The Tale of Tie-Burn Tridds

by Chris Chapman

Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

“Poppycock,” Berman replied. “Pure poppycock. Why, you’re nothing more than a deranged old coot, one that’s too stupid to remember how to die. I’ll wager I have goods in my bag that possess greater degrees of misfortune than yourself.”

Now silence sat in, plonked himself right down beside me and joined our little night meet. Only a distant rumbling could be heard, which I think may have been old Tridds grinding his teeth in thought.

“Bet ya life on it, boy?” he said. Those words to him must have tasted sweeter than strawberries.

“Most certainly,” Berman answered, just straight out without a moment’s thought. I felt like running over and handing him a death warrant to sign now to save time.

“Then give it ya best and hurry up. I got me a thirst for the blood of a redcoat.”

“Charming,” replied Benjamin raising an eyebrow. He lowered himself onto bended knee and opened his bag, rifling around inside. “This belonged to Mauve Dandy. Mauve was a thoroughbred horse, born from grand stock from the finest of upper-crust stables. It raced thirteen times, finishing last in each one, and then in its fourteenth and final race, as it reached for the finishing line ahead of the rest of the field, it spontaneously combusted. Quite a mess, so I’m told, and this horseshoe was all that was found of both horse and rider.”

Tridds howled with laughter, throwing his head back with a loud crack of his spine, and laughed long and hard.

“Do your worst!” he barked, cutting the merriment short and snarling down at his opponent.

Now Berman walked over to that tree with the horseshoe in one hand, a hammer in the other and a nail between his teeth. He placed it against the trunk of the tree, pointing downwards, and drove the nails home. I could see from where I crouched that the moment Mister Berman backed away, the horseshoe began to glow. I couldn’t fathom just why or how it happened, but I’m telling you it did. Likewise Tridds didn’t know what to make of it all and he let out a grunt of confusion.

But slowly the horseshoe started to sink into the tree bark, like dropping a stone into mud. It just vanished right inside that tree.

Tridds howled again and then let rip with a hoot of victory.

“No way hombre, it’s just not enough to see off old Tie-burn Tridds!”

It seemed that first blood went to the swinging ghoul. But I knew this battle was far from over.

“Relent, phantom, for the night is still young and your boasts may be plentiful but are quite premature. I’ve got more than one trick up my sleeve, you’ll see; feast your eyes, or what’s left of your eyes, on this!”

Now once again those white dove hands landed on his bag and then dipped inside. Lord alone knew what lay beyond the leather of that bag, but it clunked and clattered until finally he drew out a mirror. Its face shone silver and cast a circle of light at Berman’s feet.

I could see that Tridds still smiled down upon his bested foe, but now part of him seemed to flutter. I couldn’t quite grasp what it was at first, but dang me if it didn’t seem old Tie-burn was scared of this fella.

Benjamin began to speak again. “This hand mirror was once owned by a beautiful Viscount, a woman loved by those in her kingdom and lusted after by those in the countries around her. But she loved a blue-blooded Baron, who had a broad chest and blond hair. Everyone had to admit that a finer couple you’d be hard put to find.

“Now, on the night that the Baron had been set to ask for her hand in marriage, everything seemed to be going swimmingly. The dress had been picked and a corset strung in place and even her wig had been powdered and plumped. All that remained was for her make-up to be applied, something she insisted upon doing alone.

“So, with this hand mirror to gaze into, she wiped the day’s dirt from her face, cleaning it all apart from this one spot. Such an annoying little blemish it was, and it sat on the tip of her nose. So she scrubbed and she scrubbed at this tiny dot, but it just wouldn’t shift no matter what she used.

“Indeed she scrubbed so hard that in time she drew blood, but even at this point she just didn’t stop. The dot was still there, poking out of the dribbling red and as soon as she saw it a sort of mania took over her mind. She just couldn’t stop until that speck had been removed. So she scraped and she scraped and she scraped her entire face away, till eventually it fell to the floor, now a pulpy mess.

“When her courtier came to take her to dinner, he saw his love lying in a pool of blood, and how her beauty had been stolen and replaced with a featureless red mask, and he too became a victim of mania. Taking her mirror, he plunged its handle deep into his heart. It killed him instantly.

“In time it wandered through the black market, and in time it wandered into my hands. As you can see if you stare close enough, the tiny dot still sits there smugly, nothing more than an impurity in the glass itself.”

He turned the mirror and shone its force in Tridd’s face. It was hideous to see, that worm-ridden face, illuminated. Skin sagged, bloated with rotten flesh underneath, his jawbone showed, and his top lip was missing. So Berman slammed the mirror into the tree trunk, and it shattered and twinkled to the grass like twilight dust.

“Seven years ain’t enough to beat me, fool!” shouted Tridds, unfazed by the occurrence. “Nor love lost bad nor vanity nor anything. Now make use o’ that glass as a makeshift pig sticker and give me what’s rightfully mine!”

“In time, in time,” replied Berman dropping the mirror. “I’ve one more tool to use, and if that’s not good enough I’ll concede defeat, as any gentleman would, and only then will I give you my life as I promised.”

Personally I felt that the situation was grim. Nothing that the gentleman had tried so far had even slightly affected that ancient corpse, and now, knowing that this would be the final attempt, I’ll admit I was all set to hurry on back home and try and find comfort in the arms of sleep.

“So what is it this time? Hurry, hurry, dead man, I want to see you squirm in pain!” cried Tridds manically. “Show it, fancy pants, show, show, show! I’ll just laugh in your face as I done each time past.”

“My but you’re a dreadful bore, and yes, I might be worried a touch but for one small fact. You see, I know my last piece cannot fail. I know you’ll falter, Tie-burn, I know you’ll falter when you see this.”

So for the final time on that fateful night Berman delved into his bag of tricks, and I’ll admit that I had the jitters right then, because all he pulled from out of that bag was a lousy old chicken bone.

“A chicken bone?” growled Tridds, and he laughed away as he had done all night.

“Not quite, you seeping ruffian, although a good guess for one with such an obvious visual impairment. This,” he said holding the item aloft, “is in fact the little finger bone of Fritz Ludlow, the unluckiest man ever born into this world. He was struck by lightning thirty-six times, and married seven times to women who all got hit and killed by Number 24 buses. Won big on the horses eighteen times in a row, only to lose the ticket every time.

“Attempted suicide every day for thirty years, but even that wouldn’t bring him respite. Word has it he was gifted with a call from the Son of God, only to mislay the front door key to his house and miss out on the visitation. Fritz Ludlow was a walking jinx.”

Now it wasn’t confidence or arrogance or any such thing that brought this English man to our town. I just knew he weren’t one to try to steal bragging rights and boast about his mystical abilities. You know, looking back I ain’t even sure if what he said about each and every thing pulled from that bag was true. But in one brief moment I sort of understood what this hoo-ha had all been about.

You see, not so long back at the Apple Blossom Inn there was a run of bad luck customers; ones that had turned up and drawn plenty from a poker pot, only to return home to find that their houses had been ransacked while they were out. This game so craftily played by Mister Berman reminded me exactly of that; it was nothing short of misdirection.

He was bluffing big and betting heavy, with his life at stake and all, but really the gamble between them was the least important thing going on. As cunning as a fox, that one, and it was that cunning that won our town its freedom.

“What I’ll do is quite simple,” began Berman, and he crouched and forced the bone into the ground. “I will take this bone and carve a line, or crack as ill-fate likes to term it. I will cut a crack into the earth, and should you be able to step on a crack created using the finger of the world’s unluckiest man... then and only then will I concede to you.”

“Easy as pie,” spat Tridds and he’d have salivated at the prospect I just know, but for the fact his glands had long ago rotted away to nothing. Not one show of understanding, not the smallest of inklings entered Tridd’s brain.

He was consumed with hatred so much so that he’d forgotten the words that had crept out of his own throat only twenty odd minutes back. He was down on the ground before the line was even complete, so desperate was he to show this upstart who was boss, so eager to show just how powerful he was.

Wiggling his neck he slipped that noose, his only saving grace for all these years, for the very moment his toe touched down on the ground, then the ground opened up like the jaws of a giant beast and swallowed him down to his new-found home in hell. Benjamin Berman allowed himself a little chuckle, and then he drew a blade, cut the noose from its branch and slipped it into his bag.