1
There was nothing particularly noteworthy about the way the day dawned across the forest. For the timid little lemur, about to make his run to the other side of the two wheel ruts (which the locals called a road) the breaking dawn of this day was essentially no different than any other day he’d ever known. Yet through the astonishing quirks of chance, disparate lives will often converge resulting in a complex set of unknowable consequences… each consequence representing a change to our comfortable routines. And so it was, with blissful ignorance, our little lemur left the safety of the trees, unaware he was about to spark a debate on philosophical ethics. For not more than five-minutes up the road, mounted atop a steam driven carriage, two tourists assaulted the morning’s peace most rudely.
“Why don’t you just admit you are lost?” Emerson Lighthouse goaded
“Please enlighten me as to just what indications I have given that would suggest I don’t know where we are?” Petharic‘s patronizing tone was a well-honed skill.
“There’s just something about this that doesn’t seem right.”
“Listen, we were instructed to continue riding straight until we reach to the first major intersection. We then turn right. We’ve passed no major intersections therefore we continue going straight.” He punctuated the last three words by synchronizing them with three consecutive hand chops.
“There was that road about a mile back.”
“On the left.” Petharic’s every breath reeked of exasperation. “And, as I said back then, ‘T-intersections don’t count.’”
“I think you should pull over at the next sign of civilization and let me get out and ask someone.”
“I’m not pulling over just to satisfy your anxiety.”
Emerson remained quiet for almost a minute before breaking the silence: “How is it possible that you can drive stick,” his voice rising above the clamour of the steam engine, “and still manage to point that offensive weapon so steadily at my head?”
“You don’t need to start worrying about my driving skills.” Petharic defended with a touch more testiness than was required.
“It’s a little odd, don’t you think? I mean usually the bad guy forces the good guy to drive so he can concentrate on being a menace with a gun.”
“I never realized before just how incessantly you chatter. You haven’t shut-up since we left… and besides, I am not the bad guy here.”
Emerson remained silent for at least a half minute before suggesting: “Why don’t you let me drive, you sound a bit stressed out and I wouldn’t want that thing going off because of nerves.”
“Listen, I drive. You keep your eyes on the road and look for signs of trouble.”
“You’re the only trouble I’ve seen.”
“What did I tell you about your chatter?”
“I just want to go back to New Babbage now.”
“The sooner you help me find the airship port the sooner we can board a flight back to New Babbage.”
Emerson started to tap his fingers against the side of his leg several times in apparent nervousness before calling out, “Would you mind pulling over, I have to relieve myself.”
“What?” Petharic sounded incredulous at so obvious a ploy.
“Are you going to make me repeat myself? I need to pee.”
“Hold it.”
“I can’t, I really have to go.”
“Are you serious, we’ve been driving for less than an hour.”
“What can I say other than… pull over so I can pee!”
“You know, there’s probably a better place to stop just around this next bend, perhaps an inn or something. Try to hold it.” Just then a small ring-tailed lemur ran into the road!
“Look out!” Emerson grabbed for the wheel causing the carriage to veer sharply to the side thus narrowly missing the stunned creature. “You nearly hit that animal.”
“So!” Petharic shouted, hitting the braking mechanism. “Never turn the wheel like that again. If we hit the animal we hit the animal. That will be one less dumb lemur to reproduce… better for all the smart ones.” Petharic had been reading a lot lately.
“But if you can reasonably miss the animal with limited risk to yourself then isn’t that the compassionate and thus the morally responsible option. You surprise me Mr. Morally-Uptight-Bounty Hunter/Judge or whatever.” Emerson countered Petharic’s sanctimony with the hypocrite defense.
Petharic responded by employing a tone of academic erudition. “I believe it was John Stuart Mill who said: logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” Petharic paused relishing his own sagacity. “In this case, we are the many, and the lemur is the few.”
“Or the one.” Emerson said barely above a whisper. He then added with a tone of exaggerated disbelief: “Are you sure John Stuart Mill said that?”
“It may be a paraphrased version.” replied Petharic. “But forget that now, this is your chance.”
“Chance?” Emerson was suddenly overcome with a wave of suspicious paranoia. He’d never, in actuality, had to relieve himself. It was all just an attempt to get Petharic to pull over. Emerson was, in fact, working through a rather promising plan. The steam carriage (which he’d bought through a neighbourly acquaintance in New Babbage) came rigged with explosives. On the right underside of the passenger seat was a little dial which, when turned, started a clock mechanism. Exactly one minute after being activated the carriage and everyone in it would be blown to pieces. If he could turn that dial, then get far enough away from the carriage (while Petharic remained in the driver’s seat of course) his problems would be only moments away from being solved. Unfortunately this potential outcome depicts a best case scenario, not necessarily a most likely to succeed scenario. And here is the root of Emerson’s anxiety. What if Petharic has somehow figured it all out?
“We’re stopped,” Petharic squinted his eyes quizzically as he broke Emerson’s reverie. “Your chance to find relief.” he waved towards the trees along the side of the road.
This seems promising, Emerson thought, for from his vantage, it didn’t appear as though Petharic knew anything about the dial-detonator. Emerson breathed relief… just baseless paranoia. “Okay,” he said, swinging his leg over the side of the carriage all the while reaching for the dial. “I’ll be right back.” But the dial wasn’t there! In its place a hole marred the leather seat cover.
“Looking for this.” In his nongun hand Petharic held up the dial, still connected by wires to the car (and, one would assume the explosives).” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Amateur.”
Emerson lost it. He lunged at Petharic in a desperate bid to wrench that detonator switch from his grasp. He managed to get his fingers under the edges of the box casing before Petharic deflected the attack by delivering a nasty elbow blow to the ribs. He then followed this with a rather questionable kick to the kneecap. Emerson, despite the pain, was determined to hang on… and would have done so had he been stronger. Petharic inevitably managed to wrench his hand free and push Emerson to the floor of the carriage. He raised his arm and took deliberated aim. Emerson found himself staring straight down the barrel of the Colt. Somehow Emerson knew he wouldn’t be shot.
With a heart jolting suddenness, a single shot rang out, shattering what little early morning peace remained. The little lemur, having endured enough excitement ran off deep into the woods. Emerson and Petharic both jumped at the unexpected report. The round had been fired in the air by the leader of the 12 member, heavily armed cavalry now circling the two combatants and their rather remarkable steam powered carriage.
2
The Captain of the Royal Guard had heard of such
fantastic machines before, but never actually seen one until now. It was
spectacular. Brass and polished steel gleamed with the pride of industry in the
subtropical summer sun. The two riders, while largely hidden by the sides of
the carriage were no longer shouting at each other. The Captain called out a
greeting followed by orders to disembark from the carriage and surrender their
arms.
“There you go Mr. Petharic!”
Emerson pointed up from the floor of the carriage (where he still lay
sprawled). “You are going to go to jail!” He sounded almost gleeful. “I believe
even in this remote island kingdom attempted murder remains an indictable
offense.”
“No one is going to go to jail.”
Petharic assured as he casually re-holstered his Colt. “They are just looking
for a bribe. Give me your identification papers.”
“Why should I do that?”
“Because I am going engage in
a parley and they will want to know who they are dealing with. Satisfied? Now,
give me your papers.” Emerson nodded, acknowledging the sense of Petharic’s
plan.
Petheric reached down to offer
him a hand up as Emerson retrieved the documents. Quite casually (during the
process of helping Emerson to his feet) he accepted and pocketed the papers in
an outside jacket pocket. All the while,
the Captain of the cavalry continued to call out what they assumed were surrender
orders, but they couldn’t say for sure. Not only was the Captain’s dialect foreign
to their ears, but neither of them had been paying attention.
“Come with me,” Petharic
instructed so as only Emerson could hear. “Stop just before I reach him. And don’t say anything,” he emphasized, “let
me clear this all up.”
“You don’t have enough rounds
to clear this all up.”
“I believe diplomacy is still
the best course of action.” He then disembarked the steam carriage closely
followed by Emerson. Together the two
men advanced towards the horsemen.
As they approached, the
Captain held up his hand for them to halt. “What business have you gentleman
this morning that we should find you coming to blows?” The Captain’s speech
rang with the rich phonetics of his native tongue. Emerson found the foreign
dialect to be surprisingly cheerful.
“Please let me apologise for
this most unfortunate incident.” Petharic offered. “What began as a minor misunderstanding between
fellow travellers ashamedly escalated to an unacceptable level. Rest assured it
will not happen again… so long as we are on your native soil.”
Wow, thought Emerson with a genuine sense of admiration, this guy can sugar the truth into something quite
palatable.
“It has happened to the best
of us.” The Captain dismissed half of his guard to inspect the carriage. He then
seemed to hesitate before continuing… as if pondering some sort of moral
dilemma. “One might be persuaded to look the other way had a weapon not been
involved.”
“Oh, I’m sure one could still be
persuaded to look the other way,” said Petharic “should the flash of silver
catch in one’s periphery.”
“The flash of gold is so much
more blinding don’t you think?” The Captain would have continued to converse most
favourably, had he not been interrupted by the approach of one of his men
returning from the steam carriage. In his hands was a green leather satchel emblazoned
with the monogram “EL” in orange and gold. The soldier opened the bag and held
it at an angle so the captain could peer inside.
The Captain’s face fell at
once to a very serious countenance. “Who’s bag is this?” He no longer sounded
so cheerful. Emerson and Petharic stood in
silence. “Gentleman,” The captain was at once stern a severe, “I will not ask a
third time: who owns this bag?” each word was punctuated for clarity.
“It’s his.” Emerson pointed at
Petheric.
“What!!” Petharic couldn’t
help the outburst. The absolute audaciousness of Emerson’s claim was
incredible.
“It’s true, Officer, his name is
Emerson Lighthouse and he kidnapped me.”
“You are going a little off
script Dr. Lighthouse.” Emerson should have taken note of the danger rising in Petharic’s
voice; taken that as a cue to remain silent. Instead he turned to the Captain
and said: “It is a simple matter to confirm. Check his outside jacket pocket. That
is where he keeps his identification papers.”
Petharic had heard enough. He
drew the Colt and in a single motion, aimed it at the middle of Emerson’s head.
For the second time that morning,
Emerson found himself staring down the barrel of the Colt… only this time it
stared back with a bitter determination. Who can say with any certainty if Petharic
would have pulled the trigger? It was enough that the surrounding cavalry
believed he would pull the trigger. Within moments the forest resounded with the
echoes of gunfire. Long before the last of those echoes faded in the distance,
Petharic lay dead, crumpled like a marionette suddenly bereft of strings.
Something about this doesn’t seem real, thought Emerson, as if it we are living some thought rather
than some action. But there, before
him, lay Petharic. How could he deny his senses? He shook off the sense of déjà
vu. This is really happening. He
couldn’t imagine a more fortunate turn of events.
“Well,” began the Captain, the
discomfort he felt over the severity of the response apparent in his voice, “I suppose
you would be free to go then… so long as you pay the clean-up and body removal tax.
What did you say your name was…?” The Captain eyed Emerson.
“Petharic… my name is Mr.
Petharic.” said Emerson reaching up to shake the Captain’s hand. “And I would
be most delighted to pay any fine you see fit.” Before the two men finished
shaking however, the air rang out with a mighty explosion! Apparently, just
over a minute ago, as a result of a combination of curiosity and human nature,
one of the cavalrymen upon finding a curious dial on the floor of the steam
carriage, decided to turn it - just to see what would happen. In this case
curiosity killed no cats, just a couple of horses and half the Captain’s men.
Emerson felt the man’s grip upon his hand tighten with vice-like intensity. This
was indeed a most unwelcome turn of events.
