The Necromancer's Faire
Page 6
Chapter 6
The Necromancer’s Reign
Dear reader, at times the world is a struggle between two conflicting forces. That of light, and that of dark. Black against white. Yin, and his evil brother Yang.
In the battle between the white knight and the black magician, the color roles of good and evil had been reversed, with the mighty knight in shining armor aiming to slay those he deemed undeserving, and the timid necromancer secretly praying for his life, and that of the princess who had been the intended victim.
It was there that he realized that this had been his second near-death experience since working as the private detective’s assistant. Funny, how John King had a habit of landing him into danger. Sebastian swore that if fate intervened and he made it out of this one alive, then he would go at least a month before answering any more of his calls.
But that was later. This was now. Sebastian had to keep himself and the princess alive for as long as possible.
But how?
“I know what you’ve been going through,” he said to the man with the sword, hoping to spark the murderer’s sympathy.
“You have no idea.”
But he countered, “Yes. Yes I do. Bobby. I know why you’re doing this. I understand it.”
Bobby relaxed his arm, indicating that he did genuinely care of what the necromancer had to say.
“Speak.”
Sebastian, thankful for the opportunity, hoped to keep the knight entertained for as long as he could. At least until John King arrived at the scene bearing his pistol.
“You want to convince the troupe to pick up and leave. To get away from people like Mr. Parsley. You think that if you kill enough people, either the customers won’t show and Mr. Parsley will have to let you go, or the troupe will feel afraid on their own and decide leave. That’s why you make them believe that the killer is Patrick Olsen’s ghost. To make them afraid. To have them feel as guilty as you do for abandoning your friend.”
Bobby’s face, though concealed underneath his steel helmet, soured with intense emotion.
“Patrick didn’t want us to follow him,” he moaned. “He wanted us all to stay, and to make the most of what we had. But,” and from within the eye of the helm, Sebastian caught a tear. “It was the wrong thing to do. It was our duty to shelter him like all the rest, and we didn’t. We left him out in the cold to die.”
“You can’t blame yourself. It was all Mr. Parsley’s fault.”
And with that came an idea.
“Put the sword down,” he proposed. “And I promise you Mr. Parsley will pay for what he’s done.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. It’s too late to back out now. I have to finish what I’ve started. The people need to understand that this place isn’t safe. That we, aren’t safe here. And if not us the workers, then nobody else.”
Bobby craned the sword behind him only to vault it back down at the necromancer’s neck. Sebastian, in a fit of panic, sidestepped the blow, scarcely avoiding a slash on his fingers as he let loose his grip on the princess’ hand. Bobby retrieved the sword and flung it once again. Sebastian lunged backwards as the blade sliced through air. Sebastian was amazed at his sense of reflex, but feared all-the-while how much he had left to keep him alive. He knew that he couldn’t keep dodging Bobby’s attacks. Sooner or later he was bound to get lucky (or in his case, unlucky). And with a sword as tall as his, he only needed to get lucky once (and the necromancer unlucky).
Bobby swung again, and then again, scarcely missing the necromancer each time. Sebastian circled about the amphitheater, not wanting to leave in case he chose to set his sights on the princess.
“Why won’t you just stand still?” the knight groaned.
One more failed attempt at murder however, and he switched his tact. He remained his ground, no longer pursuing Sebastian. With both hands he brought the sword behind his back, and took aim to unleash it all in one quick throw. He aimed his sights on the necromancer, and was about to propel his weapon into the air when the princess came behind him and tripped his leg. She shoved him with one foot stuck in front of his, sending him to free fall against the amphitheater’s concrete floor. The sword dropped a few meters away from his reach. He scurried to grab it, but the necromancer got to it first. He picked it up and held the razor-sharp end against the knight’s armored neck.
“Yield.”
The knight didn’t respond.
Sebastian felt proud of himself for that, even though he had to admit that it wasn’t he that took down the knight in shining armor. That honor had belonged to the princess.
Yet another oddity in the play of good versus evil. Though certainly one that would have made a feminist proud.
Nevertheless, the matter was resolved, the case closed, and for that Sebastian Grimm was ample satisfied.
And then came a clap. Sebastian turned to the abandoned audience hall only to find that it was slightly more than abandoned. In fact, come to think of it it felt as though no one had ever left. A second clap echoed from therein, and this set off an entire explosion of applause. And John King was there among them. Judging from the way he placed his pistol back inside his leather holster, he had apparently arrived no sooner than when the knight was apprehended.
The applause grew louder. There seemed to be more clapping hands in each round. If the butterflies in Sebastian’s gut had been fluttering before, then by now they had formed a tempest of his insides.
For an instant the necromancer smiled as wide as he could, feeling blessed for the enormous praise that was flooding his way. Not a quarter of a minute passed by, and Sebastian could no longer take it. His vision turned into hazy dots of scattered heads. He closed his eyes, and fainted.