Samuel turned and sprinted toward a small cluster of trees where the local constables had set up a small resting camp. He returned a few minutes later, dragging a struggling, nervous-looking young man by the collar.
This was Will, the deputy. Arthur analyzed him instantly. He was perhaps twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old. His complexion was unnaturally pale, with a sickly, yellowish tint to his skin. He had thin, yellow eyebrows, sharp, triangular eyes that constantly darted around looking for an escape, and a thin, cruel mouth. Despite his official uniform a dark blue canvas tunic and black boots he carried the unmistakable aura of a street thug, a man who wore the badge not to enforce the law, but to hide behind it.
Will was thrown to his knees in the dirt just outside the entrance of the autopsy tent.
"My Lord Magistrate!" Will cried out, immediately pressing his forehead to the dusty ground in an exaggerated display of subservience. "Will, at your service! I am but a humble deputy, My Lord!"
"Look at me, Will," Arthur said, his voice dangerously quiet.
Will slowly raised his head, offering a greasy, obsequious smile. "Yes, My Lord?"
"How old are you, Will? And how long have you served as a deputy in Southgate?" Arthur asked, pacing slowly like a wolf circling a trapped rabbit.
"I am twenty-nine years of age, My Lord," Will answered quickly, eager to please. "I have served in the constabulary since I was a boy. It is in my blood, you see! My father was a warden here before me. He passed away some years ago, God rest his soul, but I proudly carry on his legacy under Warden Samuel!"
"A legacy of the law," Arthur mused coldly. "Then you must understand the severe responsibilities of your position. Warden Samuel tells me you were explicitly ordered to stand guard over the corpse in this tent from sunset until dawn. Were you alone?"
"Yes, My Lord! Entirely alone!" Will nodded enthusiastically. "Just me, the crickets, and the quiet night."
Arthur stopped pacing and stepped directly in front of the kneeling deputy. "If you were alone, and you were standing guard, then explain to me, in detail, exactly how the corpse of a forty-year-old mule driver transformed into the butchered body of a wealthy aristocratic teenager during your watch."
The color rapidly drained from Will's yellowish face. His triangular eyes widened in exaggerated shock. "Transformed? Changed? My Lord, I... I don't know what you mean! I stood guard the entire night! I swear upon my life, I never slept! How could a body be swapped? It is impossible!"
Arthur let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Impossible? I assure you, Deputy, it is a very tangible reality lying on that slab. You were the only man here. You are the only variable. You either allowed someone to tamper with a Crown crime scene, or you aided them in doing so. Which is it?"
Will's mind raced desperately. He realized he was cornered, so he resorted to the oldest, most pathetic defense known to corrupt men: the supernatural.
"Mercy, My Lord! I beg of you to hear me out!" Will cried, clasping his hands together dramatically. "I... I did not want to sound like a madman, but you force me to speak the terrible truth! Last night was no ordinary night!"
Arthur crossed his arms. "I am listening. Entertain me."
"I was standing at my post, just as ordered," Will began, his voice dropping to a theatrical, trembling whisper. "I had eaten my meager rations and drank perhaps a tiny flask of ale, just to keep the evening chill away, you understand. Around the second hour past midnight, the temperature suddenly plummeted. It grew freezing cold. A wind blew through the valley—a wind that chilled me to the very marrow of my bones! I felt the hair on my arms stand up!"
Will looked around at the other guards, trying to draw them into his performance. "Then, the stars seemed to dim. The lantern hanging outside the tent began to flicker wildly, though there was no breeze. And then... a terrible, howling whirlwind touched down right in the center of the road! It kicked up a massive cloud of dust, spinning faster and faster, wrapping entirely around the tent! I couldn't see anything! I couldn't breathe! The wind sounded like the screaming of lost souls!"
Will threw his hands in the air. "I was terrified, My Lord! I confess my cowardice! I threw my cloak over my head and fell to the ground, praying to the heavens for protection! When the whirlwind finally passed and the dust settled, the night was quiet again. I didn't dare look inside the tent. I just waited for the sun to rise. If the body was changed, My Lord, it wasn't the work of mortal men! It was dark magic! The spirits of the valley took the driver and left a demon in his place!"
The silence that followed this ridiculous, elaborate lie was absolute. The local guards stared at Will in disbelief. Dr. Aris, standing just inside the tent flap, actually rolled his eyes.
Arthur Pendelton stared down at the kneeling deputy. The Magistrate's face was utterly devoid of amusement. The temperature around him seemed to drop to freezing, mirroring the fake wind in Will's pathetic story.
"Dark magic," Arthur repeated flatly.
"Yes, My Lord! The spirits!" Will nodded frantically, thinking he had managed to plant a seed of doubt.
"You miserable, insulting, treacherous little worm," Arthur's voice erupted, a sudden, deafening roar that made every man present flinch. "You stand before a Magistrate of the Crown, surrounded by the blood of a murdered child, and you dare spin fairy tales about dust devils and ghosts?!"
Will scrambled backward in the dirt, his fake bravado shattering instantly. "My Lord, I swear—"
"You took a bribe!" Arthur roared, stepping forward and looming over the corrupt deputy like an avenging angel. "You were paid off! Someone arrived in the dead of night with a cart, a heavy purse of silver, and a butchered boy. They needed a convenient place to dispose of a victim without launching a murder investigation. And you, you pathetic excuse for a lawman, sold your honor and looked the other way while they swapped the bodies! And you thought you could blame it on a ghost!"
"No! No, I didn't! I don't know anything!" Will screamed, abandoning the ghost story and resorting to sheer denial. "You have no proof! You can't just accuse me! I am a deputy of the law!"
Arthur's eyes blazed with a terrifying, righteous fury. "You are a disgrace to the uniform you wear. You are an accessory to the murder of an aristocrat and the obstruction of royal justice."
Arthur turned sharply toward Captain Carter, who had arrived with the escort detail.
"Captain!" Arthur commanded, his voice ringing with absolute, unyielding authority. "Strip this man of his badge. Bind his wrists. This court does not tolerate corruption, and it does not tolerate lies. Administer forty lashes with the heavy cane across his back. If he still claims he saw a ghost, administer forty more. Do not stop until I hear the truth!"
"With pleasure, Magistrate," Captain Carter growled, stepping forward with two burly Shire Guards. They grabbed Will by the arms, dragging him toward a nearby wooden hitching post.
"No! Wait! You can't do this! I am an innocent man! Warden Samuel, tell him!" Will shrieked, struggling wildly as the guards ripped his blue tunic from his back and secured his wrists to the heavy wooden beam.
Samuel looked away, entirely unwilling to defend a man who had clearly betrayed the badge.
The designated enforcer stepped forward, unrolling a thick, flexible rattan cane. He took his stance, measuring the distance.
CRACK!
The first blow landed across Will's bare shoulders with the sound of a pistol shot. Will let out a blood-curdling, high-pitched scream, his body arching violently against the ropes.
CRACK!
"The ghosts!" Will screamed through tears of agony. "It was the wind! I swear!"
CRACK!
CRACK!
By the tenth strike, Will's back was a map of angry red welts, and his pathetic resolve had entirely evaporated. The pain was too real, too agonizing for a man who had lived his life taking the easy, corrupt path. He couldn't bear it. The illusion of his tough-guy persona shattered into a million pieces.
"Stop! Stop, please! I yield! By the heavens, stop hitting me!" Will sobbed hysterically, slumping against the wooden post, his face buried in the splinters. "I'll talk! I'll tell you everything! Just call off the cane!"
Arthur raised a single hand. The enforcer instantly lowered the weapon, stepping back.
Arthur walked slowly over to the weeping, broken deputy. He stood very close, forcing Will to look up into his cold, judging eyes.
"I am out of patience, Will," Arthur whispered, his voice promising a fate far worse than a caning if the man lied again. "You will tell me exactly who came here last night. You will tell me exactly whose body is lying on my table. And you will tell me exactly how many pieces of silver your soul is worth. Speak, and let it be the truth that shocks the very heavens."
Will coughed, a mixture of spit and tears running down his chin. He looked around wildly, terrified not of the Magistrate, but of the monster he was about to betray.
"It... it was him, My Lord," Will choked out, his voice trembling with sheer terror. "It was the Viper. It was Zachary Vance."
The name hung in the sweltering summer air like a death sentence. The web was finally untangling, and the monster at the center of Southgate was stepping into the light.
(To be continued...)