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splinterswerve
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
splinterswerve.hotmail.com
by Matt Smith
Once upon a time in Assyria, it was a well-known law that only the King and his huntsmen were allowed to murder a lion. The citizens and even the noblest of the aristocracy were strictly forbidden this act, and the penalty for disobedience was being tossed into a roiling cauldron of acid.
One day the brave blacksmith called Nathan arrived home to find that a wild lion had wandered in from the desert and taken up residence inside of his house. It was curiously nosing at a piece of pottery on his living room floor, and lazily flicked its tail when it glanced up to see the homeowner.
Heeding the law of the land, and knowing that he could in no way harm the animal, Nathan immediately took to boarding up all of his windows and sealed off the front door to capture the lion inside. He knew that in a situation like this, the proper thing to do was preserve the lion where it was until the authorities could arrive on the scene. He immediately dispatched a letter to the Capital explaining his situation to the Department of Wildlife Management.
Nathan’s strong sense of civic duty dictated that he should skip work the next day to ensure the situation at home was resolved in an orderly manner, and this he did without hesitation—even though he knew it would mean delaying a number of crucial projects he had on the go, and that some of his customers would find it incredibly annoying that he wasn’t around to tend to their needs. But he was sure he could smooth things over with his particularly prickly patrons once he explained that he had had a run in with a real life lion, the Taboo Beast of the Court. This was such a novel occurrence, Nathan was sure that he could pacify anyone who complained by regaling them with his story.
He spent the day carefully eyeing the lion through a slit in the boards, cringing whenever it started climbing on his furniture or knocked over a pile of important papers. Eventually it figured out how to use the knob on his pantry door, and started rollicking about his kitchen floor in a huge pile of flour. Every few minutes it would stand up to shake itself off like a wet dog and endured a long fit of sneezes.
As evening approached in the East and the rest of the city went inside to their dinner, Nathan was greeted by a messenger with a response from the Capital. Disappointed that the young servant wasn’t accompanied by an animal control team, ready to extract the lion, Nathan opened and read the letter, which ran:
Citizen,
We thank you on behalf of the King for your interest in the laws of our state, and wish to thank you for your diligence in bringing this matter to our attention. However, as I'm sure you are aware, wildlife found within the Capital District or other urban centres falls under the jurisdiction of the Royal Menagerie; not the Department of Wildlife Management. We thank you for your time and hope that you find a speedy solution to your query.
Nathan shook his head and let out an exasperated chuckle at his own carelessness. This was just like the time he had omitted a colon on his request for plumbing assistance and wound up having to clean himself at the Public Baths for two weeks. One day he stumbled across a man, whom he was almost certain was his local City Councillor, being fellated by a Scythian in a public stall and, while he considered himself an open-minded individual, Nathan found this experience to be among the more profoundly disturbing events of his life. He was just managing to erase the lurid images from his memory, and wasn’t inclined to return to the den of fornication that was the Public Baths any time soon. He quickly wrote out another letter to the Royal Menagerie and sent the messenger off with his payment.
There was a chill wind blowing in from the North that night, but Nathan endured it out on his front porch like a perfect martyr. He didn’t have a coat with him, so he slowly passed the time hugging his knees and rocking back and forth to maintain a semblance of warmth. For minutes at a time he would slip into a light doze before waking up sprawled over his boardwalk, shivering and sore. He wasn’t sure whether his relatively muscular physique made this sleeping situation more bearable or if the extra weight on his body only forced him deeper into the wooden struts.
The next day, Nathan had to rub the tiredness out of his eyes to make sure they weren’t deceiving him. He was truly in awe to see the messenger galloping toward his home, once again unescorted by an animal control team. What was the problem this time?! He accepted the new response from the Capital, which read:
Good citizen,
We regret to inform you that you were misled when Wildlife Management referred you to our department, for in point of fact it is City Streets and Maintenance who are meant to deal with animal control problems arising outside of the zoo or other royal facilities.
We here at the Royal Menagerie are committed to providing the ultimate wildlife exhibits in a state of the art environment for all of our guests, and hope that you will consider us for your next family outing or business conference. Enclosed is a gift pass entitling the holder to 15% off of regular admission, redeemable Sunday through Thursday at participating locations.
Thank you for your query.
Nathan scowled. This was getting ridiculous. He couldn’t keep staying home from work like this, and meanwhile the lion was trashing his whole house! With great disdain he took up his pen and wrote out a new letter to City Streets and Maintenance. He included a request saying:
In the event that the capture and care of lions is not your department’s purview, I would very much appreciate it if you could please forward my letter to the appropriate office. I have been delayed twice now because of these sorts of errors, and I am in desperate need of assistance as soon as possible. Thank you.
…but it was wasted ink. The next evening, the messenger returned with a new response telling Nathan to go the Municipal Guard.
Days passed with much the same result. The Municipal Guard redirected him to the District Militia; the District Militia redirected him to Urban Affairs; Urban Affairs redirected him to the Zoning Authority; the Zoning Authority recommended a private establishment that they said had royal approval, but the proprietor of the establishment claimed he didn't know why he'd been getting letters all year, and that it would be illegal for him to interfere with the capture of a lion. He then suggested Nathan try to contact the Building Administration who redirected him to the Division of Residential Planning.
At this point, Nathan spent all day leaning against the front of his house in a catatonic state of boredom. Women would pass and avert their eyes before scurrying out of his line of sight. Normally they’d be casting flirtatious glances his way, but now he was caked in a dark patina of sand and grit, and the disaffected expression frozen onto his face made him look like an angry vagrant with a shiv in his belt.
He heard the familiar hoof beats of the messenger’s lone horse coming his way, and roused himself for what he supposed would unfortunately be another routine exchange of letters. He took the note that the messenger gave him with an ironic little grin, feigning politeness while acknowledging that he was too exhausted to try and make a bigger show of it. He broke the seal of the Division of Residential Planning and unfolded the letter which read:
Good sir,
While we are sympathetic with your plight, we are unclear why it is that you were sent to our agency. We are architects and engineers, and are unable to assist you. For future reference, remember that when dealing with animals of the carnivorous, jungle-dwelling variety, you will always want to contact the Department of Wildlife Management.
Queerly, Nathan felt a distinct flutter of physical pleasure course through his body when he read this. There was something beautiful about finally being directed back to the department he’d contacted on the first day of his ordeal. He realized he was holding proof that the government apparatus was completely inept, and that he had surely done everything in his power to follow the letter of the law. This would all end tonight!
Using a nub of charcoal he picked up off of the ground, he scrawled out the following:
People of government, to whom it may concern,
To maintain a lion within my home, I have had to leave my foundry closed down and dark for the better part of three weeks, and spend what little savings I have on meat to keep it alive. The lion has destroyed most of my keepsakes and personal effects, it has befouled the bed that I sleep in, and it has rendered my house uninhabitable. Every attempt I've made to alert you to the situation has been met with bureaucratic pickle smoking, but the buck stops here. I will not harm the lion, but it shall be delivered in a cage to the steps of the palace tomorrow morning.
Yours, Nathan the blacksmith.
Without waiting for any kind of a response, Nathan assembled his big bad battering ram using his apron of tools, and reduced his front door to splinters gone flying through all corners of the house. The odour of large amounts of putrid shit hit him like a team of stallions. The lion looked up from where it was licking at its paw and offered a token growl.
"Oh yeah? Fuck you, big boy. You're comin' with me…"
The next day, Nathan surveyed the ruins of his once decorous home and let out a sigh. Life could be rough sometimes, he thought, but if we just stick to our principles and maintain some level of self-respect, things would turn out okay in the end. He supposed that at the very least, his experience with the lion had built character, and now that it was over he could clean and relax before a long day of catch-up at the smithy tomorrow.
He was just settling down on his knees with a pan full of lye and a scrub brush, when the ground started to tremble and there was some kind of yelling outside. Nathan perceived that the earthquake was being caused by a great number of horses! Was the animal control team coming now? Ha. A little late, friends!
Just then a team of imperial eunuchs blitzed their way in through the busted front door to grab Nathan by all four limbs and his scalp before he had a chance to think. They carried him out into the street where a crowd of his fellow townsmen were amassed in the middle of the square.
Slaves were attending to a fire at the base of a colossal black pot filled with hydrochloric acid that audibly bubbled and filled the air with a bitter stench, something like a mixture of body odour and gangrene. Above the acid a makeshift gallows had been constructed, and the eunuchs forced Nathan’s gaze upward to spot the King himself sitting at the top, surrounded by the High General of the Assyrian Armed Forces on his right, and a spindly woman in black leather who could only be Helena, Supreme Executrix of Greater Mesopotamia, on his left. Trumpets sounded and standards glimmered in the bright morning air.
The King pointed at Nathan with his right hand and proclaimed, “There stands the man who believes he is above the insolence of office. Marvel at him!"
A wave of gasps ran throughout the crowd. Nathan lost bladder control and stood there, completely agog. The eunuchs forced him up the gallows’ steps, and he hurriedly tried to think of something he could say to all of the famous people he was about to meet. When he reached the top he felt a sense of vertigo, both from the heights and from the dazzling personalities he was now face-to-face with. Helena’s cleavage stole his attention for an instant, but he forced himself to make eye contact. Sensing that everyone up here was pissed off at him for some reason, Nathan’s thoughts began to coalesce into some semblance of linearity, and he realized that he was in deep trouble. “Oh shit, I—hehheh, because it was like… the thing,” he blubbered, and finally threw himself to the deck to plead upon the mercy of the benevolent King who had been bequeathed to him by God.
The King was in a playful mood that day, and sensed an opportunity to mix things up a little for the audience. Instead of getting out of the way so Helena would have room for one of her popular kill shots, he raised his boot and planted it square in the face of the suppliant Nathan, and forced him backward over the edge of the platform.
In the one and a half seconds it took for him to make contact with the simmering pool that would raze the flesh off of his bones, Nathan thought himself blessed to have been graced by so noble a touch. And as he died, or rather, in the split second before he was vaporized by the caustic fluid, he had an expression on his face of the utmost gratitude.
The crowd erupted into manic applause. A couple of folks who were splashed when Nathan hit the acid ran about screaming, and delightfully high-pitched laughter broke out among the children. Some people started chanting, “HEL-EN-A! HEL-EN-A! HEL-EN-A!” and she performed some routines with her trademark battle-axe. Eventually the King ordered some thieves be brought down from the City Jail for her to dice up, and this she did with typical flair before dispatching their corpses down to the acid. After two encores, the show packed up and headed back to the Capital, but the crowd celebrated long into the night.
After that year’s census was taken, the Bureau of Human Enumeration would report a small “boom” in the number of babies born nine months after the day Nathan was killed, and so it was that the soil of the nation was enriched by the blood of a lowly blacksmith.