“Those were…necessary evils, I’m afraid. I want to start fresh, no more lies. Only the truth. You know everything now.”
“And the others? The price for our happiness?”
“I’m afraid they chose this path,” it said, growing annoyed. “I should have remained with Leopold to the end. But Blackbeard intervened. Leopold knew this but wanted to keep me locked up; he wanted life without the shadow of death. Meanwhile, I was cursed to live, to dream, to think—to see you before me. So yes, they paid the price for their greed and indifference.”
“Oh, come now! You can’t blame Leopold for his ignorance, nor for wanting to escape some monster in a box! He was a child. Children don’t make choices about life and death. Blame Blackbeard, if you will. But your revenge is misplaced on Leopold; you love and hate the wrong people!”
“Then who should I love? Who in the world loves me?” it said, angrily.
“Love is not something forced upon an unwilling objecze="+0">t,” she replied. “I might by slow degrees pity you, even wish you a compassionate end; but for now I only despise you. Ask me again in a thousand years.”
Without the slightest hint of action, it suddenly flung himself across the coach and seized her throat. She gasped and clawed in defense but its fatigue had burned away. Now single-minded rage consumed its body, giving it the strength it lacked in love. It grinned horribly, releasing its grip slightly to whisper in her ear,
“I do love you—but unlike him, my love is not some weak-willed, puppy love. It’s savage and passionate; it is a love that defies the grave. You will know true love by the end of it, and you will never want him, or anyone else, again!”
The coach lurched to a violent halt, throwing the Death off her and against the window. The door swung open and it collapsed in a heap on the road, dazed; but just as he came to someone fired several shots into its chest. It flailed and cried out, then fell suspiciously silent.
“Lady Mary! Quickly, let’s go!”
Lucas! He was the driver—or rather, he had convinced the driver to jump into a ditch a few miles back.
“It’s not—you can’t kill it!” she said.
“Not trying to kill it, just trying to get a running start,” he said, taking her hand.
He fired one more shot at the crumpled figure and they fled into the surrounding woods.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Leopold and Ivan were shackled and brought not to the Dungeons, but to a smaller, less imposing prison a short walk from the gallows. The guards seemed terrified whenever they looked at Leopold, and one even said, “this wasn’t our idea; please don’t bite our ears off.” Leopold promised not to. The child came briefly to their cell to look them over, yet without the bravado he once possessed. He particularly inspected Leopold, squinting through a monocle and muttering something inaudible (it sounded like “card tricks”). Once he left, the brothers were left in pitch blackness, heavily shackled and unable to walk more than a foot in any direction.
“So we’ve come full circle,” Ivan said. “When we first met you asked to trade my life for yours. Now they’re both worthless.”
“Worthless? Surely you don’t think this is the end!”
“Isn’t it? I only worry about Mary.”
“Wherever he goes, I can find her. Don’t forget, I know him…I know what he’s thinking. I can almost see them now; that is, I can hear the wheels of a distant coach…”
Ivan let the silence build between them, but his thoughts demanded expression. For better or worse, he had to speak.
“She’s a wonderful girl. I admire her greatly.”
“You have no idea. I’ve known her for so long, but I never appreciated her as she deserved. I took her for granted.”
“No, surely not. She knows how much you love her. She’s very observant, she takes everything in. I even fear…she might have noticed my interest.”
“Your interest? What, that you have feelings for her?” Leopold said, with a slight laugh. “Why would she think that? If anything, she might suspect the opposite. You’re rather cold around her.”I never a
“Cold?”
“Yes, I was worried you didn’t like her. Perhaps you could talk to her a bit, just so she doesn’t…think you disapprove. You don’t, do you?”
“No—no! Quite the opposite. In fact, she may have cause…to think otherwise.”
“How on earth would she…wait a minute, are you saying you like her? Mary?” he asked, his voice rising.
“It’s the last thing I should admit to, but it’s there, growing in my mind day and night. Yes, she’s marvelous—I can only say this to you. You should have seen her with the dragon.”
Leopold laughed, the kind of mirthless laugh that indicated something nasty would follow.
“Unfortunately, I couldn’t see her with the dragon; you left me in that box, remember?”
“Leopold,” he winced, “you know I never intended—”
“Do I? At the moment I’m beginning to seriously doubt your intentions! Zounds, you must have been quite disappointed when she found me. So what would you have me do? Bow out gracefully? Withdraw my affections so she can trade one brother for another?”
“And this is your response to my honesty!” he said. “These may be our last moments, Leopold; I want you to know my heart. She knows nothing of this—that’s why I tell it to you!”
“Isn’t this torture enough?” he shouted, rattling his chains. “And now I have to think of you and her together? You have my sincerest thanks!”
“Don’t be such a child, Leopold,” he snapped. “I meant this to show my loyalty to you, not my betrayal. I would die to save you both; you can’t doubt that, not now.”
“Perhaps father was right to separate us,” Leopold muttered. “In the short time I’ve known you, you’ve managed to kill yourself, kill me twice over, attempt to kill Blackbeard, and now—Mary? Say, we still have a few hours before our execution. Can you manage anything else? Is there anyone else to murder?”
“It’s not something I chose, Leopold, anymore than I chose to be the bastard offspring of your late father. But we only blind ourselves if we ignore the truth.”
“This is madness! I went from being an only child to having two brothers—or not even brothers, twins! We all seem to think alike and want the same things. But of the irony is that you’ve not even a blood relation, and he—I don’t even know what to call him!”
“What do you mean, not a blood relation? We are blood, Leopold. Our father—”
“Blackbeard isn’t my father.”
Leopold regretted it the moment he said it. But now it was out, another presence in the room, shackled to their arms and legs. Ivan’s chains rattled in response. He had nothing to say. Even the denial he wanted to lob in defense died on his lips. Lies no longer interested him, even lies to himself. He only wanted the truth.
“Does he know?”
“I don’t think so. But then I never quite know what he’s thinking.”
“Your father was right; he only had one son,” Ivan rasped, choking down his emotions. “Another way my mother sought to settles scores with the world. Always at my expense…”
“Ivan, I’m sorry…it told me. I wasn’t sure how to tell you, nor did I intend to tell you now. My anger…”
“No, you had every right to tell me. I’m a fool. I wanted the truth, but not all of it…not the part I chose to ignore.”
“It’s true, we all have too many secrets,” Leopold said. “You did an honorable thing. Here,” he said, groping for Ivan’s hand in the darkness, “let’s shake and be brothers, whatever our blood.”
Ivan took his hand shook firmly.
“But she chose me, remember,” the Count said.
Ivan gave a slight laugh.
“She made the right choice.”
Chapter Fifty
Blackbeard followed the coach at a distance, knowing Mary would find a way to escape, given time. Unfortunately it picked up speed, whizzing past buildings and pedestrian
s (at least one of whom was nearly run down). The sorcerer broke into a full sprint, only to watch the image recede further and further into the distance. Soon it would be lost entirely. The surrounding forest tended to obscure magic charms, requiring them to search every inch by foot. He trembled to think how many inches fit into the thousand and thousands of acres of forest.
“Wheels fall off, horses bolt, cable snap—do something!” he muttered through his panting breath.
Just then the coach lurched to one side and the coachman fell—or jumped—off the box. The door opened and someone tumbled out, only to be fired upon by the coachman. Had he done this? While he hadn’t consciously uttered a spell, the timing was uncanny. Had his very thoughts become magic—become will itself? For the second time this week, Blackbeard felt enormously impressed with himself.
Mary and the coachman ran off into a tangle of shops, leaving the figure splayed on the ground. Blackbeard approached cautiously. It couldn’t be dead, but beyond that, the sorcerer didn’t know what it could or couldn’t be. With a shake of its head, the Death flailed for something solid; it connected with a hand that hauled him to its feet. Its eyes widened.
“Blackbeard?”
“And you…I don’t even know what to call you. Leopold? Surely not.”
“I am all that he could ever be. He is my shadow.”
“But even like this you’re not alive. This spell—or whatever it is that brought you here—can’t last. He can’t exist here with you.”
“All the more reason to kill him, then. Not that you’ve been right about anything so far. You’re an old fool, far past your prime. In fact, you should thank me for this—”
The Death drew a knife and lunged at Blackbeard. The sorcerer deftly moved aside—so much so, that the Death fell face-first on the ground.
“You still don’t know how to control it,” Blackbeard observed. “Good thing you’re immortal; it may take a lifetime.”
“I don’t need this,” it said, tossing the dagger aside. “I just wanted it to be slow. There are so many ways I can kill you.”
Ignoring him, Blackbeard cast a holding spell: words of flame circled around his feet and blackened into a curse. No demon or spirit could venture beyond them.
“You think this can hold me?”
“I know it can.”
The Death took a step—or tried to. The circle held fast. It was trapped.
“Impressive. But then you created me—I should expect no less.”
“You will remain here until I find the others. Then you go back.”
“Back where? Where do I belong, Hildigrim Blackbeard? Not in Count Leopold, surely?”
“No, there’s no hope of that now,” he said, trailing off.
“You’ve uprooted me. I have no home, nowhere to slink off to,” it said, with a chuckle. “I’ll make my own home, now.”
“You know I can’t allow that. I’ve already made one mistake.”
“One?” it laughed. “Your entire life is a mistake. But always at the expense of others. Count Leopold, me, the Russian dancer, your son.”
The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, you know he’s your son. You’ve had every reason to know. Of course you denied it.”
“I never deny, I question,” he replied. “And I question your motive in telling me now.”
“My motive is simply this: I want you to know—or torture yourself with the possibility of knowing—as you die. For I can see your Death. And it can see me, too. Shall I make it dance?”
“You can’t venture beyond the circle,” the sorcerer said, less certainly than he intended.
“I don’t need to take a step. I merely call on your Death…I know how to set it free. Look at it, the poor wisp of a thing. It thinks it’s trapped. If it only had eyes to see…”
Blackbeard took a step back, muttering the words of an ancient defense. The words died in his throat. The sorcerer felt an intense coldness in his chest which quickly spread through his arms and legs. He gasped and fell to his knees. A look of desperation met the eyes of the Death, who grinned maliciously. He fell forward, catching himself at the last second. Crawling away, he tried to reach…what? A heaviness pressed down on him, blurring his thoughts. His last thought was a hope that Mary could find the sword before the circle—
Blackbeard dropped at the Death’s feet. Eyes open, he stared numbly ahead at the prospect before him. What would death look like when it came? Like a long-lost friend? A hated rival? Or a total stranger, someone you wouldn’t look twice at, but who paused to ask a question—and never let go?
“Thank you, Hildigrim Blackbeard,” the Death said, looking over his body. “Now I know what it means to feel truly alive. Hatred and revenge. How deliciously human.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Mary and Lucas raced through the city, never looking back to observe the Death’s progress. When they finally paused for breath—more Lucas’ doing than Mary’s—they felt curiously abandoned. Could it be…it wasn’t pursuing them? Mary cautiously retraced their steps, peering down deserted alleyways and dingy shop windows. Nothing but stray cats and her own distorted reflection.
“I don’t understand…” she whispered.
“Maybe it got tired again,” Lucas said. “It’s probably sleeping it off in a gutter.
“No, it seemed different this time. I don/h2>it got tt think—” it suddenly dawned on her where it might be.
“What?”
“It went back—for Leopold!”
“The Count? But why? With all those soldiers?”
“They can’t stop it! And what can we do? We don’t even know where they took him. But it does!”
“Wait—I know—I saw them!” Lucas exclaimed. “Before he took you away in the coach! Quickly, this way!”
He led Mary back toward the gallows, and just beyond it, to a small prison with imposing, rusted gates. Soldiers ambled past, giving them a lazy gaze as they did so. Now all they had to do was get in.
“What’s the quickest way to get arrested?” she mused, pacing before the gates. “Murder, I imagine. Hmm…”
“Well, most things are illegal in this Country,” Lucas chuckled. “Even dreams are under strict regulation. Like the man who dreamed he was the king, remember? He told it all to his wife and she shared it with her hairdresser; he was in the stocks by nightfall. Soon even love will require a license and proof of—“
“Love—that’s it!” she exclaimed. “Come here, Lucas: kiss me. No…right here, the angle’s better.”
Lucas grinned stupidly. Seeing his lack of initiative, she pulled him close and kissed him forcefully on the mouth. He protested—for a moment, that is—but soon stopped thinking altogether. She spun him around and pressed him violently against the gates. Her hands pulled him this way and that, her lips traveled over his neck and to his ears. Was it possible—had she loved him all this time? True, certain things didn’t make sense with this theory, but life didn’t have to make sense all the time, did it?
“Play along, you fool! We’re trying to get arrested,” she hissed.
“What--”
“I want them to think I’m one of those women. Who else would act like this?”
“Oh, yes, of course!” he said.
He tried to play along, but had never, so to speak, been intimate with a woman. Hands he had kissed, even a cheek once, but lips? He had only the foggiest ideas about how one “made love,” though he had seen the nobles pawing at one another in the shadows on occasion. Doing his best imitation, he kissed, fondled, and in a moment of true inspiration, squeezed her breasts. Her eyes widened considerably and flashed curses and outrage. But before she could retaliate, the gates screeched open and a guard came out, hauling them apart.
“Another one! And right in front of the gates, if you please. Go on, off with you, sir!” he said, pushing Lucas away. “I’ll take this one…no doubt this isn’t your first offense. You should be quite familiar with the establishment.”
&nb
sp; As she took her away, she shot a glance of thanks—and slight chagrin—at Lucas. For his part, he felt profound intoxication. So that’s what it was like! No wonder everyone made such a to-do about getting married. He would have to find a wife straight away, or at least once all this Death business was safely concluded. Then they could play at getting “arrested” whenever they liked!
Once inside, Mary studied every inch of the prison, spying out the likeliest place to find Leopold. It wasn’t very large, just two or three floors of cells and no more than a dozen guards that she could make out. The guard, sensing her hesitation, nudged her along.
“Having second thoughtand no mors, are you?”
“No, it’s just…I feel faint…”
She collapsed on the floor, or would have, had the guard not had the good sense to catch her. He called for assistance, and a pair of guards carried her off to a dirty sofa to recover her senses.
“She must be pregnant,” one of them noted.
“Perhaps, but doesn’t it strike you…that she looks a little…how to say…”
“Beautiful?”
“Ah yes, there is that. But not just that.”
“Young?”
“Mmm, that, too. And yet, something else…”
“Foreign?”
“Yes, yes, she’s that as well. But doesn’t she look…I don’t know, rich? I mean, noble? Have you ever seen one of them that looked anything like this?”
“But what does ‘rich’ look like? Well-fed?”
“Clearly she’s that, but look at her face, the way it’s shaped…she was born into that. That’s privilege.”
“Then what’s she doing here?”
“A run-away? Or she was abducted?” he shrugged.
“I don’t know…she could be a spy.”
“A spy? Her? She hardly blends into the background.”
“Exactly, that’s the point. Last person you would suspect.”
“You suspect her! No, I’m not convinced; I think she’s an abducted princess from Korsakovina. Freddy’s seen one before—he says they have this kind of nose. Just like hers.”
The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) Page 16