The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) (22 page)

“It’s not something I chose, Leopold, anymore than I chose to be the bastard offspring of your late father. But we only blind ourselves if we ignore the truth.”

“This is madness! I went from being an only child to having two brothers—or not even brothers, twins! We all seem to think alike and want the same things. But of the irony is that you’ve not even a blood relation, and he—I don’t even know what to call him!”

“What do you mean, not a blood relation? We are blood, Leopold. Our father—”

“Blackbeard isn’t my father.”

Leopold regretted it the moment he said it. But now it was out, another presence in the room, shackled to their arms and legs. Ivan’s chains rattled in response. He had nothing to say. Even the denial he wanted to lob in defense died on his lips. Lies no longer interested him, even lies to himself. He only wanted the truth.

“Does he know?”

“I don’t think so. But then I never quite know what he’s thinking.”

“Your father was right; he only had one son,” Ivan rasped, choking down his emotions. “Another way my mother sought to settles scores with the world. Always at my expense…”

“Ivan, I’m sorry…it told me. I wasn’t sure how to tell you, nor did I intend to tell you now. My anger…”

“No, you had every right to tell me. I’m a fool. I wanted the truth, but not all of it…not the part I chose to ignore.”

“It’s true, we all have too many secrets,” Leopold said. “You did an honorable thing. Here,” he said, groping for Ivan’s hand in the darkness, “let’s shake and be brothers, whatever our blood.”

Ivan took his hand shook firmly.

“But she chose me, remember,” the Count said.

Ivan gave a slight laugh.

“She made the right choice.”

Blackbeard followed the coach at a distance, knowing Mary would find a way to escape, given time. Unfortunately it picked up speed, whizzing past buildings and pedestrians (at least one of whom was nearly run down). The sorcerer broke into a full sprint, only to watch the image recede further and further into the distance. Soon it would be lost entirely. The surrounding forest tended to obscure magic charms, requiring them to search every inch by foot. He trembled to think how many inches fit into the thousand and thousands of acres of forest.

“Wheels fall off, horses bolt, cable snap—do something!” he muttered through his panting breath.

Just then the coach lurched to one side and the coachman fell—or jumped—off the box. The door opened and someone tumbled out, only to be fired upon by the coachman. Had he done this? While he hadn’t consciously uttered a spell, the timing was uncanny. Had his very thoughts become magic—become will itself? For the second time this week, Blackbeard felt enormously impressed with himself.

Mary and the coachman ran off into a tangle of shops, leaving the figure splayed on the ground. Blackbeard approached cautiously. It couldn’t be dead, but beyond that, the sorcerer didn’t know what it could or couldn’t be. With a shake of its head, the Death flailed for something solid; it connected with a hand that hauled him to its feet. Its eyes widened.

“Blackbeard?”

“And you…I don’t even know what to call you. Leopold? Surely not.”

“I am all that he could ever be. He is my shadow.”

“But even like this you’re not alive. This spell—or whatever it is that brought you here—can’t last. He can’t exist here with you.”

“All the more reason to kill him, then. Not that you’ve been right about anything so far. You’re an old fool, far past your prime. In fact, you should thank me for this—”

The Death drew a knife and lunged at Blackbeard. The sorcerer deftly moved aside—so much so, that the Death fell face-first on the ground.

“You still don’t know how to control it,” Blackbeard observed. “Good thing you’re immortal; it may take a lifetime.”

“I don’t need
this
,” it said, tossing the dagger aside. “I just wanted it to be slow. There are so many ways I can kill you.”

Ignoring him, Blackbeard cast a
holding spell
: words of flame circled around his feet and blackened into a curse. No demon or spirit could venture beyond them.

“You think this can hold me?”

“I know it can.”

Mary and Lucas raced through the city, never looking back to observe the Death’s progress. When they finally paused for breath—more Lucas’ doing than Mary’s—they felt curiously abandoned. Could it be…it wasn’t pursuing them? Mary cautiously retraced their steps, peering down deserted alleyways and dingy shop windows. Nothing but stray cats and her own distorted reflection.

“I don’t understand…” she whispered.

“Maybe it got tired again,” Lucas said. “It’s probably sleeping it off in a gutter.

“No, it seemed different this time. I don/h2>it got tt think—” it suddenly dawned on her where it might be.

“What?”

“It went back—for Leopold!”

“The Count? But why? With all those soldiers?”

“They can’t stop it! And what can we do? We don’t even know where they took him. But it does!”

“Wait—I know—I saw them!” Lucas exclaimed. “Before he took you away in the coach! Quickly, this way!”

He led Mary back toward the gallows, and just beyond it, to a small prison with imposing, rusted gates. Soldiers ambled past, giving them a lazy gaze as they did so. Now all they had to do was get in.

“What’s the quickest way to get arrested?” she mused, pacing before the gates. “Murder, I imagine. Hmm…”

“Well, most things are illegal in this Country,” Lucas chuckled. “Even dreams are under strict regulation. Like the man who dreamed he was the king, remember? He told it all to his wife and she shared it with her hairdresser; he was in the stocks by nightfall. Soon even love will require a license and proof of—“

“Love—that’s it!” she exclaimed. “Come here, Lucas: kiss me. No…right here, the angle’s better.”

Lucas grinned stupidly. Seeing his lack of initiative, she pulled him close and kissed him forcefully on the mouth. He protested—for a moment, that is—but soon stopped thinking altogether. She spun him around and pressed him violently against the gates. Her hands pulled him this way and that, her lips traveled over his neck and to his ears. Was it possible—had she loved him all this time? True, certain things didn’t make sense with this theory, but life didn’t have to make sense all the time, did it?

“Play along, you fool! We’re trying to get arrested,” she hissed.

“What--”

“I want them to think I’m one of those women. Who else would act like this?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” he said.

He tried to play along, but had never, so to speak, been intimate with a woman. Hands he had kissed, even a cheek once, but lips? He had only the foggiest ideas about how one “made love,” though he had seen the nobles pawing at one another in the shadows on occasion. Doing his best imitation, he kissed, fondled, and in a moment of true inspiration, squeezed her breasts. Her eyes widened considerably and flashed curses and outrage. But before she could retaliate, the gates screeched open and a guard came out, hauling them apart.

“Another one! And right in front of the gates, if you please. Go on, off with you, sir!” he said, pushing Lucas away. “I’ll take this one…no doubt this isn’t your first offense. You should be quite familiar with the establishment.”

As she took her away, she shot a glance of thanks—and slight chagrin—at Lucas. For his part, he felt profound intoxication. So that’s what it was like! No wonder everyone made such a to-do about getting married. He would have to find a wife straight away, or at least once all this Death business was safely concluded. Then they could play at getting “arrested” whenever they liked!

Once inside, Mary studied every inch of the prison, spying out the likeliest place to find Leopold. It wasn’t very large, just two or three floors of cells and no more than a dozen guards that she could make out. The guard, sensing her hesitation, nudged her along.

“Having second thoughtand no mors, are you?”

“No, it’s just…I feel faint…”

She collapsed on the floor, or would have, had the guard not had the good sense to catch her. He called for assistance, and a pair of guards carried her off to a dirty sofa to recover her senses.

“She must be pregnant,” one of them noted.

“Perhaps, but doesn’t it strike you…that she looks a little…how to say…”

“Beautiful?”

“Ah yes, there is that. But not just that.”

“Young?”

“Mmm, that, too. And yet, something else…”

“Foreign?”

“Yes, yes, she’s that as well. But doesn’t she look…I don’t know, rich? I mean, noble? Have you ever seen one of them that looked anything like this?”

“But what does ‘rich’ look like? Well-fed?”

“Clearly she’s that, but look at her face, the way it’s shaped…she was born into that. That’s privilege.”

“Then what’s she doing here?”

“A run-away? Or she was abducted?” he shrugged.

“I don’t know…she could be a spy.”

“A spy? Her? She hardly blends into the background.”

“Exactly, that’s the point. Last person you would suspect.”

“You suspect her! No, I’m not convinced; I think she’s an abducted princess from Korsakovina. Freddy’s seen one before—he says they have this kind of nose. Just like hers.”

“Korsakovina? Where the devil’s that? No, she’s a local—of a good family, to be sure, but she doesn’t speak…whatever those people speak.”
“Care to put money on it? 500 fobs.”

“On what? That she’s from—where was it again?”

“Korsakovina. And yes, that’s my wager.”

“Done,” he said, shaking on it. “Let’s get Freddy. If he doesn’t make a positive identification—”

“He will. Look at her—she’s a Korsakovinan beauty. Too bad we had to arrest her. What was the charge, anyway?”

“No clue,” he said, walking off. “Probably for impersonating a commoner…”

As their footsteps retreated down the hallway, Mary darted out of the room and down the opposite corridor. What few guards she encountered were either asleep or playing cards. Now where was Leopold? She peered into cell after cell, but found them either empty or filled with young women like her—that is, with women of that kind, who laughed when she asked about Leopold.

“What does he look like? Is he tall? Handsome? Rich?” one asked.

“I…he was brought her earlier today, with another man about the same age.”

“Oh—so you’re looking for two gentlemen! Are you in love with them both? Do they have to fight over you? Is that why they were arrested?” another said, mischievously.