Midnight Monster Club

by Gerhard Gehrke

  The steward spread his hands as if showing he wasn’t one to know such truths. Then he indicated which direction to go, as if Angel didn’t know. A clock gonged and echoed through the hallway. Angel heard his aunt’s voice upstairs. Sidestepping Rochus, he bounded up the steps three at a time as the fel hurried to catch up.

  Claudia appeared at the top of the stairway. She wore a shining white gown and had six attendants hurrying after her with mirrors, jewelry, face powder, and perfume.

  “It’s good enough,” his aunt was saying. “You heard the clock. We’re late. I’m never late. This will have to do.”

  Queen Claudia and her procession came to a stop as his aunt noticed him. “There you are.”

  Angel gave a deep bow. “My dear aunt, my most profound apologies. I was waylaid—”

  “There’s no time for that. You and I will have a discussion. You might have ruined everything.”

  “I can explain.”

  She whisked down the steps past him, amazingly spry for a plump older woman with what must have been enough clothes, jewelry, and hair accoutrements to outweigh a suit of steel armor. Her attendants scurried after her, and Rochus fell in next to Angel as he tried to keep up.

  “There was an incident,” Angel said. “One of my friends was hurt. I had to deal with the city watch, help keep the peace.”

  She stopped at the bottom of the stairway and faced him. “These are the games. My games. This is the opening festival. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

  Before he could interject, she raised a hand.

  “You will wait for me here. I have to go and deliver my opening speech. Greet the contestants. Display the prizes. But one of them is missing, Angel. I am very cross with you.”

  She took a final glance at the three mirrors her attendants were holding before rushing out the door and down to where her carriage was waiting.

  He felt his heart hammering. She had found out. He was sunk. He’d have to pull out all the stops or he’d be sent back home, his chances of winning his aunt over ruined, and his debt unpaid.

  Why did God hate him so?

  None of the attendants made eye contact as they dispersed.

  Rochus waited on him.

  “What do you want?” Angel asked.

  “I give counsel to the queen. I’m available if needed.”

  “I don’t want anything from you, fel.”

  “As you wish.”

  Rochus retreated but lingered, standing by a wall as Angel tried to decide what to do.

  Getting the watch back was still his immediate concern. But if he left the castle, he’d be violating a direct command. He could only hope Marisol was keeping the cook safe. Once Claudia returned, he could make matters right again. Tell her that he had everything under control. The watch would be back so she could award it to the winner of her games.

  He’d stolen the wrong bauble. Surely some other treasure in the palace would balance his debt with Red Eye. He paced the grand hallway and made his way down to the clock room. He was about to enter when he saw a light in the library a few doors down.

  Curious, he went in to find Viscount Ilario sitting in a cushioned chair with a giant tome in his lap. Several candelabras spilled their orange light onto the hundreds of books lining the shelves. Sitting on an armrest was a boy with bright lipstick and garish red-painted cheeks, wearing what appeared to be a satin bathrobe. The count was pointing to a page and running his fingers along the words.

  “‘The pro-phet pur-sue-ed the vis...the vis-e-on...’” the boy read.

  “Vision,” the viscount corrected. “Good. ‘The prophet pursued the vision.’ And where did it lead him?”

  “‘It led him for twen-ty days and nig-nie-nights until he came to the sea.’”

  “Excellent, Peter. You have a gift for this.” He stroked the boy’s head. Then he squinted as he noticed Angel standing in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Viscount Ilario.”

  “It’s no disturbance, Lord Angel. We’re reading Third Scripture. You could join us. It seems the chapel sees little of you, according to Lady Claudia.”

  Angel gave a humble nod. “I’ve been remiss. I’ve allowed myself to become distracted. Perhaps tomorrow morning we can take our prayers together.”

  “That would please me. Duke Tito was most worried about your spiritual state. I find it troubling that in addition to everything else wrong with this island, faith has fallen by the wayside.” He caressed the boy’s head again. “But even a dying ember can be rekindled.”

  Angel bowed and excused himself. He entered the clock room. The chorus of ticking from the many timepieces was a tide of noise. He hadn’t realized before how irritating it was. He almost jumped when the silver wall clock gonged eight times.

  He was supposed to be at his aunt’s side this evening. It was her grand event, what she had been planning for all year long. He had tried to share in her excitement, to be involved in her preparations, to be integral. But instead she had ordered him to wait here while she began her festivities without him.

  He could have stolen any number of pieces of jewelry and she wouldn’t have missed a single one. Why had he taken the centerpiece of her catacomb prizes?

  Fear, he decided.

  Red Eye had scared him and made him react instead of thinking his way through the problem.

  There’d be no more of that. He had been provided with the finest tutors in Bahia, trained in mathematics and philosophy. He was no fel rube but a pureblood noble. The time for fear was over.

  He placed his hand on the front of the wall clock. Felt the shifting works inside moving as if a mechanical heart beat within. The sounds almost drowned out the noise of the growing party that carried up the hill from the square.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  His aunt hadn’t dismissed him. He still had the opportunity to fix the problem. No more fear, no more mistakes. There was time to make this right.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A CURSORY SEARCH OF the streets near the Dragon and Rose hadn’t turned up Isabel.

  This didn’t surprise Digger. Despite their discussion at the hangman’s bar, Isabel remained fixated on the watch. So he and Hellard hurried towards the stockade. There was no way to keep their two prisoners with them, so Hellard found a shed behind a metalworker’s shop and locked them inside.

  Digger felt a growing anxiety as they crossed the city. If Angel spotted them without Isabel, what would stop the nobleman from killing his brother? And even if they found her and managed to confront him, Lord Angel hadn’t hesitated to leave his own men behind. There was little chance he would honor their deal.

  His thoughts grew dark as they turned down the final alleyway towards the stockade.

  The square had pink and purple lanterns suspended along wires above the streets. A crowd of people jammed the main thoroughfares, some wearing masks and others holding aloft sticks that threw off white sprays of sparks. At least three competing bands played music that blended into a frenzy of sound.

  Even the alley had partygoers.

  Fel and pureblood locals mingled with tourists. A group of teens raced past laughing, their faces painted in colorful monster makeup. A vendor with a grill was stoking a coal fire next to another who was exchanging sausage skewers for scrip.

  Digger felt a growing confusion as he tried to make sense of the scene. He grabbed a fel who was getting his two children bundled against the chill air.

  “What’s going on?”

  The man gave him a look as if Digger had asked why the sun had set. “Claudia’s announced a free festival for the opening of catacombs.”

  “Curfew’s in a couple of hours. It looks like this is just getting started.”

  “You deaf? No curfew bell tonight. They’ve had criers out all day. Claudia’s given out scrip to all who attend. It’s free food, and anyone’s a fool for missing it.”

  The father hurried his children out the alley.

  Some were using
the alley as a changing room as they pulled on costumes. One was a dragon with a tall stuffed head that would tower over everyone. Her partner was preparing to be the rear half of the serpent. More than a few donned elaborate bespoke gowns and suits of rough fabrics festooned with streamers and bows, as if putting on mock noble apparel. Some seemed to be trying to look like Queen Claudia herself.

  Hellard was attempting to lurk nearby, but folks nudged past him with little care.

  “You see her?” he asked.

  Digger peered out the alley. Between the masks and the crowd, spotting Isabel would be difficult. Digger’s apprehension twisted his stomach. Angel and any number of soldiers could be concealed among the partygoers. The Karanog were certainly out there if they were still after Isabel. He could only assume that he too was now on their wanted list.

  “You might want to wait here,” he said.

  Hellard didn’t comment as Digger left him.

  Stockade Square was as crowded as any Saturday. The weekly executions were perversely popular. Diregloom had fallen into the custom once the fel realized it was one of the few times they could congregate in large number, enjoy music and the vendors that favored the pureblood markets, and forget the drudgery of the week, even as the gallows collected a life or three as toll.

  Digger hadn’t missed one since going into hiding. His new job demanded it. But he also felt a certain obligation to bear witness to each death at the hands of Diregloom’s lawgivers. The edict that had taken his parents’ restaurant and had allowed for their murder when they protested had become part of the rotten foundation of the city’s control over his kind.

  Pureblood and fel were now separated not only by districts but by laws differentiating between the two. Purebloods of even the lowest birth could escape an infraction with a literal slap on the wrist or a boxed ear. His kind went into the cart.

  But the queen’s fascination with her catacomb games was evolving. Rumors were impossible to verify and harder to ignore. What had she been building in her castle for so many months? There were few facts, and only the early rounds of the games from months prior hinted at what she might have in store for the nobility’s entertainment.

  The only certainty was it would cost fel lives.

  He snatched up a dropped scarf and wrapped his face and head. He paused at the stand where children purchased the sparklers and bought one. The vendor appeared pleased to receive a copper coin when so many were pushing scrip at him.

  A group of city guards gathered near the gallows. They were making room, moving the partygoers back. Digger elbowed his way forward as the crowd grew dense. From up the hill, beyond the square in the direction of the castle, there came a flourish of bugle calls.

  “The queen’s coming!” a giddy pureblood girl said.

  A cheer went up from the crowd.

  Queen Claudia would attend each Saturday. Her mood was somber then. She would often speak, declaring the necessity of such actions to keep the peace, to teach the unruly, to correct the incorrigible. But then she would remind the crowd of her care for them, that they were her children under her protection from the rest of the world. Her voice would take on the tone of a vexed mother speaking with children in need of the rod.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  Digger remembered the clause of Duke Tito’s Thirteenth Edict as it was recited by the knight’s commander who had presided over the dissolution of his ranger unit. Digger and his fellow soldiers who had mustered into the fort had then been placed under arrest. Digger had known what it would mean for his parents on Loom Island. They had intermarried in violation of an earlier decree.

  Their lives and their property were now forfeit as the new law had teeth.

  He had escaped and returned to Diregloom, but not in time to save them. He had hoped—prayed, even—that the lady of the island would stand up to the duke.

  The best she had ever done was provide lip service as the duke’s magisters seized all fel property and Claudia’s soldiers arrested any who resisted. His parents’ restaurant had coincidentally been at the waterfront, which was now undergoing its renovation into the centerpiece of Diregloom’s booming tourist business. The fawning new owner had paid the city a pittance for the title deed. Digger had made it to the island in time to find Monty and this new owner fighting. His brother had drawn blood. Digger stepped in to finish the job. But before they could escape, the magister and two guards had come to complete some minor paperwork.

  How Digger had raged.

  He pushed the memory aside. He was fighting a lack of sleep and hunger and had to focus.

  There.

  At the edge of the crowd past the gallows stood the sheriff. He wore his green hat and appeared worn and disinterested in the spectacle. Digger hunkered down to conceal himself.

  If the sheriff was here, Isabel would be too. Her blue cloak would have been easy to spot, but with her new outfit she would be invisible.

  From the top of the square a cheer erupted. A sparkling carriage clattered down the street. The musicians stopped playing. Digger struggled to see and got up on his toes. Something about the oncoming vehicle was unusual. As the carriage entered the square, it became apparent what it was.

  The carriage wasn’t being pulled by horses but by trolls. The two enormous man-shaped green creatures wore harnesses around their bodies. They would be as tall as the gallows platform if they stood erect, but they were stooped and laboring as they hauled their burden forward. The creatures had dark green skin like many fel, their heads covered with mops of black, tangled hair. Someone had painted bright teal and orange flowers on their bodies.

  The crowd parted. An older boy stood transfixed in the path of the carriage. In an instant he was trampled and crushed as the trolls stomped forward. His body went under a wheel and remained underneath the carriage as it came to a stop. None of the guards in the square appeared to notice.

  The crowd fell into a hush.

  A gaily dressed attendant opened the carriage door and pulled out a step for the passenger.

  The queen emerged. She was radiant in a white, flowing dress, her bleached hair a bundle of complicated curls tucked around her head. Her body jiggled as she took the attendant’s hand and descended to the cobblestones. She waved, her face beaming, her precise crimson lipstick the only color on her stark white face.

  The crowd applauded, but enough were intoxicated for the ovation to evolve into a roar. Whatever momentary shock and horror in their hearts at seeing the boy trampled had vanished. More attendants appeared and began to throw out tiny orange cloth bundles of wrapped goodies into the crowd. The men and women closest to Digger jumped up to grab the party favors, and more began bumping him as they scurried about on the ground for any that had been dropped.

  One of the trolls reached beneath the carriage and began to tug the dead boy closer. The carriage driver smacked it in the head with a long stick and the troll flinched, grunted, and settled down on its haunches.

  Digger had only ever seen one of the monsters before. Supposedly they lived in the water, but the only one that had ever showed up in the city had been part of a traveling zoo attraction when he was very young. He had then thought it cruel how such a large creature had been stuck inside a cage. That one had been lethargic and sick and covered in its own vomit. A child who had gone through the line ahead of him had been disappointed the monster hadn’t reacted when poked with a stick.

  “My children! My children!” the queen was saying as she walked a circle, waving the whole time. “The catacomb games begin tomorrow! I welcome visitor and friend, one and all. Tickets are available tonight. Let’s make this the best season yet. I have such surprises for you!”

  She pulled one of her gown sleeves up to the elbow, displaying a series of sparkling jeweled wristwatches.

  “These are tomorrow’s prizes. And this is just a taste of the treasures which can be won. Be you fel or pureblood, the catacombs await.”

  More cheers drowned her out. The queen beamed and
waved the crowd quiet.

  “But first, would you like to see your monsters?”

  From the stockade marched guards festooned with garlands around their helmets. They were escorting a group of fel. The prisoners wore manacles and face paints that made them look like fanged demons with menacing eyes. Teal and orange ribbons hung from their tattered clothes. Around each of their necks was a collar with a gold token.

  The crowd applauded.

  Digger edged sideward away from the crush. He had lost sight of the sheriff. He pushed along until he made the steps of the gallows. They were crowded with spectators, but Digger pushed some aside and climbed a few steps until he was high enough to see over most of the heads. There, moving away through the crowd, he spied the green hat.

  He jumped down and hurried to follow.

  Had Lord Angel known about the throng that would fill the square? How couldn’t he have? Digger guessed they had an hour before the exchange. An hour to catch the sheriff and convince him, one way or another, to surrender the watch.

  If his words failed him, he had his shovel.

  Chapter Eighteen

  AS DIGGER SHADOWED the sheriff, he realized someone was tailing him and creeping closer. He paused at a corner and sprang out, almost colliding with Isabel. She wore a mask and had her hair up beneath a papier-mâché top hat. She had replaced his blanket with a black wrap but hadn’t bothered to conceal her face.

  “I thought that was you,” she hissed. She tried to step past him.

  “Hold it. Why didn’t you wait at the apartment?”

  “You were taking too long. Let’s go before we lose him.”

  She hurried past and he kept up. Telling her about Monty and what had happened at the Dragon and Rose would only confuse matters. For the moment she might prove useful in getting hold of the watch. But now he needed it more than she did.

  The sheriff was making his way down to the harbor. Every time Digger paused at a corner to wait for the man to make some distance, Isabel darted ahead. While she moved quietly, the sheriff had but to turn his head to spot the same two figures stalking him.