The Glyph of Truth

The Traitor Strikes

On his way to the outhouse, he met Demijohn, who had put his shirt back on, and had a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder.

"Are you going to shoot some rabbits?" Harcourt asked.

Demijohn merely smiled.

"You lied to your father, and your childhood friends," Harcourt stated.

"Of course I did. This is the arse-end of nowhere. My father and all the rest of them are staunchly loyal to the Commonwealth and the Council of Patricians. I had no choice."

"Well, I guess, as a unionist you are used to lying."

For a moment, Demijohn seemed ready to punch him. Instead, he clapped him on the shoulder.

"Still better than lying to myself," he said. "I'll take a stroll around the airfield. I need some fresh air."

Harcourt looked after him for a few seconds, until his bladder reasserted its needs. On his way back to the hall, he heard distant shouting from the direction of the airship, followed by a gunshot, then a second.

Harcourt ran to the airfield. He couldn't see very well in the dark, and stumbled several times. The airship seemed undamaged, but he knew that a small leak in one of the gas bags would only become obvious after several hours.

"Over here," he heard Demijohn call.

Demijohn was kneeling on the ground, cradling Larkhill in his arms.

"I'm sorry, John," Larkhill wheezed, bleeding copiously from a wound in his chest. "I'm sorry."

"Why did you do it? Were you an agent of the Sharky all along?"

"No, never. I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of the golems, John." Larkhill coughed and groaned. "They're too dangerous to let loose. Who knows what they will do? After thousands of years as slaves, they might want to kill us all. I... I was..."

Larkhill coughed, then slumped.

"I think he's dead," Harcourt said.

Valdez and several villagers arrived at the scene.

"What happened?" Valdez asked.

"I caught him slipping the mooring cables," Demijohn explained. "I tried to stop him. He shot at me. I shot back. I killed him. He said he was afraid of ---"

"He was secretly working for the Lake Charter Fishers' Union," Harcourt cut him short. "They sent him to sabotage our mission. They fear your competition. Better quality fish at lower prices."

The villagers muttered to each other. Valdez asked: "Is the ship damaged?"

"I don't think so. One of the shackles is slipped. I don't think he did anything else."

"If he had torched the ship, I would have suspected foul play," Valdez mused. "But if the ship had just slipped away..."

"It might have looked like an accident if some of the mooring rings had broken, or mooring lines had snapped," Harcourt said. "But he was just untying the ship. It would have been obvious that it was sabotage."

Valdez grunted assent.

Demijohn rose, lifting Larkhill's corpse in his arms as if it were a child's. "Let's take him to the temple."

"First, the mooring cable," Valdez contradicted him. "Three strong men with me," he addressed the villagers.

Harcourt accompanied Demijohn to the temple. By the time they arrived, the whole village had been alerted to the shooting.