“I must confess, I was indifferent to the whole situation for the longest time.”
“Unfortunately, for poor Alba.”
The look I shot Merryweather turned his face a lighter shade of milk, but I knew he was just on edge, as I. The raindrops soon quenched the fire in my eyes.
“I'm sorry,” he said with genuine remorse. “My mouth gets the better of me at times.”
“You don't say!”
“Oh, I do,” he laughed.
“Well, in answer to your previous question, I am no longer indifferent.”
“Linka?”
“She has changed me, Walter. I am a better man for knowing her. She has given my life, if you can call what we have a life, purpose.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
“You do?”
“Er…yes…in principle,” he stuttered, getting to his feet and returning in tottering fashion to the front of the craft.
I thought no more of it as we continued in silence, me sat astride the coffin, he slumped over the steering column. We stayed that way, impassive and contemplative, until the cloud cover turned a strange shade of claret.
“Damn it!” Merryweather fumed.
“Damn indeed,” I agreed, watching as the clouds became ruby edged. I should have been terrified but found the whole experience quite beautiful, even magical; Merryweather did not. He plunged down on the wheel and the whole craft lurched earthwards. We plunged at a rate of knots through the wet cloud and into the lightening dawn. I could even see King Rudolph's palace gleaming in relieved night, but there was no way we would ever have reached it. Merryweather had realised this too and shot us down towards a copse of trees. I thought he should not stop, but at the last moment he heaved upon the wheel and we descended with inelegant ease through the leafy canopy and down to the shaded floor. With no further ado, Merryweather sprung to the back of the craft, lifted the second coffin lid and gasped, “Goodnight, old man,” and then hurried inside.
I, in turn, stood, stretched my back in a rather more languid manner, and descended into my own private prison.
Chapter Twenty-Four
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Deceived
I woke to the sound of what I believed a bird. I'd almost forgotten creatures existed other than wolves, a solitary gull, and ourselves. The bird's singing echoed around me and I luxuriated in its chirruping joy before remembering I had more pressing business to attend to.
The coffin lid creaked open at my touch and the night air poured in swamping my senses. If Linka had been there with me it should have been perfect, but she wasn't.
I rose from my bed expecting to find Merryweather fast asleep beside me. But, for a second time in recent memory, he was up and about first. His coffin lid lay ajar, and the interior stood empty. I'd always been an early riser by Eternal standards, bordering on the insane some would have said, yet Merryweather had not just beaten me but disappeared from sight, too. I fought the instinct to call out and instead meandered toward the open pastures, which rolled down to the Rhine and King Rudolph's palace beyond. But, the further I went the more I subconsciously crept rather than walked. It was this silent stalking that led me to chance upon my host.
I withheld the urge to greet him, as he talked to some unseen person via a small, metal device. Merryweather held the thing in the palm of his hand of which it took up less than half, and bent low to speak into it.
I crept as close as I dared and positioned myself behind a large tree trunk. Eternals all possess excellent hearing, but no matter how hard I strained I could not discern his, nor his contact's words. Agitated to distraction, Merryweather chanced a look in my direction several times, but I was secure in my camouflage. He mopped at his brow as though panicked, tugged his sleeves and hopped from foot to foot in clear distress.
At other times, I would have stayed in my hiding place and taken great enjoyment at observing his discomfort, but it was not other times. Deciding I'd had quite enough childish spying for one evening, I strolled from my arboreal cover.
“Good evening, Merryweather,” I breezed.
His reaction was instant. Throwing the device to the floor, he stamped upon it with such ferocity, he dispelled any doubt I'd had as to whether he spoke in secret.
“I said, good morning, Walter.”
“It's not what you think, Jean!”
“Oh, but I believe it is,” I bluffed, and advanced upon him.
Merryweather turned to flee, but I closed the distance in time to clamp my fingers about his coattails. The material tore from my grip sending Merryweather sprawling to the turf. I sprang atop the blubbering fool before he could get back up and pinned him to the ground.
“I'm sorry, Jean! I'm sorry! I'm so, so, sorry!” His mewling echoed across the Rhineland's pleasant meadows, as I dragged the dandy kicking and screaming back into the wood.
Merryweather was stronger than I'd expected, but thus fuelled by fear men often are. However, he was still far from a match for a man with the frustrations of the world bottled within him. I made that difference count.
I used my erstwhile companion's own belt to bind him to a tree and stuffed his shirt down his throat to gag him. That was how I began my questioning of the man who had until then, charmed me.
“In many ways I'm a petty man, Merryweather. In fact, a very petty man.”
“Mmmph!”
“No, my friend, you need not answer that,” I cooed. “I have but a few questions and expect succinct answers. Your gag shall be removed for you to do so. Yell out, and I shall hurt you. If you do not answer to my liking, I shall harm you. And, if I do not like what you tell, or suspect you to lie, I will kill you, painfully. Of course, I do not want it to come to that, Walter, really I don't, but as you know I am not famed for my patience. Have we an understanding?”
Merryweather slumped with such violence against the tree trunk I couldn't be sure if he nodded or had passed out. His head flapped upon his neck as though a bulrush in a gale.
“Right, let's begin, shall we? Who were you talking to, dear Walter?” I pulled the material from his mouth and stepped back to look him straight in the eye. Merryweather did not lift his head, instead, he just hung there. I slapped his pale cheek to get his attention, and lifted him by the chin.
“Are you crying?” I gasped. “I can assure you it is a waste of energy, dear friend.”
“I have done nothing wrong, Jean, I swear to you.”
“Wrong answer,” I said, and stuffed the shirt back into his mouth.
“Now, we'll try again. Who sent you?” I slapped him considerably harder, so much so that the echoes from it rang around the wood. I did not care. The whole procedure had already become most tedious. I removed the gag again, but my prisoner's head had almost dropped to the floor. “Who were you talking to?” I barked.
“Nobody, it was nobody,” he whimpered.
“That would make you a fool, Merryweather. You are many things, but a fool is not one of them.”
“I hate you,” he mumbled.
“You what?” I slapped him again and lifted his head by his pomaded, blond locks.
“I HATE YOU!” Merryweather screamed.
“Oh, dear,” I murmured, as I rammed the shirt back between his biting teeth. “That wasn't a good idea, you've given the whole game away before we've even gotten started. If you hate me why seek me? That would indicate someone sent you. By a process of elimination that would infer the same person you talked to on the handheld device was the same person who sent you. So,” I said, striking a dramatic pose and cracking my knuckles, “I shall rephrase the question. Who is, and I dare say, has, manipulated me?”
I removed the gag from Merryweather's mouth. He did not respond. My patience, already worn thin, I hit him. I did not mean the blow to be so hard. I believed my frustrations overwhelmed me, or maybe I enjoyed hurting him, either way worked if it gained results.
Merryweather's not losing consciousness was of great credit to him. The snapping back of hi
s neck would have killed a lesser man. The thing was, the heap of a figure before me was so effete, so entire a dandy, that it suggested it an act. In my mind, taking that blow confirmed it. That meant I could push him further. So, I did what any desperate Eternal would do in the same situation: I bit him.
By the time I stopped feeding blood poured in a free-flowing waterfall down Merryweather's chest and onto his forest green, silken pantaloons. The Britannian's head rocked as though caught by the retreating tide and his chest heaved with emotion.
“Who sent you, Walter?” I demanded, wiping blood from my mouth and flicking it at him. “Who sent you?”
“Love…”
“If you do, I do not appreciate it,” I interjected.
“All for love…”
“Glad you cleared that up, but it won't get you off the hook.”
“Love…love…love.” Walter tried to lift his head, but only caused a fresh outpouring of life fluids to sprinkle over his chest and shoulder.
“Who sent you?” I asked again, thrusting him to a standing position and looking him in the eye.
“The things we do for love…” His words trailed off into the night.
“Merryweather!” I barked and slapped him.
“All for her…”
“Walter, make some sense and it will spare your life. I give you my word.”
“Your word! Your word!” he bellowed with obvious distaste. “I only live for the words of one, and that one is not you.”
“Well, Walter, I have to admire your guts. To be honest, I didn't think you had any. Let's take a look and see if it's true.”
I held his head up with my left hand and eviscerated him with the slow, deliberate precision of a surgeon, my right index replacing a scalpel. Merryweather's reaction was immediate as he shivered and quaked in violent fits.
“Who sent you, Walter?”
“All…for…her. All for love. All for her. Love…”
I could stomach many things but fools were not one of them. The man's inane babbling sought only to antagonise me further.
“WHO SENT YOU?” I roared in his face, but Merryweather was lost to his own private universe. I glowered into his eyes, searched for some sign of compliance; they stared back glazed, impenetrable. I released his head, which dropped like a stone, then paced away in annoyance, stomping about like a petulant child before regaining my composure. Straightening what clothes I had, I swept unkempt hair from my face, and returned to my beleaguered ex-comrade's side.
“Walter,” I began softly. “Do not allow yourself to die for the sake of false love.”
He lifted his head, the strain of doing so etched across his face, looked me cold in the eye, and for a second he was the Merryweather of old once more.
“She loves me, Jean, she does. We shall rule together until the end of all. Yes, the end of all.”
“Last chance,” I hissed, but he was halfway to heaven, or more likely hell.
* * *
That was how I left the man who'd formerly been part friend, part annoyance, but never boring. I left him to see the sun and perhaps be happier for it. Merryweather would die in the dawn's rising light. In a way, his blood wouldn't even be on my hands. But, of course, I knew it would.
* * *
A chill settled upon me as I exited the wood and strode across the pastureland, something I didn't think possible for one of my kind. I had declined to take the flying vehicle preferring instead to flex my muscles and perhaps purge some of Merryweather's blood from my system.
The clouds remained as thick, if not thicker than the previous evening, and had a slight tinge of snow about them. I loved the snow it made everything feel cleaner, nature's way of expunging the Eternal stain. A blanket of white would cover the detritus of the world and make it pretty again. Plus, it caused there to be far less social occasions to attend, which was always a bonus, although it created havoc for my sleeping arrangements. There were so few women left to accommodate me.
I paced my way toward the royal palace confident it early enough for my remaining undetected. But the question persisted, how could I infiltrate the palace and relieve Vladivar of his bride-to-be?
That brief thought of Linka being touched by him, if he didn't just have her meet some unfortunate end after the marriage ceremony, made my blood boil. Vladivar would die even if it took my own life to accomplish it. Then there was still the question of my mystery pen-pal and the letters demanding King Rudolph's death. Vladivar alleged he knew whomever had sent them and had exerted a form of control because of it. But wasn't that commission voided if his former majesty was just a powerless subject of the new king? Not that I could have ever murdered the father of my dear love. Not unless she wished it, anyway.
And there it was, the free-flowing body of water that comprised the Rhine, a liquid barricade. I hadn't considered that when I set out on my meanderings.
The water was far too wide for someone to leap. The Rhine was a veritable miniature sea, so expansive was it. There appeared no bridges or other means to cross, which left only one other course of action: I would have to swim.
After my last encounter with water, I couldn't say I looked forward to the experience. Water and I did not get on even at the best of times. I wasn't sure if an Eternal could drown, or if he couldn't even breathe underwater, as some would say an Eternal did not breathe at all? On the other hand, I had no intention of finding out. It was centuries since I'd last taken to water of my own volition and hoped ancient instinct would remember what to do.
For a second, I thought about removing my shirt then almost burst out laughing when I remembered I barely wore one. My clothing would have to stay on as I was not about to confront Vladivar's men au naturel.
Deciding to take a run at my obstacle and leap as much of it as possible, I did just that. I retraced my steps approximately fifty metres, then hurtled towards the river, my intention to leap halfway, or more if I was lucky. Nature intervened. Just at the point of highest velocity with the wind streaming through my hair, I contrived to snag my rising foot on a root. The resulting catapult effect, I'm sure, would have been hilarious to others, but not me. I tipple-tailed through the air like a hurtling comet and hit the water with lung bursting force. I'd no idea what was up, what was down, or if either existed in my liquid world, as the current dragged at my body and I tumbled through the water. The liquid surface that had looked so sparkling and crystal clear, was far from so once beneath it. It rendered me all but blind. The swirling currents swept across my flailing body with such power I thought myself caught in a vortex. Then, a flash of night followed by more water. I had breached the surface only to be dragged down once more. Kicking with all my might, I propelled myself toward a lighter shade of black hoping it to be the surface. The surface it was, but again the Rhine wrenched me away from the fresh, night air and into sweet oblivion.
How long the water carried me careening through its turbulent world, I could not say, but if not for a trailing willow limb's intervention, I fear it should have been much longer. I hung draped across the Rhine's surface as if a streaming rag in the wind. I dared not attempt to unhook myself in case of a further cruise. Instead, I flapped my arms, whilst gulping gallons of water, hoping to snag another branch. Through the grace of a being I had no right to expect it from, I did.
I pulled myself free of impediment and hauled myself from the Rhine's grasping currents until I lay back against the willow's mighty trunk. Exhausted, shocked at my inability before so minor an obstacle, I was more than anything, relieved.
I lay against that tree trunk huffing and puffing, chest rising and falling in rapid motion, until recovered enough to ease myself from my propped position. The first thing that struck me was that the palace was no longer within site. I'd no idea how far I'd traversed, for how long, or even which side of the Rhine I frequented, so befuddled were my thoughts? But a deep, calming breath and a moment's concentration, centred upon which way the river flowed, indicated I was at the correct side
of the infernal thing. At least, I hoped so.
The moon was still low in the sky, so I presumed not too much time had elapsed, but as of distance, I was less certain.
My feet, glad to be once more on terra firma, took the lead. Keeping to the plentiful trees, I moved in a direction that felt correct even if I could not be sure. On and on I crept like a furtive, vagabond fox out on the prowl. Through briar and bush, dense foliage and scrub, I made my way as a silver moon rose between the tree canopy casting all in spectral light. The effect so enamoured, I all but stumbled out onto an unseen road. I looked up and down the arrow-straight highway, flipped an imagined coin, it landed on its side, and continued along the road in the same general direction I already headed.
Free of entanglement, I strode out and made good progress along what was in fact a beautiful, tree-lined avenue. That's when I at last recognised where I stood: the road to King Rudolph's, or rather, Vladivar's palace.
My last journey down that same avenue seemed so long ago, nestled as I had been in Linka's carriage. How so much had changed in so short a time. But such morbid thoughts served only to bring Linka evermore to the forefront of my mind. I had thought it best to push her deep into my subconscious, but she meant far too much to remain so. My pining for her was so great I thought I might grow overwhelmed with it. Only the thought of her being held by Vladivar's murderous hands helped set my jaw in a more determined fashion. Thus, I walked on, vision narrowed to the road and road alone, all else was pushed aside. I so concentrated on my objective, in particular his decapitation, that I just hurled myself into the roadside scrub in time to avoid the first of a procession of carriages that sped past my hiding place.
The wedding guests had arrived, and I knew I had to hurry.
Chapter Twenty-Five
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Guests
The socialites were out in force for the biggest wedding in centuries. I had a strange feeling in my blood, or was it Merryweather's, that if they hadn't, they may not have lived to see another?
The Eternals Page 21