Elizabeth Webster and the Portal of Doom

by William Lashner

  “Keir McGoogan stands beside me,” said my father. “He is the falsely imprisoned. His mother, Mrs. McGoogan, who initially hired our firm, is a Class Two banshee and not yet in court.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there like a Grecian urn,” barked the judge. “Time is burning while you Websters fiddle. Summon her.”

  My father closed his eyes and muttered to himself as his hands danced in the air. I felt it just then, the breeze slipping through the courtroom, along with the sulfurous scent of rotten eggs. The caw of a crow sounded as some dark cloud rose from the hole beneath the hanging cage and then zipped across the courtroom before settling between my father and Keir. The cloud turned ever more solid until my banshee appeared. Her face was pale, her bright red hair peeked out from her black hood, and her hands, I was glad to see, were pale and bony but not all bone.

  I should have been touched at the way she leaned toward her son, kissed his forehead, and hugged him tightly, or touched by the way Keir let her do all that without pulling away, but I was too amazed by my father, standing there calmly in the courtroom, having just summoned a ghost. I didn’t know he could do that.

  “Welcome to my courtroom, Mrs. McGoogan,” said the judge. “How long do you claim your young son has been falsely imprisoned?”

  As Caitlin McGoogan began speaking, the judge cocked his head and squinted at the words. “What is that language?” he said. “Anglo-Saxon? Welsh?”

  “It’s Irish, Your Honor,” said my father.

  “Have you a translator, Webster? She won’t be of much worth to you if you don’t have a translator.”

  “I can translate,” said Keir. “She says I have been imprisoned by the Countess Laveau for one hundred years, with nothing but agony and distance between a mother and her son.”

  “Why, that’s quite a span of time,” said the judge. “An unprecedented amount of time. I assume you’ll be seeking extensive damages.”

  “We’re seeking emancipation,” said my father. “Freedom.”

  “And damages,” said Keir, “if by damages you mean money.”

  “Generally in this court we deal with souls, young man,” said the judge. “Also the occasional pound of flesh, or the surprisingly popular two pints of blood.”

  “Blood works,” said Keir. “But we’d prefer the money.”

  The judge harrumphed before turning to face the barrister standing next to the countess. “Good to see you again, Mr. Locksley. Are you ready to proceed for the defendant?”

  “I am ready,” said the countess.

  “I’ll get to you soon enough, Countess. I was talking to your counsel.”

  “I need no one to speak for me,” said the countess.

  “In my courtroom you do,” barked the judge. “The rules are the rules, as I have made it clear to you many times before. No one can stand before the Court of Uncommon Pleas without proper counsel.”

  “I am standing with proper counsel, as per your silly rules. I have hired him and paid him and instructed him to say not a word or his tongue will be my dinner. Isn’t that right, Mr. Locksley?”

  The snuffy-faced barrister nodded enthusiastically with his lips clasped tight.

  “I will be speaking for myself in this matter,” said the countess.

  “Why, this is… this is… this is highly unorthodox,” bellowed the judge.

  “Thank you,” said the countess.

  The judge stared for a moment as he decided what to do about this strong woman standing before him. I couldn’t help but root for her, which was weird because she was on the other side. Sometimes, I suppose, there are more than two sides.

  The judge finally shook his head. “Plaintiffs claim you have imprisoned young Mr. McGoogan for over a hundred years. What is your defense?”

  “The mother consented,” said the countess. “She came to me on a dark and stormy night and begged me to save her son’s life. She signed a contract that allowed me to keep him if I did so. His very presence here is proof that I kept my part of the bargain.”

  “Consent is a valid defense to false imprisonment,” said the judge, nodding. “Did you sign a contract, Mrs. McGoogan?”

  The banshee spoke, and when she was finished, Keir translated. “I signed, yes, to save my boy’s life. I would do it again.”

  “And did you read the contract before you signed?”

  “I was suffering from the same sickness as my boy,” said Keir, translating. “It wasn’t a full day after I gave my Keir to the countess that I passed over to the other side. On the night I signed, I was too sick to read, as she very well knew.”

  “That brings up the issue of whether there was a true meeting of the minds here,” said the judge.

  “We also believe the contract is void or voidable, depending,” said my father.

  “Depending on what, Mr. Webster?”

  “The specific language of the contract,” said my father. “But the countess has not yet turned over a copy, despite our discovery demands.”

  “The contract was destroyed in an unfortunate fire at our estate many years ago,” said the countess.

  “That shouldn’t matter if it was properly filed with the Portus Pactorium, as required of all supernatural contracts,” said the judge. “Was that done?”

  “Egon, my servant, will testify that it was,” said the countess.

  “I handed it to the Portal Keeper myself,” said Egon in his high-pitched warble.

  “We are in the process of searching the Pactorium,” said my father, “but our emissaries on the other side haven’t yet located the copy. Due process demands that we see the contract on which the countess bases this imprisonment.”

  “Due process, you say,” said the judge. “Do you have a request, then, Mr. Webster?”

  “In light of the crucial part the written contract plays in this case,” said my father, “and our due process rights, we request a short continuance in order to find the necessary agreement.”

  “We don’t consent to any delay,” said the countess. “I will testify as to the words in the contract. Time is burning and it is dangerous to leave the young plaintiff outside my estate for too long.”

  “Dangerous?” said the judge.

  “There are those out to do young Keir the most grievous harm,” said the countess. “And the danger is not just to the plaintiff, but to all those around him, including young Elizabeth Webster.”

  The countess swiveled to stare at me. So did Egon, and the judge, and the ram. And so did my father. I began to shrivel under their stares, like I was a snail in salt.

  “A danger to my daughter?” said my father. “What do you mean—”

  The judge banged my father quiet. “Silence! So, there is a danger to a Webster. Frankly, I don’t know how I’ll be able to eat my steamed sponge pudding with that on my mind, but I shall try to persevere. What say you, Mr. Locksley, about the continuance? Nothing. Cat got your tongue?”

  “I told you we object,” said the countess.

  “Yes, you did, Countess, but your counsel is silent. Normally, of course, I refuse to grant continuances, especially from a Webster. But since your counsel has not objected, and in the interest of due process, I am inclined to grant it in this case. But only until the case is called at our next session in this courtroom and not a moment more. Do you understand, Mr. Webster?”

  “We do, Your Honor.”

  “And be aware, if no contract is found, then I expect the countess’s testimony will not be healthy for your case. Mrs. McGoogan, you can return to the other side for now.”

  The banshee McGoogan gave her son another forehead kiss before dissolving herself back into a cloud that rose slowly into the domed ceiling. The little babies all twittered as they avoided the cloud. I thought she would keep going, right through the ceiling, but that’s not what she did. Instead the cloud zipped this way and that before dropping right in front of me. A moment later the banshee was back, kneeling before me and grabbing hold of my hand with her bony fingers.


  “Seol trasna chugam é,” she moaned. “Seol mo bhuachaillín ar ais chugam.”

  I recognized these as the same words she had spoken to me on our first meeting. And then, after letting out a final banshee-worthy screech, she exploded into a cloud that flitted about before disappearing into the hole in the floor.

  The judge gave a harrumph before he banged his gavel. “Case continued,” he said.

  THE REMEDY

  The next case called in the Court of Uncommon Pleas was something involving a fight between an incubus and a librarian. As that case droned on, our team agreed to meet in the stairwell outside the courtroom to hash over what had just happened and prepare for our goat case.

  As I walked out of the courtroom, I was startled to see Dr. Rudolf Van sitting in the back row. He stood and smiled as I approached. “We meet again, Ms. Webster,” he said with a slight bow.

  “Hopefully there will be no wooden stakes tonight,” I said.

  “One never knows, ja? That is why I am here. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Thank you for the other day. I was little too frazzled to tell you how grateful we all were.”

  “Perfectly understandable. Unfortunately, Pili got away. La Loba, my pet, was distracted by someone eating one of those cheesesteaks your city is so famous for. It was not pretty. I understand your friend, she asked for a brochure from the Sedona Academy for Special Cases.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The school does not send brochures to just anyone. Look it over and let the school know when you are ready to talk about Keir’s future. It might be useful for Keir to have options no matter how the case turns out.” Then he put a finger to his lips. “Shhhhh. Court is still in session.”

  When I finally made it to the stairwell, Barnabas was discussing Keir’s case with Keir, my father, and my grandfather. “The judge has made it clear,” Barnabas said, “that without the contract, Master Keir’s case is doomed.”

  “I’m going to have to go to the other side myself and look for it in the Pactorium,” said my father, “as long as Portal Keeper Brathwaite allows me to pass.”

  “If Topper were in the post, he would let you pass,” said my grandfather. “His father was very kind to the Websters.”

  “Was there really a fire that destroyed the countess’s copy of the contract?” I asked Keir.

  “There was a fire, at least,” said Keir. “Right after I showed up at the estate. But in the years that followed, the countess blamed much on it. She has a shifty way with the truth, she does.”

  “So a copy could still be in the château,” said my grandfather.

  “I might have an idea where if we want to look for it,” said Keir.

  “Go back into that creepy bird house?” I said. “No thank you.”

  Just then the courtroom door swung open and out came Egon, his bones jangling. The Countess Laveau was still in the courtroom, her face turned to where Dr. Van was sitting. She bared her teeth and hissed so loudly it was like a pack of snakes had gotten loose.

  “We could settle this dispute right now,” said the countess to my father after she stepped into the stairwell, “if you’d be willing to talk reasonably.”

  “Freedom isn’t reasonable,” said my father calmly.

  “The idealism of fools,” said the countess.

  “Of Americans,” said my father.

  “Have it your way,” she said. “Keir, darling, when you’ve gotten into enough trouble and you come to your senses, just tell one of the birds. I’ll send Egon to pick you up in the car.”

  “I’ll bring along a snack, Keir McGoogan,” said Egon.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” said Keir.

  “What’s holding his breath going to do to Egon?” said the countess. “Kill him?”

  They chuckled, the two of them, as they started down the stairs.

  “Oh, Countess,” said my father, “one more thing.”

  The countess stopped, turned around, and looked up. She didn’t like my father, you could tell by the expression on her face, but by the expressions on her face you got the sense she didn’t like anyone.

  “If anything happens to my daughter,” said my father, “I’ll hold you responsible.”

  “Of course you will,” said the countess almost cheerfully. “A child’s death, an earthquake, a plague—because I am different I am always to blame. The fire that burned the contract you so badly need? It was in the time of the same sickness that killed Keir’s mother. Despite how many I saved, Keir included, the mob decided I was responsible for the influenza, so they came with their torches. They would have burned me alive if they could have found me, and they would have laughed at my screams. Why would I expect anything better from you?”

  We stayed silent, all of us, as the countess turned and continued down the steps. Egon followed. We could hear his bones bumping each other in the quiet.

  “We should return to the courtroom,” said Barnabas. “They’re liable to call Mistress Elizabeth’s case any moment now.”

  “Yes indeed,” said my grandfather. “Back to the courtroom.”

  I waited out in the hallway as my grandfather and father accompanied Barnabas back through the great wooden door. As Keir started to follow, I grabbed him by his collar and yanked him back.

  “Is the countess right?” I said as I stared into his green eyes. “Am I in danger?”

  “Not from me, Elizabeth. You’re a friend.”

  I stared at him a little longer; then for some reason I had to turn away. “Like the friendly little squirrels?” I said. “And what about our friendly schoolmates? What about Petey?”

  “Ah, Petey’s a good kid.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “Look at me, Elizabeth,” Keir said, and when I didn’t, he said it again. “Look at me.”

  I turned, and the Keir McGoogan I saw just then was different from the boy who had been standing in front of me a moment before. There was no sly smile, there was no hint of deceit in his emerald-green eyes.

  “I swear I’d sooner stay locked up in the countess’s prison for all eternity than have anything happen to you or them because of me. I’d sooner die.”

  I stared at him a moment longer and then I nodded. Did I believe him? Yes, actually, I did. Was I a fool? Probably. I mean, we all know Keir had lied to me before—all it took was a quick search on the game of craps to learn that. But he always hesitated, like he felt a shot of guilt before he delivered the lie. This time, there was no hesitation, no false sincerity or barely contained smile. Maybe I’m the worst kind of sucker, but there it was. I believed him.

  “That guy from the train station, that Dr. Van, was in the courtroom,” I said.

  “I saw him,” said Keir. “I don’t like the way he looks at me. He gives me the creeps.”

  “He saved you once already,” I said. “Maybe he’s not so bad to have around. And that school of his might be something to look at.”

  “I’m happy enough at Willing Middle School West,” said Keir.

  “Really? Happy? In middle school?”

  “It beats the flophouse.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Barely. So tell me this. When your mother grabbed my hand and said something in Irish, what did she say?”

  Keir hesitated just long enough for me to notice before he said, “She thanked you for helping her. She thanked you for helping her little boy.”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  “It will be when we get that contract,” said Keir.

  “And then what?”

  “Like your father said. Freedom. Whatever that means. Chocolates on the beach, I suppose. And I hear amusement parks are fun.”

  “Only if you like puking your guts out from rides that spin you upside down.”

  “Excuse me, Elizabeth.” I looked up and saw Ivanov standing in the doorway, with his navy-blue uniform and orange pumpkin cap. “The case of the delinquent incubus is almost concluded. You don’t want to keep the j
udge waiting when your case is called.”

  I followed Keir back into the courtroom and slid onto the bench where Henry sat with the animal carrier by his side.

  “How’s Althea doing?” I said.

  “She’s a bit antsy,” said Henry. “I’m keeping her fed.”

  “Good. Stuff her like a piñata. Don’t come up when the case is called. Wait until I ask for you.”

  “Got it,” he said before taking a dried brown morsel out of his shirt pocket and holding it before the opening in front of the crate. A small green hand with three claws emerged from between the bars and snatched at the snack.

  The gremlin let out a sweet little “Oooh.”

  Just then the judge banged his gavel, found for the librarian, and ordered the clerk to call the next case.

  In the front of the courtroom the green clerk stood up and called out in her garbled voice, “Moss v. Topper.”

  A moment later I was standing nervously next to Mr. Topper at one of the front tables.

  At the other table, Josiah Goodheart stood next to the tall and thin Ms. Moss, now in a long-sleeved black dress with a striped hat that rose to two sharp points, like the horns of a zebra if zebras had horns. She wore small rectangular sunglasses and her long gray hair streamed down loose and magnificent. You couldn’t say she hadn’t dressed for the occasion.

  “Josiah Goodheart at your service, Your Honor. I’ll be representing Ms. Moss in her action against Mr. Topper and his gremlin.”

  “And you, Webster, announce yourself for the record.”

  “I’m Elizabeth?” I said. “Elizabeth Webster of the firm Webster and Spawn?”

  “Is that a question or a statement?”

  “A statement?” I said.

  “Then say it like you mean it,” said the judge.

  “Elizabeth Webster of the firm of Webster and Spawn, Your Honor. I am here to defend Mr. Topper and his gremlin.”

  “Better. Much better. Now pray tell, Mr. Goodheart, what do you claim the gremlin did?”

  “What it did, Your Honor, is so brutal, so horrible, so lacking in the simplest level of mercy that I am hard-pressed to—”

  “Spare me the theatrics, Goodheart. State your claim in simple legal terms.”