An excerpt from Johnny Mime by Sean McDevitt:
With a newfound resolve, I slammed my third empty mug of beer on the bar. “Time to make a stand,” I muttered, straightening the absurdly elegant victorian top hat I’d acquired. “From now on I am not Arthur, the sickly little boy who was sent away to die. It is time for Johnny Mime to make his debut.” I took a deep breath and clambered onto a rickety, upturned crate. The saloon fell silent, the abrupt quiet more startling than the preceding noise.
“Gentlemen!” I boomed, my voice ringing with a theatrical flair I had not heard in months. “Gentlemen, gather 'round! For tonight, I bring you a cure for what ails you!”
A few snickers rippled through the crowd, but I pressed on. “Consumption!” I let the word hang in the air like an ominous pronouncement. “It is an illness that creeps upon you like a thief in the night! But do not despair!” I shouted, pulling a bottle of shimmering green liquid from my coat. “I possess the key to your salvation! My medicines are the only means by which these diseases can be cured!”
Just as the last bottle was sold, the saloon doors swung open with a resounding bang that silenced the room as if a switch had been thrown. There he was: Mayor Smeaton, looking like death personified in his customary black suit and bowler hat, his head held high and rigid, his posture one of absolute authority. Flanking him were his two intimidating deputies, Blackwood and McGraw, holding their shotguns with an air of casual lethality.
“What is the cause of this ruckus?” Smeaton’s voice rolled out, smooth as an oil spill on water, cold and colorless. “You boys had best be celebrating the discovery of a mountain made of silver— or is it just simply the bottom of a whiskey barrel, once again?”
I straightened atop my crate, hat set just so, my coat flaring over my knees like a stage curtain. “It is merely a small gathering, mayor,” I managed, my voice steady but pitched for the boards. “I am teaching these good men about health and wellness.”
Smeaton’s head swiveled, blank eyes unseeing but somehow still burning. “Health and wellness,” he repeated, letting the words trickle out with all the contempt of a man spitting stale tobacco. “In a saloon. How droll.”
I grinned, feeling the old showman’s thrill return like a familiar stage current, prickling the hairs on my arms. “I am Johnny Mime, sir,” I declared, bowing with a theatrical flourish that made several miners snicker. “Purveyor of the finest remedies west of the Mississippi. Though I daresay, my real business is not medicine, but—” I pressed my fingertips to my chest, “—truth.”
A hush fell, the air thick with anticipation and cheap whiskey. Smeaton’s face curled into a sneer. “Johnny Mime,” he drawled, rolling the name in his mouth as though tasting something sour. “A name fit for a circus poster. You would do well to remember, Mister Mime, that in Calico, the only truths which matter are those sanctioned by my office.”
I stepped off the crate, boots thudding on sawdust. My voice dropped, soft but clear. “They cure what ails a man, mayor. And I believe that what ails these men most is fear.”
JOHNNY MIME IS COMING TO *Amazon Kindle* ON OCTOBER 14th
“Gentlemen!” I boomed, my voice ringing with a theatrical flair I had not heard in months. “Gentlemen, gather 'round! For tonight, I bring you a cure for what ails you!”
A few snickers rippled through the crowd, but I pressed on. “Consumption!” I let the word hang in the air like an ominous pronouncement. “It is an illness that creeps upon you like a thief in the night! But do not despair!” I shouted, pulling a bottle of shimmering green liquid from my coat. “I possess the key to your salvation! My medicines are the only means by which these diseases can be cured!”
Just as the last bottle was sold, the saloon doors swung open with a resounding bang that silenced the room as if a switch had been thrown. There he was: Mayor Smeaton, looking like death personified in his customary black suit and bowler hat, his head held high and rigid, his posture one of absolute authority. Flanking him were his two intimidating deputies, Blackwood and McGraw, holding their shotguns with an air of casual lethality.
“What is the cause of this ruckus?” Smeaton’s voice rolled out, smooth as an oil spill on water, cold and colorless. “You boys had best be celebrating the discovery of a mountain made of silver— or is it just simply the bottom of a whiskey barrel, once again?”
I straightened atop my crate, hat set just so, my coat flaring over my knees like a stage curtain. “It is merely a small gathering, mayor,” I managed, my voice steady but pitched for the boards. “I am teaching these good men about health and wellness.”
Smeaton’s head swiveled, blank eyes unseeing but somehow still burning. “Health and wellness,” he repeated, letting the words trickle out with all the contempt of a man spitting stale tobacco. “In a saloon. How droll.”
I grinned, feeling the old showman’s thrill return like a familiar stage current, prickling the hairs on my arms. “I am Johnny Mime, sir,” I declared, bowing with a theatrical flourish that made several miners snicker. “Purveyor of the finest remedies west of the Mississippi. Though I daresay, my real business is not medicine, but—” I pressed my fingertips to my chest, “—truth.”
A hush fell, the air thick with anticipation and cheap whiskey. Smeaton’s face curled into a sneer. “Johnny Mime,” he drawled, rolling the name in his mouth as though tasting something sour. “A name fit for a circus poster. You would do well to remember, Mister Mime, that in Calico, the only truths which matter are those sanctioned by my office.”
I stepped off the crate, boots thudding on sawdust. My voice dropped, soft but clear. “They cure what ails a man, mayor. And I believe that what ails these men most is fear.”
JOHNNY MIME IS COMING TO *Amazon Kindle* ON OCTOBER 14th
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