Chapter 1

Chapter 1

      HE WAS CAPTURED.

 
   “How did this happen?” Rory asked of his partner-in-crime and longtime friend, Bozius Bozinius (Rory always assumed his name was given as a cruel joke to eventually toughen him up; it worked), as they were lead up to the gallows, hands and feet bound by rope.

 
   “Hmm, let me think…” Bozius asked in his all-too-familiar gruff sarcasm. “Maybe if we ran like I said, we would be halfway to Mosley right now, counting coins and getting drunk. But no, cuz you had to bed that wench at the inn!”

 
   “Bozy, language!” even in the face of absolute danger, Rory was impressed by his shining personality. “She was no wench, she was a beautiful young woman. And could she do this thing with her tongue…”

 
   “She was the innkeeper’s daughter, you flighty dunce!” Bozius attempted to kick Rory, but the length of rope between his ankles didn’t allow that much slack, and the large brute of a man found himself falling back into the guards that were escorting them up the steps to the hangman’s noose. Bozius Bozinius was many things, but graceful wasn’t one of them. The ox of a man took many a guard back down the steps with him.

Typically, this was just the opportunity Rory and Bozius needed to make their escape, but as Rory prepared to leap into action, he found the tip of a deputy’s blade at his throat.

   “I don’t think so, sir, not today,” came the biting promise from a young lawman eager for some real action. “Gentleman, please get that beast to his feet and bring him up here at once. Magistrate, I believe you had something to say?”

   “Yes, Cecil, indeed,” agreed the middle-aged and rotund man in robes who stood at the end of the gallows, seemingly dealing with the conflict of whether to adjust his wig or spectacles first.

   “Nice work on the fall,” Rory whispered to Bozius as the two were brought to stand before the gathering crowd in the town square of Heapsworth, a sprawling village that spanned both banks of the Yuklit River.

   “Yeah, way to jump in and get us out of this mess,” Bozius replied. “A mess that—by the way—you got us into.”

   “I was just about to spring the master plan when Cecil over here got involved,” Rory nodded at the deputy who now strutted before the crowd in an attempt to impress the gathering ladies. One such lady was already giggling in reaction to Rory winking at her.

   Bozius, noticing this, simply looked at Rory. “I hate you.”

   “Love you, too, dear,” Rory whispered in reply, though his eyes remained firmly on the vixens in the crowd.

   Hushing the crowd with a motion from his hands, the magistrate gathered himself a bit taller and spoke in official tones. “Roderick Casbury, self-proclaimed Pirate of Vimiland, you have been accused and found guilty of theft, robbery—”

   “Excuse me, magistrate, if you will,” Rory butt in, taking the judge a bit by surprise. “Both theft and robbery? But are those not the same thing? Shall you also be adding stealing to the list of accusations?”

   “Yes, I… I suppose you are right there…” the magistrate agreed, his voice trailing off as he reviewed the leather-bound law book in his hands.

   “Magistrate Dickerson,” called out Cecil the deputy, sounding quite impatient. “The man is a brigand, don’t allow him to—”

   Rory again found himself interrupting. “A brigand is also a thief, as is a bandit, a robber… perhaps we should include thuggery with the banditry and brigandry? As long as we’re being thorough.”

   “Yes, I suppose…” Dickerson mumbled as he began flipping through the pages in his hand.

   “Magistrate, please!” Cecil begged, frustration dripping from his tongue.

   “Right, Cecil! Right you are,” Magistrate Dickerson again collected himself. “Found guilty of the aforementioned charges, you, Roderick Casbury, and… this man…” the magistrate looked wholly embarrassed and leaned in towards Bozius. “I’m sorry, young man, but I didn’t catch your name.”

   Before Bozius could answer that for himself, Rory cut in, an action to which Bozius could only react by dropping his head and letting out a sigh. “No worries, magistrate, allow me to lift the fog. This man before you is none other than the infamous and deadly Bozius Bozinius!”

   The magistrate’s face was overcome with a blank look. “Excuse me, what?”

   “Bozius Bozinius, sir,” Rory smiled.

   “I’m sorry, dear boy, but did you stutter?”

   “No, sir magistrate, that is my friend’s full name: Bozius Bozinius. Dreadful, I know it. I call him Bozy for short. And sometimes Bozipoo, but he really hates that…”

   “Rory, please stop…” Bozius attempted.

   “I see,” the magistrate replied. “Bozerus Bozin… Bozinerous, was it?”

   “No, magistrate, not quite. But close,” Rory nodded. “Try it with me this time: Bo-zeeee-us…”

   “Bozius?” the magistrate tried.

   “Excellent! Almost there, sir. Now, Bo-zin-ee-us…”

   “Bozinius? Bozinius! Bozerus Bozinius!”

   “Bozius,” Rory corrected.

   “Which part?” the magistrate asked, disappointment clear on his face.

   “The first part, sir.”

   “Bozius?”

   “Bozinius.”

   “Bozinius?”

   “Yes, sir,” Rory nodded.

   “Bozinius Bozinius?” Dickerson tried.

   “Are you saying it twice?” Rory asked.

   “Saying what twice?” the magistrate was again quite confused.

   “Oh, lighting strike me, stop it!” Bozius finally cut in. “I don’t care what you call me! I prefer my anonymity. I like being a secret.”

   “A secret?” Rory laughed. “Bozy, wait ‘til they see how much more gold those big beefy arms can carry! They’ll think you were the mastermind of all this!”

   The crowd was in uproar, some laughing at the proceedings before them while most were angry at the magistrate’s very obvious incompetence and inability to control his court. With this distraction taking everybody’s attention, Rory began looking in true for a way out of this. He had only until the rope was around his neck, and then things would truly look grim. From the platform he started scanning for any conceivable possibilities. The crowd was small, but they would likely know the town of Heapsworth better than either he or Bozius could hope to. They couldn’t move fast with the rope around their ankles, but if they could get to a sharp object somewhere…

   “Magistrate Dickerson!” Cecil shouted, silencing everyone with the boom of his frustrations. He was really starting to rub Rory the wrong way, and his impatience was truly making time of the essence. “We can sort out their names after they’re dead. Can we please finish this?”

   "Yes, Cecil! Good idea, lad,” Dickerson agreed. “By the power invested in me by the people of Heapsworth and the Crown of Vimiland, I hereby pronounce Roderick Casbury and Bozoween Bozerous—”

   “Bozius Bozinius,” Rory corrected.

   “I don’t care!” Bozius shouted, throwing his head back in anguish.

   “Magistrate!” Cecil demanded… again.

   “Uh, yes… hmm…. I hereby pronounce you both…” the magistrate put a slow emphasis on both words and looked at Rory for approval, as if this were the cleverest way to deal with the situation. Rory had to admit, the magistrate was showing promise. “…to be hanged by rope from the neck until you are—”

   “Hanged?” Bozius whined. This time he was taking up the role as interloper. “I say, magistrate, haven’t we caused enough trouble?”

   “I suppose, but… what do you mean, son?” Dickerson asked, his face again showing that blank, deer-staring-at-the-incoming-arrow look that seemed to be his go-to move in times of confusion.

   “I mean, why hang? Why the mess?” Bozius asked. “Why not just throw us off a bridge?”

   “Yes, throw us off a…” Rory began to agree, before realizing that Bozius was losing his mind. “What?!”

   “Think about it, sir,” Bozius leaned in. “Tie a rock to our feet, dump us in the river. No fuss, no muss. We’re out of your hair, and you aren’t burdened with the clean-up. Hell, nobody knows my name. Why bother having to bury someone nobody even knows?”

   “Hmmm…. Well, you do have a point there…” Dickerson’s voice trailed off as he began to consider this new possibility.

   “Or we could just dump your corpse in the river!” Cecil cut in. “Magistrate, please, the people are here, the ropes are ready. Can we just carry on with the execution?”

   But the crowd was beginning to side with Bozius’ idea, hollering out for the river to take the criminals.

   “I’m sorry, Cecil, but who’s going to carry their dead bodies all the way to the river?” Magistrate Dickerson made his decision. “No, this is better. It’s been way too long since we had a good drowning. I mean, Maggie and Sallo’s kid drowned last week, but he was an idiot. We don’t have to count that one, do we?”

   “No, your honor, of course not,” Rory offered the magistrate, before snapping an angry look over at Bozius and speaking in hushed tones between grinding teeth. “Are you mad? Throw us in the river? Rocks tied to our feet? Are you an idiot?”

   “Oh, but the Low Bridge is dreadful far,” the magistrate realized aloud. “And in this heat…”

   “Why burden yourself with a hike, your honorableness?” Bozius asked. “Especially with the High Bridge so close?” The crowd cheered in appreciation and agreement. They might not get his name right, but they were not likely to forget Bozius Bozinius anytime soon.

   “The High Bridge?” Rory stared daggers at his friend and did his best to maintain a whisper. “With the higher height and deeper deep?”

   “And my bag of weapons underneath it, placed there just in case this happened?” Bozius growled through his fake smile.

   Rory looked away. “Again with the blaming me. I have feelings, Bozy, it’s where my poetry is drawn from.”

   “You don’t write poetry, Rory,” Bozius shot back as the two friends were dragged from the platform and practically carried to the High Bridge. “You utter horse dung that for whatever reason works as a magic key on girls’ skirts! Poetry? My farts are more poetic.”

   “Well, dear friend, shall we survive this ordeal I would love to hear one of these masterful sonnets.”

   “Oh, we’ll survive,” Bozius replied. “You can swim, right?”

   “With a rock tied to my bound feet? No, Bozy, I’m afraid I skipped that particular lesson as a boy.”

   “Well…” Bozius thought. “Hold your breath.”

   “Roderick Casbury and… friend…” Magistrate Dickerson asked as the prisoners and shadowing crowd reached the apex of the bridge, “You have been found guilty of… a lot of very bad things, and as such were to be hanged, but now you shall be drowned until you are dead.”

   “Technically, sir, if you are drowned you are already dead,” Rory cut in again. “Just saying, that is the definition, really. Just clarifying.”

   “Are the rocks tied on yet, for goodness sake?” Cecil was likely to explode if this went on any longer. Rory would actually have liked to see the man burst open, but that would likely need to wait for another time. The escorting guards confirmed that the weights were secured, and all eyes were on the magistrate.

   “All right, then,” Dickerson acknowledged as he flipped through his law book. He went back and forth a few times until finally placing the small book into a pocket in his robes, giving up on finding any solutions in its leather-bound pages. “Push ‘em in, I guess, there’s really nothing specific about this sort of thing in here.”

   The last thing Rory saw was the magistrate patting the pocket in which he had placed the book, and then he and Bozius were both shoved purposefully off the edge of the High Bridge. The fall was so quick, and Rory barely had enough time to consider taking a breath let alone actually sucking in air and holding it in his lungs. He plunged after the rock and into the Yuklit River. At this point the real fear hit him—or perhaps it was simply the force of his body smacking against the cold rush of the river that actually hit him, and the fear simply followed—and Rory was convinced he really was going to die.

   Roderick Casbury spent very little time thinking about death, but when the occasion seldom came for him to ponder his own, he always imagined it being completely epic. Perhaps during a sword fight in a castle tower over the love of an extremely gorgeous and sexually experimental princess, or while fending off a band wicked and rather skillful assassins come to steal a treasure he himself only just collected from some dangerous ruins, or even better a death at the mercy of a fire-breathing dragon! Instead, here he was, sinking to the murky depths of the Yuklit River. Time must move faster when Death came knocking at the door, for Rory realized he was no longer descending. The rock at his feet had hit the riverbed, and he now only had to wait for his endurance to fail him.

   Then he felt a body slam into his legs. Likely it was Bozius’ corpse, the ox of a man unable to take the strain of holding his breath after the impact of the river shattered every bone in his body. Then, suddenly, Rory felt the rope at his ankles release and Bozius clapped a hand over Rory’s mouth as the two men rushed to the surface, taking sanctuary in the shadows beneath the High Bridge.

   “You big cry baby, the river ain’t but ten twelve feet deep here,” Bozius smiled as he used a dagger to cut the ropes that bound Rory’s wrists.

   “Now what?” Rory asked, trying to look about.

   “Here,” Bozius handed him a short sword. “Now we run. Hopefully we can get to some horses before the loonies up there realize we ain’t dead.”

   “They’re right here!” screamed the voice of a young boy. “I sees ‘em right here!”

   “Alright, so much for that,” Rory noted. “Plan B?”

   “Plan B is that I’m faster than you,” Bozius proclaimed before leaping away and taking off.

   The two men charged out from under the bridge and ran in what seemed like the right direction at first. Before they knew it they were heading back into the busiest part of town. With an angry mob at their heels and a maze of streets to deal with, Rory came up with an idea.

   “Plan C: the inn!”

   “Are you nuts?” Bozius snapped. “That place is the reason we’re soaking wet and running for our lives right now.”

   “Our horses are there,” Rory said, “and so’s our money.”

   “The inn it is, let’s go,” Bozius agreed wholeheartedly.

   The crowd from the execution was gaining, but as Rory and Bozius continued their mad dash, the inn finally came into view. Somehow, as if by fate, the innkeeper’s daughter was standing outside with the horses and the men’s sack of stolen money.

   “Sweet girl, you are an angel indeed,” Rory said, taking the moneybag and handing it to Bozius, who was already in his saddle. Rory kissed the beautiful girl quite deeply before mounting his horse. “Darla, if the stars could step down into this world and be people, they would all look as gorgeous as you do.”

   “My name’s Lana!”

   “And I’ll never forget you, my star,” Rory waved as he kicked his horse into a gallop and chased after Bozius, who wasn’t waiting around for anything.

   The angry mob finally reached the inn, but they were too late. Huffing and puffing, the disappointed crowd dispersed. Angry beyond description, face red with boiling frustration, Cecil threw down his tricorn hat and kicked wildly at the dirt.

   “Who on earth is that man?” he asked, breath escaping him for the moment.

   “He’s the world’s greatest lover,” Lana replied, sliding her hands down her bodice. “And the father of my baby!”