Brimstone and Lily (Legacy Stone Adventures)

by Terry Kroenung

  Home sweet home.

  15/ Fresh Dreams

  Angels…it was angels at first. A couple dozen of ‘em, wearin’ cavalry boots and spurs.

  The sun had set and a cool breeze chilled me. We all sat in the dark bare parlor, a small fire sputtering in the grate. Romulus tended to it while the bare-headed Tyrell stared out of a broken east window as if he expected every Yankee soldier in Washington to come screaming out of the murk. It turned out that the captain had been staying at the house for a few days, on and off, and had laid in a supply of hardtack, beans, bacon, and coffee. The well out back still flowed sweet, so we had plenty of water for drinking, cooking, and washing.

  Crickets chirped all around us. At least, I hoped they were crickets and not poor witched farmers or unlucky soldiers. Other than the bugs, the fire, and the wind all that could be heard—if you had Jasper-enhanced ears, anyway—was the upstairs whispering of Roberta and Ernie. I’d seen them soaring past us as we neared the house. A harmless-sounding question to Tyrell about horse care in wartime had distracted him long enough for my friends to land on a window ledge. As soon as I could I’d sneak upstairs and let them know what was going on. Maybe by then I’ll know what’s goin’ on. Miracles happen.

  “Nice house,” I said, more to break the silence than to demonstrate my appreciation of Southern architecture. Actually, it was a pretty impressive place—two stories, bay windows down below and gables above, fancy-carved ceiling molding, paneled cherry doors, widow’s walk on the roof. Fancy rugs remained on the oak floors. The owners must’ve had to flee too suddenly to have taken them. “Pity they had to leave it.”

  “No choice,” Tyrell muttered, turning away from his sentry post. “They were tarred, feathered, and sent across the river on a rail for accommodating the Yankees.”

  That made me shudder. Folks tend to laugh when they hear tell about an angry mob tarring other people, especially if they think they deserved it. But it’s an awful thing. Often the tar was not just melted, but heated to boiling. The victim—usually stripped naked--could be horribly scalded. Even if they weren’t, the cooled tar had to be torn, peeled, or cut off, leaving scars for life. And a long ride on a sharp rail would strip the hide from bare legs and crotch. I’d seen it all happen in Maryland once, four years before, to a shopkeeper who’d cheated his customers. The memory of his screams had kept little eight year-old Verity awake at night for weeks.

  “Tough justice,” I breathed, standing and stretching.

  Tyrell twitched his long moustache. “Could’ve been worse. At least their necks weren’t stretched. And this house is still standing. Sometimes the mobs burn them, to prevent a return of the traitors. If they’re feeling charitable, the owners are allowed to leave first.”

  Makes you wonder who decided to call it a Civil War.

  Stretching and yawning, the cavalryman turned from the window. He’d decided that the Washington City garrison planned no sudden rush on his position this night. The captain smoothed his long dark hair where his short-billed cap had mussed it. Half its buttons undone, the gray jacket revealed a sweat-stained white shirt. The fine tall riding boots dozed in a corner by the fire. Despite all of this relaxation on our host’s part, his formidable pistol remained against his thigh in its shiny holster. I wasn’t sure if this readiness for action showed a standard wartime caution or his less than total trust of us.

  “We’ll need to maintain a sentry all night,” he announced, peering at a gold pocket watch that looked to be some kind of family treasure. “Two hours each should do it. It’s nine o’clock now. Your darky can take the first and the last. I’ll take second and you take third, missy. Too many renegades and deserters to let our guard down, to say nothing of enemy patrols. Bluebelly cavalry isn’t much to worry about normally, but even they can carry the day if we’re caught napping.”

  If Romulus resented being given an extra guard shift, he didn’t let it show on his placid face. It bothered me that he was so able to slip right back into his slave mode. But then, he’d only been free for a couple of months. What bothered me even more was remembering that the Morphageus would lose most of its power in another day. Have to get away to talk to Jasper about that.

  Tyrell said he was going out to check on his horse. When he’d gone out the back door to the maple tree that Alcibiades stood hobbled under, I slid over to the hearth where Romulus fussed at the logs with an iron poker. I wanted to take advantage of our brief moment of privacy. Up till then Tyrell hadn’t left us alone for a second.

  “Hey,” I whispered, “I have to go upstairs for a minute. Ernie and Roberta are up there. Need to let ‘em in on our new situation.”

  The Marshal didn’t ask how I knew that our friends were in the house. Either he’d heard them already—I felt sure that his canine hearing hadn’t all been lost when he’d been made human—or he naturally assumed that I had. “OK, miss,” he nodded. “That Reb asks ‘bout you, I just say you off explorin’ like kids do. Be careful now. I don’t trust him much. Apart from him bein’ a Reb, they’s somethin’ not quite right ‘bout him.”

  “Maybe,” I said, “but my Stone ain’t given me a warning.”

  “It might not. The Stone only goes cold ‘round monsters and dark magic. If he’s just a normal Merchantry spy you’ll get no notice from it.”

  “Oh,” I sighed. Here I’d been thinking I had a magic villain detector all this time. Guess I’ll have to start payin’ attention to things more, then.

  The stairs had been well-made, like the rest of the house, and didn’t creak a lot. I made it to the second floor without making much noise. Good thing my eyes were Jaspered, because it looked gloomier than General McClellan’s prospects up there. None of the firelight reached the four empty bedrooms and not much moonlight came through the windows, even though the drapes had been stripped away long ago. There was a musty smell of sadness, as if something lingered of the poor unlucky folks who’d once been happy there. A careful listen told me that Ernie and Roberta were hidden in a small room on the north side. I could hear sloppy chewing sounds.

  “Boo,” I whispered, closing the door careful-like behind me.

  “Boo yourself, missy,” Ernie said around a mouthful of red gooshy stuff. He and Roberta were sharing a snack. The window ledge they sat on was a sticky wet mess.

  “Where’d you get a ripe peach?” I asked with envy.

  “Ask your new friend. They’re outta his saddlebag,” the pirate parrot

  replied.

  “Who has peaches in April?” I muttered with a frown. “Must be magick.”

  The mouse burped and picked his teeth with his knitting needle. “Who cares? It hit the spot regardless.”

  “You find anythin’ else in his bags?”

  Roberta shook her scarlet head. “Nothin’ incriminatin’. No secret codes or maps or other such fun stuff.”

  Ernie made a disgusted sound. “There never is. Just once I’d like to have a spy handed to me on a silver platter like that.”

  His partner chortled. “Remind me to tell you ‘bout the time I caught an enemy ship’s surgeon smugglin’ plans for a Marshals’ attack in his underwear.”

  “I shudder to think of the circumstances that led to that graphic discovery.”

  “You and me both, bucko. Three hundred pounds of Belgian lard he was. In fact---”

  Tyrell wouldn’t be distracted for long. I had to get moving. “Can we save that tasty reminiscence for later, please? I have to get back downstairs in a minute.” I told them about meeting Tyrell and what few clues he’d dropped about himself. “Can you poke around the territory tonight, check in with any contacts you might have, eavesdrop on Reb scouts, whatever it takes? Find out if he’s on the up-and-up or whether we need to get shed of him quick?”

  Saluting with her broad wing, Roberta whispered, “Aye-aye. I’ll have a talk with the pigeons and the jays. They’re the nosiest birds around.”

  “And I can sneak into the closest Confederate headquarters,”
Ernie offered. “Chin with the field mice. They always keep their ears open while they’re rummagin’ through the mess scraps.”

  “Great,” I said. “Thanks. If you get goin’ now you’ll have six or seven hours till dawn. We move south at first light.”

  Ernie stretched and tied his needle tighter around his round belly. “South to where? To the ship or to your ma?”

  “Don’t know yet. Both, I hope. Have to get past Richmond and those two armies first.”

  “Won’t be easy,” Roberta said. “Couple hundred thousand troops and all their baggage trains…they’ll clog all the roads. Be suspicious and trigger-happy. Might want to start thinkin’ ‘bout a disguise and a cover story.”

  “Got one already.”

  “No, I mean a real disguise.”

  I shook my head. “Like the beaver? No, thank you! You got no idea how much that hurt.”

  Ernie laughed and climbed onto Roberta’s back. “Oh, I think she does, girlie. Talk to Jasper. There’s other ways to change your face without shape-shiftin’.”

  That was news to me. “Really? I have to sneak away later to gab with him anyhow. He’s gonna explain the ground rules about how to use Morphageus.”

  Now it was the bird’s turn to laugh. “Like to be a fly on that wall.” Ernie nodded in agreement.

  “Why?” I asked with a concerned frown. Did everybody know all about this stuff but me? “What’s he gonna say?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough, missy. See you at dawn.” With that Roberta eased out of the window and launched herself into the murk.

  After staring after them for a moment until even my magicked eyes lost them, I crept back down the stairs. Tyrell hadn’t returned. After looking out the front window and seeing nothing, I filled Romulus in on what our two friends were doing. Then I left him to keep an eye out and curled up in a corner to take a nap until my sentry shift at one a.m. I used my haversack as a pillow and my jacket as a blanket, curling into a tight little ball near the fire. Even after sleeping all day, I still had no trouble nodding off in no time.

  And falling straight into a new dream.

  The last time I’d slept, exhausted from my first hectic and horrifying night as Stone Warden, there had been no dreams. Not a one. At least, none that I’d remembered. All the previous images of golden men, black dogs, and creepy kids—clearly some sort of premonition—had been flushed out of my head. Maybe once a dream came true I had no need for it and the next premonition would take its place. Is this part of carryin’ the Stone? Is it a natural outcome of holdin’ Morphageus?Or is somebody sendin’ me dreams like a telegraph operator? Who could do that? And why?

  My new visions came like pictures in a scrapbook. Sometimes they were written words, like the kind you cut out of a newspaper and paste in. Other times they were realistic images, as you’d get in a normal dream. Once the words turned into a face, but it was of no one I knew. Not a lot of sounds seemed to accompany the visions, just some weird singing voices in a strange language in the background.

  Angels…it was angels at first. A couple dozen of them, wearing boots and spurs. They flew over country that looked like the part of Virginia we were passing through. One of them held me in its arms. We dodged giant letters in the sky, all jumbled up and not making any words that I could make out. In some of the letters were people in strange foreign-looking outfits. Other letters held Bullies. On the ground below us somebody led the black dog from my old dream, now with a spiked collar, toward a large grey-and-gold ship that sat on a beach made of skulls. Standing tall on the shore were three figures with swords and other scary-looking weapons I didn’t recognize. Facing them stood a young woman in a fancy hooped dress and wide-brimmed hat. I couldn’t see her face. She held the armed figures at bay with a whip. Then the angel dropped me. I fell forever and landed hard on the skull beach. Ma picked me up, smiling, then threw me through the air onto the ship. Roberta caught me in her beak before I could hit the deck and handed me to Tyrell. Farther out to sea, a giant whale swam toward us like a rocket.

  I woke with a gasp just as the whale was about to ram the ship. My whole body shook. Blinking, I looked around the room. Romulus snoozed beside the last faint embers of the fire. Next to the front window, Captain Tyrell stared out at the wide and empty lawn, arms and ankles crossed. When I sat up and stretched he turned his handsome head in my direction and smiled.

  “A fine alarm clock you have in your head, Miss Mary,” he said, unlimbering his feet and ambling away from the window. “It’s just one o’clock. Time for your guard duty.”

  “Fine by me,” I told him, rolling my head to uncrick my neck. “Weren’t sleepin’ too well anyhow.”

  “So I gathered. You were twitching something awful. Bad dreams?”

  I struggled to my feet, which seemed to be asleep still. “Maybe a little.”

  “Can’t say as I’m surprised, you being away from home on such a difficult quest.” Tyrell had brought in his saddle and blanket. He lay down on them as a makeshift bed, the same way I imagined he’d done every night since the war had started. “Well, you keep a sharp eye out all around the house for the next couple of hours, then wake your Tom to do the same. Make certain you don’t fall asleep now. Endanger us all if you do. Haven’t seen anything out there yet, but you never can tell. Every now and then take a stroll around the house. Do it at irregular times, so your movements can’t be predicted if there are scouts about. Make sure Alcibiades is secure and can reach his water. Toss some rocks into the trees to see if anything moves. You see or hear anything that’s not a mouse, you run and wake me, hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered, smiling inside at his talk of the mouse. I’d almost corrected him when he’d called me Mary. Better get my cover story straight in my head and keep it there.

  “Good girl. See you in the morning.”With that he rolled over and started in to snoring, dead asleep in a second as only veteran soldiers can do.

  I waited a few minutes to let him get full asleep, taking a look out the window and still seeing nothing. Putting my coat and cap on, I made my way out the back door to do as he’d told me. Behind the house I found a well, a trampled garden, and a couple of sheds. One looked like it had once held tools and the other had been the carriage house. Both were empty now, stripped bare by vengeance and common wartime looting. In the trees beside the tool shed I came across Tyrell’s golden horse, looming even larger at night than he had in the light of day. Alcibiades munched the grass at his broad feet while giving me a look that seemed to demand I genuflect.

  “Hey, there, Al,” I whispered, keeping my ears peeled for anyone who might be lurking in the trees. I rubbed his velvety muzzle. Al checked for an apple or sugar cube in my hand as a matter of course. When he came up empty, he turned away with a snort.

  “Sorry, fella. Maybe next time.” A tour around the house showed me that we were still safely alone. I saw no sign of Roberta or Ernie, so they were still off spying. I hoped they made it back in time and without running into any trouble. I knew that they’d been taking care of themselves for a long time, but my new dream had me spooked, not least because I had no idea what any of it meant. For all I could tell the whole thing foretold disaster for them.

  After going back into the parlor to check on Tyrell, who slept like a

  righteous man or a very comfortable villain, I tiptoed out back again. Finding Al still okay, I crept into the windowless tool shed, the farthest building away from the house, and latched the door. I didn’t want any surprises while talking to Jasper.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” I said in a semi-loud voice, tin cup in hand. I preferred speaking aloud to him when I could. It made me feel like Eddie, or something resembling Eddie anyways, still stuck by me.

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” Jasper said, the tin cup flowing out into the silvery shape of Morphageus. It sprouted cartoony little hands and feet, then hopped out of my grip to do cartwheels around the dirt floor. “Have any good dreams lately?”

&n
bsp; I scowled at him. “Was that you?”

  He held up his cute little hands in mock outrage. “Me? Oh, lordy no! How you wound me, child!”

  “What was it, then? I can tell it’s like the other dream. That one came true, near as I can tell. What does this one mean? Where does it come from?”

  “Dream interpretation’s somethin’ you’ll have to work out on your own. I’m in your head but I’m not of your head, if you catch my meanin’.” As he spoke he leapt up to the rafters and started swinging while humming a playground tune.

  Sighing, I grit my teeth, then tried to relax. “Well, what about where they come from? Are they just dreams that come with the Stone, or is somebody makin’ ‘em happen from the outside?”

  “The Stone doesn’t cause dreams or visions by itself. It only magnifies the Warden’s natural gifts.”

  “Meanin’…?”

  “Meanin’ that you already have the Sight, even if it’s so slight that you ain’t aware of it, or you have the talent for receivin’ the thoughts of others.”

  “Which is it most likely to be?”

  He dropped from the rafters with a back-flip and wrapped himself around me as if we were about to waltz. His tiny warm hands probed my skull in a motion like phrenology. “Hmmm. Offhand, I’d say the second one. You’re gettin’ messages from somebody who has the Sight.”

  “You can tell that from gropin’ my head?”

  “No. I can tell that from the fact that you have no idea that a dozen men are about to attack the house.”

  16/ Hellfiend Legion

  He pointed his giant pistol right at my face. It was like staring into a railroad tunnel. Any second I’d see the bright light of the locomotive.

  Then I wouldn’t see anything else.

  I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at Jasper. “Uh-huh.”

  “Would these lips lie?”

  “You ain’t got no lips.”

  “Well, read ‘em anyway… ‘a-dozen-men-are-about-to-attack-the-house!’”