The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) (27 page)

“It’s not punishment, surely,” Ivan said. “He simply can’t reach us. He is dead, after all. Right now, the tower is protected the way it would be from any intruder. We just have to outsmart it.”

“Ouch!” Lucas cried, pulling his hand away from a samovar. “It’s scalding hot!”

“The samovar?” Ivan said, coming over to it. “It should have gone out ageۀand s ago. But no, you’re right…”

“Magic,” Mary noted. “Always ready for a fresh cup. Now this makes sense.”

Ivan took one of the discarded cups and poured a stream of tea from the samovar. A hint of raspberries filled the room.

“You’re not going to drink that?” Mary exclaimed.

He took a quick sip. Delicious. Definitely not poison. He quickly drained the entire cup.

“Wonderful, so he left us some tea,” the Leopold said. “Did you check under the tables?”

Ivan gradually felt a little off. The room seemed to shift focus, becoming longer, deeper, brighter. The walls started to melt into the floor, revealing another wall—indeed, another room—behind it. Why didn’t the others see it? They seemed completely oblivious to the changes unfolding around them, even when the ceiling gave way to clouds that unleashed a monsoon over their heads. What kind of tea was this?

“Guys…you might want to try this,” he said, pouring another cup.

Without much prodding (though Lucas insisted he wasn’t thirsty) they each drank a cup of tea and waited for the revelation. Before their eyes, the room blew away like a dandelion, piece by piece, until all that was left was a room sparkling with green and yellow. Hesitantly, the group moved through the room—now the size of twenty rooms—looking for some sign of Blackbeard. Lightning bolts danced overhead, becoming more intense as they approached an area of the room shrouded in mist. They joined hands instinctively. Once they stepped inside, the very floor seemed to slip away and they floated onward, losing all sense of up or down, anchored only by their hands and fingers. An ancient door appeared before them, quite small, but growing larger with every step. Once they reached it Mary gave a tug on the handle: locked.

“Now what?” she exclaimed.

“Perhaps we should do the obvious,” Ivan said.

He knocked on the door three times. At first, nothing; then a sound of trampling feet. A lock
clicked
and the door opened.

“At last! I was getting worried,” Blackbeard said, greeting them.

“Where the devil have you been?!” Leopold shouted.

The others looked in confusion at the empty door.

“Waiting for you, of course,” he said, with an inviting gesture. “But do come in.”

“Is he…?” Mary asked.

“He’s here—he’s been waiting for us the entire time,” Leopold said, angrily. “He wants us to come in now.”

“
Does
he?” Mary glowered. “If he was so impatient, he might have sent a guide, or at least unlocked a few doors…even told us to drink the tea!”

The group entered his study, a surprisingly large room with a round ceiling, upon which were inscribed strange symbols and a map of the heavens. A large brass contraption—somewhat resembling the astrolabe—stood in a corner, its blades and gears slowly revolving. Row after row of books were stacked against each other on bookshelves, on tables, under tables, on windowsills, and in a bathtub. The sorcerer glided along the floor, looking regretfully at this or that item, realizing his time ހ="+with them had past.

“Please accept my apologies,” Blackbeard said. “My spirit got swept away, like a small boat being tugged by the waves. I had but one place of refuge—here, in my study. But my own magic prevented me from contacting you. At least my directions were sufficient.”

“Your directions? To find an invisible tower from a moving coach!” he scoffed. “And you said nothing about the password or the trapdoor or anything else!”

“A regrettable oversight,” he nodded, apologetically. “I have many rivals, desperate men and women would who think nothing of invading my keep. The tower disappeared the moment I passed over. Few magicians could have penetrated the mystery so quickly. I’m quite impressed.”

“Don’t be; Ivan found it. In fact, Ivan found everything.”

“I’m not surprised,” the sorcerer smiled, as Ivan passed through him.

“Now what? What’s he saying?” Mary asked, impatiently. “We’ve come all this way, endured all sorts of nonsense, so where’s the spell?”

“Tell her I have everything prepared, we merely have to go through the motions. To begin, take the second book on the third shelf. You see it? Yes, the one almost missing the spine.”

Leopold translated and Mary removed the book from the shelf. The large tome smelled of another time, possibly another world. She opened the cover and found page after page full of strange characters and marks, none of it legible.

“Turn to page 326. Careful—the pages are very old.”

She turned to the page and found even more incomprehensible letters. Some of them not even letters but mere scrawls, approximations of language, if they were even meant to be read.

“But…I can’t read this!” she said.

“Of course not—nor do I expect her to,” he said, gliding to her shoulder. “I’ll take care of that. But you must repeat it exactly as I say—and I do mean exactly—for the spell to take effect. Are you prepared?”

Leopold translated. Mary nodded without a moment’s hesitation. Leopold nodded, too; he had doubts, reservations, but no other choice.

“And you’re sure this time? You’re sure this will work? No complications?”

Blackbeard nodded gravely.

“All barriers have been removed; there will be no mistakes. Now then, Leopold, take her hand.”

Leopold did so. Her fingers clenched his, pale and trembling. He gave a small smile of comfort.

“Both of you, look deep into each other’s eyes. Don’t look away for a second. Leopold, repeat after me.”

Leopold looked into her eyes and repeated the words, strange syllables that were little more than music to him. Mary listened, imagining other words as he said them. She felt his pulse through his fingers, the warm life that would soon flood through her own. So many years ago, in the long, quiet hours of the night, she would dream of him.
Does he dream of me, too? Does he try to probe the secrets of my heart, secrets I would reveal—have tried to reveal—whenever we speak? Will he ask for my hand? Or simply wave good-bye as he marries another
? She would then imagine their lives together…or, as much as a fifteen year-old could imagine of life. The long years of raising children and growing old were passed over for the sweet, romantic beginning.
I could love him forever; I could never tir　ld ie of seeing his face, hearing his voice, telling him over and over that he was the only one I could be with. The only one I’ve ever loved.
Childish musings, a mere girlish fancy. But now, as she prepared to do just that, she felt exactly the same.

“And now, your part, Mary,” Leopold said. “Repeat after me.”

She said the words, saying them but thinking her own.
I can never know him enough; never wake up without marveling that he loves me, that I found him. I risked everything for him, and now I feel it was the smallest, the most inconsequential sacrifice. I would do so much more for you, Leopold. I hope you know that I’ve fled home, fought dragons, even tried to kill you so that we could stand here, hands joined, as husband and wife. Take everything I have…but give me yourself
.

The words were spoken. The spell almost complete, Blackbeard rested his hand on Leopold’s shoulder and said, “now you must kiss her, Leopold. With one kiss her Death is yours. You will be married in one body, as one life twining around two souls.”

Leopold searched her eyes for a flicker of doubt or indecision. He saw happiness, laughter, children, even shadows of old age—but not regret. Death lost its sting in her arms, since dying only meant separation. They would never be apart again. He pulled her close and kissed her, watching her eyes close, feeling an unbearable lightness. Was this the spell, or simply how much he loved her? His skin tingled as he seemed to drown in her essence, her thoughts becoming confused with his own; he felt all the pain she endured as a child, the first flush of love that colored her cheeks, the strength that had defied a dragon.

“There: it is done. You are one life, one death,” Blackbeard said, pressing his hands together.

“Are you sure? Can you feel it?” Leopold asked Mary.

“Yes, I can feel it! I feel everything!”

He kissed her again and felt the same. The spell had worked. Blackbeard nodded with evident satisfaction. At least in death he had perfected the spell of his life. The Count would live, indeed, for some years to come. Mary’s line was particularly long-lived, her grandmother having expired at the ripe old age of one hundred and three. And while Mary might have lost a decade or so, he reasonably predicted their life ending just before the reign of the future Queen Lyudmilla, in approximately—

But the sounds of cannon fire interrupted his thoughts.

Cannons? There were no windows underground, so it was impossible to tell who was firing, why, or from what direction. It just seemed very loud—and very close.

“Look into that mirror—yes, the one in the corner there, and say these words,” Blackbeard instructed.

Leopold followed his instructions and the mirror, which initially reflected the worn reflections of Leopold, Mary, Ivan and Lucas, clouded to reveal a small army with three cannons, mounted soldiers, and a screaming child. The mirror shifted to show others in the crowd: Mary’s father, looking quite irritated by the proceedings, the Duke, who stifled a yawn and consulted his pocket watch, and even Leopold’s aunt, who was supposed to be vacationing in Blackthorn, some 50 miles distant.

“We’re surrounded!” Mary said.

“How the devil did they find us?l whfont>

“Listen: they’re saying something,” Ivan gestured.

 “Hildigrim Blackbeard!” Philip shouted, trying to look more important than his size and age suggested. “We have you surrounded! You are wanted for your part in the liberation of the criminal Ivan Liadov, as well as kidnapping the Lady Mary Bianca Domenica de Grasso—”

“de
Grassini
,” her father corrected.

“Er, yes, the Lady Mary Bianca Domenica de Grassini Algarotti…and for cursing the Count of Cinquefoil and using him in your nefarious schemes!”

“I never trusted the man,” Leopold’s aunt said, shaking her head. “My brother-in-law was quite thick with him, led him into all sorts of mischief. And now look what’s happened.”

“Yes, but your nephew can get married to any girl he likes, curse or no curse,” Mary’s father protested. “My daughter is ruined if this match doesn’t come off! She’s supposed to be in Cytheria waiting for her betrothed’s arrival, not sequestered in some sorcerer’s tower with your blackguard relation! I warn you, if he’s despoiled her—”

“Villain, bite your tongue!” she snapped. “You’re speaking of the illustrious line of Cinquefoil, not the rot of your family tree. If anything, she’s despoiled him!”

“She has? I’ve never let her out of my sight—not once in nineteen years! She’s a pure innocent, and not until your nephew came along—”

“Not out of your sight indeed! Can you see her now, then? What’s she doing, playing with toys?”

“I assure you she is conducting herself quite demurely, at least under the circumstances—”

“Are we almost done here?” the Duke asked, stifling another yawn. “You interrupted my card game. I was winning.”

“Momentarily, I assure you,” Mary’s father simpered. “We just have to collect your bride and clear up this little misunderstanding. Look, you,” he said, turning to Philip, “can we speed things up?”

Philip assured him that everything would be resolved at once and waved his sword at the tower.

“Hildigrim Blackbeard: this is your last chance! Come out with your prisoners! In one minute we storm the tower!”

“Are you sure we should do that, sir?” one of the horsemen asked him.

“Don’t be absurd! He’s just an old fool, not even a real magician, just one of those…oh, what do you call them…”

The horseman shrugged: he didn’t know what to call him. All he knew were the stories, which were quite graphic and unsettling. If they had to take the tower by force, he would obey orders…but he would be the absolute last one to obey them. Let the others test the waters.

“Who is this Hildigrim fellow, anyway? Seems an awful lot of fuss for a magician,” the Duke said.

“No one for you to worry about,” Mary’s father said, nervously. “Just one of these eccentric noblemen who try to make a name for themselves. Perhaps we should go over the contract again—”

“You might as well tell him the truth,” Leopold’s aunt interrupted. “Far from being an
eccentric nobleman
, he’s one of the most renowned sorcerers still living. Very dangerous. I personally saw him take a castle apart stone by stone wit뀀Far hout moving a finger. I warned my brother-in-law (rest his soul!) that no good would come of consorting with wizards, but he told me—well, never you mind what he told me, but he wouldn’t listen. If he has your fiancee, I wonder you getting her back.”