The Lady of May Tulip (The Lynchman's Owl Adventures)

by B. Y. Yan

  It was a leaping punch and a display of agility uncommon for one of the baron’s towering size, or indeed, his age. But again the Owl was to astonish, rolling gracefully away from the returning swing of the giant as they fell to the ground together before springing to his feet and closing with him again. It is common knowledge that the strongest man in the world would be of little consequence if his strength could not be properly applied, and with every swing passing through nothing but air, it was only a matter of time before the gargantuan was howling left and right, and all over with bruises. But despite a broken nose still he pushed on, lumbering after the Owl with spittle flying from his lips and his eyes red with rage, trying to sweep him into his arms. His squeeze might have reduced a man to pulp, and in a pinch he would have happily tried to gouge out his opponent’s eyes with his chin. But the Owl was a winged creature floating with the wind, and he was lashing impotently at shadows. On one of these lunges he found his hand caught by the wrist, and his fingers being bent in all manners of awkward directions. The bones snapped one after another like firecrackers, and with each came a howl of pain from their owner. A swivel and a pivot took the giant off his feet, where he was thrown down upon the cobble on his back with his wrist twisted in the Owl’s clutches. A foot came down hard into his armpit, pinning him in place while his arm was wrenched in one direction while his hand was pulled in another. If there is a more terrible way of completely dismantling a human appendage I have no knowledge of it, and rightfully it put an end to the fight when the giant was left without the use of one of his arms—possibly for the rest of his life.

  With his spirit and body broken, when Cudgmore’s valet broke off into the night the Owl did not pursue. By then he had other matters on his mind, desperately trying to seek out where Madeline and the train-conductor had disappeared to. In this we will find the Lynchman’s Owl at something of an unexpected disadvantage. There was nothing to be discovered of them in the immediate vicinity, and in either of his guises he could never have knocked somebody up at their door to ask. In a city of millions, it was impossible to know where even to begin to look.

  “Yamcey would have known what to do,” thought the baron to himself darkly behind his mask and beak. “But it is just like him that he did not bother to teach me even as he handed down his creation to me.” Here the inexperience of this new Lynchman’s Owl showed itself readily, but we will forgive him for his indecision, for after all he had only had the job for such a short time. After a halfhearted search consisting mainly of running across nearby rooftops, gazing contemplatively over the gabled roofs stretching to the horizon without much to show for it, he was forced to give it up. Somewhere in the distance a church bell tolled the hour, and the Owl shrugged his shoulders and went home.

  It did not take him long to return to Gildboors, for there are plenty of shortcuts and hidden pathways seemingly understood only by the costumed avengers of that Age to speed them on their way to where they are needed most. But even then it was some hours later, very late in the evening, when the baron was peeling away his costume in the privacy of his own bedroom that there arrived a strange disturbance to his very doorstep. As his man was nowhere to be found, he was made to see to the matter himself.

  What he found at his front door was a bedazzling sight—that of legions of people, urban and rural, coming along down his private road with pitchforks and torches raised high in their hands. Theirs was a mob incited to some violent end, it seemed, and over their heads hung a buzzing cloud of urgent conversation, of which nothing was to be made out for the number of voices speaking up all at once. You will forgive the baron for thinking that a revolution was afoot, and he, their most hated foe, had at long last been made into a target. He held onto this course of thinking—as did his men, I must report, for all over Gildboors they were preparing for war—and was just about to shout for his pistols before this rugged looking army marched up to his gates and there, catching sight of him on his doorstep, raised a mighty cheer.

  Puzzled, nonetheless he ordered the footmen to lower their partisans. From the crowd two figures were rapidly pushed to the forefront, while the rest raised a shout for the gate to be opened at once. This was swiftly done. As the two people were ushered through the baron flew down the steps, an elated, relieved shout ringing from his lips, and their meeting in the center of his graveled driveway was marked by a second hurrah from all assembled.

  It was Madeline’s shaking hands in his which caused the baron to breath out a long, lingering sigh of contentment. But it was the train-conductor by her side who managed to shed some light on the situation, babbling uncontrollably as if he could not wait to get the whole story off his chest.

  “Oh if only you had been there, my lord!” cried he to the baron with utter disregard for the common rules and trappings of speaking to one’s betters, “We would have been run down by hooligans if not for the Lynchman’s Owl. Those who have called him a traitor over Bark Parsley Park will have a firm foe in me for as long as I live, for there can be no doubt in my mind as to his intentions in coming to our rescue. He gave every one of them a thrashing they are not likely to forget. It is just a shame we legged it before I could see the proper ending. I heard coming over he out-wrestled a monstrous troll.”

  It was everything the baron could to do maintain his countenance, for the Lynchman’s Owl was supposed to be to him a hated nemesis.

  “Well what happened after eh?” he asked the man as they were coming into the foyer together. “And how did the two of you get away?”

  In this it appeared the train-conductor was more than prepared to speak up, heaping praise on the young woman to whom he owed his life.

  “It was a double stroke of genius any way you look at it, sir, for she alone had the foresight not to be taken in by the war in the street like so many others. There were plenty of windows being thrown open to catch a look at the brawl, but she drew me away and began banging on the nearest door. When it opened she squeezed her slim frame into the narrow space to prevent it from being closed up again.

  “The man who had opened up for us was a big, swarthy fellow with the look of a blacksmith, and he bellowed at us with his great thick eyebrows furrowing like furry centipedes worming over his forehead, asking us what we were about. He would have slammed the door in our faces but for Miss Madeline’s reply.

  “‘Oh please, sir!’ she cried at him in the frightened, pitiful manner of a virgin at the sack of her city, ‘We are patriots being pursued by terrible foes. You must let us in, for this is the Lord Viceroy’s man who will help him win the race in three weeks.’

  “‘Oh really?’ said he, this disbelieving master of the house. He looked me up and down in a most curious manner as Miss Madeline very ably pressed our case before him.

  “‘You must believe me when I say his safety is crucial to your liege lord’s victory! Please, sir, if not for us or him, then certainly the Lady of May-Tulip will never forget what you have done for her today.’”

  The train-conductor was made to pause when the air in his lungs finally ran out. Taking in a deep breath to recharge himself he went on.

  “It was as if those were magical words with which an enchantment was laid upon the man, for he puffed out his chest and drew open the door the rest of the way. There we were sheltered, fed and pampered until the battle outside was concluded, and the Owl gone away. We made to leave then but would you believe the master would have none of it?

  “‘It’s not in a Monty’s nature to leave a task unfinished,’ he told us proudly. ‘I shall come with you to Gildboors, and I have many brothers who will be happy to accompany us.’

  “So I was a little flustered, my lord, as you may imagine, for I never for once in my life thought I would need or warrant a guardian such as this one. But if it was to be a Quest, Miss Madeline was quick to take him up on his offer.

  “‘Only we will knock on every door we pass along the way,’ she told him firmly, ‘or shout up at every window with a light still sh
owing in it. You will give us as many of your friends and neighbors as we can gather on such short notice, and we will show that villain what the iron will of the Coal Coast might accomplish united.’”

  The baron gave a great yelp of approval, clapping his large hands together in almost childlike glee while Madeline shyly looked away. The train-conductor, glowing from head to toe, continued with his tale.

  “So you now see the reason for this impromptu army at your door, my lord, but really it is only a pilgrimage of the humble who have marched a long way here for a great cause. Miss Madeline’s plan worked out better than anyone expected. Every door we passed opened to us willingly, disgorging volunteers to add to our ranks. They came of their own accord, and you will not find me a liar when I say scuffles even broke out for a cherished position as my protector. I hold no delusions, however, for it is obvious that they have come for the sake of the tulip, and on all sides they surrounded me with cudgels and axes. The wealthier of them had their servants bring hunting rifles, but even the least yeoman took up their sticks. In their midst I was quite prevented from all harm, though now they have laid that charge on your doorstep, sir, which I fear you must keep or risk their wrath.”

  “Well,” said the baron pompously, “if a ragtag band of common citizens have kept you safe all this while, I hardly think you will have any reason to complain of what Gildboors might do for you. Your wife and children, Mr. Gamble, have already arrived sometime before. You may go to them now, and rest assured that as long as you are as good as the effort we have all of us expended to bring you here, you will have nothing to fear.”

  As his words fell away there came a sudden bang overhead, as if a heavy dresser had fallen over.

  “What was that?” cried the train-conductor at once, alarmed.

  Beside him the baron, just as startled, looked all about wildly. The sound was repeated. There could be no mistaking it. It was the report of a pistol somewhere inside the manor.

  “My Gods!”

  Putting two fingers to his lips the baron whistled shrilly, and behind him materialized two footmen. He grabbed his charge and thrust him into their midst.

  “Into the cellars, quickly now! And his family as well. I want six men at the door. No one shall pass unless it is over a heap of your bodies. Grab your carbines and go!”

  Off then went in a bundle of hurrying limbs, with the train-conductor’s protests still bouncing off the hallway walls. The baron, however, had no time to listen. As a man of action he was already running towards the source of the disturbance, pausing only to grab his fowling piece from the mantle as he was heading up the stairs. It was only on arriving at Yamcey’s modest apartments that the discharge of the pistol was heard again, louder than before, on the other side of the walls. Without waiting he threw his shoulder against the door.

  “My lord!” he heard suddenly pipe up at his elbow. Turning he found Madeline’s eyes upon him, frightened but determined. “Keys!” she cried at him. “Where are the keys?”

  As if he had just remembered also, the baron began screaming down the hallway for those same keys even as he turned around and launched himself at the door again. This time he was joined by Madeline beside him, who gave as good as she could have. Still the door did not budge. They would have given it a third battering, but just as they prepared to charge it was suddenly drawn open from the inside, with the baron’s man standing in the doorway looking out blandly.

  “Yes?” he asked them.

  You might imagine their surprise then at his utter tranquility over their apparent distress. But in the time it took for the baron to dismiss the servants who had come running up with the keys, Miss Madeline had already stepped through the door, where she was soon joined by the master of Gildboors as they were properly introduced to the source of the disturbance.

  There they found an amazing sight. It was an odd experiment if indeed it could be called that, for floor to ceiling the west facing wall of the chamber was marked with pockmarks, the telltale sign of pistol practice in doors. We add to this description piles and heaps of notes containing what looked to be mathematical calculations and several pencils sitting atop the stacks with worn heads. Beside them was a heavy revolver much like the one Cudgmore had carried, with its long barrel still warm to the touch.

  Yamcey’s explanation, when one could be gotten out of him, was exceedingly unsatisfactory.

  “It is the same gun,” he told them, “a replica model from the same manufacturer, though without the garish embellishments of a coat of gold paint and the ivory handle.”

  “Yes Yamcey,” said the baron impatiently, “but what are you doing with it? You gave us such a fright! I thought Gildboors has been penetrated.”

  “While I still draw breath, my lord,” he replied coolly, “that is an impossibility. As to what I am doing with this weapon”—he gave up a noncommittal shrug— “you know my interests are varied, sir, and the gun was a most recent gift to Lord Cudgmore. I merely wanted one such piece for myself to assess its capabilities.”

  “But indoors?”

  “Oh,” scoffed the valet, “surely with my handicap you will forgive me from failing to bestir myself whenever it is possible. And this is a relaxing hobby, for I hardly need to get out of my seat.”

  “Well,” said the baron with some warmth, “I’m glad you are finding some time for relaxation in the midst of all this commotion. But the rest of us who are not so fortunate have been attending to many other matters while you play with your new toy.”

  “And what would be that, my lord?” he was asked.

  “I have been busy for the whole evening,” said the baron with his great, wide chest heaving up and down with every breath, “ever since you sent me on that errand. And Miss Madeline here has managed to secure our train-conductor against all odds.” As if to emphasize his point he grabbed the young woman and drew her beside him.

  “Oh?”

  As Yamcey turned his penetrating grey eyes upon her Madeline felt a flush coming to her cheeks and swiftly turned away. The baron, however, would not accept such humbleness, especially when her achievements served to make his point. He reiterated in brief all she had done for them.

  “It was a marvelous trick, my lady,” Yamcey said to her when he was finished.

  “I assure you it was only a spur of the moment idea, sir,” she told him graciously.

  “Spontaneity and improvisation are the cornerstones of true intelligence,” he replied. “You do yourself a disservice, madam.”

  She smiled up at him, glowing at his generous comment. He returned it by a nod which was gentler than any which he had given before to anyone. The baron, looking from one of them to the other and perhaps feeling he was being left out of things, interjected himself rudely into their conversation.

  “So Yamcey, what do we do now, eh?”

  As one both the young woman and the valet looked to him quizzically.

  “Do, sir?”

  “Well,” said Hungary with his hands on his hips, “since we now have our train-conductor, I think it is worthwhile for us to push on with the others. What has become of them?”

  “We are still searching for Gains and Garbunks,” his man told him, “with the entire city’s police force combing our streets thrice over. Hadley you know is now Lord Cudgmore’s creature, and of him we can do nothing for the time being.”

  “So we are one a-piece then,” the baron nodded. “Where do we go next?”

  “You, my lord, to your bedroom, and I to mine.” The butler turned to Madeline. “Madam here, if she will grace us with her presence, shall be given the guest wing of Gildboors.”

  His cousin was positively aghast.

  “Sleep, Yamcey? Now?”

  “Certainly. We have all of us had a very long day. And I hardly think the three of us will do anymore good by sallying forth again from the stronghold. You must trust me when I say that everything which can be done has been done already. We stand a much better chance of facing whatever challen
ges tomorrow may offer if we can get some rest tonight while we are still able to.”

  The master of Gildboors might have wanted to argue the matter further, but it was their guest who saw reason in those words. It was no good, after all, to charge too fiercely when it is a marathon you are running in, and on her advice the baron was made to retire.

  “Cheer up, my lord,” she told him as they were walking down the long hallway away from Yamcey’s apartment, “If nothing else we have got one man to your liking, and the others will be seen to as well. You have seen how your city rallies around you in this hour, and even your nemesis appears to have come around to your side.”

  “My nemesis, madam?”

  She nodded eagerly. “Oh yes. I’ve heard something about the exploits of the Lynchman’s Owl. Twenty years ago he was your great check, your number one enemy. After his recent reappearance you have been menaced again by this foe. To think today he has come to your aid, you must be very proud.”

  In this the baron could only laugh. After all, he could not tell her the truth—that twenty years ago it was Yamcey his most cherished cousin who has done him such a wrong by inventing the Owl, or that twenty years later the mantle should have passed on to him, of all people. He saw her to the guest bedroom and bade her goodnight.

  As it turns out they none of them was able to find much rest that night, but for a very good reason. Before the break of dawn, the baron was roused by his man, and together they called upon their guest to see to a new disturbance. Their ruffled state and annoyance was only mellowed when the news turned out to be good, for there were on the doorstep of Gildboors four or five plainclothesmen herding a young man before them. This was none other than Gains, the train driver and partner of Mr. Gamble who had come so highly recommended by Yamcey. To hear from the police, they had, after much effort, come upon him in an alley in a state of undress, smeared all over with pig feces. It seemed he had gone all in inside one of the dens, and when the dices came up wrong refused to vacate his seat at the table. He had been seen out by the bouncer, and his embarrassment was to be a fitting punishment for his behavior. It was just as well, for only minutes later the den was invaded by some roughs looking for him, and he was only spared their attentions when an impromptu scuffle broke out in his absence. The police were duly alerted, and made their discovery even as the perpetrators of the fighting were being brought out in shackles.