Kat, Incorrigible

by Stephanie Burgis

  “You know I can’t—”

  A click sounded in the darkness. It was the click of a pistol being cocked. Mr. Collingwood must have known that sound. He yanked the horse to a halt and turned to stare in the same direction as I was, at the pistol pointing directly at us.

  “I think you had better listen to the young lady’s advice,” a deep voice growled from the darkness. “Now, put your hands up and ask yourself: your money … or your life?”

  Swathed in a great black cloak, the highwayman was nearly invisible in the darkness. I had to squint to pick out the deeper shadow of his silhouette between the trees, and the outline of the big black horse he sat on. I could only catch the glimmer of the horse’s eyes as it watched us, and hear its steady breath. But I had no difficulty at all in picking out the gleam of the highwayman’s single pistol, which never wavered from my chest. I couldn’t look away from it.

  “You’ll want to turn your horse around,” the highwayman said, “and come back away from the road, so we can be more comfortable.”

  “I—I don’t think I do want that, actually,” Mr. Collingwood said. His voice sounded rather higher-pitched than normal.

  “I think you do,” said the highwayman. “And so does the young lady. Don’t you, Miss Katherine?”

  “How—?” I started. Then I realized. “You were listening to us! Eavesdropping on our conversation! That’s outrageous!”

  “As outrageous as playing a highwayman to try to steal your fine friends’ jewels? That’s a hanging offense, that is.”

  “Well, you can hardly be offended by that,” I said. “I mean, you of all people—”

  “You think not?” The highwayman’s voice hardened. “Get back under the trees, miss. Now. Before I show you both just how offended I can be.”

  I began, “Well, really—”

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Collingwood said hastily. “We will.” In my ear, as he lowered his hands to the reins of his horse, he hissed, “Please, Miss Katherine. Be quiet!”

  I closed my lips and pressed them together to hold back the rest of my remarks. We were all silent as Mr. Collingwood’s horse stepped slowly into the darkness. The woods wrapped around us like a blanket, cutting us off from the moonlit road, and from safety.

  Through the darkness, I could hear the highwayman breathing. His breaths sounded quick and strained with nerves … or with excitement. I swallowed hard and told myself that I was not afraid.

  I had wanted to be held up by a highwayman for ages. This ought to be the most thrilling moment of my entire life.

  “Off the horse,” the highwayman ordered. “Now.”

  “Sir,” Mr. Collingwood said. “I’d be happy to get off the horse myself, for your convenience, but couldn’t my companion please keep her place? You can see she’s very young, and—”

  “I said, off the horse!”

  Mr. Collingwood slid off. When I started to follow him, though, he put one hand up to stop me. The highwayman’s pistol shifted to aim at him. “Please,” said Mr. Collingwood. “If you would only consider—”

  The highwayman’s pistol shifted again. “She can get off the horse now on her own,” he said, “or I can put a bullet through its head and let it fall down underneath her.”

  I scrambled off the horse. I wasn’t used to having to get off a horse without a sidesaddle; I couldn’t just slide easily down the way I usually would. I swung one leg over and slipped. I would have fallen straight onto my backside on the forest floor if Mr. Collingwood hadn’t caught me in his arms. Mr. Collingwood’s horse whickered and danced backward, out of reach. I couldn’t blame him.

  “There now,” the highwayman said, and eased his horse closer to us through the dark. I could hear him breathing hard above me. He held the pistol less than a foot away from my head, now. “Isn’t this more comfortable?”

  I let go of Mr. Collingwood as I found my feet on the forest floor. He squared his shoulders and patted my back comfortingly. “All will be well, Miss Katherine,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  I could hear the shiver in his voice. It might have been enough to really frighten me if I had been the kind of simpering female who actually needed comforting.

  The highwayman was a dark shadow looming over us in the blackness. I cursed myself for leaving Mr. Collingwood’s pistol behind on the ground outside the assembly hall, where it could be of no use to anyone. If only Elissa had thrown it straight to us, instead of out the window, we could have reloaded it. If only …

  “Purses first,” the highwayman said. “Now.”

  “I don’t—,” Mr. Collingwood began.

  The pistol slammed into the side of my head, so hard I staggered. Tears of pain started in my eyes. I choked back the cry that wanted to come out.

  “Now,” said the highwayman.

  “Look!” Mr. Collingwood stripped off his cloak and opened his jacket. He turned the pockets inside out. “You see?” he said. “They’re empty. That’s what I was trying to tell you. I don’t have a purse on me. I didn’t bring any money.”

  “Don’t try to play me for a fool,” the highwayman snarled. “You just robbed a whole ballroom. I heard the girl.”

  “I tried to rob a ballroom,” Mr. Collingwood said. “It didn’t work.”

  “Oh, so you just gave up and rode away empty-handed? I don’t think so. Anyway, I can hear your accent, and I know what it means. You’ve got money, whether it’s enough for you or not. So hand it over!”

  “He’s telling you the truth,” I said. I straightened carefully. My head throbbed with every movement, but I lifted my chin and glared up at him through the darkness. “If you were less of a fool, you’d listen to him and realize—”

  The muzzle of the pistol was suddenly pressing directly against my head. My breath stopped in my throat. The cold of the metal radiated through my hair and across my skin, freezing me in place.

  “That’s better,” the highwayman said. “Now, you listen to me, Miss Katherine. Interesting thing about highway robbery you ought to know. It’s a hanging offense.” He paused. The pistol shifted infinitesimally against my scalp. “I said, it’s a hanging offense,” he repeated. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered. I breathed in and out as lightly as I could, straining not to move an inch. Every nerve in my body was focused on the circle of cold metal.

  “Good,” he said. “Then you understand. I can do anything I like to you now. What’s the worst that could happen to me? I might be hanged. Well, that’ll happen anyway. So what’s to stop me murdering you right now, where you stand?”

  Another pause.

  Mr. Collingwood spoke, his voice stifled. “Please, sir—I beg of you, don’t—”

  “Quiet!” said the highwayman. “I was speaking to the young lady. I want to hear her answer. So? What’s to stop me from shooting you in the head right this moment, Miss Katherine?”

  I licked my lips. “Nothing,” I whispered.

  “That’s right,” he said. “Nothing at all. So maybe you’d better keep that in mind, and keep a civil tongue in your mouth. Because you don’t want me to go losing my temper now, do you?”

  “No, sir,” I whispered.

  The pistol didn’t move. My legs were trembling now with the effort of standing perfectly still against it.

  “I thought not,” the highwayman said. “In that case, Miss Katherine, I’d recommend your friend here turn over his purse, and yours, before I start to get irritated. Because it’s a good deal easier to take a purse off a dead body than a live one.”

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered. “But—”

  “Here,” Mr. Collingwood said hastily. “I don’t have any money, but I have this pocket watch. It’s on a gold chain, you see? And, um … my card case! You can have my card case, it’s made of silver, and it’s—”

  Even with a pistol to my head, I had to speak. “You brought your card case on a robbery? What were you planning to do, hand out your calling cards before you left, so they could return the
favor at your house next week?”

  “Well …” He paused. “I didn’t mean to, it just happened to be in my pocket, so—”

  “Trinkets,” the highwayman said. “You’re standing unprotected in the dark while I hold a pistol to the young lady’s head, and you still want to fob me off with trinkets?”

  “No!” said Mr. Collingwood. “That is, I don’t want to fob you off with anything, sir, but these truly are all I have, and—”

  “Do I need to shoot her right now to get your attention?”

  “No, sir!”

  “Good. Then listen carefully. I will shoot her if you don’t hand over something of real value. Something to make this godforsaken half hour worth my time.”

  “I have something,” I said hastily. My teeth wanted to chatter, even though it wasn’t cold. I had to grit them together to speak. “My reticule. I have a golden mirror inside.”

  “A golden what?”

  “A mirror,” I said. “It was my mother’s. It’s made of gold.”

  “Hand it over,” the highwayman said. “No, not you. Him. Take it out of her bag and hand it to me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mr. Collingwood fumbled with the cords around my wrist, in the darkness. There was a moment of silence, except for the sounds of the night birds in the woods around us and the highwayman’s heavy breathing. The pistol shivered against my head. His hand must be trembling. He was nervous too.

  I wondered how hard it would be for the pistol to go off, if his fingers slipped. I stood still and unmoving, with my jaw clamped tight to keep my teeth from chattering and bumping the pistol. I wondered what Angeline and Elissa would think if I didn’t come back that night. I wondered what Mama would have done in my situation. Well, she would have cast a spell, obviously, but I didn’t know any … or at least any that would be useful.

  “Here,” said Mr. Collingwood, and the reticule slid off my wrist. I heard movement in the darkness, and saw the silhouette of Mr. Collingwood’s hands reaching up to the highwayman on his horse. The pistol jiggled against my head as the highwayman accepted the mirror and Mr. Collingwood’s own offerings.

  I had to bite back an unexpected pang of loss. Mama’s mirror had brought me nothing but trouble, but still … I breathed in deeply. It wasn’t as if it would be gone for long. It never—

  “What the devil?”

  The highwayman’s curse came just as I felt a familiar, smooth metal circle appear in my left hand. The mirror had returned sooner than I’d expected. Too soon.

  “Here,” I said. “It fell into my hand. You can have it back.”

  “What do you think you’re playing at?” He snatched it out of my hand. The pistol was definitely trembling against my head now. “That did not fall. Are you trying to make a fool out of me?”

  “No!” I said. “I’m so sorry, it only—oh, the devil!”

  It was back in my hand again, and glowing with warmth. I could actually see the light radiating out of it now, illuminating my hand in the darkness for both men to see.

  “What’s happening?” Mr. Collingwood said. “I don’t understand.”

  “Please,” I said. I thrust the mirror back up to the highwayman. “I can explain. It only—”

  “Fell?” the highwayman said. His voice sounded hoarse. “I don’t think so.”

  “Look,” I said. “I know this is going to be hard to believe, but—”

  “Shut your mouth!” He grabbed the mirror, closing his hand tightly around it. The light glowed between his fingers. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you or else—”

  “Oh, Lord,” I whispered. The mirror was back in my hand again.

  The highwayman stared at his empty fingers. Then he turned to me. The mirror was glowing brightly in my hand. I couldn’t hide it.

  “That’s it,” he said, and grabbed hold of my shoulder with one meaty hand as he steadied the pistol against my head. “They can’t hang me twice.”

  “No!” Mr. Collingwood said. He lunged toward us.

  There was only one last thing to try.

  I flicked open the mirror.

  The shot went off as the world turned inside out around me.

  Eighteen

  I landed on my backside on a smooth, hard floor. When the world stopped spinning, I opened my eyes. A familiar rounded golden ceiling arched high above me. Golden walls rose to each side. My head still ached horribly, but I didn’t feel as if I’d been shot. I would be able to tell, wouldn’t I? Unless I’d gone into shock and just couldn’t feel the pain …

  I patted my head and arms, just to make sure. Then I let out a sigh of sheer relief. I absolutely, definitely had not been shot. I could still feel the memory of cold on my head, where the muzzle of the pistol had rested, but that was all.

  I was in the Golden Hall, and I was safe. Now, all I had to do—

  A familiar voice spoke just behind me.

  “Where the devil have you brought me?” the highwayman snarled.

  Oh, Lord.

  I turned around, taking a deep breath for courage.

  In the golden light of the hall, the highwayman looked different. Even bigger, if possible, with bulkier, heavier shoulders than I’d imagined in the darkness. His broad, weathered face looked older than I’d expected too—he must have been at least as old as Stepmama. And I mean Stepmama’s true age, not the age she claimed to be.

  But he didn’t look any less dangerous out of the forest, especially as he swung around to face me, his pale green eyes wide and wild in the golden light. “I asked you a question,” he growled. “What have you done?”

  “Nothing bad,” I said. His hands were hidden underneath his threadbare black greatcoat; I kept my eyes on where they ought to be, searching for the telltale shape of his pistol underneath the cloth. “I couldn’t just stand there and let you shoot me, could I?”

  He started toward me. He walked like I imagined a prizefighter might walk, or a tiger out in the jungles of Asia: with a predatory, rolling stride that made goose bumps rise on the back of my neck. “I’m the one asking the questions, Miss Katherine,” he said. “Not you. And I’d strongly suggest you answer me.”

  I backed away from him. My thin evening slippers whispered against the golden floor. Thank goodness the hall was so big; at least he couldn’t back me against a wall. I was smaller and lighter than him. Maybe I could outrun him … but I didn’t want to test it.

  I smiled at him as innocently and sweetly as I could. “Don’t be angry,” I said. “We can go back any time you want, I promise. All you have to do is—”

  “Don’t you tell me what I have to do!”

  He leaped for me, and I bolted. I was halfway across the hall before it hit me.

  “Your pistol’s empty!” I panted. I stopped, balancing on my toes. He was still ten feet away, closing in fast. I put out my hands in a wait gesture. His eyes narrowed, and he slowed but didn’t stop. “I heard you fire the shot.”

  “So?” he said. “I don’t need a pistol. Not against a slip of a girl like you.”

  “I brought you all the way here by magic,” I said. I jerked my chin up to look as haughty as I could. “That means I’m a witch. A very powerful witch,” I added. “So what do you think you can possibly do against me without a pistol?”

  He snorted. “If I’m no danger to you, lass, then why were you running?”

  “Ummm …” I blinked.

  “Thought as much,” he said.

  “Did you indeed?” another voice said mildly.

  We both spun around to face the new arrival. Mr. Gregson polished his spectacles as he smiled at us. “I rather thought you might arrive here in the end, Katherine,” he said. “But I must confess to being rather curious: Where did you find this gentleman? A second highwayman, I presume?”

  “Ah …,” I began.

  “Who the devil are you?” the highwayman said. His huge fists clenched menacingly. The sight made me wince, but Mr. Gregson didn’t seem to notice.

 
“So,” he said to me, “I believe this leaves us with two questions to resolve. What have you done with Sir Neville’s foolish younger brother, and what exactly do you intend to do now?”

  “Um,” I said. I looked from one to the other of the two men. “That is to say …”

  “I don’t know what the devil you two are on about,” the highwayman began, “but—”

  “I can, of course, take care of this little matter for you,” Mr. Gregson told me, “but only if I know that we are both on the same page, so to speak. If you asked me, as your new tutor, to step in and help you—”

  “I think not!” I said.

  “Are you threatening me?” the highwayman said to Mr. Gregson. “You puny little—”

  “I hope you’re aware that time passes differently here than in the more ordinary world,” Mr. Gregson said to me. “So while you may think you have plenty of time before your followers arrive at Grantham Abbey, you might be surprised to learn—”

  “Oh, Lord!” I said. When they found Mr. Collingwood missing …

  “Precisely,” Mr. Gregson said. He put his spectacles neatly into place and smiled indulgently at me. “It has been quite an amusing little struggle, Katherine, but I think it’s finally time to accept the truth, don’t you? All you need to do is agree—”

  “Never,” I said. “I’ll take care of this myself.”

  He blinked. “And how, might I ask—”

  “Like this,” I said, and reached for that still point inside me, the point I’d found by accident the first time I ever had to escape from the Golden Hall.

  The last sight I had was of Mr. Gregson’s shaking head. The expression on his face made my teeth grind together.

  I was not running away, no matter what he might think. I would take care of the highwayman later. But first I had to save Mr. Collingwood and my sister’s future happiness.

  I prepared to land in the dark forest.

  Instead I hit a hard stone floor, arms first.

  “Miss Katherine!” Mr. Collingwood’s voice came out between a whisper and a squeak behind me. “Where did you come from?”

  “Magic,” I said. My voice came out as a groan. My elbows throbbed with pain. I pulled myself up carefully, massaging them and peering through the smothering darkness. The air smelled stuffy and confined. I reached out and felt cool stone walls on either side, barely three feet apart. “Where are we?”