Horseman 4: Aisosceles II

by uluthrix

The last horseman, clomping down the last of the cardinal points

Doing the bidding of no man, ignoring the places where the Cardinal points

Mummifying men with a single stare – he possesses the eye of the cockatrice

Introductions are for mortals, yet I indulge – I. Am. @UluthriX


And so our tale begins

In the city of Lagos, city of the busy and the harassed

Oshodi is the geography specific

In the cradle of the commissioner – who was, and is not

The man wrote

Murder, he wrote.

Aisosceles, the young forensic psychologist, was awoken quite annoyingly this selfsame day. Swearing colorfully, and in six different local dialects, he opened the door to reveal a swarthy policeman. “Wetin happen again?” he asked, quite rudely.

“Murder,” said the policeman. “The commissioner has been killed.”

Aisosceles smiled.


The commissioner hath written in blood,

And now four men were with the cops

Suspected criminals – with unhelpful alibis

For they all lived alone, and could not account for their whereabouts

On the day the slain man was, well, slain.

“The commissioner was found dead in his home, with his face severely disfigured beyond recognition,” Swarthy said. Aisosceles nodded distractedly, for he wasn’t really listening. He stared at the commissioner’s body, and he smiled.

“Where is his mackintosh?” he asked.

“What mackintosh?” the bewildered policeman had a question for Aisosceles’ question.

All four men proclaimed innocence

Their artificially grey-haired attorneys formed a phalanx

And the baton carriers were kept at bay

They are innocent, Aisosceles said.

We are? Involuntary questions.

Yes, Aisosceles replied. You all are, that is, excepting one.

Caro Ada-Ada was the name of the commissioner’s handmaid, and it was she whom had caught Aisosceles’ eye. She fidgeted underneath his insectoid gaze, and she cast furtive glances at the door of the interrogation room.

“The commissioner, he was a good man, wasn’t he?”

She nodded jerkily.

“It is easy to see why you would empathize with him?”

“I don’t understand…what empathize means.”

Sure you don’t, thought Aisosceles as he pulled out a dictionary from underneath his agbada.

The commissioner is a lover of art, he observed.

Yes, gushed the gap-toothed servant. Yes.

Said he – Everything he owns is a masterpiece

Tell me now, how far with your master piss?

I comprehend not, the exasperated subservient sighed.

“Your master was a bed-wetter,” sighed Aisosceles. “I observed the faint rings on his old bed sheets. I expect that you changed the sheets yourself, seeing as we found his mackintosh in your room.”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with anything,” the handmaid said.

“Ah, come on. We know your master’s bed was freshly pissed in early this morning. Now, it leaves me confused: Do dead men take bathroom breaks even when they’re dead?”

Caro paled worse than an anemic albino.

Aisosceles smiled triumphantly. “Your phone, Miss? I want to make just one call.”

Simplicity in complexity is the mantra

Owing money, the commissioner needed to disappear

It was only a small matter to find a man of similar build

– And have him killed, his face mangled to prevent recognition

The people who needed to be bribed had been bribed

All of them, that was, except Aisosceles.

Only one person had the commissioner’s new number

And it was his girlfriend, Caro Ada-Ada