The hangman comes to Tyche - part 1
A kitten adopts Taggard Collima
Grit ground beneath Taggard Collima's feet as he stepped out into the sandy street. The constant dust thrown up by the mines coated everything in an orange film and left a metallic taste is him mouth.
He blinked against the sudden brightness of a Tychean midday. His hat didn't offer enough shade. His office had been dark, though not much cooler. Still, a fresh rivulet of sweat ran down his temple.
Pulling a damp handkerchief from his pocket, he lifted his hat and wiped his brow. He shoved the hat back on his head and the hankie into his pocket. Then he started down the street, towards Fountain Square, which sat in the centre of Ate.
He snorted, as he often did when he thought about the square — the fountain had broken long ago. On its best days, it was a fetid pool. Though today all it held were the corpses of desiccated weeds and algae. The stench of decomposing plant matter filled his nostrils.
Even though it was market day, the square was quiet. Only a handful of customers wandered between the few stalls.
Taggard tipped his hat at the keeper of the first stall. The man’s lips tightened into a small smile that could also be interpreted as a frown. Taggard dropped his hand. He’d known Merik Sing since he’d been a kid. After helping his mother bring vegetables to market, he’d followed the older, cooler Merik around like a dog.
Taggard’s own lips tensed into a frown, etching lines of memory and regret on his face. That had been years ago. Before his sister had died, before he’d fled to the stars. He glanced around the square. Even though he'd known most of the people there all his life, they were strangers to him now.
They all peered at him with suspicion. And he knew why.
His hand lifted towards the badge over his heart, but he dropped his hand before his fingers touched it. It marked him as an employee of the Dominion. And not just any employee -- it said Taggard Collima was sheriff, a member of the security apparatus.
The rumble in his stomach reminded him of why he’d left the cool confines of his office. He squared his shoulders and headed to a stall with an awning that sheltered its patrons from the vicious sun.
The woman keeping the stall squinted at him as he neared but didn’t engage in the usual vendor’s patter.
He cleared his throat. “Nita, two rasa chola wraps please,” he requested, focusing his gaze down at the bowls of steaming ingredients. The scent of spices tickled his nose and made his stomach growl.
He jerked as something rubbed against his ankle. Glancing down, he noticed the grey kitten that had been hanging around lately. Its green eyes peered at him. “And a dollop of that minced mugrat,” he added.
His niece, Nita, let out a sigh. “Why do you always come to my stall?”
He looked up to find her peering at him, two wraps nestled on a broad leaf beside a pile of seasoned meat. Her head tipped to the side, and her brown eyes narrowed. The pay pad beeped, prompting him to tap his wrist to it to complete payment.
“Because you make the best rasa chola.” And I feel like I own it to my sister to support you, he thought but never said. Instead, he nodded, then took his lunch and went to sit in the shade against the crumbling assembly house. The grey kitten followed and, as soon as he sat down, pawed at the hand holding the leaf.
“Hold on, Cat.” He tore off the portion of leaf that held the mugrat and placed it in front of the kitten. Taggard ran a hand along the cat’s spine to find it not as bony as it had been even a few days ago. The cat let out a contented purr as it scarfed the minced meat. The animal’s arrival was a mystery. There weren’t any female cats about that he knew of — they tended to flee the planet as soon as they could.
Looking south over the buildings, towards the port, he caught a ship breaking atmo, taking with it the raw output from the mines. Returning his gaze forward, he squinted against the sun as he peered down the main road, towards the hill outside town. A battalion of archaeologists and security personnel crawled over it like ants. Maybe one of those new arrivals had brought the creature, then abandoned it.
As if on cue, a pair of security officers strode into the square from a side street. The hushed murmur of the dejected market fell into silence. The officers seemed oblivious, the one patting the other on the back jovially.
Taggard tracked their progress across the square as they went from stall to stall, sampling food without paying and sneering at the handcrafted goods. His jaw clenched as the pair paused at Nita’s stall. He couldn’t hear the words, but it was obvious from the man's posture that he was trying to chat up Taggard's niece.
His stomach turned sour, ruining his lunch.
The more Nita didn’t react, the more frustrated the man became -- a shift clear to Taggard, though he couldn’t tell if his niece realized. He quickly devoured the rest of the second rasa chola wrap in one bite and stood, wiping his hands on his pants. The cat mewed at him, but he ignored it as he strode back to his niece’s stall.
“I was only trying to be friendly, but you’re just like all these other sand rats.” The man spat into Nita’s bowls of ingredients. “Common dirt.”
“Hey!” The spice of the rasa chola competed with the sourness in Taggard’s stomach as he spoke, causing the soldier to turn his sneer on him. But better him than Nita. “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Sheriff Sand Rat.” The man smirked. “Our work is done. Time for you to do yours.”
A pit formed in Taggard’s stomach, and the rasa chola burbled in the sudden nausea. He swallowed the bile rising into his throat.
“Well, show me then.” He indicated that the soldiers should lead the way — and leave the square and his niece behind. His shoulders relaxed a fraction and he exhaled as they followed his nudge. He didn’t look up to meet the eyes of the townspeople as he trailed the soldiers down the street.
He understood what the soldier meant when he said it was Taggard’s turn to work: Inspector Sharp had meted out more justice, and Taggard had another body to deal with.
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