"The body is gone!"
"Desmond, stop yer little tiddlywink nappy and wake-a-de-hell up!" Marcu shouts, stomping his foot.
"What the hell, dude? I'm just tryna get some sleep here." Groaning, I push my face further into the pillow.
"Didn't you hear me, you little pansy bastard?" His voice cracks with panic.
"The body is gone?" I sit up, peeling the crust from my bloodshot eyes. The morning sun sears my vision black like burning toast, and my headache only spreads further, making my forehead crunch in throbbing bites.
Marcus's voice drones, cracking in faint panic.
"Yes! The bod-ey is a-gone!" Marcus's voice breaks into faint panic.
"Who?" I ask, rubbing my throbbing temples.
"Who da-ya think? They took Jimson from us, lad!" Marcus stomps again, frustration clear in his reddening face.
"Ah, you're still grieving Marcus. Yes, his loss will affect us all deeply; he didn't deserve it! Now please close the door while you're there—it's giving me a fucking headache." I wave him off with brushing motion, trying to calm his sudden agitation.
At this his face turns even redder. He grabs my hair, rubbing it in hard.
"Are you even listening to-a-my words? it is no long-ah in-a da 'ole!"
"What! No longer in the hole? Why didn't you tell me earlier? Show me now!" I leap from the bed, robe trailing behind.
"Why do I even bother with this annoy-ance!" He throws up his hands.
In nothing but a loose robe over my naked body, I scoop an amused, smiling Timothy and carry him on my shoulders. Marsley then carries Marcus on his too, under much complaint, and Together, we sprint down to the cemetery located behind the local church.
When we arrive, a small group of pests lout around in drunken torpor—sleeping, grumbling, shitting on the grass, you name it.
What a horrible scene, is this how they respect the dead.
Approaching further we stop.
We all stand before the pit pretending we don't already belong to it.
And there it lies too: an empty carcass, hollowed and on display within the wooden casket, dug into the grazed earth, fully prepared for funeration—the body no longer rests within, leaving the hole both shallow and pointless.
"Son-of-a. Someone bring Jiord over here!" Marcus yells, flapping his stubby arms.
No words, No responses. Nothing but morning chills.
A morning breeze drags at my hanging robe as I watch in complete shock, placing tim down in front of me. I keep my hand placed over his shoulders.
"What in this sleepy hour? Move-a your twinkle bottoms up, before I spank-at yer for breakfast!" He stomps again, kicking at the dawdlers.
Many drunkards snooze around the place, and upon impact of righteous boot, are disturbed in their deep slumber, slowly come to as they complain in grunts about what can be only translated as a most crippling hangover.
Then, on cue, another voice announces its arrival.
"What's all this fuss here, boys?" A man called from above as he dismounted from his horse, walking toward the hole. He leans over the grave, peering inside the empty interior.
"What's this, Desmond?" His eyes narrowed, frowning at me.
"I have one more important question for you father. Where is the body, Minister?" I leaned forward, staring him down.
His face slowly turns and when he finally realises what happened, his body jumps in exaggerated horror.
"Where is the body, Minister?!"
"Did it magically hitch a ride to God's home by being airlifted by some heavenly rats? Answer me—where is this body, Minister!?" I lean forward. My eyes stare down at him, as I direct a vicious couple of points from my index finger toward the empty casket, then redirect it towards him.
"We have a family member present whose father's now missing… Explain yourself!"
Swallowing the spit caught in his airways he regains his priestly composure.
"Don't worry. I'll get to the bottom of this—on my very name as a devotee of the church. This is an affront and an embarrassment to all we stand for as God-fearing people of the Lord, ain't that right?" He looks around at the townsfolk, but they still remain rather unresponsive.
Blowing into a silver whistle around his neck, he then claps his hands together.
"Wakey, wakey, the lot of ya! Clean up this foul mess. Is this a church or a playground? I have a new task for you, and I want this body found by midday today!"
Rubbing their eyes, the drunks groan loudly in acknowledgment. But their bodies betray them, stubbornly still they remain, despite their imagined intent of future aid
"Did I not make myself clear?! I want all your recounts of the previous night—everything, every unimportant detail down to the last gulp of rum you had. I'll even get Sevinstien to write it all down for ya, lousy drunkards!"
"But sir, we just woke up…" a thin man sprawled beneath Jiord mutters, shielding his eyes.
"Will you take responsibility for this embarrassment, then?... Todd!"
Todd's face goes white. "No, Father."
"Then go! Raise the bell! What are you doing lying here?"
"Where is that woman anyway—get me Ileane now!" He barks.
"What, me?" Todd stammers.
"Yes, Todd, you—go, to the church, NOW!"
"Thank you, thank you, sir!" He fumbles and trips over himself as he runs desperately toward the nearby church.
Not even five minutes later, the bell starts to ring out across the town, and a singularly built female ranger slowly approaches Jiord, with airy steps and an angry expression.
"I hear you need some real muscle, Jonesy. What's the issue now that you need to wake me up like this?" She announces her voice clearly, hand curled around her pronounced hip-bone.
"We don't have time for your blatant disrespect. Ileane, we have a missing body here—and I need you to find it."
"Why? It's just a body." High is the brow she lifts, attentive like a crow's glassy eyes.
"Desecration's a serious sin. If word gets out that we are losing bodies who knows how they'll react" he warns.
Eyeing up feeble prey, she strikes at golden glint.
"Double," She lashes out.
"..."
"What did you say, woman!!" Jiord's face twists, veins dark against his pallid skin.
"I said I want double the payment! My stores of drink are getting light, and that's my price." Her murderous gaze flocks for easy coin. Like a snapping raven, she chirps at helpless prey.
"Fine! Just do it as fast as you can," He grumbles in tongued exasperation, as it chews away at his flabby throat.
"Triple," she spits, voracious is her caws as she raises her new demands. Outrageously she pecks away at his chipping position, clearly a better in this game of playful negotiation.
"What? I already accepted double—you can't just raise the cost!" His fingers twitch, then writhe in grubby fright; folding over spaded hands, away they hide, as if to cut away and bury his mounting losses from our very sight.
How ironic for a priest to be beaten in a game of money. I hide my lavish grin and continue listening in.
"When I suggest triple, I really mean it." she sneers, flexing and refolding her well-built biceps over each other, each motion a predetermined strike of course. Purposefully. Calculated. Revealing her well-drawn and well-armed tendons, she prepares to shoot out her claws of black-talons in rounds of raging fire.
"You're no better than a sniveling pirate, profiting from taking advantage of the lord's charity." Jiord spits clearly lost in his temper.
"The lord's charity! Ridiculous! The truth is that you're too cheap with that bulging sack of church-money and it has no loose strings for a hard-working gal like me."
She bites her lip, pausing in seconded silence before delivering her final ultimatum.
"Triple, will be the price you pay. Two times to bring me aboard, the third… to keep me from walking."
"Threatening to leave again? Just go already! Get out of my sight, disappear with that greasy mouth of yours washed out with soap and come back only when you're ready to apologise!"
She walks away in a jolly stride, an old shrewd codger in the making.
What an amusing woman, too bad she lacks the maturity to convince me of her proclaimed skills.
Turning back to me, Jiord scrunches his face, sputtering words in a showy attempt to reestablish his failing image.
"Ileane's on the case now. She's our best catcher we've got—shame she has such a lousy personality, but that's how she survived these years living on the streets … She's also in a grumpy mood" He rubs his chin in thoughtful consideration.
Yeah you're totally right, you handled her well.
I curl my nose in her direction and grunt. "Are you sure she's up to the task? She seems—"
"Like a feckin' bitch. Yer would be right Desmond, that one is always tinkin' she can get away with all the shite she does. An' worse yet, she's actually… well, she's not half bad at findin' ya and beating ya to a pulp no matter where it is you hide!" Marcus curls his nose too, covering it with a palmed hand whilst snarling in her general direction.
"Although I don't agree with your words, I agree with the sentiment, Marcus. Through her, we'll investigate this with the highest priority we can, Desmond. In the meantime, we should let the experts handle this."
"Are you sure this is enough to find the body? Is this enough manpower?"
"We're already short on hands," Jiord responds, glancing at the drunken crowd. "But Ileane is our fastest and sharpest. It's fine if you doubt her capabilities, but don't you dare doubt the spirit of our town."
He turns to the townsfolk and cheers them on. "Spread the word! Rouse the rubble—I want every eye and ear searching for the body that was taken from us!"
Some grumble, some applause but mostly they revel in a silenced stupor.
Yes, yes, alert the tipsy congregation first of course. That's right their vision will indeed be helpful but I want that body found now.
"Free booze for whoever catches the culprit!" Marcus yells, snatching Jiord's top-hat, chucking it into the airborne sky.
And at that simple act of watching a hat turn and twist the crowd erupts with contagious energy, people cheer, dance and run around in circles in uproarious laughter.
"How bothersome," Jiord mutters back, wiping his face with a tattered white napkin.
Then from the quiet backdrop of concealed anxiety, I watch as Timothy bends to pick up the hat.
I nod to him, and he nods back. Then he steps forward tentatively, clutching the dirtied hat in a trembling grip as he holds it up to the Father Jiord. "Father George… will Ileane really find my father soon?" he asks softly.
Taking the hat Jiord gently wipes away the dirt and grass, settling it back over his golden main of springy hair. Squatting down and he begins to gently reassure.
"Don't worry, Timothy. We'll get to the bottom of this, you have my word, she is someone you can trust with this task."
Reaching around his neck he pulls out the whistle and roughly hangs it around Timothy's neck. "How about this you can keep this whistle on and blow into it if you ever find yourself in trouble, I'm sure anyone will come looking for you if they hear the sound." He nods and looks towards me.
Oh don't think I'm not onto you father, you priests have a bad reputation with young boys. I won't let anything happen on my watch.
"We are running late now, Desmond, Timothy come with me now we have business to attend."
I shuffle along catching up to Tim and hold his hand tightly in mine.
Affection restored, but what now. How do I deal with this present he received? Toss it? Bury it with the dog? No, too extreme. But I can't just be beat like this just yet can I? My present has to be better!
Together we wave our goodbyes with entwined hands, at both Marcus and Marsley. Then we begin to follow inside the cathedral, being stopped at the entrance foyer.
"You must wear these clothes in the House of God, for we are all equal here." He grabs two black robes from a nearby hanger and hands one to me, one to Timothy, gesturing toward a suite of curtained-off change-rooms.
I pull the curtain closed around me to enclose the space. Roughly changing into the fine silks of devotional cloth provided, humming to myself as I work.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement.
AHHH!
A pale, half-built figure stared right back at me—red eyes, dirty white hair, and a thin, shirtless torso with scarred abs. My jaw drops.
Is this… really me?
Leaning closer to the mirror, I inspect my pearly teeth and the long, bumpy—but strangely alive tongue. So ugly… yet alive. I trace the contours of my unkempt face with rugged nails, matching them to the reflection ahead.
So much for returning to normalcy.I really am a new person, in a new body, in a new world. How does this even happen?
I scrunched my face and glared into the mirror. Damn, these killer eyes and jawline—I can work with this though.
I start making faces, testing my range of facial expressions: grinning, frowning, raising my tangly brow.
"Are you alright in there?"
"Sorry! I just stubbed my toenail!" I say, calling back.
"Happens to the best of us. Hurry up, Quick!"
I take off my boots and socks, slipping a thin veil of linen over my dirty, blackened feet.
After several attempts, I finally perfect my movements, refining gestures too, all to look naturally cool.
Pulling aside the curtain, I step out, a mix of intimidation and long-practiced swagger appear in my stride.
Whose this nerd?
Short, combed hair. That distinct scent of sandalwood. Calloused, worn hands, nails filed clean, surprisingly. His face glistened with shaven polish. Broad shoulders, big bushy brows, long face with a crooked nose. His plain attire looked more presentable than mine as he talks to Jiord.
"This is Nelson McCoy, head of administrative matters. He will be evaluating your abilities—and be your future boss." Jiord Introduces me.
"Good evening, Desmond," Nelson said, enunciating each word, tone sounding bored but intrigued as well. "Jiord speaks highly of your qualifications. I hope you have the skills to match my mounting expectations."
He gazed up at me, then down, clicking his tongue.
"I suppose this will be manageable. Well, Father, may God bless you; I'll see you off now."
"Wait, where are you going?"
"We need to administer Timothy into the school roll, for today is the first day of the month!"
"And you want this right, Timothy?"
"Yes, it will be all right. I like school now; becoming smarter will make me become more like you." He fidgets with his long sleeve, nodding as he looks to the ground, then back up at me.
So handsome, so precious. My heart feels warm already.
"Yes, how touching, but Desmond, I'm afraid we must go now—the congregation they need me to guide the prayer!" He tucked his golden hair behind his ears and adjusted a small, circular swatch of grey cloth resting lightly on his head—what seems to be a constant marker of his priestly duty.
"I'll make this quick for you Tim."
He walks off, Tim following behind, before I could even hug him goodbye.