A Grimm Legacy

by Janna Jennings

  Dylan knew he didn't necessarily cut a fine figure either, in a filthy tux with his wet hair plastered to his head and the faint aroma of fish hanging on him from his ride in the bottom of a boat.

  The younger man tossed the key from palm to palm and Dylan caught a flash of gold on one hand. On the next pass, Dylan saw his entire pinky finger was solid gold. These people had the oddest sense of fashion.

  “You are the one who has been causing Herrchen all the problems?" he asked.

  "He's been no joy to deal with either." Dylan rattled the chains on his wrists. "But since we're even now, how about taking off the cuffs? I've got an itch on the back of my neck that's killing me."

  "I don't think so." The man wagged the key at him. "We've been told you are a slippery one. The cuffs will stay on, I think."

  "Herrchen never did play fair,” Dylan said, just to throw the name around and see what kind of reaction he’d get.

  "I don't think you know who he is,” the young man said with a smile.

  "No, we go way back," Dylan lied, mostly just to be annoying.

  "Come, Dame Ilsabill does not like to be kept waiting.” He grinned at him and waved him on.

  Dylan wondered if he knew everything coming out of his mouth was pure nonsense.

  He followed the young man into a room that could have held two of Dylan’s houses, easily. A figure lounged on a massive, uncomfortable-looking chair on a raised platform. Dylan wasn’t self-conscious usually, but he felt like ants were marching up his spine and across his neck as he trailed the young gardener as he approached the figure of a young woman with an imperial look. Her harsh face stared down at him.

  “Leave us, Aurel.” Her voice was pointed and sharp.

  She and Dylan stared at each other. The young man who escorted Dylan bowed and left without a word, leaving Dylan and Dame Ilsabill alone in the cavernous space. She appraised him with keen eyes in a long, plain face.

  “So you are my grandson.” Her voice filled the space with her quiet words. Dylan felt his face go slack as his brain rewound the words and played them again, sure he had misheard.

  “Your what?” Dylan’s voice bounced around the empty room, mocking him, “Your what, what, what...” He tried to grasp the information, tried to make it comprehensible. It seemed to want to avoid acknowledgment.

  “I’m a little disappointed you haven’t figured it out by now.” She rose and began to circle Dylan like he was a sculpture she was considering for purchase. Her robes draped off of her, sumptuous, heavily embroidered affairs, but they did not conceal her sharp figure of angles.

  “Your grandfather escaped this world over fifty years ago, taking with him our infant son, your father,” she said from behind him.

  “Grandpa?” If he was honest with himself, he knew it was a possibility he had relatives running around Elorium. Andi’s grandmother was from here, and there was a reason the four of them specifically had been hauled here. But it was still like putting his head inside a vise. And his father? “Dad? My dad’s from here too?”

  She raised an eyebrow, which were as harsh as the rest of her. “Over fifty years ago, five individuals escaped. It has never happened in the history of our land, and it will not happen again.”

  “If you’re really my grandmother, then help me get home,” he begged.

  Ilsabill gazed at him a long moment, as if searching his face for something. “Your words have the same power of persuasion behind them as his did.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “But that is not how we do things here.”

  “Help me,” Dylan pleaded again.

  “No.” She shook her head slowly and reached down to stroke the side of his face. “You see, I need you here.” Dylan tried to pull back from her touch, but she grasped his face painfully in her claw-like hand. “You’re going to make my wildest dreams come true.”

  Dylan sat in a small, dark cell, his hands still manacled in front of him and the cold seeping through his trouser bottoms. He stared unseeing at the damp stone floor.

  He’d obviously been pulled into a story from Andi’s book, but which one? He should have paid more attention! Ilsabill had said his grandfather had escaped. Dylan really wished he knew what he had been running from. He sniffed, not willing to admit even to himself how alone he felt. He sighed and rested his head on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to wish himself home.

  Dylan had lost track of the hours by the time they came for him. He drifted in and out of sleep for a while, waking up cold, stiff, and hungry. In between his bouts of wakefulness, he dreamed of Kochien's streusel. When the door creaked open, he blinked in the sudden light and thought at first he might be hallucinating.

  Aurel stood there with his hat still jammed tight on his head, flanked by a set of stone faced soldiers. "It's time."

  Dylan staggered to his feet, his knees objecting after being in such a cramped position for so long.

  Aurel escorted him out of the castle gates and back down to the sea. A small, beautifully crafted yacht rigged for sailing bobbed at the end of the dock.

  "Where are we going?” Dylan asked, trying to appear unimpressed.

  "It'll get underway as soon as we board,” Aurel said, ignoring his question.

  Aurel opened a gate and jumped onboard. He extended a hand down and pulled at Dylan's cuffed hands to help him catch his balance. The heavily bearded man who woke Dylan at the dock was now in a captain’s uniform, chivying them onboard.

  "Stir yourselves, Dame Ilsabill wants to be underway." He shut the gate behind them, yelling orders as he went. "The motors are out. Hoist the mainsail."

  Dylan stepped onto the main deck, wood polished to a high gleam and lounge chairs waited in the sunshine. There was an upper deck to the yacht and one below his feet as well. Crewmembers jostled Dylan, trying to reach their posts before their captain reached them.

  "Come,” Aurel said, steering him down a narrow stairwell into the belly of the ship. Leading him into a compact, well-fitted cabin, Aurel opened the cuffs and Dylan rubbed his raw, blood-crusted wrists.

  "There’s a shower there, and I'll have food and fresh clothes waiting for you." Aurel held up the cuffs. "I'll leave these off, but only if you behave."

  “If I am going to run—excuse me—swim away, it's not going to be before you feed me,” Dylan said.

  Aurel shook his head. "Dame Ilsabill will want to see you soon. Don't take too long." He shut the door and Dylan could hear him locking it from the outside. What in the world did his crazy grandmother have in store for him?

  Dylan's shower was heavenly—he had been living in a barn for the last few days, after all—and agony at the same time. The skin around his wrists burned when the water hit them, probably washing away all kinds of bacteria, he told himself.

  Toweling off, he poked his head out into his cabin and found some loose fitting flowing pants, like pajama bottoms, and a white top made out of the same material. But by far, the best thing left for him was the covered tray on the tiny table in his cabin. His nose twitched the entire time he was getting dressed and his stomach finally couldn't stand it anymore.

  Lifting the lid, the smells hit his stomach, which growled loudly.

  He sat down and tucked into the noodles and meat and mushroom laden gravy. Beef stroganoff had been his grandfather's favorite food, and before Dylan took over cooking at his family’s bed and breakfast on the island, they ate it once a week.

  "I can live with this," he said with a smile.

  Aurel came for him just as he was finishing. "She's ready to see you."

  He didn't bother cuffing Dylan before leading him to the top deck. Ilsabill lounged on an extravagant couch clad in only a red string bikini. She could pull it off because she appeared to be only twenty-five years old, but it was still unsettling seeing his grandmother practically nothing.

  "I really don’t need to see that,” Dylan muttered so only Aurel could hear. The young man's lips twitched, but he didn't rise to the bait. Dame Ilsabill
managed to employ several servants between applying sunscreen, painting her toes, and mixing drinks for her. She saw Dylan approaching and again dismissed her staff until they were alone. Dylan really wished she would put on a robe.

  "I want to be certain you know what is expected of you. Do you know the words to address the great fish?" she asked.

  "We’re looking for a fish?” Dylan asked, genuinely confused.

  “He is an enchanted prince who owes me a boon,” Ilsabill said.

  “You know how nuts that sounds, right?" Dylan asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “If a fish owes you a favor, maybe you should ask it yourself.”

  "Don’t you think I’ve tried? He would only speak to my husband." Her smile bared her teeth, but never reached her eyes. “But I think he will do as you request.”

  “What makes you think I’ll do as you request?” Dylan asked, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

  She looked past Dylan and nodded her head. Aurel pinned Dylan’s arms behind his back before he had a chance to realize what was going on. One of Dame Ilsabill’s attendants fished his grandfather’s compass out his pocket.

  “Hey!” Dylan squirmed and tried to wrench his arms from Aurel’s grasp, to kick the attendant, something. Ilsabill accepted the leather case with a cruel smile, flipping open the lid and rubbing a thumb over the worn face of the compass.

  “I thought you might have this. Your grandfather was a sentimental fool,” she said, snapping the waterproof case shut. Aurel released him and Dylan glared at the young man, rubbing his chafed arms.

  It took a lot to get Dylan angry, but a red haze crept across his vision. Dylan trembled, trying to control himself. Dame Ilsabill studied him closely.

  “Do you know my husband begged me to come with him and our son? He told me how to follow him if I should ever change my mind.” She crossed to the rail of the ship and spoke more to the sea than Dylan. “We never did understand each other very well. I could not fathom why he would leave all this,” she turned sharply back to Dylan, reaching out her arms, her fist clutched tight around the compass. “And he would say he never understood how I could live my life without freedom.” She dropped her arms but kept her fists tight. “A slave he called me.” Her voice grew low and intense, her eyes taking on a slightly unstable quality. “Do I look like a slave to you?”

  His grandfather had waited over fifty years for this crazy woman, and instead of joining her family, she’d selfishly clutched to her riches. His dad had lost the only parent he’d ever known, and with no one but Dylan to rely on, had sunk into a deep depression. Dylan blamed her for the fact he had to force his dad to even get out of bed every morning.

  He had a few choice responses for his grandmother, but held his tongue. He’d be damned if this woman was going to make his dad loose the rest of his family. He was going to get home.

  "You will ask him to make me Queen,” she demanded.

  A crewmember somewhere above Dylan in the flapping sails called down, "I see him! Starboard side!" The crew raced to the right side of the ship. Dylan joined them at the railing, wondering how he was going to spot a single fish in the ocean. Ilsabill sauntered over, a see-through robe doing nothing to hide her near nakedness.

  "Call to him," she commanded.

  "I don't see him." Several yards away, the flat gray sea erupted like a geyser. It was a whale spout, but unlike one Dylan had ever seen before. This one was too wide, shooting up too high. The air caught the spray and whipped it over his head, soaking him right down to his underwear. Dylan’s mouth hung open and he understood what he was looking at.

  He rushed along the railing until he stood at the bow of the yacht. An eye the size of a basketball gazed up at him from below the water. Dylan stepped back and looked out, farther and farther. He saw the gray of the sea extended several hundred yards and then stop abruptly, changing to blue. The whale was easily the size of an aircraft carrier, and the yacht—tiny in comparison—was floating right on top of it.

  Dylan's throat was dry and his stomach constricted with tension. He thought of his grandfather, his quiet courage and unwavering devotion. He called out as Aurel whispered the words in his ear, "Oh man of the sea! Hearken to me! My wife Ilsabill will have her own will, and hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!"

  The giant eye blinked at him once, slowly, and in the depths of the flat, black orb, Dylan saw recognition there. He hoped the whale remembered his grandfather fondly.

  We’ll see who’s the old fool.

  Dylan vaulted over the railing, plummeting to the frigid sea below.

  Chapter 32

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than take orders from that mess of crazy?”

  Dylan fought the urge to inhale at the shock of the cold water. His head broke the surface and he stared into the dark, intelligent eye of the mammoth whale. Dylan ignored the screaming and scrambling above him on the deck of the yacht. What were they going to do? Jump in after him?

  The water around him hummed with a low vibration and a surprisingly soft voice filled the air around him. Above, the boat’s occupants grew quiet.

  "I do not believe she is your wife, although there is enough resemblance to suggest you are kin."

  "Well, no, she isn't,” Dylan admitted. “I wanted to say she was my grandmother, but thought she’d be pretty pissed if I suggested it. I don't think she appreciates being reminded how old she is."

  "As a rule, I only converse with the fisherman who freed me. Seeing you are his kin, I will concede to speak with you, too.” The massive eye rolled and examined him. “Very well, Fisherman's Grandson. What would the fisherman’s wife have now?”

  "I was kind of hoping you could tell me,” Dylan asked, fishing for more information.

  “Why would I know?” the whale said. Dylan swore he could hear the frown in his voice.

  “Well, has she asked for stuff before?”

  “Yes.” The whale was hesitant.

  “Then why don’t you refresh my memory what she’s already got so I don’t accidentally ask for the same thing twice,” Dylan bluffed.

  The whale was quiet a moment and Dylan imagined he was thinking.

  “So far she’s asked for a cottage, but thought it too small. That’s when she asked for a castle,” the whale told him.

  So when Dame Ilsabill said he owed her a boon, what she really meant was she’d already been giving an entire castle and was greedy for more.

  “And you just handed these things over?” Dylan clarified.

  “The fisherman spared my life,” the whale said plainly. “How could I refuse?”

  “And you’d give her anything?” Dylan tested the whale. “Let’s say—theoretically—she wanted to be… Queen?”

  “Go home,” the whale proclaimed, “she is—”

  “Wait! No!” Dylan yelled, waving his arms over his head. “I didn’t say I wanted her to be Queen.”

  The leviathan blinked, a strangely slow movement. “Then what do you want?”

  He had to think bigger, something the whale wouldn’t be willing to grant. Something so powerful, it would be the undoing of his grandmother. He really wished he knew how this story was supposed to end.

  “What if she wanted to be all powerful? A god! Would you do that?” Dylan tried.

  The water around Dylan trembled with the whale’s anger.

  “She goes too far!” he thundered.

  Bingo.

  “She’s a power-crazed woman who needs to be taught a lesson!” Dylan yelled, conveniently not acknowledging he was one who had suggested divinity. “Oh, and how would you feel about me bumming a ride?”

  Something hit the water only a few yards from where Dylan was treading water. Aurel’s head popped up from the waves within arm’s reach of Dylan.

  Apparently he would jump in after him.

  Dylan fumbled in the water, attempting to stay away from the larger man. He floundered directly into the side of the whale.

  “Do not make this more difficul
t,” Aurel said, reaching for him. Dylan dodged his grasp and swam alongside the great fish.

  “The least difficult thing would be to let yourself drown,” Dylan panted, pulling hard with his arms and kicking for all he was worth. “A little help!” Dylan yelled at the whale’s massive side.

  The leviathan’s eye rolled back in his massive head. “What would you have me do?”

  He had a point. It wasn’t like he could put Aurel in a headlock.

  Ilsabill’s skin radiated from within. On the deck of the yacht, she smiled in anticipation. She had done it. Closing her eyes, she reveled in an experience fifty years in the making.

  The heat increased, making her skin glow and tingle. A pleasant weight sat on her head and she opened her eyes. A crown, a full two feet high, rose from her brow and a robe in lavish purple, trimmed in ermine fur, brushed the bottom of her ears. The unassuming leather case containing the compass fell from her hands and rolled near her feet as her hand rested on the top of a solid gold scepter, adorned with a king's ransom in jewels.

  “Bow to Queen Ilsabill!” she bellowed.

  Her attendants cowered as she threw back her head and laughed at the sky, which turned from gray to the color of a fresh bruise. The sea below boiled and churned as the wind increased from a breeze to a gale, removing all thoughts of Dylan from her mind.

  Dylan was an excellent swimmer, but there was really only one direction for him go, caught between the whale and the yacht. Wind whipped up, making the troughs of the waves deeper, and the caps threatened to crash on Dylan’s head.

  Aurel snagged his foot before too long, towing him back. Dylan kicked at him, but ended up just splashing him in the face. Aurel pinned him against the slick rubber of the whale’s side.

  “She said not to bother coming back without you,” Aurel said, a note of apology in his voice as he struggled to keep his head above water in the suddenly wild water.