had a day or two
to digest, and there were other things in there too—what was
clearly turning into a slimy brown lump below Mister Syrmes,
assuming it were really him, and what must have been a big bird,
perhaps a heron or pelican, a stork or something above
Syrmes.
The
snake must have gotten a little peckish—as Day had put it. While
they might go a long time between meals, they were opportunistic
feeders. They poked around and finally exposed a face, one eyeball
staring accusingly out at them. The hydrochloric acid had been at
it, and it was a sight.
It was
Syrmes, all right.
There
was also the hint of a khaki strap under a mess of half-dissolved
feathers and hair and one or two other nameless things
besides.
Hooking
a stout stick under the strap, stomach heaving but mostly under
control, Jeremy put his boot down on the soggy mass and began
pulling and twisting and working it back and forth.
***
“ Goodness gracious.”
It was
all there. It was heavy too. The knapsack appeared to be intact,
for the most part, and still sealed with its leather straps and
brass buckles.
The
smell caught at the back of Jeremy’s throat and he had to turn
away.
“ Is she really gone, then?” Uncle Harry seemed quite put
out.
He’d
wanted her to see this—
“ Here, lad. Take a break.” Mister Day took over the better
stick, poking the knife in and pushing and pulling assorted bits,
bone, flesh and hair, out of the way.
He
dry-retched a couple of times, very contagious that was, too, and
then went on.
“ Not a very nice way to go, it is?” Mister Mateo had a bit of
morbid curiosity in him, that and the fact that he would like to be
paid at some point.
This was all terribly fascinating of course, and now he would
have a real story
to tell.
“ No. It isn’t.”
Day
cleared his throat.
“ He would have quickly lost consciousness. One would hope.” He
grunted. “Bastard that he was…”
Mister
Day had the knapsack free, for the most part clear of
other…things.
“ We’ll bury him right here—perhaps we could ask the natives for
a shovel.” Uncle Harry proffered coins. “Oh, yes. And a bucket or
two of water.”
Señor
Mateo spoked in excited tones and a bunch of them ran
off.
It
didn’t take very long before they were back, some of them with
shovels and some of them with nothing more than primitive digging
sticks. They opened a hole in the soft ground in pretty short
order, and then Jeremy and Mister Day, using borrowed shovels,
tipped and rolled what was left of Mister Syrmes into the
hole.
Rifle
and all.
Some
sort of words would seem to be in order, and so they all turned to
Uncle Harry.
“ Er…well.”
He took
off his hat, the horrible-smelling knapsack at his feet.
“ Most of us, good or evil, don’t really get what we deserve in
this life. However, in this particular case, one William Syrmes,
formerly of Shrewsbury, and now a permanent resident of Venezuela,
would appear to be an exception. Ah. Er. Argh. God damn your soul
to everlasting hellfire, Mister Syrmes.” He raised his head and
nodded at their cheerful helpers, fascinated by everything they
did. “May you rot in hell, sir.”
Mateo
laughed, delighted, translating to an eager crowd.
They
shoveled in dirt and Uncle Harry began distributing small coins to
anyone that would take them, although one or two still seemed
pretty shy.
One
could hardly blame them for that.
***
Mrs.
O’Dell had somehow persuaded someone to paddle her home, but then a
few coins and a white face went a long way in this
country.
When
they arrived back at Buena Vista, the first place they went was the
bank. This time Mister Day and Jeremy went in rather than waiting
out front. The manager, Señor Cezar, looked askance at the smelly
knapsack, but when ushered into his private office, after a quick
look at one or two of the smaller, more accessible pieces, he was
utterly convinced.
“ Goodness, gracious!”
“ Yes, well. For one thing, it
to digest, and there were other things in there too—what was
clearly turning into a slimy brown lump below Mister Syrmes,
assuming it were really him, and what must have been a big bird,
perhaps a heron or pelican, a stork or something above
Syrmes.
The
snake must have gotten a little peckish—as Day had put it. While
they might go a long time between meals, they were opportunistic
feeders. They poked around and finally exposed a face, one eyeball
staring accusingly out at them. The hydrochloric acid had been at
it, and it was a sight.
It was
Syrmes, all right.
There
was also the hint of a khaki strap under a mess of half-dissolved
feathers and hair and one or two other nameless things
besides.
Hooking
a stout stick under the strap, stomach heaving but mostly under
control, Jeremy put his boot down on the soggy mass and began
pulling and twisting and working it back and forth.
***
“ Goodness gracious.”
It was
all there. It was heavy too. The knapsack appeared to be intact,
for the most part, and still sealed with its leather straps and
brass buckles.
The
smell caught at the back of Jeremy’s throat and he had to turn
away.
“ Is she really gone, then?” Uncle Harry seemed quite put
out.
He’d
wanted her to see this—
“ Here, lad. Take a break.” Mister Day took over the better
stick, poking the knife in and pushing and pulling assorted bits,
bone, flesh and hair, out of the way.
He
dry-retched a couple of times, very contagious that was, too, and
then went on.
“ Not a very nice way to go, it is?” Mister Mateo had a bit of
morbid curiosity in him, that and the fact that he would like to be
paid at some point.
This was all terribly fascinating of course, and now he would
have a real story
to tell.
“ No. It isn’t.”
Day
cleared his throat.
“ He would have quickly lost consciousness. One would hope.” He
grunted. “Bastard that he was…”
Mister
Day had the knapsack free, for the most part clear of
other…things.
“ We’ll bury him right here—perhaps we could ask the natives for
a shovel.” Uncle Harry proffered coins. “Oh, yes. And a bucket or
two of water.”
Señor
Mateo spoked in excited tones and a bunch of them ran
off.
It
didn’t take very long before they were back, some of them with
shovels and some of them with nothing more than primitive digging
sticks. They opened a hole in the soft ground in pretty short
order, and then Jeremy and Mister Day, using borrowed shovels,
tipped and rolled what was left of Mister Syrmes into the
hole.
Rifle
and all.
Some
sort of words would seem to be in order, and so they all turned to
Uncle Harry.
“ Er…well.”
He took
off his hat, the horrible-smelling knapsack at his feet.
“ Most of us, good or evil, don’t really get what we deserve in
this life. However, in this particular case, one William Syrmes,
formerly of Shrewsbury, and now a permanent resident of Venezuela,
would appear to be an exception. Ah. Er. Argh. God damn your soul
to everlasting hellfire, Mister Syrmes.” He raised his head and
nodded at their cheerful helpers, fascinated by everything they
did. “May you rot in hell, sir.”
Mateo
laughed, delighted, translating to an eager crowd.
They
shoveled in dirt and Uncle Harry began distributing small coins to
anyone that would take them, although one or two still seemed
pretty shy.
One
could hardly blame them for that.
***
Mrs.
O’Dell had somehow persuaded someone to paddle her home, but then a
few coins and a white face went a long way in this
country.
When
they arrived back at Buena Vista, the first place they went was the
bank. This time Mister Day and Jeremy went in rather than waiting
out front. The manager, Señor Cezar, looked askance at the smelly
knapsack, but when ushered into his private office, after a quick
look at one or two of the smaller, more accessible pieces, he was
utterly convinced.
“ Goodness, gracious!”
“ Yes, well. For one thing, it
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