The Curious Case of Simon Todd

by Vanessa C. Hawkins

  Simon cursed as he was tossed from one performer to the next, spinning on both heels as they wrapped him in ropes and shackled his hands.

  Miss Baxter lost her blanket as they converged on her, taking away her ivory crook and binding her in chains.

  “Quickly, now! Don’t let her use her magics!” A goblin clown with hairy ears dyed pink, hooted and cackled, somersaulting on his hands and gesturing with his feet.

  “Get away from her!” Simon yelled, very much wishing his arms were free. He was certain, if only he could, that he’d give them quite the bop! “If you hurt her, I’ll…”

  But the circus folk laughed, picking him up like an old carpet.

  “Give them to Manny! Give them to Manny!” the goblin cried as painted men and women danced and cavorted like scoundrels.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Todd.” It was Cleo! “We only want to welcome you home.”

  Simon struggled in his bonds, feeling much like a fish stuffed into a paper tube. “What do you mean, home? Unhand me! No! Don’t touch me th—Seven Hells! Watch where you’re putting your hands!”

  “You’ll be one of us in no time,” Cleo said, sharing in the mirth of the others as the decorated denizens of the elephanti circus all danced below deck.

  Chapter 14

  A Lof-Tea Task

  Manny’s private apartments were located in the steel skull of the elephanti and boasted the only large windows in the contraption. The windows were situated right in front of the room. Gaping, segmented portholes framed in bronze with gold embellishments fronted glass orbs, dangling from the ceiling, providing the only electric light.

  Manny looked up from his desk when his menagerie arrived. The large piece of furniture bisected the room into two parts. His bed sprawled out behind him, less adorned than Miss Cherie’s, but with a wooden canopy and a rug of black panther skin spread atop a checkered, red floor. There were several pipes, gilded as well, running vertically from floor to ceiling, but like the rest of the inner structure, the walls were primarily heavy wood, the color of a man’s boot.

  “Miss Baxter, Simon Todd,” he said, glancing up from a large ledger laid open upon his desk. There was a myriad of books and pens, ink and quills all occupying the rather large surface of his office. Manny couldn’t have looked more out of place sitting at it if he had been a peacock. The man was wearing a striped suit with white ascot, his mane of red hair the only color to his person beside his deeply blue eyes.

  “We brought him for you!” the goblin crooned. “He was schmoozing with the sorceress, he was. So we brought her along as well!”

  “I certainly was not!” Simon fumed, trying to kick his legs and yet only managing to slightly wiggle his toes.

  Manny sat up from his chair, looking rather smug as he walked around his desk and sat down on top. He had his cane with him, leant upon it as he crossed one leg over the other.

  “Well, the full moon certainly does bring mischief,” he said, offering a wry smile.

  Two acrobats attired in sequined leotard brought out two large mahogany chairs with velvet backs. Simon grunted as he was plopped down into one, and looked worriedly at Miss Baxter as she was deposited much more gently beside him.

  “Mr. Manny!” Simon slumped forward, trying to keep from sitting on his hands.

  “Please,” the ringmaster interrupted, waving a hand, “if you must be formal you can call me The Magnificent, but otherwise, Manny is fine.” Again he gestured, this time to Cleo who was holding Miss Baxter’s crook. The large centaur moved, depositing the staff against the far wall.

  “Is that Cherie?” Miss Baxter inquired, looking quite comfortable in her bonds. The girl hidden by the desk of papers and books was now quite obviously lounging on the bed, white stockings pulled up over bare thighs. She was in nothing but a black leotard. The curve of her porcelain back was uncovered and looked like a puddle of cream against obsidian. Simon blushed when he saw her, though she didn’t seem inclined to acknowledge him.

  “A guest of mine wanted to use my tub. I thought I would give them some privacy.” Cherie kicked her legs, and held up a small rounded clown doll with button eyes.

  Manny had been smiling at the exchange. “Is there something you wanted? Or has Cherie upstaged me?”

  “You brought us here!” Simon hollered, impatient for an explanation.

  Manny laughed. “Actually my performers did, Mr. Todd.”

  Simon pursed his lips, his face sweltering. He was trying to gather his thoughts. If Miss Baxter weren’t here, perhaps he could have ghosted his way through the ropes. But he really didn’t want her to know about that yet. He hadn’t formulated an apt explanation. That Cherie was here, and knew about his little problem, made this somewhat more dangerous.

  Despite his temper reddening his face and being bound in ropes, Mr. Todd was getting cold feet about confronting the circus ringmaster.

  He cleared his throat, noticing Miss Baxter regarding him through his periphery vision. “We want to know what is going on here. We seem to be moving away from our original destination.”

  Manny, interest piqued, leaned forward, chin resting upon his cane. “Are we?” he asked.

  Simon Todd steeled his jaw. “Yes. We know a thing or two about magic and we can tell there is some afloat around here.” He exhaled. “We want you to tell us where we are going and just who you are.”

  “Not just anyone can get through the desert.” Miss Baxter piped in with her soft voice.

  The grin adorning Manny’s face grew like a Cheshire Cat as he got up, swinging his cane back and forth as he regarded his menagerie.

  “You’re right. Not just anyone can. I however, am not just anyone,” he said, fingering the chin of a fiddle playing, pied overall-wearing troll.

  Simon Todd tutted, feeling rather fed up with all the man’s I’m so great-cock-a-ninny bullhump. “Yes, yes we know. Manny the Magnificent,” he mocked, rolling his eyes.

  The ringmaster nodded, pausing in his advance to fold his hands behind his back. From above, the orbed light from the ceiling created a halo around his head.

  “I’m not just magnificent, you know.”

  Simon sighed. “Are you also fantastic?”

  Again, Manny grinned. “I suppose I am.”

  Miss Baxter furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand. Where are you taking us?”

  Manny looked down, giving the young girl a measured look. Blue eyes dancing across hers, there was something predatory within his manner that made Simon chew on his tongue. “I’m not taking you anywhere, Miss Baxter. When I’ve finished my task, you and your band of misfits are free to find your own way out of Arcadia.”

  Miss Baxter was taken aback. “I still don’t understand.”

  Manny sighed, head collapsing backward in a moment of frustration. “You’re friend, Simon, is who I am after,” he exclaimed, moving to face the tied up young accountant. “He should be honored. Not just anybody may join my circus.” He looked towards the crowd. They hooted and hollered. One played a horn.

  Well that was odd. “Why?” asked Mr. Todd.

  There was a scent of something burning in the air, then the smell of sulphur. Simon felt his nose wrinkle as he tipped his nose back slightly to experience it more closely. When he did however, something rather bulky and tight forced its way through his midsection, making him wince, then cry out in insufferable pain.

  “Simon!”

  Mr. Todd could hear her screaming, but it was muted over the roar of laughter and applause. Something sharp pieced his belly.

  “What…?” he began, looking down to see a long rapier sticking out his stomach.

  Manny had shot forward and pulled out a sword concealed in his walking stick.

  “Because you’re dead, Mr. Todd! It will hurt less if you do your trick.” Manny began pulling the sword out.

  It was quite unpleasant, Simon felt as though his insides were knitting back together in the process. He willed his body to transform into something less corporal, and
with much more ease, the rapier slid free as the ropes fell in a heap upon the floor.

  “Simon?”

  Mr. Todd regarded the young shepherdess, his fingers wriggling in his anxiety to come up with an answer.

  “Not sure how long you’ve been a ghost,” Manny continued, leaning to the side with the help of his cane. “But I can’t have you wandering around when there are quota’s to be filled.”

  “Simon’s dead?” Miss Baxter looked alarmed.

  Mr. Todd, in a flurry to respond, blurted out a reply. “I fell off the roof. A…A few weeks ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I’m a necromancer. Have you forgotten?”

  Manny groaned. “Necromancer… it’s probably because of you this happened to Mr. Todd in the first place.” Waving his hand dismissively, he pivoted on his heel to return to his desk. “Necromancers do nothing but make it hard for Reapers. I knew there was something off when I saw you, Simon. I suppose that old donkey of yours should have given away a necromancer.” Again, the ringmaster grunted.

  “A Reaper?” Simon repeated, looking more than a little worried. “Like, the Grim Reaper?”

  Manny settled with a sigh back into his chair. “More like the Grim Reaper’s men at arms. Dear Mr. Grim can’t be everywhere at once, despite what people think. There’s a lot of paperwork to fill out when you die. He’s always swamped with filing and bookwork.”

  The goblin behind him laughed. “Bo-o-o-ring!” he chimed in.

  Simon felt out of sorts.

  “So we take in all the lost souls and ferry them back to Arcadia. The underworld is primarily located underneath the Arcadian continent you see, it’s not that it’s actually in Arcadia.”

  “You’re taking me to one of the seven hells?”

  From behind Manny, Cherie rolled on her back, tossing her little clown doll into the air.

  “I’m not supposed to comment on the afterlife. It’s against the rules.” Manny sighed. “But no. Just to Mr. Grim to fill out the paperwork.”

  Simon blinked. “Well I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  Manny laughed along with the several other carnival folk in the room. His pearlescent teeth were sharp. “Then you shouldn’t have went and died.”

  “So…” Miss Baxter interjected, obvious confusion evident on her features, “What about this circus? What about us? Simon’s a ghost, doesn’t that mean he has stuff he needs to do, first?”

  “Like the dishes?” Simon asked.

  “Miss Baxter,” Manny narrowed his eyes, irritated by her barrage of questions, “are you sure you’re wicked enough to be a necromancer?”

  “What does that mean?” Simon was feeling overwhelmed. His life was flashing through his mind and he was slightly disappointed by how boring it seemed.

  “My circus is of my own creation. All aboard my Exhaling Elephanti, besides you and your retinue, are the lost, perished souls I’ve collected. I’ve been collecting for about twenty decades now, right?” He looked behind him.

  “Twenty and three months,” Cherie piped up, her exotic accent carrying to the front of the room. The others nodded.

  “There. Twenty decades and three months.” He tipped his head to the side. “I think it’s time I’ve headed back,” he said, his eyes rolling downwards. “I know I’m past due to make a report.”

  “Oh Manny. If you return us we won’t be able to play anymore!” Cherie leaped from the bed and grasped the torch-haired ringmaster about the shoulders.

  “I know, Cherie.” Touching her hand, he brought it to his lips, bestowing an affectionate kiss.

  “I don’t want to leave you!”

  Simon thought that sounded peculiar coming from the small, lithe acrobat, considering her perverse relations with Mr. Dashing.

  “If you don’t want to part with your uh… carnival, you could always just, not go back? If he has so much paper work, Mr. Grim may never find out, or even be relieved to have less?”

  Again, Manny sighed, hanging his head. “No, no that won’t work.” He waved a hand, shrugging Cherie off who went back to sit upright on the bed behind him. “I have my own set of paperwork, you know.” The sigh that hissed from out his lungs was almost tangible. Dramatically, Manny gestured to the large ledger on his desk. “There are quota’s to be filled, so many souls need to be returned by a set amount of time. According to this thing, I’ve been parading around too long with too few souls. If I don’t return back soon, Mr. Grim is bound to be irate. Which is why I need a few dull souls to help fatten my numbers. Like yourself.”

  Mr. Todd frowned.

  “What could the Grim Reaper possibly do?” Simon felt oddly calm about referring to the spectre of death in such a nonchalant manner. He wondered if perhaps he should be more concerned about his response. Perhaps it was all just so familiar and unbelievable that Simon chalked it all up to fantasy. Or maybe Simon could almost relate, being an accountant having just realized he was a ghost a month or so ago.

  “I told you before, I can’t speak about the afterlife,” Manny replied, settling his cheek on an open palm. He looked almost bored now. “But if I don’t bring you back, and deposit you all downstairs soon, dear Mr. Grim will be on my case. Oh!” With a bit of a thump, his head hit the desk as his arms came around to cradle his face. “It shall be so tedious to recruit new souls to perform in my Circus! Do you know how long I had to search to find dead spirits also capable of handling a trapeze?”

  “You are truly an extraordinary man, Manny!” said a fat woman wearing a tutu.

  Mr. Todd had opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted.

  “Damnable books!” He swept his arm in an arch, sweeping papers to flutter to the floor like dried skin. “Perhaps I ought to just kill you all. More dull souls means less talent I have to part with!”

  “We can do it for you, Manny!” said the goblin clown. The others nodded.

  Simon swallowed, regarding Miss Baxter who looked utterly confused. “Look, Mr. Magnificent. “I’m sort…of an accountant. I like paperwork. And filing and numbers and math equations and all sorts of tedious busywork more important men don’t have the time or fancy for. Perhaps I could take a look at your ledger?”

  The decorated ringmaster stared back at him from under the brim of a black and white top hat, blue eyes piercing. “And I suppose in return you’ll want me to let you go? Not kill your friends to boost my numbers?”

  Simon snorted. “I’m surprised you picked me up at all. I’m not really a good fit for a carnival, unless you’re looking for a sad, sorry man who can’t express himself in any intelligible manner.”

  Manny cocked his eyebrow. Miss Baxter looked up. Though his indiscreet admission left his audience guessing, it made Mr. Todd feel quite sorry for himself.

  “I did think you rather odd,” Manny admitted. “Usually spirits are floaty things, like a dandelion seed caught in an updraft. You were standing on the road, obviously dead, like a corpse thumb midst a rosy set of fingers. But,” again he gestured to the book, “quota’s and what not.”

  “Let me take a look.” Simon walked forward, and when he wasn’t immediately stopped, continued until he stood on the other side of the desk. “I may need a few minutes.”

  Manny hopped up, bowing exaggeratedly and sweeping a hand low like a servant. “It’s all yours, Mr. Todd.” He turned to shoo his fellows from the room.

  “Just wait outside the door,” he said. “In case we need more rope.”

  Simon Todd was a man who couldn’t do many things well. He couldn’t swashbuckle, sweep ladies off their dainty feet, sling a gun, or hurl flaming comets from the sky, but he could add a damned good number or two. He could also cook and clean and thread a needle, but at the moment, Simon conjured up all his accounting know-how to solve the equation of Manny the Magnificent’s record books as though his life depended on it.

  Which it most assuredly did.

  It was a fight hard won. The contents of the ringmaster’s balance sheets were nigh impossible to c
alculate. Numbers were jumbled together into a miasma of chaotic symbols. Ghosts, zombies, spirits, all coalesced into a lump of disorganized misinformation. Simon had to wade through the entirety of the mess, with both Manny and the impressionable Miss Baxter, still tied up, looking on. He felt exhilarated and anxious concurrently, calculating numbers in his head, balancing quantities and separating accounts into their properly associated columns. It took him more time than he would have liked, however after three quarters of an hour he shouted out. “There!” Standing up in one fluid motion, Simon lifted the large ledger to his chest and began to describe his work in as rudimentary way possible.

  “This was all a little backwards I’m afraid. But I think I’ve quite properly allocated everything into the correct order.”

  Manny pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing his eyes as Cherie dozed next to him. Miss Baxter was still napping on the large chair, but was surprised awake by the announcement.

  “Oh?” The ringmaster responded.

  “Yes! Souls, you see, are actually intangible assets, which shouldn’t have the same amortization rate as corporeal beings like zombies or, more appropriately, the undead.”

  Manny turned his head, cupping his ear in an effort to understand the boisterous accountant.

  “If we stretch your quota evenly throughout your fiscal year, you can record an increase in net souls earned through the several decades.”

  Manny peered down into the perfectly diagramed record book, and then looked up into Simon’s quite proud visage.

  “Alright.” Then, shaking his head in a moment of frustration: “What does that mean?”

  Simon’s smile grew longer. “Well it means you’ve met your quota already, but you still have a good deal of time before you need to make a report.”

  Manny looked suddenly intrigued. “Are you certain?” he asked, taking the book in hand.

  “Yes. Look here. Here is the allotted time, and here are the souls detained in your circus.”

  Cherie had poked her head up to look over the book.