Not even dragonfire could light the darkness, he observed, taking a good long puff and blowing into the air. Though he could feel the heat of his combustible exhalation, it was as though the obsidian mantle currently engulfing him was sweeping up all manner of shapes and shades into an impregnatable fist and carrying it away. Though, and this was indeed another strange phenomenon, when he tried to take flight, Mr. Darcy noticed that though wind did seem to provide lift to his wings, he wasn’t really able to move from the spot that he currently occupied. His clothes — breeches, cravat spectacles and top hat — were all still nicely bundled beneath him in exactly the same place as they had been when he took off. Yet, despite his lack of vision, it did feel like he was indeed flying when he endeavored to spread his wings and vault upwards from the ground.
“This is utterly baffling,” he said to himself, sitting back upon his hindquarters with his short arms bundled at his chest.
Beside him, Miss Hershal groaned, after a while, picking herself up from the floor. At least, he supposed that was what she was doing since he couldn’t actually see her.
“Bloody hell,” she whined, the ruffle of her clothing the only indication of her movement. “’Ave I gone blind?”
“No.” Jane could hear her startle at his words. He made sure to keep the soprano of his human voice so as to not tip her off as to his transformation. “I’m afraid we’ve been rudely shuffled into some sort of wizard’s closet for the time being.” He snorted, swinging his large, spiked tail in an arch behind him.
“A wizard’s closet?”
Jane nodded, realizing a moment later that she couldn’t see and so responding verbally. “Something of the sort. I think it’s some kind of pocket dimension. The red-haired sorcerer threw you in after putting you to sleep.”
“What about you?”
Mr. Darcy could hear something on her person jangle as she stood up. “I went quietly, of course. To keep an eye on you.”
“Fancy yourself a gentleman?” she asked.
Darcy cocked his large, reptilian head, a bit confused at the question. But of course he was a gentleman. He had been acting the part perfectly, he reasoned. What else could he be? But instead he said. “If not, then what else?”
Miss Hershal was quiet a moment, causing the young dragon to frown. Did she think him quite the rubbish actor? Was he more a vagabond than any heroic well-to-do that he had read about in his stories? The thought made him awfully sour, and for a brief moment he thought about simply roasting her to bits.
“You’re good,” she said finally with a sigh. “Thanks fer lookin’ out fer me, I guess. Me father would thank ya, and I guess… I guess I owe me thanks as well.”
Jane could hear her breathing in through her nose. Mr. Darcy almost felt guilty, but the feeling was dwarfed by an intangible sense of pride and assertive reassurance.
“Thanks isn’t necessary, Miss Hershal,” he said, in his utmost gentlemanly voice.
They were quiet for a while after that. Jane Darcy, still feeling rather ornery at having been stuffed into a wizard closet, wrapped himself up, curling his violet tail about his hindquarters to rest his head upon. He thought about taking a nap, but was worried he’d snore in his sleep. Despite his earlier, rather rash thoughts of burning Miss Hershal to a crisp, he really didn’t desire to accidently roast her if he chanced to cough while resting.
Though, even as he began to wonder about the solution to his dragon nap problems, Fae piped up once again to disturb his thoughts.
“’Ave you thought of a way to get out of ‘ere yet?” she asked. Ruby eyes opened, focusing on the spot of darkness he was sure she occupied.
“I suppose,” he said, fanning out his wings. “I thought I’d wait for someone to come check on us.” Whether or not he’d choose to ambush them in his dragon form, he hadn’t quite decided. On one hand, it was a sure win, on the other, Fae would find him out.
“Won’t your,” he stopped. “Our friends come to get us? Mr. Todd wouldn’t allow for us to just waste away in here.” He sat his head back down, closing his eyes. “Mr. Dashing wouldn’t give up a call to adventure, and surely Miss Baxter is as kind and wholesome as Simon says she is.” They were all well-meaning bunch, after all. “You can rely on them, surely?”
“Yeah.” Fae seemed down. “I just wish I wasn’t always gettin’ meself into such a mess.”
“You ought to gamble less,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“You ought to gamble less!” she mocked, in a tone that didn’t resemble his in the least. “Ya sod!”
Mr. Darcy smiled, determined to at least make himself comfortable, but even as he closed his eyes, Fae piped up yet again.
“I think someone’s coming!”
Jane sighed. “There’s no one. You might was well enjoy the darkness. Who knows what methods we’ll have to employ once the opportunity to escape presents itself.”
But Fae was insistent. “No, really!”
Jane could hear her shuffling about and with a sigh, he pulled himself up to begin redressing.
“Listen,” she said.
But Jane was too busy willing his body to silently reshape into something human to pay her much mind. It probably didn’t help that as quietly as he was attempting to be, the shift of horn, flesh, scale and bone was obvious in such a quiet environment. To Jane Darcy, who was more than a bit preoccupied at transforming in the first place, it was a negligible sound, made so by the strenuous act of dragon magic — which, in dragon opinion — was quite unlike Spellcraft or Arcane.
But to Fae, who was already alert to something shuffling about, it was quite an odd noise, one that made her turn about to regard the space where she thought him to be.
“Jane?” she called, taking a step forward. It sounded much akin to kindling snapping in a fire combined with the gurgling sound of a hungry belly and the hollow, wet thudding of drenched wood being thrown into a heap of sod. It disappeared after a moment or two and was replaced by a curious sound followed by:
“Yes? Is something the matter?” He stooped to re-don his clothing.
“Ya bloody well must have ‘eard that!”
“We’re in a wizard’s closet. It’s unlikely we’ve heard anything but our own minds trying to make up for lack of noise.”
Mr. Darcy couldn’t help his surprise when a door of light suddenly yawned open before them. Though fortunately it didn’t seem to cast any light upon the two, preventing Miss Hershal from seeing him in a state of undress, it did seem to sit there, an obvious opening of escape with no owner in which to attribute it.
“W-‘ello?” Fae whispered, gingerly taking a step forward. Jane hastily began to don his trousers.
“Don’t call out to it!” he lectured quietly. “Go,” he prompted. “Just go through!” Jane was still struggling into his clothing as she walked forward, peering out the lighted doorway then back into the obsidian darkness.
“Ain’t no one out ‘ere,” she said.
The stony corridor was winding, and as Fae walked out she could see that it was in fact a ramp, wrapping around the outside wall towards the other side with an empty area of space in the middle. An open ledge of cut stone about waist height was a good three strides away from the door. As Fae meandered towards it in order to regard the open belly of the turret they seemed to be in, she was startled at the amount of doors set into the walls around them.
Closets: wooden, steel, some of glass and some constructed with precious metals and gems, were positioned a meter apart and by the hundreds, spiralling up and down the tower. Looking back towards her own door, at the dull, mouldering wood of the wizard’s closet they had been unceremoniously shuffled into, Fae couldn’t help but feel disappointed by the shoddiness of it.
“Jane,” she called, then again, even louder. “Jane, come ‘ere! What’s got a hold of ya bloody feet?”
Mr. Darcy pressed his lips into a thin line. “Coming!” he responded before hobbling out the door with his coat open.
“H
ow did the door get open?” he asked, looking up at her back as she looked out from the ledge along the opposite wall.
“Beats me!” How many god forsaken people were sitting in darkness behind those doors, she thought. “Guess we shouldn’t be questionin’ our miracles now though, eh?” Fae turned, cocking an eyebrow at his undone cravat and skewed spectacles. “Were ya hot o’ somethin’?” she asked, scowling at his state of undress.
Jane looked up, quite aware of how he must look and already prepared with an adequate explanation. “I was feeling rather stuffy,” he explained with a knowing look. “We were in there for hours, you know.”
Fae laughed. “S’why I won’t wear a corset or any of the hundred thousand layers of skirt all the women are right nutter about.” She nodded, looking proud. “Give me a nice shirt and trousers any day.”
Jane smirked, looping the long fabric of his cravat around his neck until it was secure. “Well, it certainly suits you, Miss Hershal,” he said flippantly, regarding the state of his tie.
Fae waved him away, smiling despite herself. “Up or down?”
Jane regarded both directions as he smoothed down the lapels of his jacket. “Down seems to be the way, unless you’ve figured out a way to fly.” Which would have been awfully convenient, he thought.
Fae bit her lip, nodding back to him as she began her brisk walk down the tower. She was amazed at the amount of doors and couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else was sequestered away inside.
“I thought you said you visited this placed before.” She looked around as Mr. Darcy marched swiftly behind.
“I have. I stayed here a few weeks to peruse the library.” He guiltily hoped that they would run across it. He wanted a new book to read.
“Aren’t wizards the only ones allowed inside?” she asked, noticing that none of the closets seemed to have knobs. “How did you get in?”
Jane looked back, swearing he had heard a noise in the distance. “My mother was a mage,” he said. Though not really. She had merely gobbled down one and took its key, he thought. “Well, she used to be.”
“Got out o’ the mob early, huh?”
“Something like that, yes.”
A sudden shockwave caused the couple to stop as dust and rubble fell in powder from the floor above. Miss Hershal stumbled forward and fell, banging her chin on the stone floor.
The boom of magic echoed upward form the base of the structure. Mr. Darcy stooped down toward Fae. “Are you alright?” he shouted, crawling forward.
She cursed in frustration. The skin at the bottom of her chin was split, and already a purple bruise welled around the slight gush of blood.
“What was that?” she yelled back, but it was hard to hear. The several braziers lighting the tower were swollen with flame, crackling in their small hearths while something flourished in the empty space about them, nullifying the sound of their voices.
Helping Fae up, Jane led her to the ledge as another quake threatened to knock their footing askew. “I think there is a battle,” he muttered, not sure if Fae was able to hear him. Perhaps their friends had arrived? He was not at all certain how long they had been contained within the closet. Or perhaps something else was running amok?
As though in an attempt to answer the young dragon’s enquiry, another whirl of power swept over them in a squall of emerald ribbons. Jane Darcy was quite certain he saw his own shadow moving of its own accord, and stood for a moment gaping at it like a madman before Fae hollered for him to join her.
“Let’s go, ya bloody twit! ‘Fore someone notices we’re gone.”
Mr. Darcy couldn’t argue with her line of reasoning, even if it was abrupt, and so endeavored to follow her down the angled incline, running his hand over the ledge for good balance.
“Do ya know ‘ow to get out a ‘ere?” she called, platinum hair dancing behind her like ice fire.
“Last time I just flew off the top.” He bit his tongue after a second of realization, twisting his lips into a rosette. Fae looked around towards him, prompting the dragon in disguise to move to the side so that he was directly behind her and not in any space where her eyes could regard him.
“You took a zeppelin?”
“Yes!” Jane snapped his fingers, wide eyes smiling as he rushed to catch up. “That’s it entirely!” What other way could a man have flown off from a roof? Of course.
“Well, how we get there?”
Mr. Darcy was about to answer when there was a thunder of noise. The couple had almost finished their decent and though this smaller gale of energy did not cause the tower to quake nor split, Jane braced himself anyway as they paused to make sure.
“Hello?”
Fae spun on her heel as the mousy voice spoke from behind them. Darcy followed after, requiring less footwork to regard the lone girl in the corridor. He was almost as surprised as Miss Hershal to see her.
“Bloody hell, it’s a mage!” Fae took a stance, which in Jane’s opinion, quite resembled a barfly haggling over the last few coins they needed for a drink.
The girl was in a loose, white shirt, thick, graying frills around the collar and large billowy sleeves that Jane thought she could have slept in. She was wearing a brown skirt beneath and a tangle of short chestnut curls that complimented the spray of freckles on her face and round turned-up nose.
“I’m not!” She pressed a hand between her breasts, backing up a step. Jane noticed the door behind the girl a moment after he became aware of the young lady herself. It was bronze, a monster door comprised of hundreds of coiled up snakes all congregated about the middle. The door was swung ajar.
“Fae,” he called. “I think she’s come from a closet.”
Fae regarded him, standing up straight to take another look over her then to the door. The young lady looked pale, like a ghost, or the starched sheets of a noblewoman. Fae clicked her tongue, another rumble causing the floor above to glitter in dust and fall.
“Well ya best be gettin’ on, then!” she cried, looking up before rubbing her eyes.
“We’re trying to get out of here,” Jane explained, looking between the two young ladies and frowning.
“If you’ve come from one of those wizard closets you best come with us.” He offered a smile, something he was sure one of the heroes from his book would have done.
The girl nodded. “I’m Sally,” she said, moving forward as Mr. Darcy beckoned and continued down the angled slope.
“Jane,” he said, seeing the rounded base of the tower in sight and three very familiar looking individuals causing a ruckus at the bottom.
“They really did come!” Fae sprang forward, covering her ears as another, much louder, spring of gun thunder shook the tower.
Mr. Dashing! Jane rejoiced.
Sally smiled, obviously oblivious to the individuals clamoring up to rescue them. “It’s nice to meet you, John,” she said.
Chapter 24
A Pekoe At Grimguild
The run towards the Eastern Tower left Simon Todd relatively breathless. It was a conundrum he most certainly wished would have been solved once he evaporated into his ghost-like form, but unfortunately, despite his rather curious condition, Mr. Todd found his motor functions still relied on some kind of physical strength and fuel.
If only I could have been some other thing. A vampire perhaps, or a wraith. He pumped both arms and legs in an effort to propel himself onward. Then perhaps I’d have the endurance to run for so long a time!
It also didn’t help matters that the majority of their footwork was at an incline. As Miss Molly had explained earlier, their party of three entered Grimguild University at the very bottom, and so, obviously, they had to climb upwards to really reach anywhere of any importance.
A lot of the basement corridors were a complexity of steel and copper pipes, running along the ceiling and walls like the inner vein work of an automaton. A few poked out here and there, but luckily globes of light contained within glass bottles inserted into custom made sconces, wiza
rd-made of course, lit their way so comfortably, that each member of the rescue team was able to evade the small obstacles before they became too treacherous.
The party had come across other hallways as well, leading off into other areas of the tower, or intersecting theirs to lead westward, but Molly continued to head east after every one and knew that she did so thanks to metal signs drilled into the wall to point the way. Mr. Todd was glad to see there were some sort of directions in such a dreary looking place. Since they entered Grimguild through the door at Steam Station, the party refused to continue at a pace nothing short of a brisk jog.
“So we’re just going to go on running? The entire way?” He was drinking in gulps of air between words like a parched man. “Where are we going to find Mr. Ardale and Mr. Benedict?” He paused, ducking his head to avoid a rather large skein of piping sticking out of the ceiling.
“Hup!” Mr. Dashing was seemingly enjoying this little jaunt through the wizard mafia’s not-really-a-hideout underbelly.
Simon stared at his back enviously, watching the large blunderbuss holstered to Dick’s back with wonder.
“Chip is a shadowmancer.” The gunslinger began slowing his pace for the benefit of his equerry. “He also just had a rather large fight with Miss Baxter and Mortimer. He ought to be in bed.” Dashing hopped up to avoid a loose stone in an otherwise smooth floor. Simon wasn’t sure if the man was joking, or having a bit of a lark, but a good soft bed did seem rather nice. Mr. Todd wouldn’t have turned one down if he had the chance to go home.
“Well, where do mages—”
“He’s a wizard.” Molly shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Hell Lord,” she explained again, causing Simon to nod affirmably. “Wizards and sorcerers have Hell Lords.”
The Curious Case of Simon Todd Page 25