In the farming community of Steerford, a freakish child with a forked tongue and reddish, scaly skin was born to the young daughter of a cattle herder, Julia, and her husband, wealthy industrialist Thomas Compton. For fear of Compton's reaction, Julia's recently widowed mother, Jeanette, who had acted as midwife, procured a stillborn child from the village and persuaded her daughter, who was still disorientated by the pain of the breach, to pretend that her child had come into the world dead. Jeanette need not have concerned herself, for Compton, who had been called away on urgent business, was a kind man with a boundless affection for his pretty young wife. But, despite Julia's reservations, the plan was carried out. On his return, when the dead infant was presented to him, Compton was distraught but phlegmatic and, attempting to comfort his wife, said, "There will be other children."
Jeanette took the hideous baby back to the family farm and, suckled on goat's milk, it grew to be a healthy, if unsightly, child. Though forbidden by her mother from seeing her son, Julia visited the farm often, hoping to glimpse the boy, but he was always hidden away in one of the outbuildings as soon as she was sighted approaching. The frustration of her maternal urges tormented her. Compton was shocked by the change that came over his formerly happy and affectionate wife during this period. She became melancholy, took to drink and refused to suffer his hand upon her person. Within two years her former beauty had been ravaged by alcohol and her relationship with the industrialist had been permanently soured. Drowning in despair, Compton became solipsistic and spent much of his time reading in his vast library. But Jeanette insisted that her daughter continue the deception, in spite of the suffering it caused, and the young mother, deranged by whisky, agreed.
Over time the child's deformities did not heal as had been hoped. His skin retained its reptilian aspect, despite the frequent application of unguents and lotions, and his tongue remained bifurcated, retarding his speech. By the time he uttered his first clumsy sentences, the lives of those connected with his unfortunate birth had been laid waste. His grandmother, burdened with his care as well as the running of the farm, was deathly tired, his mother was a drunk, and his father, who did not even know of his existence, had become a recluse.
On the fifth anniversary of the child's birth, Julia, driven to madness, committed suicide by drinking a draught of hemlock stirred into a half-pint of whisky. When her handmaid discovered her she was insensible and died without regaining consciousness. In death she looked like a woman thirty years older than her twenty-four summers.
On the day of the funeral the sky was overcast and a light rain fell. The crape weeds, quickly saturated, began to unravel and hung from the mourners' arms like the blood-blackened bandages of soldiers returning from war. The funeral was poorly attended. Though a few of Julia's childhood friends watched the ceremony from a distance, only her mother and her husband stood at the graveside. When it was Jeanette's turn to throw dirt on to the coffin, she began silently to cry, but her tears were quickly lost in the rain running down her face. Dragged from his books into the daylight, Compton stood pale and blinking and displayed no emotion.
When Jeanette returned home she discovered the child torturing one of the farm cats. She locked him in an outhouse for two days without food or water and when he emerged, his lizard's hide was blanched and his forked tongue was dry and cracked in his mouth.
The boy's fits of temper became more violent and outlandish during the following year, until Jeanette was no longer able to control her grandson. It was as if his devilish appearance was a sign of the depravity of his soul. He killed sheep at night, larding himself in their gore and raving on the moors. The local farmers began to tell tales of a monster loose in the countryside and when the widow took tea with her friends the topic often turned to this beast. She sat politely as it was discussed, then returned home to cry with shame. So, when a circus passed through Steerford a few days after the child's sixth birthday, she went to the ringmaster, taking her charge in a hand-drawn cart, hidden under a tarpaulin. Impressed by the lizard boy's wildness and his appalling appearance, the ringmaster agreed to take him in and make him the central exhibit in his freak show. He paid Jeanette a fistful of silver in exchange for the child.
Many years passed. Jeanette aged rapidly and became a frail old woman, bitter and alone. From travellers passing through Steerford she heard rumours about her grandson and, always careful to appear disinterested, learned that soon after his sixteenth birthday, the young man had taken control of the circus following a bloody coup, in which the ringmaster was murdered. Apparently, one of his first edicts upon gaining power was that no one should again call him Lizard Boy, the only name he had previously known, but that he was now to be referred to as the August Lizard of the Bleachers. Under his leadership the circus became popular and infamous on the continent. It was known as Beyond the Pale, the circus run by freaks. Jeanette was told that he ruled his domain cruelly, meting out brutal beatings to his terrified subjects.
Thomas compton's health had deteriorated after his wife's suicide and he left his library only to wander his mansion during the night, his laborious gait like that of a puppet in the hands of a drunk. One moonlit witching hour, twenty-six years after the August Lizard's birth, he was staggering through the corridors of the east wing when he suffered a stroke. A doctor arrived and offered what succour he could, but the prognosis was dire; he thought it unlikely that Compton would live more than another two months.
Relatives, most of whom Compton had had no contact with for years, were summoned by letters he insisted on writing himself, terse, partially illegible notes on heavy vellum. Among those sent for was Compton's mother-in-law, Jeanette, and on the day on which she had been asked to attend, she wrapped herself up in a warm coat before beginning the short walk from Steerford to the grand house. When she arrived she was ushered into the industrialist's bed chamber, where he lay under a mound of blankets, his mottled skull propped up against the headboard. He spoke to her about his beautiful young wife's descent into depression, following the stillbirth of their child, and her eventual suicide, describing these events as if Jeanette was a stranger who had no connection with them. Raising himself up, he told her that his greatest regret was that he had no offspring to whom he could bequeath his vast empire. Her resolve weakened by guilt and the horror she felt at the sight of her gravely ill son-in-law, Jeanette confessed, unburdening herself of her dark secret. Compton wept bitterly and, galvanised by his fury, insisted that the old woman tell him how he could locate his son.
"I've followed the course of his career," she replied. "He runs a famous circus, Beyond the Pale, and goes by the name of the August Lizard of the Bleachers."
Compton violently rang a handbell to attract the attention of his household and, once they were assembled, told them of Jeanette's revelation. Then he instructed several of his most trustworthy staff to ride out in search of his son to persuade him to return to Steerford, stressing urgency and promising a reward to the man who found the August Lizard. On hearing Compton's instructions Jeanette fell to her knees, imploring him not to carry out his plan.
"He is an evil man," she pleaded, "cold and callous with a black heart. Should he return here he will certainly have us both killed. Please reconsider."
But Compton, wrathful, refused to listen, cursing Jeanette for destroying his and his wife's happiness. He had two servants drag the old woman from the room.
One of Compton's footmen, who had ridden westward, arrived early one afternoon in a frontier town called Meadowbank and discovered a flier for Beyond the Pale posted in the window of a brothel, which invited the people of the settlement to an "evening of grotesquery." He went into the saloon bar on the main street to ask for directions to the circus. Inside, the air was choked with smoke and raucous music, and violent men played acrimonious games of poker in the penumbral margins. The barman told the servant that Beyond the Pale had pitched their tents to the south of the town, out on the prairie, in a natural depression known locally as the Devil's Kettle. Setting out immediately, the servant rode through a landscape more barren than any he had encountered before, marvelling at the herds of stately buffalo that he saw in the distance, their deep, ruminative voices carried to him by the wind, and at the occasional eagle that soared far overhead. The hollow concealed the circus from an observer on the plain and it was not until the footman reached the rim of the crater that he saw the tents laid out before him like a gaudy bedlam with, at their centre, the big top, its dark red canvas scrawled over with bestial sketches and obscene phrases.
Reeling at the scene, the servant dismounted and led his horse down among the outlying caravans. Approaching nearer, he saw the circus folk wandering to and fro, practising their routines, or sitting, indolent, gnawing at food, playing cards and drinking. He walked past a man covered in coarse reddish hair who was cuddled up to a female cyclops, and then a small boy, with two good arms, approached him, offering in greeting a third, which protruded, shrivelled and useless, from the centre of a pocked chest. Allaying his fear and revulsion, Compton's servant asked the boy where he might find the August Lizard. The child responded by pointing with one of his healthy limbs to the big top.
Inside the tent, the sunlight filtering through the red cloth gave to everything a hellish cast. A troupe of dwarfs, heaped chaotically, towered over the figure of the August Lizard. His scaly hide was the same colour as the sandstone escarpments that rise sheer from the western deserts and which are said to mark the resting places of gods and devils who walked the earth in the ages before man. He wore the traditional morning jacket and top hat of the circus ringmaster and had a red carnation in his buttonhole. Upon sighting the footman, the dwarf at the summit of the tower leapt forward, somersaulted in the air, then landed on his outstretched palms and ran off. The other acrobats followed their comrade, leaping and tumbling in the gloom. Compton's servant approached the ringmaster, his hand held out in greeting.
By the time the footman's telegram reached Steerford, Compton had suffered a cranial haemorrhage, dying without uncovering the secrets of the hermetic texts that he had studied, or ever seeing his son. The communication was brief, stating simply that the Lizard was travelling alone, eager to make haste, with his entourage following behind, while the footman, exhausted by the long distances he had covered, would rest in Meadowbank for a few days before heading home. Compton's advisers, a council of grey-bearded elders, who had run the industrialist's affairs ever since his retreat from the world, were gravely concerned by the news. Compton had never made a will and, as a result, the management of the tannery, and with it the running of the town's affairs, would pass into the hands of the August Lizard. Aware of his violent reputation and terrified that he would instigate a reign of terror in Steerford, the council convened an emergency meeting.
The government feared and despised the Lizard, but had been unable to prosecute him for his crimes as no witness would testify against him in court. The elders knew that if they were to have the monster killed, the country's rulers would grant them impunity. However, they could not take such action alone and, as the inhabitants of Steerford were by nature peaceful, the council realised that they would have to seek out persuasive evidence of the Lizard's iniquities before consulting with the townsfolk. The very next morning they rode to nearby Seven Spires to take a train to the capital city.
During a week spent researching the Lizard's past in libraries and archives, the elders disinterred a number of manuscripts that documented a repugnant life. They returned home, their briefcases full of copies of newspaper articles, legal files and government dossiers and, upon their arrival in Steerford, immediately called for a community gathering.
The town hall was a large building which had statues of great men from Steerford's past adorning its exterior. Legend claims that the timber used in the construction of its high, vaulted roof had been salvaged from the remains of a large ship found buried under the vast mound of earth which stood guard over the river crossing for which the town was named. This barrow is also said to have contained a casket which held precious stones and archaic scientific instruments. However, if it ever existed, this reliquary had long since disappeared. Apart from children and the infirm, almost the entire population of Steerford gathered under the ancient beams to hear the elders present their case. Ashamed, Jeanette did not attend.
At the allotted time, Simon Haller, the head of the council, made a gesture for the door to be closed. He sat, with the other aldermen, at a long table on the raised dais at the far end of the hall. Standing, he approached a lectern and addressed the room.
"I will proceed, without preamble, to the issue that has moved us to call this meeting today. Some of you may be aware of the concerns I am about to express, but I would beg your forbearance. I would also request the undivided attention of everyone present, for the matter I am about to discuss is one of grave importance to us all. It is not widely known that Compton's wife, Julia, gave birth to a son, some years before her unfortunate suicide. That son is the legitimate heir to the Compton estate."
At this revelation there was general shock and some in the crowd began whispering to their neighbours. Haller called for silence, rapping his fist on the podium.
"As I speak, this son is returning to Steerford to take up his inheritance. His name will be known to you all. Compton's estranged child is none other than that abomination, the August Lizard of the Bleachers."
There followed an awestruck silence. After a moment's pause, Haller continued his speech.
"You are all aware of the hideous crimes of which this evil man has been accused, but lest you think them mere rumour, my fellow council members and I have collected a number of documents which, taken together, tell a horrifying tale of depravity. It is my belief that this evidence will convince you that drastic action is required if we are to save our town."
Haller went on to explain that the first section he would read out was taken from an account which had been published anonymously in a popular newspaper. Its author claimed to have been a former member of Beyond the Pale and it described the brutal regime change that had allowed the August Lizard to take power. Haller waited for silence, then began.
"During the chaos, someone had tied the ringmaster to the central pole of the big top, using his ceremonial whip to bind him. When the uproar had died down, the Lizard trained one of the spotlights upon our deposed leader then crossed over to join him. Turning to address the crowd gathered on the bleacher seats, the Lizard asked them, 'How shall we deal with this man? How shall we vent our grievances?' The circus folk jeered and stamped their feet. 'He shall receive no pity from us,' the Lizard cried. 'Throw him out, throw him out,' the carnies chanted in chorus. 'No,' the Lizard replied, 'that is altogether too merciful.' Then, drawing a wicked curved dagger, the Lizard fell upon the ringmaster and disembowelled him at a stroke. The fettered man's head fell on to his chest and his viscera were spilled, blossoming in the sawdust. There was a moment of shocked silence, then a cautious cheer rose from the stands."
When Haller had finished reading he placed the sheet of paper on the lectern and raised his eyes to the wormy, age-tarred beams, his stare seeming to pierce through the roof and look accusingly upon heaven. Haller then read aloud further documentary accounts of the Lizard's malice, stories of brutal punishments suffered at his hands by performers in the circus and of the rapes, drunken brawls and thefts committed or instigated by him. It was a mounting howl of infamy eloquently delivered by a calm and pious old man and when it was concluded all present sat benumbed. After some minutes, the elder spoke again.
"At this very moment the August Lizard app-roaches our town and his army of freaks will not be far behind. Sadly we may be required to forsake, for a short time, our pacific natures. This creature will not submit to human rationality and must be met with the kind of rough justice he himself metes out."
Haller blinked then looked around the room. All met his scrutiny with a nod of acquiescence.
On a cold, still morning, the August Lizard sighted Steerford in the distance, striations of smoke rising from its chimneys. Singing as if in love with the scent of apple blossom and the verdant robes of the trees, the birds draped the forest in a dulcet chorus. A small boy who had been dozing by the path leapt to his feet at the sound of hooves drumming on the earth and ran ahead.
Passing under the west gate, the Lizard looked up at the arch of crumbling masonry and saw an iron ring set into the keystone, a frayed length of hemp tied to it. Entering Steerford, he discovered that it was silent and deserted. Wary, his mount tried to turn back, but the Lizard dug in his heels and pushed the animal on, emerging from the narrow streets into the small square at the centre of the town, which was surrounded by timber-framed buildings crowded together like paupers seeking alms outside the House of Our Lady in the city. Many displayed signs advertising commercial enterprises, but there were no signs of life within. At the centre of the square a scaffold had been raised to support a gibbet, a noose turning slowly in the rising breeze.
In an instant the Lizard understood that his father was already dead and that the people of Steerford, aware of his dire reputation, meant to lynch him. Tugging hard on the reins, he turned his horse about and galloped back towards the gate, hooves striking fire from the stones. It was hopeless. Two wagons had been used to barricade the breach and the mob waited for him there, milling about, armed with billhooks, pitchforks and cudgels. They surrounded his horse and dragged him from the saddle, clubbing him to the ground before dragging his body to the gallows. At the heart of the baying crowd Jeanette screamed louder than any other voice, fear turned to bloodlust. Trying to get closer to her hated grandson's helpless frame she was hit by a stray blow and trampled underfoot. Old and frail, she died, broken, in the dirt.
The appointed executioner tied the August Lizard's hands behind his back, slipped the noose over his head and poured a bucket of cold water over him to revive him. The run-off from his dirt-heavy travelling clothes stained the fresh pine of the gallows. Shaking his head to clear it, the Lizard opened his eyes and, sore thirsty, stuck out his forked tongue to taste the droplets which clung to his two-week-old beard. The townsfolk gathered in the square shrank back in revulsion. Haller climbed up onto the scaffold.
"We cannot allow your evil to taint our peaceful community," he said. "For your past crimes and to prevent any future iniquities, we are putting you to death. Have you anything you wish to say?"
Looking up at the man who condemned him, the Lizard blinked before turning to address the crowd.
"I had hoped to be reconciled with my father and my birthplace, but… I curse this inhospitable town. May your wells become stagnant and fetid, your soil barren and your marriages childless."
Then, at a signal from Haller, the hangman hauled upon the rope and hoisted the Lizard into the air, his feet kicking beneath him. His last harsh and ragged breaths faded, then a spasm went through him and he fell still. The townspeople were silent, then, as one, they turned and filed out of the square. Later in the day some of the menfolk came and cut the body down, placing it in a woven wicker basket which they hung from the iron ring set into the west gate. Carried by word of mouth, the news of the August Lizard's death spread like a fever through the land.
Five days later, Steerford was roused from its slumbers by the tolling of a watchman's bell and shouts running through the streets. Still hindered by the fetters of sleep, the townsfolk gathered at the west gate in their night attire. In the distance a procession approached, lit by flickering torchlight. It was the circus folk, come to claim their dead leader, and, riding alongside, Compton's footman, who had caught up with them on the road. The town militia drew arms, but as the cavalcade drew nearer it was clear that there would be no violence; the freaks, dressed in mourning, were solemn and peaceable. Their brands drove outlandish shadows before them and lit the foliage that flanked the road where, like diamonds laid out on a jeweller's blackcloth, the eyes of curious nocturnal animals gleamed in the dark.
The inhabitants of Steerford looked on in silence as a troupe of dwarfish acrobats, in sombre apparel, climbed upon each others' shoulders and cut down the cage containing their former ringmaster's body. They lowered it reverentially to the ground, then, tearing the wicker framework open, laid the August Lizard upon a pallet draped with finely embroidered fabric. Filing past the body, their torches held aloft, the freaks of Beyond the Pale scattered rose petals upon the catafalque. While these obsequies were observed, a beautiful giantess sang a wordless requiem in a sweet and pure voice. Then the dwarfs shouldered the bier and the procession began to return the way it had come. The footman sat astride his horse, shaking his head. One of the young men of Steerford stepped forward. He stood with his fists clenched by his side and his face drawn, the tendons standing out on his neck.
"Aren't you pleased that that evil man, who treated you so rough, is dead," he called after the departing circus people, "and will not trouble you again?"
A wolfman, covered head to foot in matted chestnut hair, turned back and addressed the speaker, a look of bitter incomprehension in his eyes.
"A kinder, more generous man could not be found. It is true that some spoke ill of the Lizard because of his appearance, and that he, to generate interest in Beyond the Pale, encouraged these insinuations. But that is all they were, lies and insinuations."
Then the wolfman, without waiting for a response, rejoined the ranks of carnival folk as they filed away down the road, carrying their burden. The young man turned to the footman, who shuffled uncomfortably in his saddle.
"Jonathan, is this true?"
"It is," the servant replied. "I talked to the Lizard, and was struck by how amiable he seemed. He was no monster and you have all made a grave mistake."
When he had finished speaking the footman spurred his horse forward and caught up with the cortege, falling into line behind it. The people of Steerford stared after the departing freaks until the forest had swallowed up their torchlight.
Though the Lizard's terrible childhood should have left him with no capacity for empathy, in the nurturing hands of the circus folk he had grown up to be a compassionate adult. He was determined that he would never be guilty of treating anyone in the way that he himself had been treated and to that end always behaved with kindness. The story of the coup had been fabricated as a ruse to draw the crowds, at the suggestion of the ringmaster the Lizard was rumoured to have killed, who had actually retired to a small farm to live out his days in peace. The Lizard hated playing the villain, but knew his evil persona to be crucial to the continued success of the circus and therefore encouraged a belief in his depravity. He had inherited, from his father, who had been, before his decline, one of the most astute businessmen in the country, an aptitude for commerce and, in his care, Steerford, through its leather industry, might have become a very wealthy town. Instead, in accordance with his prediction, within three years the town was impoverished, its finances mismanaged by the council of elders who, following the death of Haller in an accident at the tannery, grew increasingly rapacious. After the true story of the Lizard's life and death became known, Steerford was increasingly shunned by travellers and the people of neighbouring settlements. Within two generations it was deserted, a ghost town, filled only with shadows and the ticking of death-watch beetles burrowing through its rotting beams.
