The Curious Case of Simon Todd

by Vanessa C. Hawkins

  “Here,” Mr. Dashing said at last, turning in a flourish with his pistol pointed downward. “You take the shot.”

  The hangars were really, mostly flat expanses of concrete that were cut into the cliff side. Though Simon had been thrilled to see the Cardinal, with its red sails that resembled phoenix wings, it was nothing but a dark spot on the horizon now, eclipsing the sun that was beginning to descend into the sky.

  “Now? It’s getting dark now!” Leave it to Mr. Dashing to wait until sundown to train him to shoot at a bullseye, Simon thought. Was the scoundrel looking for ways to ridicule him?

  “Don’t be a sore sport!” He laughed. “Learn to shoot in the dark and during the day you’ll have no qualms.”

  Simon stood up from the concrete cube of rock he had been occupying, his shoes clopping on the pavement as he walked forward. The lanterns were all beginning to be set aflame now, and from down below it was easy to see the tiny lights glowing like night flies in the dusk.

  The target was a large wooden canister-shaped weight, hanging from metal supports and gently swaying in the cool summer air. At least, Simon thought, someone had had the foresight to paint a bullseye in the middle, though the heart of the target was already quite riddled with bullets from Mr. Dashing’s earlier practice.

  “Like this?” he asked, holding the weapon in one hand and gingerly floating his pointer finger above the trigger.

  The pistol, though not Mr. Dashing’s magical rune inscribed piece, was the color of brass and modeled after a flintlock. Mr. Todd hadn’t noticed until now, and only really by accident, that the image of a young lady had been carved into the wooden handle. Her rather ample bosom, poised just above the trigger guard, was made to insinuate that the wielder of the gun was in, actuality, fondling her chest while in the act of shooting.

  “Rather crude, wouldn’t you say?” Simon asked, making a face at the image on the firearm.

  Mr. Dashing’s only reply was to laugh, then gesture to the target in an effort to get the ornery, young man to proceed.

  Simon, with less of a scowl, lined up his shot, closing one eye, which prompted Mr. Dashing to shout at him to open them both, in an effort to aim at the ever darkening target. Two wooden magazines that jutted out on either side of the firearm, seemed to frame the dangling bullseye in a sort of V shape. Simon breathed in, looking through to try and center his shot, squeezing on the trigger and shouting out at the abrupt blast that bellowed out from the barrel.

  The gun thunder, though rather loud and for the most part, expected, was underwhelmed by the roar of laughter that came thereafter.

  “What are you aiming at, Mr. Todd?”

  Simon, angling the weapon downwards, looked sidelong towards the chuckling vagabond. He could see the red Cardinal in the distance behind Mr. Dashing as it sat underneath the large maintenance hangar. Several people, dressed in uniforms or as engineers, were mulling about the area, tool belts jangling here and there.

  “I was aiming for the target! If it wasn’t dark out, perhaps I would stand a better chance.”

  “Try again!”

  “Why? It’s not like I’m going to hit the damned thing.”

  Mr. Dashing snickered. “You know,” he began, crossing his arms and crossing his feet at the ankles, “there’s a saying in the orient, that all worthy accomplishments come with practice.”

  “The what?”

  “All that math and accounting whats-its you do, I’m sure anyone could accomplish the same thing with a bit of practice and resolve.” Dashing smiled.

  “Well,” Simon huffed. “I suppose so.” He wasn’t entirely certain whether or not to be offended, or if Dick had only meant it in good humor. Mr. Todd decided to assume the latter.

  “Then try again, Mr. Todd. Keep both eyes open.”

  Now Simon Todd was never a hero. He was certainly not one to expect miracles, or to assume that a hearty pep talk would be all that was required for a feat of valor, but he did so really want to show someone he was capable of something. Mr. Dashing, always popping up with a good story on the tip of his tongue, or another adventuresome tale of his own heroics, was only really a bother to Mr. Todd in comparison to the sour gentleman’s own daring escapades.

  I balanced the company portfolio! My assets are always equal to my liabilities and equity! I practice good business ethics on a daily basis, was not really the most electrifying of anecdotes to bring up at parties. So, tucking his head in, Mr. Todd pulled the pistol up into position and straightened his legs. Breathing in and keeping both eyes open, for the first time since he had begun his trek across Freland, Simon Todd really hoped he could show Dick Dashing that he was capable of well… something.

  But, he missed, as luck would have it. In fact, Simon had been way off target and the bullet ricocheted as a result, off the pavement and up into the dark blue-black sky.

  He sighed, frowning past his disappointment. “Well that’s that. Let’s go back.” Mr. Dashing chuckled, marching forward to retrieve his gun.

  “Don’t be too disheartened ol’ boy!” he said, clapping him on the back. “Rome wasn’t built in a day!”

  “Rome?”

  “We’ll practice more another day.”

  Simon looked up at the man as they began to walk away, Mr. Dashing with his arm over his left shoulder.

  “Why, you’ll be a sharpshooter in no time.”

  Simon wasn’t sure of that, but he did feel a bit guilty for being so ornery all of a sudden. It seemed Mr. Dashing was being nothing but a gentleman, if not a good friend.

  “I ah…” he stammered, looking down at the concrete as the moustachioed gunslinger holstered his weapon. “How did you get to be so good at it?” Simon asked, thinking Mr. Dashing may like to go on about himself for a while.

  “Oh!” Dick laughed. “Well, I learned to shoot from my old father himself.”

  “Captain…Dirk?” Simon tried to recall.

  “Quite right. He used to tie up old ale bottles on the mast so I’d have something to shoot at. If I missed, he used to tan me for wasting ammo. If I made the shot, he used to scold me for breaking bottles and make me clean them up.”

  “Doesn’t sound very nice to me,” Mr. Todd pointed out, watching the lonely expanse of the E-DAC landing pad slowly move away behind them.

  Mr. Dashing laughed, nudging Simon Todd forward as they approached the stairs down. “If that sounds bad, you should have been there the day I had to steal away the garter from the queen of the tribal women.” He whistled, looking up into the midnight black sky as though there was a photograph stuck between the stars to remind him. “I can remember it now like it were yesterday.”

  Simon grimaced, blinking back his own thoughts. “Why would you go and do a thing like that?” he asked despite his better judgement.

  “To garner the favor of the Goblin Queen.”

  “The what?” He hadn’t expected such a quick response.

  Dashing took the lead, looking back as they began to descend the steep, slippery steps of the Fallfield mountain. “The Goblin Queen had stolen a human girl child with the intention to harvest its legs once it came of age.” He tsked. “Goblin females nowadays are all insanely jealous of a woman’s legs, though I suppose I don’t blame them considering the knobby state of their own. Anyway the garter allowed the Goblin Queen to look more beautiful, which in turn meant she didn’t need to harvest and grow the child for her sinister purposes. This, in turn, allowed me to return the babe to its mother who just so happened to have the largest chest I’d ever laid eyes on.”

  Simon was having trouble concentrating on where his feet should be placed. He stumbled, thankfully catching himself before he was head over heels.

  “So,” Dashing continued on. “After rifling through the contents of the chest, I found one of the runes I’ve now had augmented into my rifle.”

  “Oh! You mean a trunk!” Mr. Todd rubbed at his eyes. He’d been travelling with Dick for far too long it seemed.

  “Why, of co
urse. What did you…” he stopped, then started to laugh after a moment of consideration. “You devil! No, no, no that happened at the start of the story. I didn’t get to her trunk till the end.”

  Simon was aghast. Mr. Todd had decided, quite at that moment, that he felt perfectly polite just avoiding any further conversation. Luckily, the stairs at one point garnered most, if not the entirety of their attention, and so he was able to walk quietly in the dark, behind Mr. Dashing, for the remainder of the decent.

  “I wonder if good old Mr. Darcy and Fae are back from their gambling escapades?”

  “They’re gambling?” Simon shouted, his mouth gaping wide open. “You just let her go gambling? Are you mad?”

  Dashing had been standing at the base of the stairs, hands on hips as he waited for Mr. Todd to join him. The cobbled street of Fallfield flowed away from them like a shallow brown river, lighted warmly by the fire of the lanterns. “Mr. Darcy’s with her, and she’s her own woman.” He began to walk forward, looking back towards the young accountant with a mischievous grin. “There’s never stopping a woman who has dice in her eyes.”

  Simon frowned, stepping down from the steps with balled fists. “Stopping, no. But she’ll fall well enough when the well dries up.” He sighed, looking to and fro at the vine laden buildings of Fallfield. “This place is rather nice at night, isn’t it?” He was glad to see that the lanterns had been strategically placed in most of the secluded corners of the road. It seemed to offer a bit of security, especially for the average gentleman out after dark.

  Mr. Dashing had been nodding when there was a bit of a commotion overhead. A bright cloud of purple frothing upwards into the jet black sky was coming from the direction of the Milkbath.

  “Miss Baxter,” Dick muttered, drawing his firearm before sprinting ahead.

  Simon’s own eyes widened at the plume of violet smoke. He called out to the gunslinger as he struggled to race ahead. The mages! Grimguild! Seven Hells, why did I leave her alone for so long?

  Simon’s shoes clattered upon the cobbled roadways, and only twice did he stumble and fall before losing sight of Mr. Dashing. Luckily for Simon Todd, the clouds of smog billowing into the black choked sky was beacon enough to lead him back to the Milkbath.

  And straight into a wizard’s duel.

  Chapter 19

  A Glance at Perkatory

  “Miss B, we meet again.”

  The young shepherdess narrowed her eyes. Wind rustled through her soft sunny hair, the crook in her left hand pulsed with energy. “Chip, Benedict, I’m sorry you were both dragged into this mess,” she said.

  Night was nestled snugly in the village of Fallfield and so the vivid colors of magic rose and flowed against the sable backdrop, iridescent against the rooftops and swell of low laying cloud.

  “So am I, doll face. So am I.” In the warm lantern light and glow of magic, Chip smiled, his expression betraying his words. His face was like a ghost in the darkness, morbid at the edges where his blood colored hair fell down and caught the light. At intervals, the long reptilian body of the alligator chained to his wrist wisped by, its mouth open as though to devour the night.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t give me a bit more time?” Miss Baxter smiled, her salmon colored gown looking macabre in the light of the lanterns. “I know I’ve been taking my time, but everything needs to fit into place.”

  Chip looked back over his shoulder. Benedict stood like a tombstone, the soft clicking of the many gears from his arm resounding past the shush of the wind. The people of Fallfield knew a wizard’s war when they saw it. Their town, so close to Grimguild University, had seen its fair share of magic and what happened when you crossed wizards. The people stayed inside their homes.

  It was folly to face a sorcerer, especially one who also swore allegiance to the Grimguild mafia.

  “Benny and I, we’d like to support ya, Miss B.” He turned back, cocking his head to the side. “But without resources what do ya have? ‘Sides, is this really what Rebecca’d want?”

  Miss Baxter frowned, the expression pulling at her green eyes and making them feral.

  “If Heironymous hadn’t killed her, I may have been able to ask,” she said, hand squeezing the shaft of her crook.

  Chip spat, smiling with his canines. “If Heironymous did kill her. I guess that be answer enough, though she wasn’t really one to let things lie.” From behind him, he signaled, drawing Benedict to react and light the glass vials upon his mechanic arm. “You have that in common, eh Miss B?”

  “I guess so.” Miss Baxter sucked in a breath, closing her eyes a moment. Then, throwing her crook into the air, she called words in the name of magic as the ground began to rumble beneath her.

  Chip laughed, spreading his arms wide.

  “Let’s go, Mr. Uovo! Careful! She’s got the dead on her side!” He broke the chain on his arm.

  “What in the blazes?” Simon stumbled backwards, feeling the ground beginning to tremble beneath his shoes. Mr. Dashing was gone, lost amid the jumble of haphazardly built architecture and dangling flora, and though smoke and magic was heavy in the sky, navigating the small meandering roads was difficult.

  “Please be alright!” he muttered, hoisting himself straight-backed as he began to run over the cobbles. Simon Todd didn’t know rightly what he was going to do when he got there, but he was damned well determined to help Miss Baxter in any way possible.

  The vines covering the ground, the moss, the grass, the stones, all began to fall away as bovine skulls breeched the surface, long browning horns pointed forward while teeth as long and as thick as daggers lengthened from once rounded incisors. Bodies of bone and half rotted flesh gathered dirt as Miss Baxter summoned them, and from their mouths poured flies and poisonous vermin. At least three were born from the ground before her, but as she continued her chant, chains of magic appeared around her wrists and ankles, pulling something else from the ground.

  Chip laughed.

  “Gaattori!” he called, throwing his hands into the air as the chain around his wrist snapped and evaporated. “Give me the shadows!” His pupils expanded, turning a deep swamp-colored green as the large gator roared, soaring into the sky while its body expanded and grew. The energy from the spell tossed his coat behind him as the Arcane creature growled and began to plummet back.

  “Seven hells!” Simon stopped, his heart thudding like a demon within his chest. What are they summoning? he thought, continuing to sprint forward.

  “Be careful, Chip,” Benedict called, watching as his fellow mage began to fill with power. The girl before them was strong. It was not unwise to harness the power of the demons of Arcane, but too much would consume him. This, Benedict knew too well. Usually a sorcerer had but one chain linked to himself however, this shepherdess had four!

  Benedict Uovo stepped back to ensure his feet were securely positioned on solid footing. Though he hadn’t any Arcane left to him, he could still harness magic through his arm and so he called forth the elements he still knew how to cast, channelling it through the brass mechanisms as something otherworldly began to form behind the young girl.

  “Miss Baxter!” Dashing already had his goggles on as Chip’s Gaattori plunged from the sky and swept down through the mage’s body. Miss Baxter, eyes open and glowing, pulled herself into the air as the Arcane gator swam through the cobblestone roads like they were water, gigantic dirk shaped teeth chomping on her undead creations even as more were pulling themselves from the ground around him. Dick positioned his pistol and shot mid run. The discharged bullet hissed through the air, haloed in fire towards the red-haired wizard, but ricocheted into the ground from a blast of electric energy that diverted its course.

  “Mr. Uovo! We meet again!” Dashing shouted, stopping in his sprint just below the summoning sorceress. A wide-eyed grin pulled at the corners of Dick’s moustache.

  The bearded old man was stoic however as he threw his arm forward again, releasing another bolt of lightning at the gunslinger. D
ashing laughed and dodged to the side as the heat sizzled the torn up flora of Fallfield.

  “I don’t suppose you told them we’ve got a ghost now, have you?” Dashing looked up, trying to ignore the monstrous shade forming alongside Miss Baxter. Bound at each of its wrists to hers by a gray, smoky chain, it loomed in the air behind her, long horns escaping its head and two arms on either side of it. From its back, long demonic wings fanned out like a ragged parasol.

  “Give us another week or so!” Dashing yelled, jumping to the side as another current of electricity shot towards him. Rolling away, he almost stumbled back as the large alligator snapped its jaws in front of his face, catching one of the undead bulls Miss Baxter had summoned as it rushed to thwart the blow.

  “We ain’t got another week.” Chip laughed, waving his hands as Gaattori swam in connection to his gestures towards the young sorceress. “Loyalties lie with Heironymous until resources are divvied up.”

  Dashing cursed, shooting off another round of spitfire before stooping to switch cylinders.

  “You’ve improved, Chip!” Miss Baxter said, smiling as violet clouds of spell energy swirled around the chains. “But Morty is bigger than your Alligaatorri demon.” And sweeping her crook in an arch, the shade behind her opened its maw as red hellfire spat out along the road and engulfed the Milkbath.

  “Seven…” Simon was frozen in place, his voice stolen by the fear welling in his brain. Something monstrous was in the road, spewing fire onto the Milkbath as people began to scatter out into the street to safety. Chip, the man he had seen in front of Piper’s Tower several weeks ago, was laughing, pulling at what appeared to be a large alligator as the shadows around it were forced out to bind several undead creatures.