by Shamus Young
“There are a lot of refugees here,” Simon observed upon seeing so many faces from Callisto.
“I wonder why more of them didn’t head for the city,” Alice said.
“We are on an island,” Gilbert explained, “I haven’t been here since I was a boy, so perhaps things have changed. But at the time there was only one small ferry running between here and Manhattan. It’s likely that ferry couldn’t handle this many passengers in a single day.”
“If the ferry can’t handle all of these people, then how will we get where we’re going? I don’t think I’m up for swimming,” Simon said uneasily.
“We’re not going to Manhattan, so the Manhattan ferry isn’t a problem for us. If we crossed the water to the north, we’d be in Jersey City. If we crossed the Hudson to the east, we’d either be in Brooklyn City or New York, depending on where we landed. But we are going west, to Woodbridge. My family home is there. I don’t expect the Arthur Kill ferry to be very busy if everyone is making for New York.”
“Arthur Kill?” Simon asked.
Gilbert laughed, “In this case, ‘kill’ is a Dutch word meaning ‘channel’. And the only difficult part of crossing it will be dealing with the ferryman.” It sounded like most of the water had worked its way out of his head, although they could still see droplets coming from his clothing in the moonlight.
They had moved beyond the warm light and tired-eyed refugees of Grasmere, and were now on a road heading west. Along the way Alice and Simon took turns explaining the events on the Callisto.
“It’s a shame your shot at the headmaster missed,” Gilbert said once the tale was over.
“A shame, but not a surprise. It holds only one shot. It has a short barrel, even for a pistol, and it’s not rifled,”
“I don’t know what that means,” Simon admitted.
“It means it’s not very useful for targets more than a few paces away. My father told me to think of it as a knife that can reach across the room. I pleaded with him for a more substantial weapon, although I admit I only wanted a more complex firearm because I wanted to take it apart and examine its workings. In the end, Father proved right. Walking about obviously armed would set people on their guard and make them less inclined to answer my questions. At the same time, men never expect women to have weapons, and having one hidden has saved my life more than once.”
“Well, it’s still a shame you didn’t shoot him. Even more so now that he’s killed all those people. Imagine sinking an entire ship, just to kill the three of us!”
“That is strange,” Alice admitted, “And not at all what I would expect from those three. They are unnaturally bold. They slew a man in the open to escape the ship, after the ship was obviously sabotaged. Even if they slip from our grasp, the official investigation will lead in their direction. I can’t imagine how they plan to evade the law for a crime so drastic. Why would they perpetrate something so horrible, just to hurt Gilbert’s mother? No, there must be another explanation for what they’ve done.”
The road was dark now.
“Another thing that confuses me,” continued Alice, “is why the headmaster suddenly decided to get rid of Gilbert. Their plan was clearly for him to go down with the ship, and stay there.”
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that they’re just giving up on the idea of reviving the Viscount,” said Gilbert.
“I don’t know what to think. His actions seem irrational and brazen, and yet his men remain unscathed, and several steps ahead of us.”
They walked in quiet for perhaps a half hour before Simon responded to the growling of his stomach, “I wish we’d gone looking for food when you suggested, Alice. This exercise is putting me in a mood to eat.”
“Eat when you can, regardless of appetite, because you don’t know when your next meal will come. Sleep when you’re allowed, because you don’t know when you’ll get permission again.” Gilbert said this somewhat reflexively.
“Is that more military advice?” Alice asked.
“It is.”
“It’s good advice,” Simon said. “Especially if I’m going to spend more time with the two of you.”
It was perhaps five miles to the ferry at Arthur Kill. At the end of the road they found themselves in a salt marsh. Long grass reached out of the moonlit water, and the air had a damp, slightly stagnant smell to it. The road had been built up with wood beams and bits of stone to keep their feet out of the muck.
“I can’t believe it,” Gilbert said as they drew near. “Mr. van der Byl is still running the ferry. He was running it when I was a boy, and I remember him being old even then.”
“What’s wrong? Is he troublesome?” Alice asked.
“No,” Gilbert said with a sigh. “Only excruciatingly cheerful and talkative. Mother used to bring me across the water to Milliken once a week, and Mr. van der Byl would grin at us and chat our ears off the whole time.”
Alice raised an eyebrow, “That is somewhat less dangerous than the other perils we have faced today.”
“It might amuse you,” Gilbert said to his smirking companions, “But the man drove me to irritation with his relentless chatter and gossip.”
“I suggest we chance it in spite of the danger,” Alice said.
Van der Byl stood firm and sure on the deck of his ferry. His neck leaned forward under the memory of burdens past. Shaggy white hair framed his dried face. His body was lean, but not withered. He was assisted by a scampering blond-haired youth who tended to the more physical duties.
His ferry was a broad wooden platform with a small shack near the middle. A small smokestack rose from the building, which contained a boiler that drove the paddle. The wooden construction was made of so many planks of varying lengths and thicknesses that the entire craft looked like it might crumble apart at any moment. However, the apparent age of the ferry indicated that it had gone for years without doing so. A bright lantern swung from the side of the shack.
Gilbert paid Van der Byl the last of his coins and stood at the edge of the ferry, looking out into the darkness across the water.
Despite Gilbert’s warnings, Van der Byl was not unnaturally cheerful and he did not assault them with overwhelming conversation. He lit the engine. Its operation was not impressive to Alice, and she did her best to hide her frustration at such an ill-kept device.
“Last trip of the night,” he said as the boiler began to chug and the paddlewheel lazily pushed them out into the water. “I usually head home at sundown, but I’ve tarried in hopes of news about the sinking.”
“We are survivors of the same,” Alice replied. “But I’m afraid we have little in the way of news.” Alice then told the man a few bits of what had happened on the beach.
“You’re the second group of passengers to ride with me today, although I can’t say the other ones made for as pleasant company.”
“Three men? One in a top hat? Perhaps all looking ill-kempt?”
“You know the gentleman?” Van der Byl said nervously, suddenly embarrassed of speaking ill of them.
“No. But we are following them.”
“Ah! So you’re going to call on Mrs. Hiltman as well?” the old man said with sudden cheerfulness.
“Did the men tell you they were going that way?” Alice asked.
“Me? They said naught to me except a bit of rudeness in greeting and parting. But the news from Milliken is that they spent most of the day in town, asking after Victoria. I guess someone finally told them what they wanted to know and they came this way. I asked them to give my best to her, but I doubt they’ll remember. Rude men. I hope they’re more kind to her than they were to me. Victoria is a fine and handsome lady, and doesn’t deserve that sort of harshness.” His face was lit with a sudden smile as he spoke of Victoria.
“Is she?” Alice said with curiosity.
Van der Byl laughed warmly, “Oh indeed. Lovely woman. Why, if I was half as old and twice as rich... well, I’d probably still lack the courage to say aught to her. Still, she’s a welcome passe
nger when she comes.”
Gilbert turned to look at the man, and cocked his head to one side in sudden wonder.
“Well, we’re not as interested in Victoria as we are in the men you met earlier,” Alice said with seriousness. “We believe they mean her harm.”
Van der Byl was so upset with this news that he lifted his stooped shoulders in indignation, “I knew those men were up to no good. I didn’t feel right about delivering them, but I couldn’t very well refuse them passage. If I barred the rude and the ugly from my ferry I’d be out of business by Friday.”
“How long ago did they cross?” Alice asked, almost afraid of the answer.
“Perhaps an hour,” Van der Byl replied bitterly.
“An hour?” Alice shook her head. “Close enough to give hope, but still far enough to nearly dash it.”
Van der Byl landed the ferry with reckless haste and apologies. The three of them disembarked quickly and set themselves to the road.
“Hold!” Van der Byl called.
“If you want us to help Mrs. Hiltman, you should not delay us,” Alice warned.
“I only ask that you delay long enough to take our horses. I don’t like the thought of walking home in the dark, but I’d rather go without a horse tonight than go without my favorite passenger tomorrow.”
Two horses were hitched nearby. Gilbert mounted one without a word and galloped off into the darkness. Alice and Simon scrambled to follow as quickly as they could. Van der Byl called after them, asking that the horses be returned in the morning.
After a few minutes of riding they came to a halt at a nexus where several roads met.
“What’s wrong?” asked Alice once they had caught up.
“I don’t know which way to go,” Gilbert said in a panic.
“I thought you said you once lived here,” Simon protested.
“Many years ago. The memories are distant, and the land has changed. Only three roads met here, not five, and the trees I remember are all gone.” He turned his horse in a slow circle, looking one way and then another, trying to reconcile his memories with what he was seeing. “There was a small barn on the north side of the main road. It’s now gone, and I see a much larger one on the south side. Wait. This road had the deepest ruts, so it must be the oldest.”
Gilbert moved forward, but Alice halted him. “Ruts are deep from use, not age. A well-used road may have deeper ruts than an older one with less traffic. Use your head. Panic will not help your mother now.”
Gilbert climbed down from his horse and sighed with frustration, “I wish it were daytime. It would be easier to get my bearings if I could see farther.” He paced around the intersection, looking from side to side. “I can tell it must be one of these two roads,” he said after a few minutes, “But they are so similar in size and heading that I can’t decide between them.”
“Trees are deceptive landmarks,” Alice said. “They feel unchanging, simply because they change so slowly. Try to ignore the trees and look at the shape of the land.”
Simon slid down off the horse he was sharing with Alice. He walked over to a gap in the grass and found the grass was hiding a wide rock. Stomping on it he said, “What about this rock? Is this familiar?”
Gilbert rushed over and placed his hand on the rock. It was mostly flat, rising just a bit in the middle. Then he sprang up onto it and posed with his arms folded, “Here! I remember walking with my father. I used to pretend I was the captain of a sailing-ship, and this rock was my vessel. And sometimes I pretended the road was the shore. This road!”
Gilbert sprang onto his horse and tore through the night.
Gilbert arrived home to find the front door open. A lantern hung by the door, casting a warm glow against the endless darkness. More light came from inside, followed by weeping. Alice and Simon arrived just as Gilbert ran into the house.
Gilbert took in the scene in a quick glance. Mother was on the floor in the middle of the room, bound. The headmaster was copying a sorcery circle from a book, drawing it onto the floor around her. Ruby was sitting on the couch, weeping. Her husband was in a heap in the corner. He was badly bloodied. Ivar was standing over him, threatening him with Captain Turpin’s sword.
Gilbert exploded into the room, his long dam of vengeance and rage finally breached. His battle-cry was a long, beastly wail.
The smile vanished from the headmaster. He dropped his chalk and bolted for the back door. Ivar dove at Mother, aiming to drive the sword through the helpless woman. Gilbert batted the blade aside with his arm and put his bony knuckles to work on the bridge of Ivar’s nose. Simon and Alice dashed in through the front door, saw Gilbert, and decided to chase after the headmaster.
The scuffle smashed a vase, knocked pictures off the wall, and reduced a small table to splinters. Ivar lost the sword when he buried it in the side of the china cabinet. Not wanting to see any more things destroyed, Gilbert grabbed Ivar by the beard and pulled him from the warm light of the sitting room to the icy darkness in front of the house.
Once they were out in the yard they broke apart and began circling each other.
“At least being dead didn’t sully your looks,” Ivar laughed. Gilbert’s hood had been thrown back in the scuffle.
“We’ll see how well the grave treats your face in a minute,” Gilbert shot back. The two began poking at each other with their fists as they circled.
Ivar spat out a bit of blood, “Ye should worry about your own head, Maypole. I’ve no fear of ye.”
“A lie you tell yourself. You picked a fight with me when I was too weak to fight. And you still needed Soot’s help to best me.”
Ivar began laughing. Gilbert decided to put a stop to it, but he found himself grabbed from behind. Soot held his arms long enough for Ivar to join in, and they wrestled Gilbert to the ground. Ivar locked his hulking arms around Gilbert, pinning his arms to his sides. Soot slipped away for a moment while Gilbert struggled to break free of Ivar’s grip.
Soot appeared again, dragging an axe. He held it over Gilbert’s throat to prepare his swing, and then drew the weapon back, nearly stumbling in the process.
“Hurry,” grunted Ivar, who was losing his grip.
The axe came down. Soot stumbled under the weight of the swing, and the blow landed beside Gilbert’s head. Gilbert pulled an arm free and grasped the handle. He pulled it away from Soot and suddenly all three of them were fighting for the axe. There was screaming and punching and profanity. The axe head wound up between the two large men as Soot pounded impotently against Gilbert’s frame.
Ivar kicked Gilbert between the legs, which did him no harm. Gilbert returned the favor and enjoyed more success. As Ivar stumbled, Gilbert pulled the axe away and slew him with a single messy stroke.
Alice stopped as she drew near the large barn that loomed over the Hiltman house. She’d lost sight of the headmaster and didn’t want to be ambushed in a blind chase. She wished she’d been able to change into more practical clothes before this. Running in a dress was hard work.
“Where did he go?” Simon asked, finally catching up to her. Not wanting to leave a half-finished circle unattended, he’d paused in the sitting room to clean away the sorcery.
“He ran towards this barn,” she said. “But I lost sight of him after that,” she rasped. It was hard to be short of breath and quiet at the same time.
Simon pointed towards an orchard, where a figure was skulking about. They gave chase.
“Be careful,” Simon said as they ran. “Remember that he’s a wizard.”
“I know,” Alice said, after which they were nearly blinded by a spurt of fire. Alice tumbled, hurled fire back in answer, then beat out the flames on her sleeve. They sat for a moment, trying to quiet their panicked breathing and blink their dazzled eyes back to usefulness.
The trees had been stripped by autumn, and only a few daring leaves still clung to the branches. Some of these leaves had begun to burn, and motes of scorched foliage floated in the air around them like a rai
n of glowing embers. Rather than making their stand in the light, they crawled away and took shelter in the shadows.
“I think you singed him,” Simon said.
“Did I?” she asked weakly.
“His hat was on fire. He looked like a lit candle.”
They heard running footsteps, but when they turned to look they saw only moving branches. There was another sound behind them. Alice spun and released flames in a panic. Another tree was singed.
“What’s wrong?” asked Simon. Alice had fallen to her knees.
She panted for a bit before answering, “I’m tired. Hungry. It’s hard to use magic. I’m very dizzy right now.” She pawed at her dress and pulled out her pistol, “I don’t think I’ll be able to cast another one.”
Once she’d recovered her balance she ran to another tree for shelter. A burst of flame warmed her on the way. She had to check to make sure her hair wasn’t on fire.
“Are you okay?” she said as she turned to one side, but Simon was gone.
There were more footsteps. She couldn’t tell if they belonged to the headmaster or to Simon, or even which way they were going. It was becoming obvious that the two sides had ruined their ability to see in the dark, and were now fumbling around in the orchard and setting the wrong things on fire.
Her hands were shaking and her mouth had gone dry. She was still panting with her mouth open. She felt light-headed. Her eyes strained in the darkness. Bracing herself against the tree, she pushed herself upright.
A glint of metal entered her vision on the right side. Reflexively, she threw up an arm and her hand caught the knife blade that had been aimed at her throat. The headmaster was behind her, perhaps to one side. She spun away and fired her pistol in a panic. There was a grunt from the headmaster, who stumbled backwards while clutching his stomach.
Alice stretched out her hand. She thought to finish him with magic, but only a tiny whisper of flame drifted from her fingertips. She was spent. She swooned and tumbled sideways from the effort.
As she lay on the ground with her face pressed into the grass, she could hear laughter coming from the headmaster.