Quill

by A. C. Cobble

  Captain Haines frowned.

  “If not you, then who?” demanded Oliver, staring at the governor. “The stench of this mess is all over you, m’lord. It defies imagination that so much of this can revolve around you, but you have no idea what is happening. I will not believe that. You claim you are not involved. Very well. Tell me who is.”

  The governor snorted and then suddenly seemed to calm. “What are you going to do, boy, arrest me?”

  “Yes,” snapped Oliver. “I will.”

  “Do it, then,” snarled the big man. “Arrest me. Take me back to Enhover and put me on trial. Tell everyone that the Governor of Archtan Atoll, the Earl of Derbycross, is nothing more than some dark conjurer. You do that, and then in front of a judge, you prove it.”

  Oliver frowned.

  “I’m calling your bluff, Duke Wellesley,” continued the governor. He turned to Captain Haines. “Go get Commander Ostrander. Tell him the duke wants to put me in chains. I’m sure the commander will leap at the opportunity to see it done.”

  Oliver and Dalyrimple stared at each other unblinking across the desk. Captain Haines shifted, and Oliver knew the man was looking for direction, for orders.

  “Do it,” instructed Oliver. “Go get Ostrander.”

  Dalyrimple snorted and turned his back, crossing his arms.

  “Are you sure, m’lord?” asked Haines. “If he is what you say, isn’t he… dangerous?”

  “He’s not dangerous while Sam and I are watching him,” claimed Oliver, though, as he said it, he wasn’t sure. “Go. Get Ostrander and come back with a set of irons for the governor.”

  Captain Haines offered a quick bow and then hurried out of the room.

  “Sit down, Dalyrimple,” instructed the duke. “Leave your hands on the desk.”

  Shaking his head, his face near purple, the man sat in his heavy teak chair and slapped his palms down on the desk.

  “Your wife is dead because of all of this,” said Oliver. “Talk to us. Tell us what the purpose of that… that thing was. We know the circle was used to gather souls. What was done with them? What object did your wife leave for Enhover with, Governor? What was so important that it got her killed?”

  The governor snatched up a glass half filled with gin and downed it in one gulp. He slammed it onto the desk and placed his palms back down. He glared at the duke and didn’t say a word.

  They sat quietly, Oliver eyeing the man, the governor staring back. Oliver blinked and forced himself to stay still. He wiggled his toes in his boots, hoping the little motion would relieve the need to fidget. Governor Dalyrimple was growing angrier and angrier. His red face was turning purple, and his breath was coming sharp and fast.

  Oliver tensed. The man had called his bluff, put it out in the open. They both knew on trial in Enhover, there was nothing Oliver could prove. He’d gambled he could force the governor to talk, but the man was more close-lipped now than when they first arrived.

  Dalyrimple’s eyes were watering and his lips trembled. They were pressed together in a thin, bloodless line, quivering with the strain of the man’s blistering rage.

  “Duke,” said Sam, concern evident in her voice. “I don’t think…”

  Oliver stood, and the governor opened his mouth. He hacked a strangled cough and his eyes grew wide in panic.

  “Governor, is something wrong?” asked Oliver.

  “You… bastard…” gasped the governor through short, pained breaths.

  “Get a physician,” ordered Oliver.

  Sam stood and hurried toward the door, but before she made it out, the governor flopped back, a strained wheeze escaping his lips. His face had turned a vibrant shade of red-purple, and his limbs began twitching.

  “A physician, now!” exclaimed Oliver, rushing around the desk.

  The governor’s chest was no longer rising and falling. His face was locked in a rictus of terror, and a trickle of spit was escaping from the corner of his lips.

  “Put him on the floor on his back. Press his chest to keep his heart pumping if you can!” called Sam before darting outside and yelling for assistance.

  Grunting with the effort, Oliver shoved the governor’s chair back and unceremoniously dumped the big man on the floor. He flipped him over and pushed on the man’s chest. Nothing happened, so he pushed harder, and then in time with the pounding of his own heart, he pumped, putting his weight into it, compressing the governor’s chest, thrusting over and over.

  In a moment, a soldier rushed inside followed by a pair of servants. Oliver shouted for them to fetch a physician. More staff filtered in then immediately exited, either scared of what was happening or because they thought they could help elsewhere.

  Before long, soldiers stood on the edges of the room. Towels and pitchers of water were placed on the desk, and nervous servants clustered together watching. Still, the duke pumped on the governor’s chest.

  Finally, a small man with a delicate pair of spectacles perched on his nose pushed through the growing crowd. “Out, out. Damn you, do something. Get these people out of here!”

  The soldiers snapped to attention, the spell broken by the arrival of physician, and they began clearing the room.

  The small man knelt on the opposite side of the governor from Oliver, setting a black leather bag down beside him and flipping open the latch. He placed two fingers on Dalyrimple’s neck and bent toward the governor’s face. A moment later, the physician sat back. He withdrew a circular pocket clock from his coat and checked the time. He looked up and met Oliver’s eyes. Still compressing the governor’s chest, Duke jolted when the diminutive man placed his hands on Oliver’s and shook his head.

  Commander Ostrander burst in followed closely by Captain Haines. “What’s going—”

  The commander stopped in the middle of the room, peering at the governor’s body on the other side of the desk. In his hands were a pair of manacles and a length of chain. Self-consciously, he shuffled to the desk and placed them there, the clink of steel on steel filling the quiet room. He asked quietly, “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” said Oliver, still on his knees, his hands still on the dead man’s chest. “Captain Haines left to get you, and the governor sat there silently staring at me. Then, his breathing got quick, and I noticed his face going purple. He fell back in his chair and stopped breathing at all.”

  “The two of you were alone in here?” asked the physician.

  “No,” said Oliver, looking at the man. “My colleague was here as well, a member of the Church.”

  The small man opened his mouth again but was interrupted by Commander Ostrander. “This is Duke Oliver Wellesley.”

  The physician’s jaw snapped shut.

  “What do you suspect?” asked Oliver quietly.

  “N-Nothing, m’lord,” stammered the physician.

  “I did not do anything to this man,” responded Oliver, “but that does not mean no one did. What were you going to say?”

  “It’s highly unusual for a healthy man like the governor to die in such fashion,” mumbled the little man, refusing to look up. “I-I do not mean to cast any disparagement upon you, m’lord. I wouldn’t have said anything—”

  “You would not have said anything if you’d known who I was, but you didn’t. If I was a household servant and found with the man like this, what would you suspect?”

  “Foul play,” quaked the physician. “Poison.”

  “I was coming to arrest the governor,” mentioned Commander Ostrander. “The man was under duress. He was facing accusations and he was to be clapped in irons. I’ve known men in such circumstances to die. Their hearts fail them, I believe.”

  “It is possible,” agreed the physician, suddenly looking to the desk where Ostrander had placed the manacles. The man sounded relieved to have a less sinister explanation offered. “In such stressful times, it is not unusual for the heart to stop beating. A man the governor’s age, with his penchant for drink… Was he drinking?”

 
“He was,” confirmed Oliver.

  “It’s a common enough cause of death, m’lord,” said the physician, reaching to close his medicine bag. “It’s unfortunate, but there is nothing anyone could do for the man. Nothing anyone could have done at all.”

  The physician stood and looked around the room.

  Oliver stood as well.

  “Someone will need to tell Isisandra,” murmured Commander Ostrander.

  “Frozen hell,” Oliver groaned.

  The Initiate I

  A soft, relentless tapping woke her. She was face down in bed, the silk sheet cradling her naked body. In the heat of the tropics, she didn’t need any more cover than that. The tapping continued, and a muffled voice called her name. Throwing back the sheet, she slipped out of the bed.

  Behind her, a girl complained at the sudden brush of cooler air across her bare skin. Isisandra ignored the complaint and picked up her robe off the floor.

  Cracking the door of her bedchamber, she peeked out and asked, “What?”

  On the other side, a native woman, eyes downcast, murmured, “Duke Wellesley is here to see you.”

  “Now?” wondered Isisandra. “What hour is it?”

  “Two turns of the clock before dawn, m’lady.”

  She brushed a strand of straight black hair behind her ear. “Why?”

  “He says it’s urgent,” answered the woman.

  “Of course he says it’s urgent!” snapped Isisandra. “It’s the middle of the night. If it wasn’t urgent, he wouldn’t be asking to see me. What happened?”

  “He hasn’t said, m’lady,” squeaked the girl. “There was a commotion in the hall. I could hear men running. Something bad, m’lady.”

  “Very well,” responded Isisandra, knowing if the duke was asking her servants to wake her, it was something that could not wait until morning. “Put him in the sitting room and make him comfortable. I will be out in a moment.”

  She closed the door and moved to her dresser where she knocked on a melon-sized glass globe. The faes stirred, and a warm red light filled the room.

  “What is it?” asked the girl from the bed.

  Isisandra didn’t answer. She didn’t know, but it had to be her father. There was no other reason the duke would approach her directly at this hour. The raid had been successful. She knew that. She’d dined with her father that evening, and he’d told her everything. The corsairs had been eradicated, the sorcerous circle in the jungle destroyed. He’d been uninjured, and all had seemed well.

  She painted a line of bright red across her bottom lip and pressed the top against it. She then took a small brush and dusted a hint of rose across her cheeks, deciding she didn’t have time for full makeup. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t make the duke wait. It was that now she was awake, she had to know what had happened. It was serious. She was sure.

  She untied her robe and moved to the dresser. She opened it, glancing over her small clothes and then at the corner of the room where her dress from the evening hung on the rack.

  “Is something wrong?” came the soft voice from the bed again. “Why are you getting dressed?”

  Isisandra looked back at the girl. She had tugged the covers over her naked body and was sitting in the bed, covering a yawn with her fist.

  “Be quiet,” instructed Isisandra.

  She pulled her robe closed and looked back in the mirror. The red light from the fae globe illuminated her, shining through the thin material of the robe, hinting at the body underneath of it. She let the robe fall a little more open, displaying a hint of the curve of her breasts. Then she re-tied it and walked to the door on bare feet.

  The duke was sitting in a chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands clenched together.

  She sat on a couch across from him, letting the silk of her robe slide over her skin, exposing her knee and half of her thigh. Faking a yawn, she covered her mouth and mumbled, “I am sorry, m’lord. I was fast asleep. Can I get you anything? I’m afraid I’m not myself right now, and I don’t even know if my servant offered you tea or perhaps a drink? I don’t drink much myself, but I am certain they could find something that suits you.”

  “No, ah, no thank you, m’lady,” stammered the duke.

  She pursed her lips slightly, making them full, and waited.

  “I’m afraid I have terrible news,” declared the duke. “Your father… He has died, m’lady.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said, leaning forward, surprised and confused. “I saw him this evening. He was uninjured from the fight with the corsairs, and I was told they were eliminated. What happened?”

  Duke Wellesley swallowed and shifted on the couch. “His heart stopped, the physician said. He… he just died, m’lady, right in his office behind the desk. I know it is no consolation, but he passed quickly, and it seemed there was little pain.”

  “How do you know?” she wondered.

  The duke ran his hand over his head, as if checking that his ponytail was secured before answering, “I was there, m’lady.”

  “You found both my father and my mother dead, then?”

  He winced. “I saw your father pass, m’lady. I merely investigated the death of your mother. I am sorry, Isisandra. This is terrible and I wish I was a better man to offer you comfort in this dark time. Whatever you need, I will help. You are not alone in this.”

  The Cartographer X

  “You found both my father and my mother dead, then?”

  Inside, he groaned. “I saw your father pass, m’lady. I was merely investigating the death of your mother. I am sorry, Isisandra. This is terrible and I wish I was a better man to offer you comfort in this dark time. Whatever you need, I will help. You are not alone in this.”

  The girl, still blinking sleep out of her eyes, barely dressed in her night-robe, looked back at him. Her lip began to quiver and her eyes filled with liquid.

  He stilled his face, refusing to let an impending scowl show itself. The girl was barely eighteen winters. Barely more than a child. Twice within as many days, he’d told her she lost a parent.

  Unsure what to do, he moved to sit beside her. He held her in his arms and felt the tremors in her body as she fought down sobs. Both of her parents dead in less than a month. Her mother murdered, her father… maybe. She was alone, isolated in a remote colony. Archtan Atoll had been her home, but without her parents, she would have no place there. She had a home back in Enhover, if she recognized it as such. There were others there of her station. Men and women who could help walk her through what was next. He had to get her there, to what would be her home and her future.

  He had to find out what happened to her father.

  “When you’re ready,” he offered, “you’ll have a ride waiting on an airship to take you back to Enhover, if that is where you want to go.”

  “What do you think I should do?” She sniffed. “I haven’t been to Enhover since I was sixteen winters, and then only for two months while my father caught up on his business. Will you… will you help me?”

  “Of course,” said Oliver. “We will stay here until you are ready, and then I will escort you back.”

  “What of my father’s body?” she asked.

  “We can bring him with us to ensure a proper burial at your family’s estate,” he offered.

  “Will my mother be buried at the same time?”

  Oliver winced. He was glad the girl’s head was buried in his shoulder and she was unable to see his face. “Yes, if that’s what you want. Your family’s staff at Derbycross will be able to assist, and the Crown and Company will make sure you have whatever you need.”

  “May we leave soon? Today?” asked the girl.

  “A-Ah…” stammered Duke. “There are some things that need to be concluded here. Matters that I have a responsibility to settle.”

  “My father was the governor,” mumbled Isisandra, her voice tight with retrained sobs. “Foolish of me. You’ll need to name a replacement to handle administrative affairs. Tomorrow then, could
we leave for Enhover? My mother dead, my father dead… I have no one else. No one is here for me except you, Duke Wellesley. Back home, I could grieve, I think.”

  “Tomorrow?” asked Oliver. “Perhaps—”

  “Is it normal to feel like hurting oneself after a loss like this?” asked the girl, raising her head.

  She was a hand-length from his face, and he could see the tears in her eyes, see her quivering lips, and see where she’d bitten them. The impressions of her teeth were there, along with a speck of crimson blood, the same shade as her lip paint.

  “We can leave tomorrow,” he stated. “I-I must attend to some things, though, first. Is there someone who can stay with you for now, a friend perhaps?”

  “Yes,” answered Isisandra. She stood and adjusted her robe, her young body a breath away from him. “My maid will be with me. Tomorrow, Duke Wellesley, I will see you when we depart for Enhover.”

  She retreated back into her bedchamber, and Oliver let out an explosive breath. The girl was as fragile as new-fired porcelain and just as beautiful. If she survived this unbroken…

  He stood, glancing at the window where dawn’s light barely lit the horizon. He had much to do and little time to do it. The colony needed an interim governor, he needed to oversee the handover in power and establish a direction for Dalyrimple’s successor, and he had to figure out what the hell happened to the man.

  “How did it go?” asked Captain Haines later that evening.

  Evening. Eighteen, nineteen hours since he’d told Isisandra her father had died. He hadn’t had a wink of sleep or a moment to take a breath since then.

  “Not well,” said Oliver with a snort. “She’s upset, as one might expect. She’s facing an uncertain future with little of the support she’s had throughout her life.”

  “In Enhover, she’ll be sought after,” claimed the captain. “As the only child, she’ll inherit all of Derbycross. If I recall, that’s a rather extensive holding. She’ll be named a countess, won’t she?”