The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) (28 page)

“Ugh,” the Duke said, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t know if I want a wife mixed up with that sort. You didn’t tell me anything about this. How long has she known him?”

“Not long—I mean, she doesn’t even know him! He
abducted
her, remember? No, no, don’t even think—there’s no connection between them. I abhor all such scoundrels.”

“It’s not the magic I object to, you understand…but what she might know,” the Duke clarified. “I don’t want my wife casting spells on me. That could be very inconvenient, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I should think so,” Leopold’s aunt nodded. “You couldn’t think of raising a hand to her or stopping her allowance. She could…well, I think we can both imagine what she could do.”

“What?” the Duke asked, all ears.

“Heh, let’s not think of such things!” Mary’s father croaked. “Besides, she doesn’t know any magic—she doesn’t even know him, remember!”

“Why, any number of things,” she continued. “You could lose your hair—”

“Not my hair!” the Duke gasped, clutching his locks. “I spend a number of hours on it, getting it just so. My position demands it.”

“And if you continued to displease her, your teeth might go…and then your complexion…and then…”

“There’s more she could do?!”

“Yes—the most unthinkable. That is, if you want an heir.”

“Oh, I say, this is too much!” the Duke shrieked, throwing up his hands. “I don’t know about this match, she seems very diabolical. You said she was this sweet, demure, charming little creature. Now I see the stress was on the word
creature
.”

“No, no, don’t listen to this woman—she’s out of her mind! My Mary would never, she couldn’t possibly…we need this match!”

“You do, anyway,” the Duke sighed. “I can just as easily marry in a few years and take my time about it. I’m only nineteen. Why rush things? Good-day to you.”

“Please—think this over! She’s a charming crea—
woman
, a charming woman! We have money! A title! Our name in the historic registry!”

“Then marry her off to this Blackbeard fellow. Perhaps he can keep up with her. I’m too young to waste my life on a shrew. Again, good-day.”

The Duke stormed off, despite her father’s attempts to pull him back and tempt him with riches. Leopold’s Aunt giggled at their stupidity, as she typically laughed at all men. They were so easy to manage, a word here or there and they went scampering off in the right direction. Now, to see about her nephew’s unfortunate entanglement with Blackbeard. According to this hollering pipsqueak, he was wanted for three capital crimes, each worst than the last, and none of them carrying a lighter sentence than Deportation. Rubbish. Cinquefoils didn’t get deported (how unfashionable!) nor did they go to prison. If he had simply contacted her from the first she could have smoothed things over before it came to this. Whatever
this
was.

“That’s it, we’re going in! Men—assault the tower!” Philip shouted.

At this point the mirror clouded and they found themselves staring back at their own worried expressions. Even if Philip and his men couldn’t find their way down here, they certainly wouldn’t leave in a hurry. They would probably post guards, or worse, smash the tower to pieces. He would never leave without finding them, he had too much at stake. To come all this way, survive so many obstacles—even defeating a Death itself—only to become prisoners of an petulant pipsqueak!

“Blackbeard, can’t you spirit us away? Send us off on a cloud or something?” Leopold asked.

No response. He was gone.

“Not again, not now!” he exclaimed, frantically searching the room.

“No, it’s you—you’re not dead anymore!” Mary said. “You can’t see him anymore than we can. He’s gone.”

“Oh, wonderful…”

“Wait, come here! There’s something in the mirror!” Ivan shouted.

“Don’t tell me, my Aunt insists on walking in before the cavalry,” he muttered.

“No, look quickly! I think…it’s
him
!”

Ivan, the only one who remained before the mirror, pointed frantically at his reflection. As they returned, they could faintly see the outline of Blackbeard hovering behind him (which of course disappeared the instant they spun around).

“Blackbeard—is that you?” Leopold asked.

“Yes, but not for long; I fear I’ve already extended my stay,” he said, his voice curiously hollow.

“There’s no way you can come back? Are you really, truly,
dead
?”

“I’m afraid so. Now and forever. This will be the last time I speak with you.”

“But it can’t be…you’ve done so much for us! Isn’t there anything we can do? Some spell, potion?”

“You can’t grow a Death,” he replied. “Everyone has their time, Leopold. It was written in the stars; I noticed it years ago. Not that I could read it exactly, but the possibility was there…that is, as soon as I crossed paths with you.”

“Blackbeard, if you knew this—even as a possibility—then why did you come?” Mary asked.

“For exactly that reason,” the sorcerer said, with a grin. “I’ve trained my entire life to do what other men shrank from. To accomplish incredible feats, to win glory. Not to shrink away from the light and die safely in bed! I died as a great sorcerer—perhaps the greatest that ever lived.”

“So you…wanted to die?”

“Perhaps not wanted as much as
needed
. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“But what if people don’t know?” Leopold asked, slumping against a bookshelf. “If you die, won’t your accomplishments be forgotten?”

“That’s why I’m counting on you. Keep them alive; tell stories. Write a book…well, have
someone
write a book,” he said, looking solemn. “It doesn’t have to be you.”

“Why not?” he scowled, crossing his arms. “I’ll certainly have enough time while we’re shipped off to the Colonies…”

“Nonsense, there has to be a way out of this!” Mary snapped. “What about tea? Is there any more tea?”
“No, I’m sorry, that spell only works once,” he said, sadly.

“Forget the spell, I’m parched! I always think better with tea.”

“Wait, I have a suggestion,” Ivan said, coming forward. “Can you…can I speak to him alone?”

Leopold stood aside and gestured to the mirror, which now reflected a strangely diminutive Hildigrim Blackbeard. He seemed to become almost insubstantial, the edges of his hat and cloak blurring away.

“Father…I don’t want you to leave. Not like this. If you could bring Leopold back from death through Mary, then what about you…through me?”

“No! Absolutely not,” Blackbeard said, waving him off.

“Why not? I understand the risks—and they’re worth taking,” he said, almost defiantly. “I feel destined to do this. Otherwise, why did we meet? Just so I could watch you die? No, that’s not fate—that’s negligence.”

“I can’t accept your sacrifice; it’s too much to offer,” Blackbeard said, closing his eyes. “Don’t tempt me further.”

“And was it any less for Mary?” Ivan asked. “Why her life and not mine?”

“She was willing, but you…you don’t understand. Nor would your mother; it’s what she feared from the beginning.”

“That’s just it, I want us to find her, I want us to
make
her understand. I can’t do that without you.”

“I’m not sure she will ever understand,” he said, shaking his head. “She wrote her story long ago; she can’t unread the past. If that’s all I can offer you—”

“No, it’s just the beginning,” he said, close to tears. “I want to learn from you, father. To know you. Even if it’s just for a year, a few months, it’s more than I was ever given. I spent my entire life trying to know you—the wrong you. I deserve this. I’m willing to sacrifice whatever remains of my wretched life, but in return I want this; I want to be with you and not have to wonder
why
.”

The hazy spirit said nothing, merely floating with downcast eyes. As his hands seemed to dissolve in the reflected air around them, his voice said, “I beg you to reconsider. I would willingly come back to you, Ivan. There’s so much I want to show you. I, too, yearned to know my son—a son I never even dreamed I had. But this spell…I would rob even more of your life. Just take the book and keep me by your side.”

“A book isn’t enough,” Ivan said, defiantly. “You don’t have much time. Let me help you. I’ve never asked for anything else.”

Leopold, Mary and Lucas watched breathlessly for Blackbeard’s response. His head looked up at them—not even a head now, just a collection of vapor—and spoke. But the words were too faint and indistinct. A second later his body collapsed into mist and silence.

Philip ordered his men to batter down the door, though remained well in the rear of the party (he had to oversee the troops, after all). The soldiers rudely hacked through the door, which gave surprisingly quickly; they kicked it aside and stormed up the stairwell like a parade of ants. Higher and hig alher they went, swords, axes, and bec de corbins at the ready. Philip watched them spiral toward the very top of the tower, where a single door stood between them and his foes.

“Hildigrim Blackbeard: open the door!” a solider demanded.

No response. They hesitated, since something felt out of place. The door… it had no handle, keyhole, hinges, or—

“What are you waiting for?” Philip shouted up to them. “Knock it down!”

The soldiers nodded and crashed forward. What looked like a door (in most respects, that is) turned out to be a cleverly disguised window. The first dozen soldiers toppled out and landed in a pond directly beneath the tower. A few others lurched backwards and went careening down the stairwell, the clatter of arms and armor echoing horribly against the walls. Philip screamed and ran for cover, hiding behind Leopold’s aunt, whose capacious skirts looked surprisingly like his mother’s. With a sigh she crossed her arms and waited for the dust to settle. The groans and curses of soldiers provided the sole conversation for some minutes. Finally, almost losing her patience, she called out, “Leopold! Enough of this tomfoolery! I want a word with you!”

A few feet away, a trap door opened and Leopold emerged, offering a hand to hoist up Mary, who helped up Lucas, who assisted Ivan, who hauled up an extremely bedraggled-looking fellow. Leopold’s aunt squinted angrily upon seeing him, since she didn’t know exactly what she was looking at. At one time it might have been human, even somewhat handsome, but now seemed washed-out, dried-up, stretched, flattened, frozen, burned, and left to die in a garret. The figure smiled, though not without considerable effort, and made a gesture of apology.

“Forgive me for my lack of hospitality, especially for such honored guests. But I’m afraid at the moment even tea is out of the question.”

“I want nothing to do with your tea,” she frowned, stepping away from him. “Though you may not remember, we’ve met before. And I didn’t particularly care for your brand of hospitality.”

“Aunt…forgive me, I didn’t know you were in the country,” Leopold said, with an awkward bow.

“I’ve come to mop up certain matters. Your mother is worried sick; the stories she’s heard—the most alarming reports! You did something with that chest, didn’t you? The one your father warned you about?”

“I…well, I’ve been meaning to write to you, if only I had a spare moment--”

“Believe me, I’m all ears. And who are these people? Is she the one they’re looking for outside? And this one…is that
him
?”

“Ah, how can I begin…there’s been a tremendous misunderstanding. If we could only sit down and attempt to explain—”

“Explanations!” Philip thundered, jumping out from behind the aunt’s skirts, “Spare me your useless explanations! You’re all under arrest! The list of crimes committed today alone warrant the block! And you—wizard, conjurer, or whatever you call yourself; how dare you risk the lives of my men with your juggling arts! I have special tortures in store for you, a host of savage devices—”

Blackbeard seized his hand and held it in a terrifying grasp. Philip shouted, pulled, shrieked and twisted his body from side to side. Nothing worked. The sorcerer pulled him closer and looked deep into his eyes, eyes that reflected a total lack of understanding—and a deepening pool of dread.

“I see your crimes, l closer aittle one. I’ve crossed the bridge of death to find you. To make you account for your sins. There’s no escaping me.”

“Let…let go…” he gasped, turned pale.

“Not so fast. Your father gave me a message to take back with me. He’s been trying to contact you for a long time. Would you like to hear it?”

Philip fainted on the spot.

“Pity. He said he forgave him; that he takes full responsibility for making his son the monster he is today,” Blackbeard said, dropping the hand.

“If we’re quite done with these theatrics, I mean to have an explanation—from you, from my nephew, from
anyone
with the sense to give one!” Leopold’s aunt shouted, stamping her foot.

“Madame, I’m at your command,” Blackbeard bowed. “Why don’t we retire to someplace more suitable for polite conversation. I’m in desperate need to refresh myself…I’ve had quite a tiring journey.”