The Story and Song of Sam Greene Chapter Three: Slither and Slip
Encircling Dirty’s legs was a long, thick, undulating body of grey and black scales. He remained silent, gasping for a cry and searching for words that fear stole indefinitely. Dirty’s petrified form continued to stare through Sam and Maurice as if he was looking at some far-off horror, one-thousand miles away, and preparing to watch its every step; however, the silence was cut short by a haunting hissing from behind Sam’s left shoulder.
“Good evening, thievessss!” the voice loudly whispered as it wrapped around Sam’s back ushering him closer to Dirty’s catatonic stupor.
Sam and Maurice stumbled over to the scene only to be greeted by the very unfortunate sight they had expected. Staring daggers at the two of them with vertical slits of black through two glistening yellow eyes was a long, two-foot thick snake that constricted Dirty and had now surrounded the musical companions. Fangs fell down the corners of its mouth like two poisonous daggers, a curious tongue flicked about Sam and Maurice — sizing up their souls and sniffing for any hint of fear — and its head bobbed back and forth in a hypnotic dance that paralyzed all those luckless enough to gaze upon it.
“Explain yourselves!” the snake roared at its captives, “What business have you in my woods?”
Sam and Maurice stood, mouths agape, staring at the serpent ensnaring them. The snake turned to Dirty, loosened its grip slightly, and turned an expression of anger and wrath into one of annoyance and disgust. As it dilated its constriction Dirty snapped-to and began to breathe deeply — locking eyes with his foe and cowering back into it’s suffocating body.
“Dirty Shortlaces…” it said now focusing all of its attention to the pitiful halfling, “…you have some kind of nerve showing your face around here. Have you no respect? Have you no honor? Have you no pride?”
“Well…” Dirty responded with trembling voice and squinted eyes, “…if I’m being honest, Slandy…no I really don’t.”
“How dare you!” The snake yelled as its tail whipped Dirty’s cheek, “Show some respect and address me properly, you filth!”
“Ah!” Dirty cried in recoil from the attack, “Uh- uh- yes of course madam Slanderous, er- miss — your judicious — whew, I apologize! I’m a little nerv-”
“Silence you fool! You bumbling idiot of a creature. You may not call me Slandy or even Slanderous. You will refer to me as Madam Rapscallion.” She turned towards Sam and Maurice and began to smile an evil grin, “And what of you two? What will you call me then, hmm?”
Sam swallowed his terror, but it must have caught in his throat as his voice cracked out, “Madam Rapscallion?”
“No…” She responded, looking him up and down, and smiling a bit more softly, “…YOU two can call me Slanderous; this cretin will call me Madam Rapscallion.” She turned towards Dirty with a punishing glare and asked, “What are you doing here, Shortlaces? Disturbing my grounds once more? Haven’t you had enough fun in your life?”
“Uh- well, Miss- er, Madam Rapscallion, I was just minding my own business and- and…” Dirty looked to Sam and Maurice for some condolence or contribution, “…and that’s when I caught these two scoundrels digging up your graves!”
“What!?” Sam yelled incredulously, “That’s a load of donkey droppings! We heard him from the road striking gold in that skeleton’s skull, then we came up here ‘n caught him in the act!”
“You really are an annoying little brat, aren’t you?” Dirty snarled at Sam.
“You really still smell like old potatoes, don’t you?” Sam jabbed at Dirty.
“SILENCE!” Slanderous demanded, tightening her grip on Dirty. “Don’t take me for an imbecile, Dirty; I know you’ve been causing trouble in my turf.”
“Me?” Dirty questioned, aghast at the accusation. “Slandy, I was only-”
Slanderous struck at Dirty with a decisive chomp at the mention of this pet name.
“Er- Madam Rapscallion, I was only doing my basic business. Minding my own and watching out for everyone’s best interest.”
“You’re a sweet-talker and a bad liar, Dirty.” She replied, now bringing Sam and Maurice closer with a gradual constriction of her circle. “You may have ruled the roost once, but you are far from that throne these days, ay?”
She unraveled Dirty quickly and threw him into the grave he had dug up earlier.
“OOF!” They heard followed by silence as his body thudded heavily in the bottom of the grave.
“And what of you two, hmm?” She said as she built up her cylindrical wall of scales and muscle around Sam and Maurice, “Dangerous woods to be playing in; even more dangerous company to keep with this one!” She hissed loudly in Dirty’s direction; however, nothing but silence came from the now occupied grave. “Serves him right…”
She turned her attention to Sam, “Why would such an innocent boy be keeping the company of a true villain?” Her tongue flicked uncomfortably close to Sam’s face.
“He’s not my friend, and he is a villain.” Sam answered, keeping his chin up and eyes locked on his serpent captor, “I must say though, you don’t seem like much of a friend either.”
Slanderous gasped sarcastically, “But my boy, I saved you from that heathen!” She paused for a moment with a modicum of curiosity, “Do either of you have any idea who he really is?”
Maurice looked to Sam who was now frozen with fear, “No ma’am…” Maurice returned respectfully, “…we truly know nothing of this mongrel and we apologize for the intrusion onto your lands.”
Slanderous quickly shifted her eyes to Maurice as a chill of fear molted all of next winter’s down from his coat.
“Polite words from such a…tasty little avian.” She grinned evilly as she sniffed Maurice, “Well I’ll spare you the disappointments of his character.”
“Please, no need; we’re well familiar.” Sam said in an attempt at congeniality.
Slanderous spread her circle around the two slightly wider so she could right her intimidating head near the center and resume her hypnotic swaying, “Dirty was once a kingpin — a horrible, evil, little mobster. He worked in the black-market trade of human remains; now all that remains is his shovel and grave. He stole, hid, and shipped bodies up and down the river — twisting the waters for his dark purpose — stealing gold teeth, valuables to be buried, and anything else that was asked of him. But, my curious new friend, you don’t disturb the waters with such degeneracy and expect a sympathetic reception.”
She began forming concentric circles around the two, closing them in slowly towards her haunting gaze, “His evil turned the river wild, yesss! The water thrashed back at his wrongdoings and hasn’t since ceased.”
“The water thrashed back?” Sam interjected, instantly regretting his decision with a loud gulp of fear.
Slanderous let out a loud hiss at the recollection, “Look at the woods around you. Look at the trees — how sickly they hang and droop over their own self-pity. A wicked flood is upon us — Hell and high water won’t cage so easily!”
Sam looked over to Maurice while Slanderous reeled and continued to pulse serpentine circles around the two, and made a gesture as if to tell Maurice to fly away while he had a chance. Maurice stared back with pity and empathy strewn across his face — the inner turmoil of this moral conflict ripped at each chamber of his heart as the pros of leaving his companion heavily outweighed the cons. Then with a stiff upper-beak and puffed-out chest feathers he sternly shook his head at Sam and turned to face the beast once more — arm-in-wing with his friend.
“Curious to see you here too, winged-one…” Slanderous juxtaposed with an accusatory tone, “…why have you chosen this boy, hmm? Why do you follow him to doom? Why not leave these shores with your kin?” Slanderous smiled an evil grin, “Oh yes, yes, I know what your people are doing. I’ve seen the flight. I’ve seen the fear!” She was picking up the pace of her threatening tone, roaring the last words as she spread out her body across the graveyard — exposing her full, monstrous form. “What do you know that we don’t, hmm? What are you seeing from the skies!?”
“Hey, don’t pick on Maurice!” Sam yelled now standing up for his friend, “Slanderous Rapscallion, you’re a bully and we just want to leave you alone!”
“Oh but my little captive…” She slithered around behind Sam’s ear once more and whispered, “…that ship has long-since sailed. You belong to me now!”
Sam and Maurice stumbled forward, quickly turning to face their impending doom. Slanderous coiled her long body, cocked back her head, and exposed the fullness of her dripping fangs as she hissed a vicious nocturn and prepared to engage her meaty prize.
THWACK!
The ringing sound of shovel-on-skull never sounded so sweet as the snake plummeted forward, landing not half-a-foot from Sam. He clambered upright with Maurice perching on his strumstick once more, and the two looked upon their savior: an irreverent, unforgivable, and reprehensible halfling standing victoriously over the serpent with a swung shovel frozen over his left shoulder and a look of sheer terror plastered on his face. Dirty’s eyes looked down to Sam and Maurice, and with a hysterical cackle, bewildered open-mouthed smile, and small salute of good luck he left the two with an unimaginable, “Buonasera!”
Dirty jumped down off the snake and began to dig a hole faster than Sam ever believed possible. His pace like a team of hungry foxes chasing down a subterranean chicken coop, the halfling found himself dug and buried in his own personal grave in a matter of seconds. Suddenly an eerily fleeting silence again befell the graveyard as Sam and Maurice stood, terror-struck with paralysis, eyes, mouth, and beak agape with inexplicable confusion, and nothing but a now-rousing, self-admitted man- and bird-eater and the decision to run the opposite direction staring them in the face.
“We should uh…run…yeah?” Maurice proposed quietly, regaining his composure with a growing hazard and urgency in his voice.
“I’ll do the runnin’…” Sam said, backing out of the graveyard, still stumbling in fear as he watched the snake slowly come-to, “…you do the hangin’ on!”
With that, Sam turned around and bolted into the woods — hurdling artfully over the picket fence and out-of-sight. He ran, tumbled, leaped, and dredged his way down the muddy hill — dodging the columns of trees and bursting through every bush — bristled and beaten when he finally reached the bottom. The fear of certain death still hot on his heels, he made a final springing stride off a downed log and into the marshy rivulette running alongside the hedge and road they had been on just moments earlier. Sam paused — weighing his options — knowing that the road is full of danger at night, yet staying-put would offer him up as an innocent mouse to a reptilian slaughter. Just then, he heard a far-off crunching of leaves and a whispered “Hisssssss”, and with feet fleeing faster than his head could construe, Sam leapt onto the road with Maurice on his back and ran as quick as a dog could lick a dish.
Despite swearing to himself that he wouldn’t stop sprinting ’til the sun rose the next day and banished the evil veiled by every moon-cast shadow he could see, Sam was in fact quite relieved to happen upon a reputable-looking inn about one exhausting mile into his hysterical flee. ‘The Big Shanty’, the torch-lit sign read at the fenced perimeter of the inn’s grounds. The area was clean, the stable occupied by several content horses, and the warm orange glow of the tavern offered Sam and Maurice a reprieve from the dangerous darkness that had drowned them.
Panting through every word, Sam asked Maurice, “What do you think?” He gestured to the adjustable sign on the door that currently displayed ‘Vacancy’, “You think this is a safe place to wait-out the night?”
Maurice gave the place a once-over, flew over to the tavern window, and reported back to Sam, “Well I don’t see any giant killer snakes in here, so it’s head-n-shoulders above our current situation!” Maurice chuckled as he turned back to Sam, “Come on! Let’s stop here to rest. Tonight’s on me, kid.” Sam returned a small, grateful bow to Maurice and walked up to the front door of The Big Shanty.
The place, while humble in all respects of it’s woody tavern interior, resonated a warm, visceral hum through the floorboards and rafters. Candlelight shadows were all but drowned out by one-another’s glow, and a roaring fireplace in the back of the dining hall crackled whispers of dry socks and warm feathers as Sam and Maurice gazed fondly on their found oasis. Then, suddenly, a bevy of scents caught the two of them. First, the cornbread — of course. That sweet, deep, buttery loaf dove into their senses and stuffed their heads with a cakey filling. Such things could right any creature’s posture — lifting one’s nose higher and higher — chasing the flitting fumes to their origin; that’s when the main course hit. The explosion of crawfish, corn, onions, potatoes, and sausage being spilled out onto a communal table-mat shot through their nares and opened their eyes. Savoring the savory with every passing second of this low-country boil was torture as Sam and Maurice’s mouths leaked and cramped — pining for sustenance — dreaming of the…sweet potato pie? Yes. Despite the pain of several pinches, this was surely a dream as their eyes locked onto the pie and their legs, like steam-powered crankshafts, bypassed their better judgement and kicked into gear towards the feast.
“Howdy fellas…” A friendly voice said before a long, outstretched arm halted Sam and Maurice and snapped them out of their trance, “…might I be of some assistance?”
The voice and arm belonged to a tall, well-groomed older-man with a twirled mustache, recently trimmed and oiled grey hair desperately trying to curl its way out of his grooming efforts, and an apron that better belonged in the kitchen than behind the reception desk he found himself in now. Sam and Maurice, still coming to consciousness from their catatonic culinary coma, stared with blank expressions at the man who loomed over them with a kind but unintentionally imposing demeanor.
“I apologize…” the tall man said, now backing up to a seat behind his desk, “…name’s George Busbee and welcome to The Big Shanty! My new friends — how may I assist you this evening?”
“We’re…” Sam timidly began, now showing his exhaustion, “…umm — Mr. Busbee, we ran into a spot of trouble, and we’d like a place to sit awhile and maybe wait out the night.”
“Trouble?” George questioned with caution and intrigue as his demeanor shifted quickly to one of suspicion, investigation, and accusation, “Just what kind of trouble y’all been up to in these woods?”
Sensing some unintentional faux-pas, Sam quickly mitigated his statement, “Oh no, Mr. Busbee! We ain’t causing no trouble! Honest!” Sam continued with a growing panic concurrently weighing an ever-furrowing brow while lifting the fatigue of fleeing from his eyes, “No sir, we…”
“If my account means anything…” Maurice added from Sam’s shoulder, “…the boy’s telling the truth. And frankly, you have some dark dealings dwelling in your woods here, Mr. Tavernkeeper; some none-too-kind folk runnin’ amuck.”
George Busbee’s eyes narrowed and his gaze turned down, “Yes I’m…unfortunately I’m well aware of the trouble out there. I keep my ears down and my eyes up, and…well…” his voice trailed off as he looked to the window and took a deep breath.
“If it’s alright with you sir, we didn’t mean anything by it. We promise there ain’t a lick-a-trouble with or within us.” Sam said apologetically, prostrating himself with his head hung.
Snapping out of his weary gaze at the sight of this unnecessary humility, George quickly reassured Sam, “No, no, my boy. I didn’t mean to come off suspicious — sincerest apologies, friends.” He smiled, stood up, and beckoned the two in as he lifted the small gate beside the desk. “Just come right on in, little masters; we got pillow ‘n perch for all manner of tired travelers and a warm meal that’ll knock you out into ‘morrow’s morning!” As he closed the gate, noticing Maurice quickly searching his small pockets out of Sam’s view, the man kneeled down to meet their eye-level and with a gentle, welcoming hand on Sam’s shoulder said, “We’ve actually got a room upstairs that may be perfect for y’all; it don’t cost nothin’ but a sweepin’ of the tavern and some clean dishes when everyone heads off for the night.” He smiled and winked at Maurice.
Following the paternal ushering of George Busbee, Sam and Maurice found a cozy spot near the large stone fireplace in the corner of the room. Sam in a wicker rocking chair and Maurice on a smooth oak footstool, the two bathed in the warm waves of drying light emanating from the flames. George brought Sam the same comforting assortment of cornbread, low-country boil, and sweet-potato pie that enamored his senses when he first set nose in the tavern, and for Maurice an assortment of seeds and a cup of nightcrawlers that looked remarkably similar to a tomorrow-morning’s fishing bait. The two ate, barely spoke, and relaxed by the fire in their little corner of paradise as they watched a jovial crowd of all shapes, sizes, and species roll in and out of The Big Shanty like a communal watering hole. They felt safe — they were safe.
As the hours ticked by and the crowd thinned out Maurice smiled and turned to Sam, “Pretty nice evening I’d say! And hey, we still get to play our show, huh? I’d say — I’m thinking Flowery branch is only about a mile or two down the road at this point.” He let out a big yawn as he stretched out his wings and shook the sleep from all his feathers. “Alrighty then! Looks like everyone’s cleared out now, so where should we get started cleaning? You seen George around?”
Sam had yet to look over in Maurice’s direction as he spoke; he was looking over his right shoulder towards an open double-door leading out onto a porch. “I don’t think they’re quite all gone yet.” Sam said, keeping his gaze on the moonlit doorway, “What about them there?”
Outside the doors to the balcony of The Big Shanty sat three large owls on small perch stools with wool vests and large backpacks neatly placed under the table. Two of the birds shared a dark brown and spotted feathering with large yellow beaks and grey talons, while the third was smaller, white with a solitary streak of tan feathers running along both of its wings, and with endlessly black eyes that stared silently with its two companions at their half-eaten food in the moonlight. The owls said nothing to each other as Sam and Maurice quietly crept to the precipice of this solemn gathering. Their curiosity in the owls was met only by more silence and occasionally a heavier breath than the last, but no movement, no talking, and seemingly no plans to egress.
Sam looked over to Maurice, “What do you think they’re doing?” He turned back to the three owls as one of the browns lit a small match and illuminated an old candle on their table.
“Hard to predict my kin these days.” Maurice said with a guarded tone as he looked skeptically at the three remaining patrons. “But they do look glum, don’t they.”
As the three wicks were set flame, an orange glow befell the faces of these magnificent birds in the pale blue night. Their shadows were cast almost as long as the look on their illuminated faces now showed, and their monstrous silhouettes began to sway with them as they let out a deep and rhythmic “Whooo…Whooo-Whooo.” Their acapella grew into an intricate melody and harmony that rang out over the porch and adjacent creek it overlooked. Suddenly then a dozen other winged travelers stopped at nearby tree branches, doffed their hats in genuflection, and joined in a simple, elegant, yet forlorn dirge led by the trio.
The midnight breeze it sings a tome
Of every tomb this land will sow
And ne’er a harvest will they know
Now — time has come
For the flood — River’s blood
Sparing some — sparing none
Time has come — time has come
Gather wood and rock and steel
Bend your foe until it kneels
Truth in turn will be revealed
Now — time has come
For the flood — River’s blood
Sparing some — sparing none
Time has come — time has come
Abandon hope — abandon home
From this coop we now have flown
Maybe to forever roam
Now — time has come
For the flood — River’s blood
Sparing some — sparing none
Time has come — time has come
Sam and Maurice cleaned the tavern from top to bottom — Maurice handling most of the dusting and crumb clean-up, and Sam tending to the plates and busing tables. After a smiling seal of approval from George Busbee, the two were shown to a small room on the third floor of The Big Shanty where they would be staying the night. The room was modest, without any expected aspects of a room to spare save for a small bed, a lit gas latern, a wooden chair with a blue cushion, and a single window letting in the midnight moon.
“I know it’s not much, fellas, but I-”
“No…” Maurice interrupted, graciously looking up to George, “…it’s everything we could need.”
Mr. Busbee bowed out of the room and closed the door, leaving Sam and Maurice to ponder in shared silence what they had heard, where they had been, and what may lie ahead. Sam was particularly uneasy; he had been content on his creekbed fishing like he always did not a few hours before assaulting a mangy graverobber, being assailed by a killer snake, and cleaning a tavern from head-to-toe so he could get out of the cold. And now…what were those birds talking about? What was going on? Why did he ever agree to travel to an unknown town with a talking bird? Why wasn’t he at home, fishing, where he’d be safe? Was he going crazy? Countless questions innervated Sam’s restless mind as he lay staring at the ceiling, and while much he thought, little did he know.
