives' tale: The legend of Bucktoothed Muck Sooth, namesake of Muck Gully. It was a story all of Wroughton Grove knew all too well. Muck Sooth, was "goodman" to Anemoliph Wroughton, the eccentric widow to the town's original founder, Bisby Wroughton. Muck had always been strange to folk, but got much stranger after becoming old Nemmy's caretaker soon after Bisby mysteriously disappeared. Most whispered behind his back and looked sideways at Muck. Said he was an odd fellow involved with odder things. Wasn't right in the head. Muck had a lazy eye, but not a lazy attitude. He was all business, all the time. Had no time for pleasantries. Be it push, pull, punch, kick or spit- if you stood between him and Nemmy, you felt his wrath.