A Chicken on Trial: Chapter Six, Water Off a Duck's Back

Henrietta watched from beneath the kitchen table as Claude took a wet cloth to Bernadette’s bloodied knuckles. The fire crackled behind them, and both humans were silent. A sheen of sweat glittered on Claude’s brow, and her shoulders were stiff. She was paler than Henrietta had ever seen her.

“They came to you, first,” Bernadette said, a statement and not a question, “and when Henrietta wasn’t here?” Claude pursed her lips and redoubled her focus, dabbing incessantly at the blood. “Come on,” Bernadette insisted, tugging her hands away, “You can trust me, Claude.”

Claude startled. Her eyes darted to Bernadette’s, and then away again. “I told them where you were, and when you’d be back. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright.” said Bernadette. “Did they harm you?”

“No, not at all.”

Bernadette watched her for a long moment, deliberating. “Is there anything else I should know?”

Claude shook her head. “No.”

Bernadette frowned. Then, she stood up from the fireplace, and began to pace the room, eyes fixed on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Claude asked, alarmed. Bernadette didn’t respond, she searched, as persistently as a hound, for that creaky floorboard. When she found it, she knelt to the ground, and gingerly pried to loose. “Stop!” shouted Claude, launching herself from the floor.

She moved too slow; Bernadette submerged her arm into the dark and drew from it the tome. But she didn’t stop there. Again and again, she lowered into the gap, and withdrew from it a strange yet wonderful new artifact. A silver wand; a bright red gem; an egg, larger than a chicken’s, and gold. Henrietta’s heart swelled.

Bernadette set these objects in a semi-circle before her. Her face was blank, as she turned to look at the stock-still Claude. She cocked her head: well?

Claude was as white as a pillar of salt. Her eyes burned with hot tears that refused to spill. She said, coldly, “You aren’t as smart as you think you are.”

A smile cracked across Bernadette’s face; she was enjoying herself. “First things first, I should thank you for saving my life.”

Claude’s lips tightened into an even thinner line. “What do you mean?”

“Whatever you did, whatever spell, charm, curse, that made those morons keep missing. You let them believe they were setting a trap for me, but you set a trap of your own. That was clever. And you didn’t even want to take credit for it!”

Claude blushed, “It wasn’t anything special. One of only five spells I know.”

“That’s five more than I do,” Bernadette said, bemused, “Look, I’m not going to turn you in. A life for a life, sure, but more importantly, it obliterates Henrietta’s case.”

“How?” asked Claude.

“’Evil is a contagion’” said Bernadette. Henrietta remembered that quote from the ‘Adrian’ pile of books. “It’s exponential. A demonic act attracts a demonic act attracts a demonic act. That’s what you’re taught, right?”

“You’re saying I infected Henrietta?” Claude cast her heartbreakingly wide eyes Henreitta’s way.

“No,” said Bernadette, “I’m saying that’s what they’ll say. But now, we’ve got to talk about the elephant in the room. Why wasn’t this destroyed?”

The egg glittered darkly in the low light. Claude’s breath caught as she beheld it. Her eyes fluttered closed, then opened again.

“Because it’d be a waste,” she crossed the room and sat across from Bernadette. “Basilisk venom can cure any wound. It’s scales are key ingredients in innumerable potions. It’s fangs shatter diamonds,” she hesitated, sizing up Bernadette carefully, before saying slowly, “And I think I can control it.” Bernadette looked at her with undisguised disgust. Claude scoffed, disappointed. “Believe me or not. You’ve got some pretty out-there ambitions as well.”

“My ambitions can’t kill an entire town,” said Bernadette. She softened her tone, “You’re flying too close to the sun. No one can control a basilisk. You’ll die.”

Claude smiled a very small smile, “Not if I have its mother to help me.”

Bernadette glanced at Henrietta, still crouched beneath the kitchen table. Henrietta clucked at her. Still angry about her recent betrayal, but a spot more cheerful now that Bernadette protected her from those heathens. “Bok bok,” she said.

Bernadette looked sad. “You’d use Henrietta like that?”

Claude frowned. She hesitated, then shook her head, “Who said anything about using? Maybe she wants to be a mother.”

“To a basilisk? The thing would eat her for lunch.” Bernadette braced her hand against Claude’s shoulder, “You’ve been put in a terrible position with no easy way out. You’re like me; you want to be great. But please, Claude. Trust me when I tell you that this is a bad idea. I really, really don’t want you to be basilisk food.”

For a moment, Claude only trembled. Her eyes were like two suns: big and bright and burning. “Fine,” she said, and the rooms tension dissolved, “but you have to do it.” She took the egg in her hand, then pressed it into Bernadette’s. Bernadette recoiled, disgust twisting her face. But she didn’t drop it.

“What’s the best way to go about this? Do you know?” she asked.

“I’ve got a hammer somewhere, here,” Claude said, standing to fetch it from it’s drawer.

Bernadette cradled the egg to her chest and carried it to the table. Henrietta peered curiously from beneath. She circled Bernadette’s legs, and then leapt up onto the dining chair. She watched as Claude handed over the hammer, cocking her head, befuddled, as Bernadette adjusted her grip.

A cold realization crashed over the chicken. In all her life, one choice had truly been hers; to help a polite visitor in need. She had laid hundreds of eggs. In the end, this was the only one that mattered.

Just as Bernadette raised the hammer above her head, Henrietta leapt forward, spreading her wings and placing herself above the egg.

The hammer, which was mid-arc, slid from Bernadette’s hands and clattered to the floor. Henrietta hissed at her, back off, but Bernadette already was. She grunted in surprise.

Claude was beaming, triumphant. “I told you,” she said, “A basilisk can only be born under a chickens consenting care. Henrietta’s not going to let you destroy it.”

Bernadette was stricken. “Helgi told me she wasn’t a demon. Just a chicken.”

“She is! Just a chicken, that is,” said Claude, “but one that now has the power to protect her demon spawn!” She squealed, flooded with unadulterated, giddy excitement. “I’m thrilled. Can you tell I’m thrilled?”

Only when Henrietta began to shrink did she realize that she had grown. It was a minor change; some extra feathers here, razor claws there, and in only a second, it was all gone. She was returned to her lovely, fluffy, glamourous self.

But Bernadette still looked shellshocked. She braced her palm against her forehead and shuddered. “What mess have I gotten myself into?”

Claude took her by the elbow, “Nothing Henrietta’s brilliant lawyer can’t get us out of, I hope!”

Bernadette took a deep breath, her whole-body trembling. Then, she offered Claude a grim smile, “Why, it’d take the best lawyer in the world to pull off. But maybe, just maybe I can swing it.”