London, England

December 24, 1843

Zachariah 15

SCREENPLAY

INT. MUSIC HALL – BAR - NIGHT 46

Garibaldi stands at the bar, an empty

tankard in his hand. His top hat is rim

down on the bar. He signals the BARMAN

(20s) for a refill, who obliges. A voice rises

above the chattering, behind Garibaldi.

MALE VOICE (O/C) Y,y,you’re the

Ma,ma,magician aren’t ya. Mister

G,Garibaldi?

Garibaldi turns around to see two young

couples sitting at a table. A young lady

SYLVIE (19) tries to deter the smiling young

man LEWIS (23) beside her.

SYLVIE You shouldn’t bother im Lewis. Let

the man enjoy is pint.

LEWIS E, d,d,don’t mind S,Sylvie.

GARIBALDI No I d,d,don’t mind S,Syvlie.

Lewis’ smile vanishes.

LEWIS Owe dya d,d,d,do it? How d,d,did ya

pull the t,t,tree from yer at? D’ya ave a trap

d,d,door in the s,s,stage? Sylvie nudges

Lewis. Their friends giggle and watch

closely as Garibaldi responds.

Zachariah 15: Lewis

Jerking backwards, “Oh, Lord,” trying to pull his arm from the hat. The hat that was somehow attached to the bar stool — the bar stool that was now  thrashing in a violent circular motion.

“‘elp me!” Pleading, “‘elp me!” the young man’s eyes passing from Garibaldi to Flizzer to the barkeep and back to Garibaldi.

“‘elp me!”

Lifting his glass of gin and bitters, with a quick flick of his elbow, Garibaldi swallowed the contents.

“It’s got me! ‘elp me!” Begging, “It’s the snake!”

Pleading, he turned to his friends at the table, but frozen in their chairs, their eyes wide, their mouths agape, his friends were powerless to help, even if they had the courage to help.

“Save me! ‘Jesus ‘elp me’! It’s got me arm, pulling me...”

Jerking backwards, “Oh, Lord,” trying to pull his arm from the hat. “‘elp me!”

Terrified, Lewis looked at Garibaldi. Pleading, wild with fear. “Make it let go!”

Straining against the thing that was appearing to pull him down. The thing that was attempting to pull him into the magician’s hat, Lewis’ complexion, that only moments before had been ruddy red, was now chalk white.

“ ‘Pleeease’!”

One slam of the Magician’s now empty glass upon bar...

It did...

Suddenly released...

With both arms flailing the air, staggering backward, Lewis’ momentum flung him into the table occupied by his three friends.

Crashing into the man and two women, falling over the chairs, all four tumbled onto the floor amidst mugs of spilling ale and chair legs.

Within moments... When able to detach themselves from each other, all four sat on the floor staring dumbly at the magician.

“Now, Lewis? ‘Now’ do you believe in my magic?”

Wiping his face with the sleeve of his jacket “Aye,” Lewis said, numbly nodding his head up and down.

As Garibaldi turned back to the bar, “For the show. Thanks, Gov.” The barkeep sent a drink slithering down the length of the bar. “On the house!”

Nimbly plucking it up and tossing it down, Garibaldi held the empty glass towards the bartender. “Thank you, my good man.”

Looking straightforward. Whispering through the corner of his mouth, “Matt, think this be a good time for an exit?”

“Bravo!” Flizzer whispered back.

All eyes watched as, reaching into his jacket pocket, removing a one pound note from a leather wallet, Garibaldi placed it onto the bar, then placed the top hat upon his head and, looking into the mirror behind the bar, nonchalantly tapped it straight.

Turning from the bar, knowing all eyes were on him, the magician attempted to maintain the dignity of a sober man by trying to walk straight, but instead drunkenly wobbled as he walked across the room to the coat rack alongside the door.

Searching a moment, he found his top coat beneath a dozen others and with an ostentatious flourish, rather than putting his arms through the sleeves, twirled it cape like across his shoulders, then pulled his long hair from beneath the collar.

About to open the door— Garibaldi’s impromptu performer through, subconscious, or drunkenly having the need to take a bow, turning from the door he looked at Lewis and his friends, whom, still on the floor, still were staring at the magician.

Nodding his upper body in a half bow, then smugly tapping the crown of the top hat once again, turning away he opened the door…

Outside, sleet and rain were once again falling. Lightening made bright, iridescent flashes behind thick, moisture-laden clouds and there was the low grumble of near-constant rolling thunder.

Stepping outside, pulling from his free hand the door to the tavern was blown shut.

Buffeted by a strong gust of cold wind, Garibaldi held onto the hat with one hand while holding the collar of his cape like coat closed about his throat with the other. The velocity of the sleet forcing him to turn his head from the wind as, glancing to the side, he stepped into the road, as…

A great bolt of crackling lightning split the air directly overhead along with a loud clap of thunder that simultaneously shook the earth below, as…

Frightened by the combined sally of lightning and thunder, struggling against the weight of an overloaded dray, the terrified horse broke free from the driver’s clasp on the reins, ass...

Stamping on the brake lever, “Whoa!” the driver screamed at the wild-eyed beast. “ ‘Whoa’!”

As...

The noise of the runaway wagon muffled by the sounds of the storm. Bouncing wildly, sparks shooting from beneath ironclad hoofs and wheels, the dray careened over the cobblestone street, as...

The velocity of the sleet forcing him to turn his head from the wind. Looking to the side, Garibaldi sensed the runaway wagon’s approach before he saw or heard it. Another bolt of lightning illuminating the night, he lifted his head, as...

Transfixed, he tried to move but, the frenzied horse upon him, shrieking, “ ‘Nooo’!” the magician instinctively threw his arms upward in a futile effort to protect his head, as…

Blowing in the wind, Garibaldi’s long, white hair streamed furiously outward for the split second before being struck and dragged beneath hoofs and wheels.

Following immediately behind Garibaldi, his mouth open in a soundless scream, Matthew Flizzer stood frozen, as…

Powerless to help, he could only watch as his friend was struck by the wild horse and drawn beneath the heavy wagon.

Turning back into the pub, “ ‘Help’!” he screamed.“Get a physician! Please, ‘find a physician’!”

Finally able to pull the runaway wagon to a halt several yards down the road, jumping from the seat, the driver ran to see if he could give aid.

Hearing Flizzer’s screams, knots of people, mostly from within the pub, stood looking at the mangled body as two magistrates elbowed their way through the gawking group.

Within minutes, most of the crowd, chilled by the sleet and rain, dissipated.

Turning from his companion, one of the two young men still standing over the body looked downward and searching, walked about in a widening circle till, “ ‘ere n-nnow...” he said, “...‘ere it is!” Stooping, lifting the black object, Lewis returned to his friend. “I g-g-g-guess ‘is m-m-m-magic ‘at wasn’t m-m-m-magic enough to make that wagon d-ddisappear, eh?”

About to put the hat onto the chest of the broken body of Garibaldi, changing his mind, turning from the body and walking back into the Boar’s Tooth Pub — Fearfully remembering that no more than ten minutes earlier he was being pulled into the magicians hat by some unseen force… Being pulled into the magicians hat by a giant snake.

Bravely, having the need to show Sylvie that he was no longer afraid, Lewis tentatively placed the magician’s now bent and dented top hat onto his head. “Aye, Silbie...” he said without a trace of stutter “...I found ‘is lordship’s ‘at!”

“An’ elegant it makes ya’ look, too, Lewis,” Sylvie replied.

Hobbins Funeral Parlor

His ‘need’ becoming stronger, near uncontrollably stronger, Johnson thought of the number of pubs between Hobbins Funeral Parlor and the dirt road leading to his shack while further imagining the free drinks he’d soon be enjoying.

Now that what he considered to be ‘his’ share of the work was finished, quickly packing the equipment into the tool box. “Ey, boy...” pointing his finger, looking sternly at Zachariah “...you finish ‘ere...” motioning with his thumb at the fireplace and vaguely about the entire parlor “...an’ be sure to get the pay from the…” looking towards the basement stairway, “…ol’ bastard, an’ then ya get ya arse on ‘ome! Ya ‘ear what I’m sayin’?”

On his hands and knees inside the firebox, turning his body so he could see Johnson. “Aye, Sir.”

Posed as a statement rather than a question. “Ya knows ‘ow to get ‘ome from ‘ere!”

“Aye, Sir.”

“Mind ya...” starting to cough “...finish the job good an’ proper like or ol’ ‘obbins, the bloody tightwad bastard ‘e‘ll try to squeeze out’a payin’ ya!”

Turning away, Johnson turned back. “An’ don’t’ya be tellin’ ‘im where I’m off to!”

“Aye, Sir.”

He looked at the boy for a second or two, then grasping the handle, lifting it with a grunt and swinging it, Johnson hoisted the toolbox onto his right shoulder.

Hanging minutely beneath his need of gin, having a somewhat disquieted sensation in the pit of his stomach. Maybe I ought not be leavin’ the boy a second time this day. Feeling vaguely guilty over leaving Zachariah once again. Eh, tis nothin’! Rationalizing, ‘e’ll do what ‘e must an’ find ‘is way ‘ome without me ‘elp.

Mentally brushing the ‘extremely’ vague sensation from his mind, turning away, Johnson took a step toward the doorway, stopped, considered a moment, then turned back and, lifting it off the drop cloth, placed the bandoleer of brushes around his shoulder. “That’ll leave ya just the cloths, the scrapper an’ brush an’ rope to be carryin’...” he said magnanimously “...an’ if the ol’ bastard asks where I’m at, tell ‘im I ‘ad a ‘nother ‘pointment.”

Going to the parlor doorway, leaning his head through he looked across the hall to the door leading to the downstairs workroom, which was still closed.

Walking quietly as possible, Johnson went to the front door, silently opened it, stepped through and closed it quietly behind himself.

Zachariah watched as Johnson left the room. Then backing out of the firebox on his knees, reaching to his right, taking hold of his long-coat he looked into the breast pocket. “ ‘ey, Mousy!”

Looking back, the mouse twitched its nose.

“We’ll be through soon an’ goin’ ‘ome an’ then I’ll find ya somethin’ to eat.” Stretching his finger inside he scratched Mousy’s head, patted the pocket, then crawled back into the firebox.

Finished scraping the rear wall, still on his knees, leaning his upper body backward Zachariah looked up to see if he’d missed anything.

“Almost done now,” he said to the creature in his coat pocket as much as to himself. Seeing a small, tar-like patch of creosote, he scraped at it until only the soot-stained firewall was visible.

Pounding…

Brushing the remaining ash into a mound to be swept up and carried to the outside bin, the boy was startled by the loud, hollow sound as a sudden pounding on the front door reverberated through the cold funeral parlor.

“I’m coming.” The pounding continued. “ ‘I’m coming’!” Zachariah heard Hobbins shout from the basement workroom, then the thumping sound of his footsteps on the stairs.

Hurrying up the stairs, the undertaker glanced at Zachariah as he rushed to the front door.

Curious, Zachariah looked out of the fireplace, and by craning his neck was able to see the foyer.

Annoyed! “ ‘I’m coming’!” Hobbins shouted as, pulling the door open a gust of wind blew sleet snow snow through the doorway into the foyer. “Yes?” he said in an annoyed, unpleasant tone.

“Mister ‘obbins, Sir...” one of the two magistrates leaned his head into the foyer “...sorry to be bother’n ya tonight but…”

Peering beyond the policeman, standing aside, “May as well come inside so’s we can keep whatever warmth we have.”

Each carrying opposite ends of a heavy pallet, coming inside the magistrates lowered it to the floor.

Realizing what was on the pallet, Zachariah swallowed.

Turning, Hobbins saw the boy watching. “You! Boy! Get

back to work! Mind your own business and get finished!

Where’s Johnson?”

Next: Zachariah 16: A Smudge