by Barry Reese
Gravedigger watched Myrtle step from the room, carefully locking the door behind her. Taking as quick a breath as she dared, she went back to work, doing her best to slip one of her wrists free. By spreading her arms as far and as hard as she could, she was able to get a bit of laxness in the rope. Her hand slipped loose and within moments, she was free from the chair. Her lungs were in agony now, desperate for more air, but she knew that inhaling at this moment would be deadly.
With spots appearing before her eyes, she staggered towards the dial. She slipped to her knees, fingers outstretched. In seconds, she’d have to take a breath… but even with the dial being closed, would there be enough of the deadly gas left in the air to finish her?
***
Li adjusted the hem of her skirt, well aware that she was the object of several people’s glances. Cedric was seated at her side, still playing the role of gallant defender. The way his eyes kept drifting over her legs belied his noble intentions, however.
Koepp, his nose bandaged and swollen, sat as far from her as possible. His gaze was full of promised menace, though he wisely looked away whenever Cedric turned in his direction.
Marlowe, too, was watching her, though with far less spite or sexual interest. He seemed to be uncertain what to make of her and Li privately wondered if he wasn’t still holding out hope that she would be revealed as a fraud so he could pocket more of the estate.
Myrtle and the lawyer were the only ones who didn’t seem to share a fascination with Li. They were huddled together at a large oak desk, going over papers. To Li’s eyes, Myrtle was merely going through the motions, however. The older woman smiled and looked attentive whenever the lawyer addressed her but the rest of the time, she was casting furtive glances towards the room’s two doors. Was she expecting a late arrival? Li wasn’t sure.
“How about you and I share a nightcap when all this is over?” Cedric whispered. “I brought a bottle of wine with me to celebrate… and I hate to drink alone.”
Li glanced down as Cedric patted her knee. “That’s a very nice invitation,” she said. “But aren’t you counting your chickens a little early? We haven’t even heard the will’s contents yet. Might be a surprise.”
“I think we’re done with those,” Cedric replied. “From this point forward, it’s just a matter of divvying up the loot.” He laughed at his own words. “I sound like a gangster, don’t I?”
Before Li could answer, she heard a series of heavy footsteps out in the hall. She craned her neck to look at the door, beside which Koepp was sitting. He heard the noises, too, because he stood up, lest the door hit him when it swung open.
The footsteps came to a stop just outside the room and for a moment, everyone suddenly became tense. A steady drip of water could be heard and then a small puddle began to flow beneath the door.
Cedric broke the silence, looking towards Myrtle. “So you were expecting someone!”
Myrtle smiled, covering her lips with a pair of bony fingers. “You’re very wise, aren’t you, my dear? Not quite wise enough, though!”
“I’ve had enough of this!” Koepp declared. “I don’t know what game you’re playing but it’s time for the will to be read, by god!” Koepp reached out and yanked open the door, revealing a nightmarish figure.
Dressed in battered, mud-stained clothing, it was The Hessian, given hellish new life. There was no head upon his shoulders, just an awful emptiness from which a terrible stench arose. He held a sword in his gloved right hand and his left was clenched into a fist.
Before Koepp could move, The Headless Horseman had swung his blade, driving it through his victim’s body with such force that Koepp’s feet left the floor. The Horseman tossed the twitching corpse aside without a care and advanced into the room. He raised his sword with both hands and sliced downward, catching Marlowe in the meat of his shoulder. Yanking the blade free, the undead killer then finished off his foe with a stab to the throat.
Li was on her feet now, Cedrick’s hands protectively wrapped around her arm. He was tugging her towards the second of the room’s doors – the one that led to Gravedigger’s death trap. Allowing herself to be pulled with him, Li asked, “Is that what I think it is?”
“If you mean it’s something out of a spook story, then yes!” Cedric found his way barred by Myrtle, who seemed strangely unafraid considering the circumstances.
“Get out of the way, you old bat!” Cedric shouted, trying to push past Myrtle. To his surprise, she resisted with tremendous strength.
“Now, now,” she cooed. “You don’t want to leave before all the fun is to be had! You have to get your just desserts, after all!”
Li pulled away from Cedric as something warm and wet splattered across the back of her dress. She turned and saw that the lawyer was dead, The Horseman having hacked him to pieces. The headless foeman was now turning towards her and Cedric.
While Cedric grappled with the surprisingly strong Myrtle, Li looked around and snatched up a letter opener that had been knocked off the desk. She brandished it like a knife, stabbing at the air in hopes that it would warn away the Horseman.
The Horseman batted away Li’s hand with the side of his blade, causing her to cry out in pain. He then snatched her up by the throat, lifting her high into the air. The young Asian American struggled, kicking and scratching, but to no avail. Just before she blacked out, she saw Cedric slam his shoulder into the Horseman’s side, causing Li to slip from the killer’s grasp. She landed in a heap, grateful once again for Cedric’s assistance.
The Headless Horseman slashed at Cedric, his sword nipping the handsome man’s face. A jagged cut bled down the side of Cedric’s cheek. He wiped at it with the back of his hand and then drove a fist against the Horseman’s midsection. The blow, which looked to Li like it would have rocked a prizefighter, appeared to have zero impact on the ghostly Hessian.
Myrtle was cackling now, her form shifting between male and female. Li looked over at her and saw her clapping her hands above her head. “Kill them all! Kill them all!” she chanted, madness gleaming in her eyes.
And then salvation came, wearing a mask and bearing a blade.
The door that Myrtle had been blocking opened suddenly, revealing Gravedigger. Charity didn’t hesitate, driving the point of her sword straight through Myrtle’s chest. The point of the blade protruded out, pushing a large chunk of the old woman’s heart with it.
As Myrtle hit the floor, a look of stunned amazement on her aged face, Gravedigger stepped over her body and taunted the Horseman. “Headless! Why don’t you face someone more your speed?”
The Horseman turned from Cedric, allowing the businessman the opportunity to snatch up Li and carry her from the room. Charity was grateful for the man’s quick thinking – she didn’t want to worry about her friend while battling this monster.
To her surprise, a deep voice rumbled forth from The Horseman. He spoke with a thick German accent and his tone was cruel. “You have slain the wizard who awakened me.”
Gravedigger crouched in a battle stance, holding her sword above her head. “Does this mean you’re going to drop your weapon and thank me?”
“Thank you?” the Hessian whispered. “Yes, for that, I will give thanks. You have freed me.”
Remembering what Myrtle/Maxwell had said about the Horseman being unleashed without anyone to control him, Charity felt a trickle of fear run down her spine. Facing a talking swordsman who was bereft of a head was strange enough but the quality of his voice was even more unnerving – it was a dark sound, full of hate and fury.
With astonishing speed, the Horseman sprang towards her, his weapon slicing through the air. Gravedigger caught his blow with her own blade and the two of them remained fixed for a moment, each pushing back with all their strength.
Gravedigger broke the tie by spinning away from her foe, allowing his momentum to carry him forward. Now behind him, Gravedigger stabbed her sword into his spine, giving an extra twist with her wrists.
The Hor
seman, apparently immune to pain, twisted and caught her on the side of the jaw with a gloved fist. The impact was enough to stun Charity and she staggered away in confusion. She was only dimly aware that he was advancing upon her once more but her instincts were such that she raised her hand and fired her mini-crossbow without even realizing it. The bolt caught his wrist as he began to raise it, pinning his limb against the wall.
As her foe yanked his wrist free, leaving behind a trail of gristle, Gravedigger shook her head in hopes of clearing it. She tossed aside her sword, choosing to instead draw two smaller knives. With a cry of rage, she threw herself at the Horseman, wrapping her legs around his torso. She raised both hands high and began slamming them down repeatedly into the Horseman’s shoulders. Black, oil-like fluid oozed from the wounds and the Horseman staggered under the assault, though he did not cry out as a normal man would.
Jumping off of him, Gravedigger scrambled away. She was panting now, the exertion of their battle belying how quickly all this had occurred.
“Death, blood and deception,” The Headless Horseman said. “Those were the words that best described my human existence. But do you know what was worse than the pain of living? The despair of being resurrected and controlled, like a puppet on strings! Again and again, I was brought back… each time, sent to dispose of those who threatened my masters.”
“Did Samuel Hale threaten someone?” Gravedigger asked, remembering the name of the man for whom Mortimer Quinn had been searching.
“He was too smart for his own good,” The Horseman warned. “When he was invited to take part in the activities of the Sons or Daughters, he refused. Thus, he had to die. That was a bloody time in Sovereign and I do remember it well.”
Sensing that she’d struck a nerve of some sort, triggering some sort of memory that was giving The Horseman pause, she continued to press. “What about Mortimer Quinn? You weren’t able to kill him, were you? That means you can be beaten.”
The Horseman grew still, as if contemplating the past. “Quinn,” he whispered. “How I hate that name.” He suddenly reached out and grabbed Gravedigger by the arm. “Why do you taunt me so?” he demanded.
“What happened between the two of you?” she asked, curious despite herself. Quinn’s book told of his travels and recounted the legends, adding details that no one had ever heard before… but nowhere did he claim to have personally met the monster.
The Horseman said nothing but a wave of anger rose from him, washing over her like a tidal wave. In its wake, she saw images, she heard snippets of conversation… and she knew.
Chapter IV: Mortimer’s Trial
Sovereign City, 1793
Mortimer had searched the school for clues, feeling strangely ill at ease. The empty building had seemed so barren that it had caused a pang of sadness to rise up in the investigator’s heart. He attributed this to the gory nature of the crime Wilmer had described.
Wilmer walked him to the boarding house and said farewell at the front door. They agreed to meet for dinner and to walk to the Von Drake farm together.
Mrs. Hendricks had been a stout woman with a nose that seemed altogether too small for her face. She had received Mortimer warmly enough, though with that same distant feeling that Mortimer recognized from others in the town. As she showed him to his room, she’d chattered on in a rambling fashion about how her husband had died three years before, succumbing to a fatal episode of gout.
Mortimer changed clothes before sitting at his desk and writing out a list of what he had so far learned. He placed these papers back into his bag, intending to eventually send it to the home office when he had gotten more details.
He was considering taking a short nap before dinner when a knocking came at the door. He rose and opened it, expecting to see Mrs. Hendricks. Instead, he came face to face with a breathtaking young woman. She was in the full bloom of her beauty, with peaches and cream complexion and a figure that spoke of sensual pleasures. She wore clothing that was a mixture of old-fashioned and modern styles, revealing enough décolletage to draw Mortimer’s eyes to her bosom. She wore a solid gold chain around her neck and another on her right wrist.
“Can I help you?” Mortimer asked, forcing his gaze away from her breasts. It was not an easy task.
“I understand that you’ve been asking questions about Samuel Hale. Is that true?”
Mortimer shifted, being all too familiar with how quickly word traveled in a small town. He noted the concerned expression she wore and something clicked within his mind. “You must be Katrina Von Drake.”
Surprise caused her full lips to part. “Yes!”
Mortimer took a step back. “Would you like to come in? My name is Mortimer Quinn”
Katrina hesitated only a moment. She knew that tongues would wag if word got out that she’d been alone in the stranger’s quarters but she was not a woman wedded to tradition. This was 1793, after all, and times were changing.
Katrina took the seat that Mortimer had been using at the desk. She clasped her hands together and Mortimer allowed her a moment to compose herself. “I apologize for disturbing you,” she said at last. Her voice had a pleasingly lilting quality to it. “Samuel was one of my suitors. He was a very sweet man, with a tremendous capacity for learning. I was very much in awe of him in that regard.”
“Your husband was a rival of his,” Mortimer said. It wasn’t a question but Katrina nodded as if it was.
“Brom used to play the most cruel jokes upon him. I’m ashamed to say that I laughed at more than a few of them. I was attracted to Brom’s physical nature but he was so rough compared to Samuel’s refined qualities.”
“But you married him. You must have found him more than just a handsome face.”
“After Samuel vanished, everyone became very afraid of Brom. There were whispers and rumors that he had chased Samuel that night. That they might have had words… or that he might have caused an accident. Brom was the only man who would dare court me then. After awhile… I gave in to his advances.” Katrina looked down, continuing to fumble with her hands. “My wedding day was such a happy one. I woke the next day convinced that things had worked out after all. But then I found… I found….”
Mortimer moved towards her, kneeling in front of Katrina as she began to sob. He gallantly handed her a handkerchief from his pocket and consoled her with various words of comfort.
“Why are you here, Katrina? What do you want of me?”
“I want to know what’s going on,” she said, looking at him with emerald eyes that shone with emotion. “At first I thought that Brom might have hurt Samuel… but then after Brom’s death, I wondered if the Headless Horseman might be real after all.”
“You don’t think Samuel could have killed Brom? Maybe in revenge for whatever happened on the night he disappeared?”
For the first time, Katrina smiled and the radiance she exuded was almost enough to knock Mortimer back on his heels. “Oh, no! That’s quite impossible! Samuel abhorred violence and he was skinny as a rail. Brom was easily three times his size and all muscle. Samuel couldn’t have hurt Brom if he’d tried with all his might.”
“Surely you don’t think that some ghost did it.”
“I’ve heard stories about the Horseman my whole life,” Katrina said earnestly. “But I always assumed that they were nothing more than that – tales designed to scare little ones. But after Samuel vanished and Brom was killed, I didn’t know what else to think.”
“In my experience, there’s always a rational explanation for things like this. Though the townspeople may not want to hear it, it seems to me that the most likely explanation is that you have a killer amongst you, one who is using the legend of the Headless Horseman for his own benefit.”
“I hope you’re right, Mr. Quinn, because if that’s the case, then the man who did these things can be caught. I’m too young to be a widow but… I am. I want to know what happened to the two men that I loved.”
***
“She knows
we’re going to speak to her father?”
Mortimer walked alongside Wilmer, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his slacks. After Katrina’s visit, Mortimer had dispensed with the notion of a nap. Instead, he had paid a visit to the local blacksmith, who had sold him a saber much like the one Mortimer had used during his stint in the cavalry. He wore it now in a scabbard at his hip. He favored edged weapons to guns, finding them far more worthy of trust. You rarely stabbed someone by accident and as far as he knew, a sword had never jammed at an inconvenient moment. If there was a killer loose in Sovereign City, then Mortimer’s questions might drive them into action. It never hurt to be well armed in those cases.
“I told her I planned to speak to all the pertinent individuals in the case. Given that both Icahbod and Brom were at his house that evening, I think I need to speak to him.”
Wilmer looked up into the twilight sky. Stars were already in abundance and the sounds of crickets filled the air. He had changed clothes since Mortimer had seen him last and he now wore an outlandish costume: bright blue leggings, knee-high black boots, and a crimson shirt that was fastened with gold buttons. He looked like someone’s caricature of a musketeer. “If all your cases are like this, you should have gone into police work. It would have been less dangerous.”
“Most of the time, it’s not this exciting,” Mortimer admitted. He had shared dinner with Wilmer in the boarding house. The roast mutton had been seasoned perfectly and he knew that rumors of Mrs. Hendricks’ culinary skills were not overblown.
Wilmer pointed off at a covered bridge leading out of town. It was in the opposite direction from the route that Mortimer had taken upon his arrival. “That’s where poor Samuel was done in. All that was found of him was his hat… though there were bits of broken pumpkin alongside it.”
“Pumpkin? That’s odd.”
Wilmer shrugged. “It’s a strange thing, indeed.”
“On the way back, could you show me the cemetery where the Horseman supposedly rests?”