A Chicken on Trial: Chapter Five, Ruffling Feathers

As they exited the library, a bakers-dozen of royal guards turned the corner, ornate, glittering armor clanking as they marched. Bernadette froze, bowing her head with the most revenant expression Henrietta had seen from her. Henrietta, frightened by this bizarre display, buried her head in her lawyers shoulder.

“Your majesty,” murmured Bernadette, quiet and respectful, not like herself at all. Henrietta’s stomach sank, as the marching slowed, then ceased.

A voice, friendly but distant, spoke, “Bernadette Boss. You are the lawyer representing the hen witch! I have heard impressive things about you. I admire you for fighting a losing battle; someone must.” He leaned close, peering at Henrietta- she removed her head from Bernadette’s shoulder and peered at him in turn.

He was young. Long brown hair framed his soft, round face. He donned a golden crown too big and extravagant, and was all dolled-up in a flowing, rich-red robe. Facial hair pricked at his upper lip, but was leagues away from what anyone would call a ‘mustache.’ His majesty smiled primly at Henrietta. The guards behind him held their breath, their hands resting on their swords.

Bernadette lifted her head incrementally. She was holding her breath as well. “Your majesty,” she said, “this is Henrietta. She likes head scratches, as her handler Claudia Huber tells me.”

“Is that so?” asked the prince, “It’s a brave thing to bring her with you. You must really believe her innocence.”

“I do.” Said Bernadette. Her characteristic bravado was still lost somewhere beyond the hall, but she spoke with unwavering confidence. “I intend to show the council what I know next week, and clear her fine name beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

The prince retained his impassive, thin-lipped smile. But slowly, surely, he reached a gloved hand toward Henrietta and scratched her head. “I look forward to it, Ms. Boss.”

As the prince and his entourage vanished down the hall, Bernadette exhaled deep. Her shaking hand combed through Henrietta’s feathers quick, with energy that buzzed. But just a moment later, she grinned.

“That was good,” she said, “Good job, Henrietta.” Henrietta wasn’t sure that she’d done anything substantial, but she appreciated the praise, nonetheless. “Next stop, shall we?”

-

They climbed a flight of stairs that seemed to go on forever; Henrietta was glad that she didn’t have to do any of the walking, but she disliked how red and sweaty Bernadette had become. “We’re almost there,” she kept saying, mostly to herself, like a mantra. “Hells! If he wasn’t a hermit, he’d have calves like a war god’s.”

They arrived at a door, smaller and shabbier than any Henrietta had seen so far. Bernadette took a long moment to catch her breath, then rapped harshly against the rotten wood, hard enough to punch a hole through it.

An old, wizened man answered. He was missing an eye, but the one he did have bulged uncomfortably, a disconcerting blue. It lurched around it’s socket, before landing on Henrietta.

“Argh!” he screamed, “A demon!”

“No, Helgi,” said Bernadette coolly, “This is Henrietta, she is a chicken. People are saying she was possessed by a demon.”

“But… but…” Helgi peered at Henrietta again, then his eye shot back up to Bernadette. He straightened, and his face stilled, “I see. Come on in.”

His tower room unfortunately reminded Henrietta of her brief foray in the county cell. Bricks of stone lined the walls, and one small, barred window looked out into a glaring white sun. She tensed in Bernadettes arms, clucking in a vain attempt to soothe herself.

More concerning were the doodads, whatchamacallits, and thingy-majigs that decorated the bolted-down tables around the room. Most were pointy, all were iron. “Bok bok,” whispered Henrietta. Let’s leave, she was trying to say.

“It’s going to be alright,” said Bernadette.

“Over here,” commanded Helgi, violently gesturing toward the centermost table. It was covered in chains.

Henrietta squawked, then struggled, then screamed, as Bernadette carried her over, placed her down, and began to chain her up.

“I’m sorry, Henrietta,” said Bernadette, face all screwed up in regret, “I promise, this won’t hurt a bit.”

“It definitely will,” called Helgi, who stood on the other side of the room, picking up and putting down increasingly sharp implements.

Bernadette glowered, then softened as she looked back at Henrietta. She said gently, “We need proof you aren’t possessed. Helgi is an expert in all-things exorcism. He’ll get us the evidence we need!”

This did not appease Henrietta, who’s heart thundered in a rage. She wailed and thrashed against her chains. Bernadette backed away from her snapping beak.

“If you don’t think she’s a demon is disguise, why are you talking to her?”

“Because,” Bernadette started, paused, then continued, “she’s afraid, and I want to comfort her.”

Henrietta’s heart, newly healed, shattered again. She wished for Claude. She wished for her coop. Gods be damned, she wished for Peggy, and her stupid rotten face. “Bok bok!” she raged, I will never forgive you, she was saying.

“Get the salt,” snapped Helgi. Bernadette obliged. And soon, there was a ring surrounding her. Salt in the wound, on top of the chains. Helgi appeared above her, a knife, sharp as a butcher’s, in hand. “First, we anger the demon, to draw it to the surface…”

“I think she’s angry enough,” Bernadette cried hurriedly, staying his hand, “Let’s skip ahead.”

Helgi scowled but did put away the knife. “Very well.”

Languidly, he lifted his arms into the air and began to sway. A voice not his own chanted, pouring like honey from his mouth. Henrietta itched, then burned. She found she could not move, could not screech- she fixed her dark eye on Bernadette, gathering her fury and honing it like a spear, then hurled it toward her heart.

Bernadette flinched, but her arms remained crossed and gaze guarded. She did not move until the ceremony ended.

Helgi plunged forward, bracing against the table, head between his arms. He drew several, terrible gasps. “Bok bok,” mocked Henrietta.

Bernadette rushed to his side, “Well?” she demanded.

“The chicken is a chicken,” Helgi said, wincing, “and nothing else. But she’s been directly exposed to dark magic, recently.”

“That makes sense,” said Bernadette, “she was roosting a basilisk’s egg.”

“No. I picked that up as well, but there’s something else more recent. Something she consumed.” His eyebrows shot to the crows-nest of his scalp, “She didn’t eat the egg, did she?”

“No,” Bernadette said, perturbed, “No, the egg was destroyed. That’s what the farmer told me, and he’s got no reason to lie. You’re sure it was something she ate?”

“Of course I am. Now take your chicken and leave, before she takes my remaining eye.”

-

Henrietta pecked at Bernadette’s hands until they bled, ruby pinpricks blooming from her fists. But Bernadette’s grip stayed steel all the way to the courtyard.

“I’m sorry!” she cried, wincing as Henrietta’s beak plunged once more into her knuckle, “I know you can’t understand me, I know, but I’m trying to help you, you blasted chicken!”

Henrietta did not particularly understand; even if she did, she did not particularly care. With the roar of a much larger creature, she screamed her rage into the violently blue sky.

-

Henrietta sulked in the corner of the carriage as they wound their way home. The dark canopy of cypress trees swallowed them, the city long vanished from view. The sun was setting behind the silhouette of the forest, and only dull orange rays lit the path before them.

They were on the outskirts of town, Mount Conifer’s home’s mere shadows cast across the hillside. Bernadette eyed her with unease.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. To her credit, she sounded sincere. “I told you I’d respect you, and I went back on that. I know I must’ve frightened you.”

Henrietta did not understand a word she said, of course. But she appreciated the tone.

“Oh, crap,” Bernadette hissed, bringing the horse to a halt. A fallen log lay before them, blocking the path completely- but Bernadette was strong enough to move it, so Henrietta did not understand why they were turning around, and at such an alarming pace, too.

Then, they were face to face with a group of people, all shrouded, and blocking the way back. Bernadette smiled. “Howdy, friends! Just passing through.”

Slowly, at an oozing pace, the ringleader stepped forward, and the shadow surrounding him reeled back. Henrietta clucked excitedly, recognizing farmer Heath. He scowled at them, hard and brittle face colder than Henrietta remembered. She fell silent. Bernadette placed a gentle hand on her back, raking through her feathers. “What can I do for you all?”

Heath shouted, “Hand over the chicken, now!”

“I’m afraid I can’t oblige. Henrietta is my client, and I promised Ms. Huber I’d see her home safe.”

“Close your mouth about Claude, and do as we said,” yelled another shadow. This one was younger, round face littered with freckles. He swaggered forward, baring yellow teeth at Bernadette, eyes gleaming with something awfully close to excitement.

The smile slid from Bernadettes face, replaced with a stubborn streak. “No. Get out of my way, please.”

“That chicken has cavorted with demons. It’s actions spell plague, famine, and death within our community,” this voice belonged to a woman, clad in a soft, yellow robe, “I implore you, Ms. Boss, to hand it over.”

Bernadette’s grip tightened around the reigns. Her eyes scanned the five remaining shadows, all built like bricks. She seemed to make a decision.

But, before she could act, another shadow lunged out from the darkness, seizing her by the shoulder, and dragging her from the carriage. She gasped, as she was hurled to her knees before the ambushers.

“Think rationally,” tried Bernadette, “next week, she will be tried for her crimes, and for all you know, she may be found guilty. What does this vigilante justice accomplish, other than getting you in hot water with His Majesty?”

“Two hours would be too many,” the woman turned to the boy. “The chicken, now!”

The boy, with a youths undeterred confidence, strode slowly toward the carriage. “Bok bok!” Henrietta shrieked, puffing out her chest and beating her wings. Stay back!

Bernadette swung out her leg, bringing the boy to the ground beside her with a thud. She ploughed her elbow into the side of his face and shoved him away, scurrying to her feet as Heath, the woman, and the shadows pressed inward.

“This is the hill you choose to die on?” The woman asked.

“I imagine there are better ones,” Bernadette grinned garishly, raising her fists. She was rake-thin, noodle armed and noodle legged, half the height of Heath. She spit as she said, “but Henrietta’s will have to do.”

Heath ploughed a boulder-sized fist toward her at the speed of a comet. The kind of punch that should have knocked Bernadette dead. Instead, it shot past her. Her hair wafted slightly with the gentle breeze.

Bernadette wondered momentarily that she was still standing. Then, she glared, disgusted, at Heath.

He seemed as confused as her. He reached forward, clamping the cuff of her shirt- but slipped. He hurled fist after fist, all sliding past, like water off a duck’s back. Bernadette, though thoroughly entertained by the display, socked him hard in the gut, and he toppled to the ground.

“Well?” she asked, “Who’s next?”