The Constable’s Duty

by Gary Clifton

Freezing rain borne on howling wind whistled through the eaves, muffling the sound of banging on the door at three in the morning. “Constable Hans Oleg Gutzweiller, you must come forth. Zeno Bucket is once again destroying the village square!”

Hans recognized the voice of Chief Councilman Kupp, a pompous ass and man of great influence in the community. Kupp’s family had operated the Roam Inn on the village square for generations.

Hans opened the door. “Please, step in out of the rain, Councilman.” Kupp, uncharacteristically silent, stood, dripping on the threshold while Hans dressed and found his cudgel.

Hans had, the very day before, received a new cudgel from the brigadier, the only weapon that Crown Prince Egor would allow officers of the law to use to defend themselves. A month previously, Zeno Bucket had wrested a cudgel away from Hans and beaten him severely about the head.

With Kupp trailing far enough behind to avoid any chance of injury, Hans advanced to the crashing sound of havoc. Zeno Bucket, an enormous, full-bearded fellow, had already tipped over several statues of honored former councilmen, all now moved on to their reward with the sacred ancestors. The statue of the Blessed Servant lay shattered on the cobblestone in front of St. Sennet’s Sacred Temple of the Limb of the Lamb.

As Hans approached, cudgel drawn, the evil Zeno Bucket ripped the front door of the Roam Inn from its hinges. The entire front of the building tottered, then the whole structure collapsed in a crashing crescendo.

Hans valiantly managed through chattering teeth, “Bucket, you ain’t that tough. I’ve heard the council had condemned that building already.”

Hans Oleg Gutzweiller had never coveted the position as constable, often fearing with good reason for his life and limb. He needed the two pence week to feed his young wife and three children. “Halt, Zeno Bucket!” he ordered. “Stop this frenzy immediately or face the force of the Laws of Skeptomania.”

Zeno growled, “You slay me.”

“You said it first.”

Zeno Bucket roared, “By the gods, while pillaging in the Valley of Grog last month, I’d heard that I’d killed you. Now you’ve risen from the dead. I must finish the task at once.” He advanced on Hans with glowing red eyes and murderous intent, brandishing the Roam Inn front door as a seriously large cudgel.

From the heavy door of St. Sennets appeared Mother Druzella DeMint, Purest of the Pure. She said softly, “Constable Hans Oleg Gutzweiller, what plan do you propose for responding to this disaster?”

“Resignation as constable would be one option, Holy Mother. Or a gratuitous bolt of lightning would be an alternate solution.”

Mother Druzella said, “Ah so. I’ll have to check the Holy Manual for a plan to summon forth lightning. I think that’s in Chapter twelve of...” She glared as the mighty monster Zeno Bucket advanced. Freezing him in his tracks with an indignant up and down, she said, “Stifle yourself, you odious ox, until I look up the rules.”

At that, Hans Oleg Butzweiller smacked his new cudgel on the forehead of the hitherto rampaging Zeno Bucket. The weapon shattered, parts clattering along the cold, rain-slick cobblestones. A small cut appeared above the bridge of Zeno’s nose.

Zeno Bucket cried out loud, “Oh, drat, I hope that don’t leave another scar.” He swung the Inn door at Hans Oleg Butzweiller with murderous intent. “Hans Oleg Butzweiller, I’ll put you in a grave.”

“That’s the last place I want to be, by grab.”

Hans fled into St. Sennet’s, slamming the huge door behind him. “Why’d I take this dumb Constable’s job, when the job of bell ringer of the Temple had been available?”

As Zeno Bucket pounded on the front door, Hans found Mother Durzella in the library, frantically tearing books from the shelves.

“By Jove, I have it,” she held up a dusty volume: Monster Suppression and Other Difficult to Find Remedies. “And, yup, right here in chapter twelve is the sacred ‘Calling Down Lightning on Rampaging Monsters’ chant.”

She marched to the front, threw back the heavy door and said, “Step back, buster. You’re in deep doodoo now.”

Zeno Bucket retreated. “Ho, ho ho.”

“Fool, you don’t know Christmas from Armageddon. This for you, baby.” She read, “Abba Dabba Jack, send down a few thousand volts to put Zeno Bucket on his back.”

A medium-sized bolt of lightning instantly struck Zeno atop his head. With a backward half summersault, he landed face up in the cold rain.

Hans exclaimed, “Wow, it worked! A perfect gainer, Mother Druzella. Did you usta teach swimming and diving?”

Mother Druzella said, “Oops, I must not have chanted loud enough, ’cuz this dude is still kicking. Here, lemme do it again.”

“Not for long, Mother,” Zeno Bucket gasped. “I’m finished. That was not a bolt to my liking.”

Councilman Kupp and several villagers approached.

Zeno Bucket looked up at Kupp with the piteous eyes of a sick puppy. “It was you, Councilman Kupp that caused my end. I agreed to pull down the Roam Inn building for only two Smackers and a Milky Way. Then I learned only last evening it was insured for a million Smackers. The village was going to have it torn down as a safety hazard, and you were going to profit.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” snarled Councilman Kupp. “Nobody can’t prove a doggone thing.”

Hans Oleg Butzweiller surveyed the crowd. “Oh, contraire Councilman, lots of witnesses have heard Zeno Bucket’s deathbed... er, cobblestone-street confession. “You’re under arrest for insurance fraud.”

“Humbug!” spat Councilman Kupp.

Mother Druzella smiled. “More of that Christmas confusion, again. Kupp, you’re as dumb as your toady, Zeno Bucket. Believe I’ll chant down a dose of lightning of your own.”

“No, no, I’m allergic! I paid Zeno Bucket to tear down the Roam Inn.”

Constable Hans Oleg Butzweiller said, “Kupp, you’re too dumb to get away with even an Inn-side job.”