Free Heraclix and Pomp: A Novel of the Fabricated and the Fey by Forrest Aguirre Page A

distances, probably from being raised in the mountains where we grew stronger than the people down in the hills and meadows. ‘Lungs of iron,’ Mom used to say. So I delivered letters, legal documents, and small packages for whomever would pay my fee. I became a well-known messenger. Fast, strong, and, most of all, trusted.”
    “How did you find customers?” Heraclix asked. “Or, rather, how did they find you?”
    “Since we lived out here,” Nicklaus indicated the cottage around them, “we were a sort of bridge between Bozsok and Vienna and Prague and everything that lay between. We got to know strangers, travelers, people who lived on the fringes, before anyone in Bozsok met them. The man who sent that,” he pointed at Heraclix’s hand, “lived, still lives, I think, not far from here.”
    “He—that man—had a bad reputation among the villagers, but I was too young to know why, and I never really cared—never gave it any thought all these years. He paid well, that’s all I cared about.”
    “How do you know he had a bad reputation?” Heraclix asked.
    “Mothers and grandmothers warned us against going in that direction. Said he was in league with the devil himself. But what did I care? He offered a hefty sum, a bag full of gold thalers, to deliver the hand, with the promise of more when I returned. I would be secure for a very, very long time. I could pay off my mother’s debts and give her a good life. She deserved that. She was so good to me.”
    Nicklaus sniffled, stifled a tear, looked again at the vodka bottle.
    “It is good to help mother,” Pomp said. “Say more about the man.”
    “He was good to his word. A bag full of gold thalers, and I delivered the hand. The man on the other end gave me a return package and a generous tip, as well, though I sensed he did so because he felt obligated to. He didn’t seem naturally generous.”
    “Tell us about the other man,” Heraclix pleaded.
    “I hardly remember anything. He was old, well dressed. I never learned his name and was ordered specifically not to ask. In any case, I returned home but stopped at the Serbian man’s home first. Upon delivering the package, the Serb was very thankful and handed me two bags of silver thalers in addition to the gold he had already paid. I had never imagined such wealth. I was eager to share the good news with my mother.”
    “That is good news!” Pomp said.
    Nicklaus continued: “When I came back here, she wasn’t outside working in the garden, as I would have expected her to be at that time of day. I called out and checked the woods outside of our garden, where we kept the firewood, but found nothing. Finally, though it was midafternoon, I entered the cabin.”
    He choked up again. This time he couldn’t stop the tears entirely.
    “And there she was.” He pointed up. Heraclix and Pomp turned, puzzled, to look where he was pointing: a set of empty rafters. “She was there, hanging by a rope.”
    He wept.
    “I am so sorry,” Heraclix said, and he was. He felt a deep emptiness in his chest where his heart may or may not have been.
    Pomp felt something just beyond mere curiosity, something different, something uncomfortable but strangely necessary. She wanted to do something for the man, but she wasn’t sure what to do.
    “She was long dead when I took her down,” Nicklaus said. “There was a note that read ‘Dear Nicklaus, your dealings with that man brings shame upon our house. I can no longer live with such shame.’”
    “I read the note and thought about it as I buried my mother in a clearing in the woods. Here I had worked to earn the money forher freedom, and the very source of that money had caused her death. I was despondent, in a dark and troubling dream for who knows how long. It’s a wonder I didn’t die of starvation. I don’t remember eating for a long time. I prayed aloud, apologized to God, my mother, and all the saints for what I had done, pleading for forgiveness. Alcohol, I