Hobgoblin Night: Mask and Dagger 2

by Teresa Edgerton

  Sera touched her husband lightly on the arm. "If you think that she may be trusted, then you may give her the Stone, for all it means to me."

  "For my part," said Jed, "I'd sooner give it up." And Elsie said so as well.

  But Skelbrooke only frowned. "Sera, the Stone is more than your namesake. It is your birthright. It is the thing for which your grandfather sacrificed all . . . his good name and fortune . . . the inheritance you were entitled to . . . he would urge you to keep it, no matter the sacrifice. Were you not thinking of him, only today? Were you not wishing—"

  "If Seramarias is mine to claim, in either my own name or my grandfather's . . . then I gladly relinquish that claim," Sera interrupted him softly.

  His lordship looked pained. "This irrational prejudice against all things magical."

  "It is not a matter of prejudice," insisted Sera. "Do you want to hear me say that I understand your desire for the Stone? I do, and have understood from the beginning. You were not far wrong when you said that I set my mind against all things magical for fear of animating my own interest. But if you imagine that Seramarias can somehow set things right, blot out the years of poverty, the hardships, the blows to my foolish pride . . ." For a moment, her voice faltered, then grew stronger. "It cannot do any of those things, Francis, and even if it could, I have everything that I want or need now. I am not such a fool as to sacrifice my present happiness, all for the sake of the dead past."

  As she spoke the last words, a tremor rocked the chamber. "The moon is diminishing," said Jed, catching Elsie by the hand. "As it moves away from the earth, it ceases to exert so strong an attraction. We don't really know—we've only been guessing—how long the machine all of itself will prove strong enough to keep the temple above the water."

  "Then you had better make up your mind swiftly, Francis," said the Duchess. "If I leave the catacombs without the Stone, you will never again hear me offer terms of peace."

  Another quake, this one much stronger, shivered through the island.

  "It seems Mr. Jonas miscalculated, and we've not nearly so long as we thought," said Jed, as the underground chamber continued to rock and sway. "The island may be sinking."

  Moses Tynsdale, who had hitherto remained silent, leaned over and spoke in the Duchess's ear. The Duchess shook her head emphatically.

  "You are quite certain, Sera?" said Skelbrooke, very pale and distressed. It was plain that Seramarias meant more to him than it ever could to her. "You are willing to give her the Stone?"

  "I am," said Sera, stamping her foot impatiently. "Please do not delay any longer, or we shall all drown along with the temple!"

  A difficult internal struggle followed. "Very well," said Skelbrooke, at last, holding out the bejeweled ivory casket. "You may take Seramarias. All debts will be paid, all wrongs mended—on both sides."

  In the ruins above, no one could find the sailors they had left on guard, or the Duchess's men who had overpowered them. "Let us waste no more time looking for them," said the Duchess, clutching the ivory casket against her bosom. She had entrusted Sebastian to Moses Tynsdale, who carried the indigo ape in his arms. "It is likely that my men took yours with them and went down to our boats. I fear they are not to be wholly trusted, however, and may have deserted us. Let us hope that your friends are more trustworthy, and that they are coming back for you as promised."

  They ran down the slope, between the broken buildings and statues, through the gathering evening shadows, as the island continued to rock. Much to their relief, they found Mr. Jonas and several sailors along with two of the longboats waiting on the shingle.

  "All debts paid . . . all wrongs mended?" said the Duchess, suddenly doubtful.

  "I have said it," replied Skelbrooke, helping Sera into the boat. "Give me your hand, Marella, and—"

  But just then, perhaps reacting to the excitement around him, the blue ape struggled out of Tynsdale's grip, leaped to the ground, and ran back up the slope.

  "Sebastian, my dear!" shrieked the Duchess. Declining Skelbrooke's offered hand, she started off after the ape. His lordship made to go after her, but Sera retained her hold on his hand.

  "You do not risk your life and our future to save her, my lord. We may forgive her the wrongs that she did us, but we need not forget them."

  "We must wait a bit, in any case, and give her the opportunity to return on her own," said Skelbrooke.

  The sailors had already launched one of the longboats, clambered in, and were rapidly rowing away. Jed, Mr. Jonas, and Moses Tynsdale pushed the other boat into the water, climbed in with the young ladies, and each took up a pair of oars.

  Several minutes passed, during which the island experienced repeated shocks. "The sea is rising, we have no hope of arriving safe back at the ship if we do not go immediately," said Mr. Jonas. "Nor do I think that Captain Hornbeam will wait for us much longer, before moving his ship to a safer position."

  Still Skelbrooke hesitated, his eyes scanning the island.

  "I will remind you that the Duchess and I arrived in a longboat of our own," said Tynsdale. "Which we left on the other side of the incline. It is possible that the men did wait for her, and that she has already regained her pet and headed in that direction. We might wait for her until the waters overwhelm us, and she would never come."

  Reluctantly, Skelbrooke climbed on board and took up the fourth pair of oars.

  ***

  Captain Hornbeam had waited for them, but the sheets and the sails were rigged, the anchor raised, and the Otter ready to make way, as soon as all were safely on board. "A most extraordinary adventure," Mr. Jonas was saying as he climbed over the rail. "You must not repine over the loss of the Stone. With the knowledge we have gained we can construct mighty engines . . . flying ships . . . underwater vessels. Even without Seramarias, I believe that our true adventure is only beginning."

  "Preacher Tynsdale . . . now, where did you come from?" asked the Captain, as the clergyman's head appeared above the rail.

  "From the depths of the earth," said Tynsdale. Arriving on deck, he removed his wide-brimmed hat with a sweeping gesture. "I cannot say that I enjoyed my visit overmuch, but at least I emerged alive." He turned to Skelbrooke, who had followed him up. "Was it your intention that I should also be included in the general amnesty, or am I to spend the rest of our voyage in chains down in the hold?"

  Skelbrooke considered for a long moment. He knew Hooke for a thorough-going rogue, yet it was impossible to gaze on his former associate without a strong impression: There but for the inexplicable whim of the Fates go I. "In return for satisfying my insatiable curiosity on several points, you shall be included."

  The longboats came up and were lashed to the sides. The ship started to move.

  "You may ask your questions and I shall engage to answer them," said Tynsdale, with a bow. "As I explained to you before, I am not generally employed as a kidnapper or thief. The acquisition and sale of information is my usual trade."

  Skelbrooke smiled faintly. "How came it that you were still in the Duchess's employ?"

  "I was able to convince her that I believed I was acting under her orders when I abducted you and your lady. That was not so difficult: I can always contrive a great show of sincerity—particularly when I am telling the truth. I did believe that I acted in accordance with the Gracious Lady's desires, I did not know that you were meant to die, and I was unaware of Skogsrå's precise intentions toward the lady. Indeed, I was not even aware that he was a troll, until he drank Miss Vorder's blood."

  He made a deprecating gesture. "I do not say this to excuse my actions . . . of which I am not particularly ashamed . . . it is only that I wish to provide you with a complete account, as a matter of professional pride."

  Sera whispered something in her husband's ear. His lordship nodded. "But tell me, Euripides: the Duke of Zar-Wildungen, is he really dead?"

  Tynsdale leaned comfortably against the rail. "To the best of my knowledge, he is. But of course, you can ascertain
the truth of that easily enough, by asking your friends in Wäldermark."

  Jed, who stood nearby, holding hands with Elsie, put in a question of his own. "What of the golem? Miss Vorder's double? Did the Duchess bring her on board the Black Bear?"

  "She did not," said Tynsdale. "Cecile is dead, or rather, she lost what little claim to life she ever possessed. At the Duchess's orders, Hancock and I took Skogsrå's body out into the marsh and dropped it into a swallowing bog. The monster was so distraught, we allowed her to follow along behind us. Indeed, we could none of us manage her after he was dead. How were we to guess that she would wade into the quagmire after him, or that once there, would refuse to respond to our efforts to save her?

  "She was up to her waist in mud, when apparently her semi-immersion in sand and water induced her to return to her own elemental form. She turned back into clay before our eyes," added Tynsdale, with a shudder. "It was not an agreeable thing to witness."

  With another bow and a flourish, Tynsdale strolled off. Sera frowned at her husband. "Shall he really escape the consequences of his villainy?"

  Skelbrooke shook his head. "Do not be deceived by his manner. Escape punishment? It is not in his power, for he carries it with him wherever he goes. You once thought you saw a resemblance between us, and you were not altogether wrong. Euripides and I understand each other better than you may think."

  Elsie and Jed joined Sera and Skelbrooke by the rail. "Cousin Francis," said Elsie. "You do believe what the Duchess told us, and if she survived she will trouble us no more?"

  "I shall be utterly convinced of that as soon as I know for certain that the Duke is truly dead. I learned a great deal about the nature of fairies during an extended visit to Mistress Sancreedi. As I was confined to my bed at the time, she had ample time to lecture me on a number of subjects." His lordship sighed deeply. "It seems that those of fairy blood have a tendency to respond to catastrophic events in a most curious way. Their personalities disintegrate—perhaps fragment is the better word. After a prolonged period of confusion, the personalities once more blend, and a new life begins.

  "I was treated to this lecture," his lordship added, with a quaint little shrug, "because Mistress Sancreedi imagines that all this applies to me, to a certain instability of character which you might perhaps have noticed. She has somehow gained the fantastic notion that my family has been concealing a significant strain of fairy blood, all these years. When I quote genealogies at her, she only replies that bloodlines have always been an obsession with fairies."

  "And how long," said Sera, arching a dark eyebrow, "is this period of confusion she mentioned likely to last?"

  "Sometimes for a period of years, but rarely more than six or seven," said Skelbrooke, slipping an arm around her waist. "By her reckoning, I must already be recovering from my bout of madness, and in another year at the very most I shall make you a most respectable husband."

  "I am sure that I shall believe that when I see it," Sera said tartly, though she smiled when she said it.

  "Indeed," said Elsie quite seriously. "I do hope that the Duchess may live her new life as a better woman."

  "As to that," said Skelbrooke, "these hybrid fairies do not live by our standards, nor those of the Fees and Farisees. Neither human nor fairy, they must create their own morality. I do not believe the Duchess ever violated her own precepts. And we are aware that many people in Thornburg only knew her as a kind benefactress. Had you not been the innocent cause of an insult she had suffered, had she become in truth your godmother, I believe she might have been kindness itself to you.

  "In her new life," said his lordship, "I should imagine she will be in many ways the same Marella: by turns generous and good, wicked and cruel . . . a creature of infinite caprice to our way of thinking, but ever true to her own nature."

  ***

  Captain Hornbeam invited his passengers to dine with him that evening. But after the others went down, Sera and Skelbrooke remained on deck a little longer, wishing to snatch a moment apart from their friends, after the excitement of the day. The sky was still a sunset purple, and they watched through the rigging as a vast yellow moon, only slightly lobsided, rose out of the water. The Otter left a golden wake behind her, like a path leading to the moon.

  "Now that you have had ample time to think of it, do you not regret your decision to relinquish the Stone?" Skelbrooke whispered in Sera's ear.

  "I do not," she said very earnestly. "I spoke the truth, there on the island. I am perfectly content with all that I have now, and with the prospect of our future together."

  He caught her hand in both of his and leaned against a mast. She moved in his direction, and their eyes met, sharing a smile of pure delight. "Please believe me, my lord, when I tell you," said Sera, "I have never been happier in my life."

  SHORT FICTION

  This story features a familiar character that readers of Goblin Moon and The Gnome's Engine are sure to recognize, though I tried to do him the courtesy of maintaining as long as possible the alias he chose to assume—no matter how transparent his disguise was likely to prove. It originally appeared in the anthology Highwaymen: Robbers & Rogues, edited by Jennifer Roberson.

  The scene on the beach near the end of the story was an idea that had occurred to me many months before, when I was in Oregon with friends and the subject of smugglers came up. The idea tickled my fancy so much that I was determined to use it sooner or later, though at the time I had no ideas about when or how. When Jennifer asked me to write something for her anthology, I realized that I finally had an opportunity . . . if I could find a way to combine highway robbery and smuggling into a single story.

  ROGUE’S MOON

  The wind was crying like a lost child up among the rocks on Deadman's Tor. In his hiding place in the graveyard at the foot of the hill, the pale gentleman cursed the wind and covered his ears with his hands. "Don't trouble me tonight, you angry spirits," he muttered under his breath. "I am here on your business as much as my own."

  He removed his hands from his ears, but the wind continued to wail. A cold sweat broke out on his skin, his heart beat raggedly, and the breath caught in his throat. He was—as he had proved again and again—the man for almost any desperate enterprise, but the weeping of small children was the one thing he could not bear. Their shrill voices haunted his every nightmare, dismally crying out for reparation. Our tiny bones were buried deep, yet we cannot rest. Not while other innocents suffer as we did.

  The wind died down for a moment. Over the voices in his head came the clamor of approaching hoofbeats on the carriage road leading past the cemetery. Though there was little light to see by with the moon so new, he was just able to make out an immense brute of a black stallion, and a dark, powerful figure in a many-caped riding cloak and a wide-brimmed hat.

  So . . . the highwayman would keep his appointment.

  Hastily abandoning his hiding place behind a tombstone, the pale gentleman pushed aside a rusty iron gate, and whisked inside an open mausoleum. It would not do to be discovered skulking like a dog among the graves—nor did he wish to be caught outside when the wind rose again.

  ***

  This was a queer place for a meeting, thought Ned, as he tied up his horse and moved cautiously across the graveyard. Nor did he like the business that had brought him here. Yet he thought of Mary—Mary who had endured so much over the years, Mary who was waiting for him to come back home and make her happy—and he was not even tempted to hang back.

  An icy blast lifted the edge of his dark cloak as the wind came shrieking down from the heights again. A flicker of light appeared briefly in the darkness ahead, over by the monuments at the center of the graveyard. Ned moved in that direction, picking his way carefully past overgrown mounds and tilted tombstones, and finally came to a halt outside one of the mausoleums, under the baleful gaze of a dark winged Fate who surmounted the tomb with pinions outstretched.

  Clearing his throat, Ned spoke in a low, hoarse voice. "There's a b
lack ewe caught in a bog t'other side of Grimley, and she's like to die of the cold."

  "Unfortunately, she will stray from the flock," came the answering password, in a light, pleasing baritone. "But do come inside, my dear fellow. There is no one here but ourselves and the hallowed dead."

  Ned had to remove his hat and duck his head in order to pass through the open gateway. Inside the tomb it was not much brighter than it was outside, but a dark lantern was slowly uncovered by a small white hand, bringing up the light gradually, so as to not dazzle Ned's eyes. "I'm obliged to you, sir."

  "On the contrary, it's very good of you to meet me here." The stranger moved forward, surveying Ned with evident satisfaction. "You are larger than I expected. Indeed, you look stout enough and strong enough for anything."

  Ned surveyed his new acquaintance from his superior height. The small gentleman was dressed in satins and laces, under a fine cloak, but his figure was square and capable looking, and there was a determined glint in his eye. No, this one was not a fop or a weakling . . . though perhaps it might serve his purposes, sometimes, for others to think so.

  It was very still in the tomb, with the thick stone walls muffling the voice of the wind. Ned spoke up to break the silence. "How am I to call you, sir?"

  "You may call me Hawkins . . . Emmanuel Hawkins. It is not really my name, but I have been known to answer to it. My business, I believe, you already know. I have a great interest in the subject of free-traders."

  Now Ned spoke from the heart. "They are the wickedest rascals, the most black-hearted scoundrels that ever walked this earth, sir."