Immortal Divorce Court Volume 2: A Sirius Education

by Kirk Zurosky

  “Yes,” I said. “But the Rakshas almost killed me.”

  “Almost,” Hedley said. “They did not succeed.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Good question,” I said. “Lots of reasons . . .”

  “Lots of reasons in the form of the Thief and Sonam, yes?” Hedley queried.

  “You could say that,” I replied. “What are you getting at? So things kind of worked out for me—just lucky I guess.”

  “Precisely!” Hedley shouted. “Precisely. You have made bad decisions, thinking with your manhood, yet come out smelling like roses instead of a manure pile. You survived circumstances that rightly should have ended your life. I just said survived circumstances, but the truth is that you thrived in those circumstances. And that is what drives the law and order part of Gulth Scorn’s brain absolutely crazy.”

  “For the record, I have changed since I have had children,” I said.

  “Yes, that is true in some ways,” Hedley said. “But a pretty face is still hard for you to resist, is it not?”

  I thought of how good the Thief looked. Forget about what side we were on—the attraction was undeniable. Deep down I knew I was going to have her, but now was probably a bad time to bring that up. “I bet Gulth Scorn’s wrinkly, old head fairly spun when he heard that chicken flew up and took Kunchen’s arrow, huh?” I said. “You know what they say, sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. But being both never seems to hurt.”

  “I am sure Gulth’s head spun, and he would have hurled his gavel, if he still even has one in his possession,” Hedley admitted. “He did right his entire life, and the universe punished him worse than anyone has suffered by letting him live through the basilisk’s bath of blood and venom instead of allowing him to die a hero’s death. You do the wrong thing routinely and keep prevailing. Maddening to him I am sure. But I will tell you one thing, Sirius Sinister . . .”

  I was quiet for a moment, digesting what Hedley had just expounded upon. Could that be true? “What is that, Master of Masters?”

  “You had better continue to be damned lucky, and just as damn good if we are going to save this world of ours.”

  I pursed my lips and whistled. “Hedley,” I said. “All I can do is dictate my own actions. And right now, I believe I am due to teach my class and prepare my first exam.”

  “Oh well then,” Hedley said with an evil smile. “Good luck with that.”

  It was almost a relief to settle back into my teaching routine, though the male members of the student body were noticeably disappointed at my return. I thought about devoting a lecture to the role of chance or luck in one’s survival, but after seeing Donald Glastonbury trip over a stick in the courtyard that hundreds of students had successfully traversed, and go face first into the only pile of horse manure around, I shelved the idea. The reality was that I had no idea how to explain my seeming good fortune, and that of folks like poor Glastonbury who had bad luck, if they had any luck at all. It seemed some mysteries of the universe were foreclosed even to immortals.

  Maria and I had taken to doing some lessons of our own in our chambers. She had proven very adept at learning the skills of the family business. Between her sisters and me, Maria was probably the deadliest child in the world.

  A knock came at the door, and Maria somersaulted behind the couch with a frown on her face and a throwing dagger at the ready. I glared at her to behave, and went to the door, opening it to find an exasperated Professor. “Ah, Professor,” I said. “Do come in. Do come in.” I plucked the dagger out of the air as it approached the Professor’s face and discarded it in one quick motion onto a side table. The Professor did not seem to notice the weapon, or the remains of her morning porridge that had spilled down the front of her dress. “Maria,” I said, “come say good afternoon to the Professor, and get us some tea please.”

  Maria popped up over the couch, bounced on it, and did a perfect flip, landing by my side where she curtsied. “Good afternoon, Professor,” she uttered in perfect French. “I shall fetch your tea,” she said in German. “And perhaps a biscuit or two,” in flawless Cockney.

  The Professor did a double take as Maria headed off in the direction of our kitchen. “She is certainly growing into a fine young lady,” she said, patting down a wayward strand of her unkempt hair. It did not help as two more strands popped straight up as she did so, giving her the look of having antelope horns.

  “Indeed, she is,” I agreed, wondering the reason for her visit. I realized that she was the first faculty member to come to my chambers. By the look in her eye, the Professor clearly needed something from me.

  Maria returned quickly with our tea, and I shooed her away, and gestured for the Professor to take a seat on the couch. I chose the chair directly across from her where I could see the entrance to Maria’s chamber and intercept any wayward projectiles aimed at our guest.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Professor?” I said, sipping my cup.

  “I need your help,” the Professor blurted out, nearly spilling her tea in the process.

  I studied her curiously. Hedley would have told me first if this was Relic related, or had something to do with Gulth Scorn. “And, pray tell, with what—Covering a class?” I asked.

  “Oh no,” she said. “That would not be fair to my students, no offense. No, I need you to help me with some research I am interested in.”

  “Research,” I said. “What kind of research?”

  “I am interested in going to see an underwater transportation device that a fellow by the name of Halley managed to go under the Thames with,” she said. “He has had it for a number of years, but now has made some improvements to it, wherein you can supposedly stay underwater for four whole hours. It is like magic!”

  I immediately thought of the shells of the merfolk, which mortals, other than the Worimi, had nary a chance to use to explore the vast depths of the ocean. No magic there—just nature. I saw Maria’s head pop out of her room when she heard the word underwater. I waved her back in. That was not a problem for my little merpire. For a moment, I mused wistfully of my undersea journeys with the Queen. There was definitely some magic there. Hedley was wrong—fortune did not always favor me.

  “Well, that should be easy,” I said. “Just send a message to Halley—you are with Oxford, you know—and I am sure he would let you see it. You can probably even arrange a little demonstration.”

  She shook her head. “Not likely,” she said. “He and Arthur are in a bit of a disagreement right now over a piece of astronomical theory. Something about a shooting star.”

  “Well, I cannot comment on that,” I said. “So he will not let anyone from Oxford see his little invention?” She nodded sadly. I could see where this was going. “You want me to sneak you down to the Thames without anyone’s knowledge, including Hedley’s?”

  She beamed, and I don’t know what surprised me more, her genuine emotion or that her face appeared almost, dare I say, pretty when she did so. I mentally jabbed myself in the eye—how long had it been since I had been with a woman? Surely not so long that the Professor, a monument to frumpiness and bad hygiene, looked good! But I was actually curious to see this mortal invention myself, and I kind of felt sorry for the pathetic creature in my living quarters. But before I agreed to help her, there was one little thing that made me curious about her request.

  “So, Professor,” I said, “why do you care about a device that lets you go down into the depths of the ocean? I mean—as a faerie, you can simply turn your body to diamond or steel, and avoid the pressure of the depths, right?”

  As quickly as her smile had appeared, it was gone, and the Professor’s face went familiarly blank and, for a moment, sad. She composed herself quickly. “Let me explain it to you this way,” she said. “Is every vampire in this world as adept with his weapon as you are?”
>
  I paused. “You mean my . . . sword?”

  The smile returned for a brief visit. “Sirius Sinister, you are indeed a breath of fresh air,” she said. “Yes, I mean your sword, hands, feet, and all the other tools of your trade, which for you does seem to include your phallus.”

  I frowned. “Professor, really now, what are you getting at?”

  “Please,” she implored. “Answer my question.”

  “All right,” I said. “No, they are certainly not. Between my training with my father . . .” I stopped speaking for a moment, recalling how Hedley Edrick had said that my father had learned from Gulth Scorn! This conversation had to happen with my father and soon! “And my . . . my . . . life experience . . . I have not yet met my equal with the sword among vampires.”

  “And you traversed an entire ocean, locking lips with the Queen of the merfolk?”

  I was silent, wondering how the Professor knew that bit of information. “Uh, yes?” I said finally.

  “So, here is the deal,” the Professor said. “You are a walking, talking legend among vampires. And that is the same with the Thief among the faeries. I can’t change my body as fast as she can, as varied as she does, and certainly not be as remotely impervious as she can! And the acrobatics and strength she has? I pulled my back out just lifting a book off the shelf the other day. And her beauty . . .” She stopped talking, and the set of her jaw revealed another emotion. It was pure, raw jealousy.

  I jumped in quickly. “I am sure she is not remotely as learned as you are Professor. I mean, you are at Oxford, for heaven’s sake!”

  The Professor looked at me and shook her head sadly. “Sirius, that is just not very exciting, is it?”

  “We are who we are, Professor,” I said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You never answered my original question. So you cannot dive to the depths of the ocean like the Thief did. So what? But why the contraption? Why are you interested in that little piece of mortal machinery?”

  “Oh, I am not,” the Professor said. “Arthur is. And I owe him a favor.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “I cannot say,” she said. “And please don’t make me tell you. I promised I would keep his confidence.”

  “And so you want me to take you to London, get you access to Halley’s machine, and not tell me why you are doing it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Please.”

  She really cut such a hopeless and pathetic figure. “Fine,” I said. “I will do it, but I am telling Hedley we are going to London to do a little mission training.”

  The Professor leaped from the couch and came at me in a rush of unbridled, well—joy! It was all I could do to intercept another dagger aimed at her spine before she hugged me warmly. I tossed the dagger back on the couch, glared at Maria, who giggled loudly, and with some difficulty, I uncoiled the Professor’s arms from my torso. Her face was flushed, and her eyes glassy and wild, and with her hair and that billowy grayish-black dress, it was rather like hugging a highly educated wildebeest. I hoped I would not regret my offer.

  “Maria, my dear,” I called. “I am going to call your sisters to continue your lesson today. The Professor and I are going to see a—”

  “Diving bell,” Maria said, looking bored. “It is called a diving bell.”

  I exchanged glances with the Professor. “Right,” I said. “A diving bell. Be good.”

  Maria nodded and thought for a moment. “Be careful, Father,” she said. “Things can be slippery when they get wet.”

  The Professor looked down in the direction of her shoes, which I realized were quite hidden by her dress. “Oh right,” she said. “The docks.” She nodded knowingly. “I have been on the docks before and will certainly change into something entirely more suitable, Maria, but thank you!”

  The Professor departed to ready herself for the journey, and I kissed Maria on the cheek as her sisters arrived with Garlic at their heels. “I don’t mean the docks, Father,” Maria quipped.

  “People?” I said. “Like eels, are they?”

  Maria merely nodded as her sisters made a collective gesture of yawning as if bored when I told them I was accompanying the Professor on a scientific expedition. “Have a nice nap,” Contessa kidded.

  “Sweet dreams,” Adelaide quipped.

  “Better you than I,” Beatrice said.

  Only Mary Grace was quiet, which drew my attention. “No comment from you, my dear?” I asked her.

  “She is just so strange,” Mary Grace said. “I mean, who doesn’t notice they are wearing their breakfast on a daily basis? And that hair! Doesn’t she know the comb has been invented? Just be careful.”

  “She is quite harmless, I assure you,” I replied.

  “Is she?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Harmless.”

  “No woman is harmless, Father,” Mary Grace said. “You of all people should know that.” Garlic barked in agreement—she was certainly an expert on bitches.

  “Indeed,” Contessa agreed. Why was she staring so intently at Mary Grace?

  “Eels, Father,” Maria announced to the room. This got her curious glances and laughter from her sisters. “Eels . . .”

  I shrugged and, with Garlic at my side, headed to Hedley’s office where I found him deep in thought. He barely listened as I told him where the Professor and I were headed. His only request was to bring him back some goat sausage from his favorite London market stall, and that Garlic stay behind and help him with a project. Garlic barked in agreement and lay down next to Norville. If it was all right with her, it worked for me. I thought about asking Hedley what Garlic’s mission was this time, but I didn’t, because he wasn’t going to tell me if I did! I glanced at the time clock and saw it was August 20, 1717. I had not been back at the College of Immortals very long, but three years had passed in the outside world.

  We set out in the morning for our two-day ride to London. Or I should say, tried to set out! But the Professor was anything but a natural rider. She said she was going to change into something more practical for travel, but to me the brown, leathery dress she now wore didn’t look any more practical than her usual attire. After thirty minutes, she still had not succeeded in mounting her horse. I considered having her ride behind me on mine, but ruled that out in favor of a trusty Oxford coach—so much for traveling incognito. And what inn did the dear Professor insist on staying at for our midway point? Indeed, the confounded Three-Legged Turtle!

  The inn was rather deserted, thankfully absent of portly courtesans and horny elves. I sat watching the Professor slurp her pea soup happily, amazed that the amount going into her mouth was only exceeded by the amount spilling onto her dress, the table, her hair, and the floor. “I think I will have a delightful bath as I did last time,” she announced to me. Now I knew why she wanted to stay at this confounded place again. Baths were few and far between for this creature.

  I started to say that she certainly needed it, what with all the pea soup in her hair, but merely smiled weakly and sipped my wine. “I will meet you in the morrow for the final leg of the journey,” I said. “I intend to go ahead of your coach and see the layout of the docks where Halley is keeping the diving bell.”

  The Professor clapped her hands together, spattering soup everywhere. “Oh, thank you, Sirius,” she exclaimed. “I promise, I will repay you for your kindness.”

  “Not necessary,” I replied. I watched her head up the stairs to her room, and moved my seat to a corner where I had a view of the tavern entrance, the kitchen, and the inn’s office. I motioned to the serving wench for another flagon of wine. I saw her pull her blouse down slightly so her cleavage was more exposed before she brought my wine to me. I had to laugh as, in spite of her scraggly teeth, her complexion was clear and flush with the vigor of her youth, her long blonde hair neat and clean, and her shape rather comely. She leaned forward, showing me her wa
res as she set the wine down on my table, and right as I was giving due consideration to this young maid warming my bed this evening, a strange yet familiar scratching came to my ear.

  “You!” I snapped, causing the serving maid to jump back in fear. “No,” I said. “I did not mean you. I am talking about that confounded scratching.” I looked around the room as the girl stared at me blankly, and wondered if perhaps it was only noticeable to my sharp vampire ears. “Do you hear it? Like some kind of damn oversized woodchuck.” Her face blanched, and she ran for the kitchen, and I thought for a moment about pursuing her and getting her to spill what information she obviously had about what I was hearing. But as I rose to follow her, I realized the sound was coming down the chimney and out of the fireplace. The author of that weird scratching that I heard before the coronation was on the roof! And I knew exactly how to get there unseen so I could catch the mad scratcher and pitch him off the roof as payback for the little present he left me last time.

  Out the window I went, this time under greater control and with utter silence, and once again found myself keeping company with the three-legged turtle on the roof. Last time, I was too noisy and had scared the mad scratcher off, but this time I was quiet as, well, a squirrel looking for a nut. I paused for a moment, and the scratching came again, this time louder than it had been on my previous rooftop trip. Ever so softly I crept along the catwalk leading from the wooden turtle to the back of the inn. I paused at the corner of the building, rubbing my hands together in glee at the thought of surprising this guy. I was convinced he was heading for the peephole to pleasure himself while observing whoever was in that tub. I shuddered—if it was the Professor, old scratchy would be sorely disappointed. Unless he was into parchment-complexioned, wild-haired, pea soup–covered ladies.

  Who was I kidding? I had passed through meadows and seen men after a little too much whiskey be none too bashful with a sheep. Ewe, or ewww as it were. The Professor was at least more attractive than a smelly, wooly ovine. I remembered how she looked almost pretty when she smiled. Damn, it had clearly been too long. Maybe I should leave the mad scratcher to satisfy himself in peace and go take care of my own business with that willing serving wench.