The Harlequin Tartan: Quest of the Five Clans

by Raymond St. Elmo

  “Why are you so cruel?” she demanded, voice muffled in my shirt.

  Excellent question. Why was I so cruel? I couldn’t recall. I put hand to her bare back, patted it. The gesture felt familiar, sparking sympathy and desire. I considered kissing her, taking her. My room, my bed, my wife.

  And then through the walls of the house, through the bones of our pressed bodies, passed a scream. No cry of fear, but one of rage, of loss. A scream rippling out from a center of fury, splashes in a lake of the damned where some soul just plunged. The cry should have sent Sionnach closer, grasping me in fright, wrapping legs and arms the tighter

  But no, she leaped away as though fearing to be found near me. Whirled towards the window. “Oh God,” Sionnach moaned. “She has come.”

  At that I should have replied ‘Who?’ But I did not. One does not inquire of the storm for name. Whatever cried out so, needed title no more than the fire that took the last house.

  Lesser shouts and cries now, throughout the halls. I drew rapier, went to the door. A new invasion of beggars and assassins? No, merely sleepers disturbed by that scream. The street-watch and the neighbors as well, no doubt.

  Down the hallway, down the steps. Edward lighting candles. Phineas holding a fowler’s rifle. Excellent choice by night. The Grumbler with arms about daughters. One held a candelabra for cudgel. Another good choice. She could light or strike, as need arose.

  “You lot, stay here,” I commanded. “Phineas, with me. The cry came from the garden court. Whatever, whoever screamed must still be there.” Unless it was now in the house. Best not say so aloud. The courtyard was closed on three sides. Had it come over rooftops?

  I turned, found my way down dark halls, to my study. Recalling the night the house burned. My best books making a pleasant fire. Black’s malice. He’d set alight my first editions, to tell me of his hate. My poor Candide. My beloved Gulliver. Curses upon Jeremiah Black. Perhaps he was cursed. Could it have been his damned soul making that awful cry?

  But no. It’d been a woman, I felt sure. ‘She has come,’ Sionnach had said. Who could she mean? Someone to fear. I walked through the dark room, Phineas stumbling behind. My night sight is excellent, and I walked my own study. I reached the French doors, looked out into the courtyard. There beside the lion fountain stood… someone. Moon lit. I stared, fascinated. Horrified. And filled with desire such as the lady in my bedroom had not sparked.

  I stared at a woman, naked. Breasts, face and thighs slick with something liquid and dark. Surely blood from the body sprawled at her feet. Long strands of hair, wild and tangled, locks disordered as the mad face they framed. The woman raised head and cried out to the moon. I shivered. The house shivered. A cry of sorrow to make the moon shiver.

  She turned wide empty eyes towards me. As though she could pierce night and distance and window glass to meet my gaze. She made a ghastly, girlish smile, then a strange bending motion that could near have been polite curtsy. I felt the absurd desire to bow, as though we introduced ourselves afresh.

  Silence. Phineas raised his fowling piece, lowered it again. Uncertain whether to shoot? The man on the ground stirred. The woman bent down, lifted the body effortless as a pillow from the bed. She sent it flying towards us. The body smashed into the glass doors with crystal jangles, a wet-meat thump. I leaped back. Phineas did as well, stumbling.

  An arm of the man thrust through the shattered panes, hand waving vague greeting. His head caught on jagged shards, eyes wide in terror. Phineas raised his rifle, peered past. I pulled the body through the fragments, wincing at the tearing flesh. Laid it down. Familiar. A face of scars and scowls. The market duelist I’d fought in the fog.

  I kicked the fragments of door aside, stepped into the garden court. Once my ancient oak centered this quiet place. Gone now, but for a burned stump. But the absence of branches let light into the square. Closed on all sides. The creature had nowhere to hide.

  I turned in circles, rapier at ready, heart beating.

  “Come out,” I demanded. No answer. I circled the stump, waving sword at shadows. No hiding place remained in the courtyard. I began rushing from corner to corner, desperate to find her. Gone. She’d sunk into the earth, else leaped over rooftops. At last I sighed, sat trembling upon the stone bench, staring at the thirsty lion. I felt very alone.

  Chapter 15

  In the Spirit of Science

  Long pounding on the door of Green’s manse. A sleepy servant fetched a suspicious housekeeper, who yawned, summoned polite butler. He measured my past import to his master, my present determination, my potential future for loud and violent insistence to enter. Wise man, he nodded, ushered me into the house, unto Green’s study. Went to fetch the master himself from bed, while a maid was set to build the fire, keep eye upon me.

  I paced up and down the sparse bookshelves. Bare as a pauper’s cupboard. Did Green never read? Here was the Les Liaisons Dangereuses I gifted the man Christmas last. Pages still crisp virgins, unseduced by a single reading.

  I began translating to the maid building the fire. “Quand une femme frappe dans le cœur d’une autre, la blessure est incurable…’When one woman strikes at the heart of another, the wound is fatal’. Does that sound right to you?” I asked.

  The girl considered. “Shouldn’t think it only women, sir. But...” she peered towards the door, ensuring no superior should catch the impertinence of servant conversing with guest. “But my dam says one man knifes for another’s guts. But girl twixt girl, ‘tis heart that’s the target.”

  I’d only asked if my translating sounded correct. I hadn’t considered the meaning of the words. I recalled Sionnach moaning ‘she has come’. Perhaps fox girl and night haunt took part in some arcane duel, aiming each for the other’s heart.

  In came Green, wearing Turkish robe, sleeping cap and umbrage. The maid gave curtsy to show him respect, and wink to show she wished me well. Green glared as if he’d found us embraced. The maid fled. I forestalled further anger with apologetic bow.

  “I come to confess myself prepared to grant some credence to your theory of vampires,” I announced to the rug.

  Green sniffed, took throne in his reading chair. “Who was the victim?”

  I put away Liasons, began to pace. “A street ruffian I fought yesterday. Unnatural arms, two rapiers and modest talent. I’ve asked around. Name was Jacob. No spadassin, but took blood jobs when he couldn’t slaughter for free.”

  “You believe he was sent to kill you?”

  “Him? Bah. He came on his own. I thumped him in the street. So he couraged himself into a night lurk about my house, waiting to catch my back turned. Then something more interesting caught him.”

  “The vampire,” said Green. “I can still scarce credit it. In this day and age.”

  “Had you seen, you would credit. You would lock all doors, put cross and garlic above each window sill. Sleep amid lights, shivering to hear wind scrape branches across windows as if hands of fiends sought –“

  “Yes, yes. I gain the idea. But whatever the cause, this confirms the complete theory of mine.”

  “Which?”

  “That these murders have some connection to you.”

  “Close, but no. The central connection is another.”

  “Which is?”

  I took deep breath, free at last to speak my thoughts with other audience than my mirror.

  “Jeremiah Black. I have seen him. He has returned from the dead. If you recall, he died dressed as Hades.”

  Green laughed. When I did not join in, Green ceased. Stared a bit, then raised hands in consternation.

  “Hades? What of that? It was costume. A play on his name and attitude. The fool next to him died as Poseidon. Is Lord West now king of the ocean depths?”

  I howled. The sound came forth from heart and lungs, sudden as vomit. Green jumped from his chair, prepared to bolt. The butler rushed into the room, silver candlestick held high. I heard shouts from servants about the house.

  I
turned about in the lamp lit room, checked each windows. No dawn light yet. Where the hell was the sun? The room waited for me to compose myself. I did so. Nodded to Green and servants, to show I was again a man, master of my thoughts. The butler remained by the door, hands behind back to hide the heavy candlestick. Excellent fellow, protecting his master. Or his fellow man. The two obligations overlapped. No, they did not. Loyalty to master is a small thing, worthy of your better dogs. Loyalty to fellow man: a thing beyond price.

  I showed both men hands empty of tremble or threat. Did my best to explain in voice empty of tremble or threat.

  “I have seen the living-dead Jeremiah Black. Grave mold spotting his face. Burial clothes upon him. The light of hell in his eyes. This night I have seen in my courtyard a naked woman, blood splattered and moon-mad above fresh corpse. I cease to look for logic in these events. I aim for the poetic connection. Black died as King of Dead. Now he is returned. Summoning creatures, sending them to slay those who defied him in life.”

  “I don’t remember Lord Gould being Black’s enemy.”

  “They quarreled at cards last Christmas. You recall. Near came to blows.”

  Green frowned. “And Kingsley?”

  “The good reverend sermonized against Black bringing prison ships of Irish to man the riverside factories.”

  “Kingsley wanted them freed?”

  I considered. “No, he wanted them thrown into the sea.”

  Green shook head. “It seems overly fantastical.”

  “True. So we attack in the spirit of scientific method. Prove the hypothesis by simple test.”

  “Which is?”

  “We dig Black up. Where was he buried? I did not attend the funeral.”

  “You should have. He went to yours. But the Blacks have a mausoleum at Widegate. Beside the river.”

  Just where Penn claimed to have seen vampires. Parts, parts, coming together. “Excellent. Time I paid my respects, see if he is resting nicely, or not.”

  “By daylight, I hope?”

  I laughed. “Why on earth would I go at night?”

  “Because you do such things.”

  “Not this time. I go with sun, gun and priest.”

  “Priest? Which?”

  “The clerical child you sent to fetch me yesterday.”

  “Ah. That would be Father Bright. I scarce know him. Seems a sensible sort, if brusque.”

  Bright? I had not thought to ask his name. Nor he to say. “I do not cherish his company. The man grates. But he believes what I and Phineas saw. He is enthused to track it down and end it. And I want his witness to what occurs.” I considered, added as afterthought. “I don’t trust him. He plays some part in the puzzle, himself. Claims he married me and a woman now sheltering in my house.”

  Green looked thoughtful. “You wore a wedding ring.”

  “What?”

  “Same night Black… expired? Descended to the Throne, so to say. I knew you for the real Gray soon as you appeared. I only wondered why you wore a gold band on left hand. Afterwards, you spoke of being newly married. Said she was someone special.”

  My head began to pound. It did whenever I sought to coax memories from out the dark forest. Then let it pound. Hell, let it burst like a mud-blocked musket. I studied my left ring finger. Was there not faint circle upon the skin?

  “I must truly have married, then,” I admitted. “She’s comely. Special for sure. But strange. Took fright at the vampire’s cry. Retreated into her room, will let none enter but the cleric.”

  I’d stood at her door, assuring all was safe. She refused to unlock it. Perhaps she feared me, though she’d been bold enough in my room. The priest came. They talked in low voices, till she let him enter. I spied disheveled red hair, a wary green eye. Fox gone to burrow. When I lurked at the door, I heard arguing in a French I could not follow. My French is fine, but they spoke with accent I could not place. Brittany, perhaps. I caught hints. References to a ‘her’ that terrified Sionnach. The vampire, had to be.

  Clearly they had secrets. Perhaps my wife was the good father’s mistress. Perhaps they determined to control my wealth, the path of the Charter. Driving me mad with clever pantomimes of monsters… What a sensible explanation it made to all events. Coin, power, deceit and greed. These forces work their own dark wonders.

  Tempting to assert it. But, no. The creature I beheld in the garden was real. And the reality frightened those two more than me. Excellent. Let us find what frightens the conspiracy.

  “I go seek Black this very morning,” I said to Green. “I cannot have this nonsense interfering with our last rally.” If one goes mad, best go quick. By carriage.

  “Well enow,” said Green. He rose. “Await me while I prepare to accompany you.”

  My turn to laugh; then cease to laugh. “You? Why on earth?”

  Green’s agreeable face set itself in rare anger.

  “Black was my friend before he was your enemy, Master Colonial. And I his foe before ever you set yourself against him. True, he and I strove to use one another. And yet remained friends of a sort. Such is humanity’s common bond, of which you forever prattle. If Jeremy Black has lost his human self I have right and duty to attend the ceremony of return.”

  I had no reply but shamed face. How quickly I grew to expect those about me to perform as minor players in my theatre. The Charter had best come soon. I was fast becoming a proper member of the upper class.

  * * *

  Phineas took the carriage reins. We rumbled toward city’s center to retrieve Father Bright at the Cathedral. Gone to fetch holy water, crucifix and other weaponry for spiritual battle. I disliked the delay, but could not deny the demand. I myself brought sword, knives, guns. Unfair to deny him his weaponry. But the sun was up, the city filling the streets. It would be a long slow ride to the cemetery. Perhaps better to take horse… But we carried shovels, pickaxes, candles. I wasn’t clawing at marble walls and iron locks with hands and knives. And Green did not ride. I would not leave him behind. I needed his witness more than the priest’s. In my own company I would fall to raving and delusion. In the company of the sane, I might hope to keep some landmark of reality. And if Magister Green saw a vampire, why then behold the stamp of veracity beyond all doubt. The man could no more hallucinate than a cathedral could sing.

  The Cathedral bells began to ring. Green sat uncomfortably in his robes of Magister. The morning grew warm, the risen sun fast burning away night fog.

  “Stephano told me of those bells,” I remarked. “Almost the last bit of nonsense I heard from him. Said they had names.” I whispered them to myself, a child repeating skipping rhymes. ‘Old Tom. And his sisters. Named after angels. Luciel, Kariel, Oriel’…

  “Parts,” I whispered.

  “Rayne?” asked Green, frowning anew. What a worrier was the man.

  “I keep finding pieces of what I cannot join together,” I explained. “How can I? I am a lost part myself.” I opened the carriage door. “Wait for me.”

  I rushed up the steps of the cathedral. I’d had adventures on these stones. Black once delivered an amusing funeral elegy for me right here, with a box supposedly holding my remains. But no, it had been Elspeth’s day-dead corpse. Stephano had done what I had not. Carried the body solemnly into this great hollow mountain, this holy cavern lit by stained glass fire. Laid her upon the high altar in flames of jeweled light.

  I ran past attendees of morning service, seeking the belfry. Stairs, winding up and up. I had been this way before. The belfry made excellent place to scout lesser rooftops. A door, locked. I hesitated, then broke it. More stairs, spiraling. Knees protested, lungs complained. The shouts of bells poured down tangible as wind or wave. I climbed against a waterfall of clanging bronze.

  Steps ending at a trapdoor. I pushed it open to regain the lost kingdom of air and light. I stood panting, hands covering ears, fresh morning wind prickling my sweat. Watching above fog and smoke as bronze monsters sang to city and sky.

  They
ceased moving before I understood they were silent. I remained near deafened, shaking the cannon-like thunder from my head. Staring out over the city, up into sky. I leaned to rest against a stone pillar. Green would think me mad. How to explain why I rushed here? Because a stranger once carved a face, and a dead friend found the face a name. While a different man had mentioned the name and bells together… How very logical all the parts fit. How very mad to put them together.

  I began to laugh. No better place for laughing than your cathedral belfry. Dawn-lit, cool wind blowing the sound to scatter like seed across the world. Who knows what springs forth from a wind-born laugh? Some happy flower in quiet field, perhaps. Idiot thought. Made me laugh the more. At some point I realized I no longer laughed alone. I looked about, surprised yet somehow not surprised.

  She sat on the low wall protecting feet from tumbling into the void. A young woman, hair piling in waves and curls upon her shoulders, down her back. I watched the wind tease these curls. She was a long time laughing. Finished, she wiped eyes. Then spoke, to me or the city or the wind or the sun or all. Why not, all.

  “What I like best,” she observed, “is the birds. When they fly in a grand flock that moves like a single hand petting the wind. Or like the tail of a kite. How can they all know to turn at the same place in the air? People’d just crash into each other. It’s as if the birds have a special road made of wind, that only they can ride.”

  The woman wore cotton print dress, simple as farm girl come to church. Bare arms, hands folded in lap to contemplate the world from her front porch. No wings sprouting from her back. But no concern for perching upon the edge of airy nothingness. She kicked legs, thumping heels against cathedral stones, in time to the faded music of the bells.

  I walked to the greatest bell. ‘Old Tom’, Stephano called it. Greened bronze, still humming from song. Deep in the verdigris waited etched words. ‘Campane Aquinatis’. The Aquinas bell, then. ‘Old Tom’. And his sisters… I walked beside them, reaching out, tapping their sea-green sides with my knuckles, reciting their names.