“Percy Humbridge, your honor.”
Howard deGacy was famous for offering up phony names, and this time was no exception.
Denny leaned in to Ebba and said, “He’s lying. I know his real name. If I offer it up to the court, will it help my own case?”
“We could try,” she said. She got to her feet, raising a hand. “Your honor, if it pleases the court, my client has information about this prisoner. He can testify to the fact that this man is lying about his name.”
“Who says so?” Howard deGacy shot to his feet and stared down at Denny with pure hatred in his eyes. “You,” he snarled. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
“That’s what they all say,” Denny responded, giving deGacy his best, most disarming smile.
Chapter Six
The rain stopped at dawn and the sudden break in its relentless rhythm awakened Merritt, who roused himself from sleep. He peered outside. The faint light of day beckoned him. He picked up every object before him, careful to wrap the black candle in the packaging from his sandwich. Merritt put everything in his pockets, except his wax-filled shoes. The strange magic Gremma and Fortunata had cast to keep Merritt locked in a perpetual cycle of sleep and despair angered him. He picked up the shoes and, outside the cave, took a deep breath.
He loved the natural world and the land hummed to him. He was regaining his senses bit by bit. He walked down the mountain and found a spot under a yew tree. He used one of the shoes to dig a hole and whispered a few words of an old incantation and the sodden earth dried up long enough for him to dig without the mud sloshing back in again.
Things are coming back to me. Things I thought I’d forgotten. Things I didn’t realize had been stolen from me.
He dug faster now, eager to break the spell. Yew had protective qualities, and two feet down, he buried one of the shoes. Farther down the slope, he found another yew and buried the second one.
Leaning on his haunches for a moment, he realized he didn’t feel different, even though he’d broken the curse. Actually, he did feel different. He wasn’t perpetually sleepy. Even with little sleep in the cave he felt alive, vibrant. It was a wonderful feeling. Covered in mud now, he kept moving down the mountain, more cheerful than he’d been in months.
Wait. Has it been months? How long ago did we leave Denny’s ship? Sometimes it feels like forever, other times it feels recent. He knew he’d have to start reading his sister’s mind to figure out what was really going on. He was in such a good mood, he’d walked a mile before he realized it. And he reached the blacksmith’s forge. He was surprised to see it shuttered. Even in such awful weather there was always the need for Smitty’s exquisite workmanship. He turned out everything from tools and weapons to horseshoes and cooking pots. The need for these things never stopped.
Even his house seemed empty.
“What do you want?” a raspy voice came from behind when Merritt peered through the front windows. He turned, but couldn’t see Smitty at first.
“Down ’ere,” the raspy voice went on, and Merritt looked down to find the blacksmith leaning against a tree trunk, a cup of tea in his hand. “You don’t want to know how long it took me to make this.” Smitty glowered as he held up his cup. “I can’t even make fire anymore! I had to bribe one of my wee kiddies into making a fire, and they’re not supposed to do that.” He slurped at his tea. “Fine cup of tea, though. Can I interest you in one?”
Merritt hesitated. He sensed every awful thing that had happened to the poor man and wanted to put him out of his misery and move on to Fortunata’s next unfortunate victim, but on the other hand, he wanted an ally in Smitty. And he longed for something warm.
“I would enjoy that, thank you.”
“It’s a chipped cup, and I’m sorry about that, but we’ve few to spare. I’ve had to sell off everything just to survive. I have no tools left, and my striker—do you know young Walter?” Before Merritt could respond, Smitty barreled on, “Well, he developed a strange case of warts all over his body and boils on his bottom.”
Oh no. That sounds like Fortunata’s handiwork.
“And he was no longer able to help me produce tools.” Smitty looked devastated. “It caused him untold agony to lift the sledgehammer. He had to quit, and I sold the sledgehammer, too.” He poured Merritt his tea then handed him the cup.
“What happened to you?” Merritt asked.
“That witch. Gremma. She put a spell on me. That’s what she did. She turned me into a bleedin’ fairy, then that Gremma laughed. Everyone knows fairies are allergic to iron. Why did she do that to me?” Poor Smitty looked confused.
“You’ve been cursed,” Merritt said.
“I know that. I’ve got wings. Wings, for Lord’s sake. Whoever heard of a gnome with wings? Do you see them?” His voice rose, and Merritt nodded.
“Aye, I see your wings.” They were big and black and hairy, and sort of matched the thick thatch of hair atop Smitty’s head. He was tall for a gnome, but then he was part human and ogre as well. What had he done to displease Fortunata? Merritt tried to read Smitty’s mind but Smitty was too busy thinking angry thoughts about Gremma.
“I knew Gremma had been banished from the palace, for what reasons I was never clear, but she’s lived happily among us all here in the forest. Never had a cross word with her. Suddenly she’s stomping around my house uninvited and muttering something weird. And have you seen her face lately?” He winced.
Merritt saw it all unspooling in his mind. Oh, boy. Time was of the essence.
“She cursed you by stealing this.” Merritt reached into his pocket and extracted the small iron dagger he’d found on Gremma’s altar. “I’ve removed the hex on it, but you are going to have to bury this someplace far and deep from here.”
“Why’d she do it to me?” Tears formed in his eyes. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
“She did it at someone else’s bidding.”
“Of course! I should have realized. People tell me she cries all night. She’s cursed lots of us, you know.”
“Yes. Now look. The magic is broken and your wings, well, I can take care of those, but you must bury the dagger as soon as I’ve done it.” Merritt laid it at Smitty’s feet. “In order for me to break the curse completely, I must know what you did to displease Princess Fortunata.”
“Fortunata? Why, I did nothing.” Smitty’s cheeks flamed. “Oh. My missus. My wife was making her a cloak, and the princess said she wasn’t working fast enough. She tried to tell the princess we had a young son who was sick. He’d gotten worse and worse. But the princess wouldn’t listen and screamed and yelled. She took off and we haven’t seen her since. She never picked up the cloak, you know.”
“You slept with her,” Merritt said, shocked and saddened when he saw the image in his mind.
Smitty gasped. “But that was years ago!”
Merritt got a flash image in his mind of Smitty naked. Merritt gulped. The blacksmith had a massive cock. No wonder his sister had been, er, smitten with Smitty.
“I wasn’t married then!” Smitty bawled.
“But she’s tried to come back to you.”
“Until this happened, relentlessly.”
“I’m going to give you a token. You must keep it on you for protection.” Merritt reached behind Smitty’s back, grabbed a wing and pulled.
Smitty’s howl of pain filled the air.
“And bury these, too.”
“My wings!” Smitty stared at them. There was only a tiny bit of blood, but Smitty was free of them.
Suddenly, the blacksmith’s wife came running out of the house. “Smitty! Smitty! Baby Smythe’s stopped coughing!”
Smitty jumped to his feet. “The prince has lifted our curse!”
“Wait now,” Merritt said. “Before you get too excited, I need the cloak you were making for my sister.”
“It’s gone,” Smitty’s wife said. “Gremma came and took it.”
“When?”
“Weeks ago.�
��
Merritt sighed. “I’ll go and find it. Now, Smitty, you do as I say. Visit your son, but you must bury that dagger quickly. I have other people to visit. Speak of this to no one. Hurry now.”
“How can I thank you?” Smitty asked, spreading his hands.
“You don’t owe me thanks. I owe you an apology on my family’s behalf. I can assure you both that nothing like this will ever happen again.”
“Thank you,” Smitty said, and shook his hand.
Merritt pressed the token into Smitty’s palm. “Keep this. And should Gremma or Fortunata visit, say only, ‘I am under the prince’s protection.’ Never, ever speak of this token or keep it someplace visible. Good day to you now. I’ll come and visit baby Smythe very soon.” He didn’t wait any longer. Merritt knew exactly what his sister had done and he was furious with her. She wanted control over the whole kingdom and he knew the cloak carried fragments of the possessions of all those whom she’d cursed and whom she planned to attack in the future.
He hurried to Gremma’s house, wondering if she was already aware that her evil handiwork was being obliterated.
* * * *
Back in the courtroom, the crowd erupted in wild laughter. Even a couple of jurors joined in until the judge silenced them with a look.
“You!” The judge pointed across the room at Denny. “Tell me what you know of this man.”
“Stand up!” Ebba snapped in a low tone.
Denny complied, surprised at how badly his knees were knocking. Any second now, the judge would say, ‘Who’s there?’
“Come up here and stand beside Pegasus and tell me what you know,” the judge insisted.
Denny hated the idea, but if it bought him a lighter sentence he’d go for it. He made his way down the stairs and soon saw why it had taken deGacy a little time to make his way down the front. Fairies sitting on the stairs kept touching him and grabbing his feet.
At last he made it to the marble desk and stood beside the big, winged horse, who snorted down at him. Denny thought the magnificent creature was lovely. He had always adored horses but a life at sea had given him no access to them. He touched the horse’s flank, admiring his physical beauty. The horse’s nostrils flared, and Denny removed his hand again.
“Speak!” the judge ordered. Before Denny could start, he added, “And do you still think I sound feeble and weak?”
How embarrassing. “No, your honor.”
“Good. Step to it then. Look lively, man.”
Denny had to be careful of his thoughts around this courtroom. All eyes were on him as he said, “Pirate deGacy worked in tandem with ‘Don’ Pedro Gilbert. Together they ran an unusual piracy ring on dry land. They would lure ships from sea into small coves and harbors with fires they set. The ships would arrive and Gilbert and deGacy would attack the ships, taking everything they could and destroying the vessels to hide their deeds.”
A murmur went up in the room.
“Somehow, one of the crew members from the last ship they attempted to destroy squeezed through a hatch and freed the rest of the crew. They are the only known survivors of a joint deGacy and Gilbert attack. The two pirates were captured returning to the bay to check on the ship’s destruction. They were in prison for almost two years as the United States government worked to learn their true identities. They were tried and sentenced to death. Gilbert was hanged in 1845, but deGacy escaped and here he is today, your honor.”
“It’s not me,” deGacy whined from the witness box. “He’s got it all wrong.”
“I don’t think so,” the judge said, his tone soft. “However, this means we have to extradite you back to the United States of America, since they have already sentenced you. Bloody Americans. Such a pain in the ass to deal with.”
The judge leaned into the jurors to his right. Denny finally got a closer look at them. There were two women in white, who looked like twins. They were tall and thin and seemed to speak at the same time. A man in black had a thick head of curly dark hair and a bushy mustache he kept stroking. He wore a big black ring on the middle finger of both hands and a necklace made of what looked like human teeth. Sensing that he was being watched, the man turned and stared at Denny, who glanced away again.
After several minutes of consultation, the judge announced, “The twin seers of Orynca agree that we need to extradite the prisoner. Bailiffs, prepare him for transport.”
The wooden witness box flew to the ground and the bars fell away. The dreaded, most fearsome pirate to trawl the American seas screamed like a girl as the bailiff fairies each grabbed an arm and took him away.
“I want to make it clear that technically speaking, since he has been cursed, Mr. deGacy is one of us, but we have never impeded another court’s justice,” the judge said.
Howard deGacy’s shrieks could still be heard from outside the courtroom. It was profoundly disturbing.
Wonder what they’ll make of his eagle head and wing.
The judge swiveled around to look at Denny. “The curse will be removed before he is transported to the U.S.”
Denny nodded. Boy, he really did have to be careful with his thoughts around here.
“You can enter the witness box,” the judge informed him. “I’m keen to hear your story.”
“But, your honor, my case is number three,” Denny responded.
“And I’m making it number two. Get in. Now.”
Denny’s breath caught in his throat and he took the witness stand. This is worse than walking the plank. He glanced downward, half expecting to see a pool of swarming sharks beneath him. Nothing. Just the plush, black carpet.
As Ebba stood and began talking to the judge, Denny thought about his life of crime.
Had it been worth it? He wasn’t sure about that. Except for meeting Merritt. Denny remembered that the prince was supposed to be here but saw no sign of him. He scanned the room from top to bottom, surprised to see winged creatures fluttering high in the ceiling.
“State your name for the court,” the judge boomed.
“Denny, or Dunstan Derrick. But I go by Denny Derrick Dalton, sir.”
Some twittering among the jurors.
“Delusions of grandeur with three names?” the judge asked.
“Not anymore, your honor.”
Scattered laughter in the courtroom.
“Proceed,” the judge said, his lips seeming to move into a half smile. He focused on Denny as though the gossip around him wasn’t taking place.
Ebba cleared her throat. “Until a few months ago, Denny Derrick Dalton was the most feared pirate on the high seas.”
Denny tried not to stick out his chest with pride.
“He took pleasure in his fearsome reputation, most of it well earned, since he’d worked so hard at being very, very bad.”
All eyes stared up at him. Denny saw surprise in many gazes and knew his fairy wings had ruined his scary look.
“He had a difficult childhood. Born in East London in 1816, Denny was taught pickpocketing and thievery by his mother, Mrs. Mable-Anne Dalton. She would hit him until he became fearless about extracting money, with menaces and a flick knife.”
Denny’s cheeks burned. How did she know all of this? His background was his private shame. He’d hated his mother then and hated her now.
“Mable-Anne was a scary, shady character. She started beating her youngest child, Denny’s sister, Polly, who was seven, two years younger than Denny. He took Polly’s beatings for her. Things went from bad to worse when Denny’s dad left them for another woman—”
How does she know all this?
“And left Denny to care for his sister. His mother was never around, but Denny worked honestly as a chimney sweep.” She paused with a dramatic inhale. “And his father frequently beat him for those funds.”
Ebba stopped reading from her notes and gazed, sad-eyed around the court.
Denny’s ears went red. He could feel it. People were staring at him with pity.
“Mable-Anne got ca
ught stealing an onion and was sent to Botany Bay, Australia,” Ebba continued. “Denny’s father received a note from her several months later saying that the women on these ships were used as whores.
“‘It’s a floatin’, bleedin’ bloody brothel,’ she wrote. Last heard, Mable-Anne and her common-law husband, another convict she’d met on the ship, had stolen the Australian governor’s eight-oared long boat, and escaped the prison island.”
Denny was stunned. Why had he heard none of this? He leaned forward, keen to hear more.
“Nobody has heard from them since,” Ebba reported, “but there is a bounty on their heads.”
“Is there any news of my sister?” Denny asked, his voice cracking. “I’ve searched the world for her!”
There was a murmur in the court, stricken gazes cast in his direction. Denny knew he’d made a terrible mistake. It would be the gallows for him, for sure.
The judge banged his gavel. “Order! Order! The prisoner will refrain from idle chit-chat with the prosecution.”
Denny’s hackles rose. “It’s not idle chit-chat. I’ve lost my sister!”
“Shut up!” the judge boomed.
The crowd gasped.
“Yes, your honor.” Denny shrank back in his seat. He received an evil glare from Ebba, who then continued.
“Denny’s father fell apart then, drinking and not paying his debts. His girlfriend left him and he spent most of his time in the pub, but had something of a home with his children. When Denny was ten, he and his father and sister entered a workhouse, where they were given horrible jobs. Denny picked oakum and frequently did his sister’s share of the work, too. Their father ground up human bones for fertilizer.”
A gasp went up around the courtroom, which seemed to put a gleam in Ebba’s eye.
“When they were released almost a year later, Denny and Polly were left to their own devices. They hardly saw their father after that. He’d taken over a pub in Westminster with the new woman in his life.”
Ebba held Denny’s gaze when she said, “His father was often heard to be saying he had no son.
“Denny took work in a cotton factory and the long hours meant he rarely saw Polly. He was eleven, she was almost nine, but Polly was too young by law to be put to work in a factory. Denny paid a family that had taken over his father’s rented apartment to look after Polly, but when he went to find her she was gone.
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