Other Tales: Stories from The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy

by Marsha Altman

  “I understand when it is used by people to murder others. My job is to stop it.”

  “I will not comment on your proficiency in your job, Inspector Audley, because you are my guest. And do eat up. We have a long night ahead of us.”

  Lady Littlefield looked to Audley for assurance, and he nodded. The food was not poisoned – there was no reason for that after all of the attempts to keep them alive, and certainly the marquis would not poison his bride. If it was drugged, he had plenty of ways at his disposal of making sure they were drugged forcibly. Besides, Audley though decisively, he was hungry. “I have never turned down one of your free meals, My Lord, and I don’t intend to now.” With decreased dexterity and increased awkwardness from having his hands bound, he still managed to spoon the sausage into his mouth. “I must comment on the loveliness of your red coat.”

  “This? Oh, yes. It is new. Just arrived from Paris. I never did manage to discover how Sophie managed to steal my old one without my man discovering her.”

  “She didn’t,” Audley said. “The Wolf did.”

  “So there has been deception on your end, as well.”

  “I have said once, and I will stand by my words – I am an inspector of the law, and I may conceal any facts I deem relevant to the investigation. As I have made abundantly obvious, I do not answer to you. You would virtually have to imprison me to get me to even listen to your mad ramblings. Oh, how convenient, you already have.” He swallowed his food. It was actually quite good. “I assume at least Lady Littlefield’s dish is not poisoned, contrary as that would be to your ultimate plan.”

  “Neither is yours, Inspector Audley,” the marquis said. “For the time being, I do need you alive.”

  Soup was served, which was a bit more difficult to manage than the meats. Lady Littlefield’s bonds were cut, but not Audley’s.

  “You would have done well, Inspector Audley, to simply play your part and hang someone for the crime of the murder of Simon Roux. But you were so intent on finding the real killer – and now I shall have to bring him to you.”

  “How will he know to come here?” Audley asked. Though it was dark, he recognized the area just outside the den of the wolf pack they had hunted for money last week. There seemed to be supplies stored in the hole leading to the den, and candles sitting on the jutting parts of the rock outside of the cave.

  “How does he know everything he knows? Through his network of spies, of course. They would be joining us, but my men are taking care of them as we speak. Who else knows everything in town but the barkeep and his wench?”

  Audley leapt up in anger, and even though his hands were still tied, only two men grabbing him from behind prevented him from leaping on the marquis entirely. “If you had Anton and Camille killed – Screw the law, I’ll kill you myself!”

  The marquis motioned to one of his men (thugs, more accurately), who bashed Audley on the back of the head with something wooden. It was enough to make him faceplant into his soup, but not lose consciousness entirely. It was some time, however, before the ringing went down enough for him to hear over it –

  “– hell of a nick to your head, didn’t he? Still a tender area? You, please, wipe the inspector’s face for him.”

  His face was roughly wiped off with a very fancy napkin, and he opened his eyes to a somewhat blurry version of the same scene he had been looking at before.

  “Michel! Stop!” Lady Littlefield pleaded, and it took Audley’s impaired mind a moment to realize she was referring to the marquis. “Please end this madness. I will marry you if you let everyone go! I will not say a word!”

  “My dear, it is not so simple,” the marquis said luxuriously as Audley tried to force his vision to focus. “I have one person crazy enough to dress up as a beast and make several attempts on my person to stop our marriage, and one legal witness – a detective, no less – who will probably be too concerned about the law and his conscience to keep silent about these events. I have thought on the matter, and unless you can convince both of them otherwise, they will simply have to be removed from the picture.” He tried to put his hand over hers, but she moved it away. “Someday, you will understand.”

  “No, not this,” she said. “I will never forgive you.”

  “Darling, this is not a good way – ”

  Suddenly the meek Lady Littlefield developed a spine. “You are a murderer, a rapist, and the most vicious man I have ever met, and even if my parents force me to marry you upon hearing all I have to say – ”

  “– none of which they will believe, it all being so fantastical – ”

  “– and even if you force yourself on me, because you will have to every time, I will never love you, and I will never respect you, and I will always hate the sight of you!” she screamed. “And if I bear you a child, I will kill it myself!”

  Enough to make any man unnerved, the threat brought the marquis out of his self-confident demeanor, and he moved like lightening, striking her from his seat. She did not topple over. Audley’s natural response was to come to her aid despite his aching head, but again he was restrained by the marquis’s willing and able guards, holding him securely in place as he struggled against them, kicking over his glass as he flailed. “Get your hands off her!”

  “Oh, you want me to do the proper Christian thing and wait until marriage?” the marquis said before pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to his fiancée, who had a bloody nose. She looked at him in hatred as she snatched it from him. “Press softly on the nostrils and it should stop. Does it hurt?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Goodness! What are they teaching you in that school of yours?”

  “Nothing,” she said, “but my companion taught me something about self-respect.”

  “And where is Miss Bingley?” the marquis said, turning to the still-thrashing Audley. “You should know. You’ve been following her like a dog after a bone. Very convenient for me.”

  Less convenient than you think. “When she discovers this, she’ll be along. And she won’t fall into your trap, Maret. She’s smarter than that.”

  “The words of a man blinded by love. Or mere obsession. You think she would fall for a Parisian inspector? She must have thousands of pounds.”

  He did not want to discuss his relationship with Georgiana – certainly not in front of Lady Littlefield. “Please set me down.”

  “I don’t particularly see the wisdom of that.”

  “Or I am going to be sick all over your fine dinner table.”

  It was not a lie. Between the new head injury, the food, and the physical activity of being grabbed and fighting it, he did feel the need to be sick.

  “Gentlemen,” the marquis said, after a moment of weighing the situation, “please escort Inspector Audley to an appropriate distance so that he may see to his needs.”

  Though he was not eager to leave Lady Littlefield alone with the marquis, especially when she was still bleeding, Audley actually did feel ill, and knew that in his condition he could not free himself from the guards. He was dragged some distance away, behind some of the trees, and there he lost his dinner and probably some of his lunch. They did release him for that, and he sat on the ground with his head in his hands, trying to recover from the dizziness brought on by everything that had happened. He could try to run, but these men had guns, and he had to try to protect Heather Littlefield, even though he had, so far, utterly failed to do that. He stood up and they escorted him back, which he did not fight. He calmly took his seat at the table again, exhausted from the exertion, and was implored to drink some tea to settle his stomach.

  “If you continue to put up a fight, I will not hesitate to put something in your drink,” the marquis said quite openly.

  Audley shook his head and numbly sipped the tea set before him. It had a calming effect, and if the marquis did not press him for questions, he would follow suit. Lady Littlefield still held the handkerchief to her nose, but it was obvious she was barely bleeding. He tried
to throw a reassuring glance her way, but he was hardly in the condition to do so.

  Then, the howling.

  Audley was almost relieved. He had no desire for this macabre dinner to go on. He had long since lost his appetite.

  “It seems he is early,” the marquis said, rising from his chair with an amused expression as the servants began to clear away the settings, and then the table itself. Audley chuckled. “What is so funny, Inspector?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Though I think you are in for some surprises tonight, my Lord.”

  Audley’s hands were retied behind his back as he was brought to kneel on the ground next to Lady Littlefield. The servants scattered as the bandits readied their weapons. The lit torches and candles brightened the area, and gave it a weird sort of ritualistic feel.

  “She’s going to get herself killed,” Heather whispered to him.

  “You have so little faith in her?”

  To this, she managed a weak, frightened smile.

  “Can you run?” he said in an even softer voice. “If the time comes?”

  “I can try,” she said.

  “If I give you the signal, go.”

  “I won’t abandon you or Georgiana.”

  Audley looked at her. She had lost her fear – or maybe it had overwhelmed her to the point where she could no longer acknowledge it. “my Lady – ”

  “You would do the same for me, Inspector Audley. I won’t run from this. I tried, and look what it has caused.”

  He nodded in silent, painful affirmation.

  They did not have long to wait. Before any shots could be fired or any trace of life was seen, from deep within the woods, black with night, an arrow came sailing through the air. It whizzed past the marquis and embedded itself on a nearby tree. The elaborate arrow held only a flag on it – a strip of white cloth.

  The marquis pulled it out before his men could say anything, readying his own pistol. “Wolf! Come forward!”

  If it was the Wolf, it had lost its Wolf-like qualities. An armored man emerged from the dark entrance to their clearing, wearing an elaborate domed helmet with two brass horns that rose a foot in the air above him. His face was covered in a complex armored mask. The armor seemed to be metal pieces sewn together with colored laces of green, white, red, and black, alternating freely. It made surprisingly little sound when he walked, and he walked with exposed feet with only rope sandals tied around his socks. Despite the extensive disguise, the two swords, one stuffed into his cloth belt and the other hanging from links in his armor, proudly announced who he was. He carried a bow and a brown bag. He stepped fearlessly passed the initial guards, who were stunned by his appearance, and the blood-streaked yellow flag that flew behind him by a pole attached to his back.

  Still ten feet or so from the marquis, he stopped, put down his bow, and let loose the contents of the bag. Three human heads dropped to the ground. Guns were raised but he did not react.

  “These,” Brian Maddox said, “you may recognize as the men you sent after Monsieur Anton and Mademoiselle Camille.”

  The marquis did lean forward a bit to see, but did not inspect them closely. He had to visibly try to maintain his composure as he said, “My argument is with the Wolf.”

  “Assuming it is to be a negotiation, the terms are as follows – the Wolf will fight you without firearms and you will do the same.”

  The marquis’s hand fell on his blade. “I am prepared for that eventuality.”

  “No one is to interfere.”

  “Or?”

  “Or the two of us will kill every one of these men,” Maddox said. “Sooner or later.”

  “That is a rather bold statement on your part, Mr. Maddox.”

  “So is facing an advancing rebel army to save a friend, but I still did it,” he replied. “Are the terms accepted?”

  “On one condition,” the marquis said, stepping forward to meet the armored warrior. “I get to see his face.”

  “That I can’t promise you,” the warrior said with a laugh, “but I can ask.”

  With that, Brian Maddox, Japanese warrior, turned and headed back into the darkness. He left the heads behind.

  The marquis made a hasty retreat to where his hostages were being held. He snapped his fingers at the armed man perched up on the cliff over the entrance to the cave. “When the Wolf charges in, shoot it.”

  “Those were not the terms!” Audley said, which earned him another knock in the head. This almost made him lose his balance, and he kept it only with Heather leaning in to catch him with her shoulder until he could straighten his senses enough to sit up properly again.

  “No, they are not,” the marquis said. “And you would be wise to –”

  Whatever Audley would be wise to do – probably, to silence himself – Audley would never discover. The rifleman did fire, but randomly and awkwardly into the trees as a loud cry came from above, and a blur of grey came down with it. The rifleman screamed as his attacker landed on him, and then tossed him at the entrance to the den, so that he landed on his back, his freshly-cut throat still spewing blood. The sounds of rifles clicking in the direction of the figure on the mount was audible, but the Wolf held up only a bloodied metal claw with long blades like skewers, with flesh and blood still dangling from it.

  “Unless you can dodge bullets,” the marquis said, “you are at my mercy, Wolf.”

  The Wolf growled, but did not back down, standing proudly in the spot where the sniper had once sat. How it managed to balance itself on wooden stilt sandals, Audley decided he would never have any idea. The bare feet were tiny, but partially hidden by a layer of fur placed around the ankles.

  “I do not know why so many are willing to die for you,” the Wolf said in a voice partially muffled by the wolf head mask, and partially disguised by tone, so that it was not recognizably female – or human, “but they all will unless you agree to Maddok-sama’s original terms.”

  There was some murmuring among the men. Many members of this gang had now fallen to the Wolf.

  “What’s going on?” Heather whispered. “She couldn’t possibly win against them.”

  “She has her uncle, and she may have other resources,” Audley whispered back, and then said at full volume, “My Lord, you may have no reason to listen to your own hostage, but you may be wise to take the Wolf up on this offer, before you face a rebellion of a different sort.”

  The marquis paused before tossing his pistol aside dramatically. He also withdrew another one stashed in his back, and set down the rifle. “No guns.” He drew instead his rapier.

  “No guns.”

  “And my men will stay back.”

  “They won’t die for the likes of you anymore, Maret,” the Wolf said, and picked up something behind it, leaping over the marquis and landing in the clearing with a roll before quickly returning to her feet. The thing she – it, whatever – held was a sword with two small prongs on either side, which was thrown over the shoulder with a strap.

  The men did not come nearer. Now face-to-face with him, the Wolf was smaller than the marquis, but still about the height of an average man. Because of the sandals, Audley saw now. They gave her another few inches.

  “Grant me one small favor, first,” the marquis said, not at all in any kind of pleading voice.

  The Wolf snarled, shuffling back and forth.

  “If I am to die at your hands as you have told me before, I want to face the man, not the beast. Let us leave the superstition behind us.”

  “If you insist,” said the Wolf, dropping its claws first, which it held by rods in her hands. Next was the fur around her ankles, revealing tiny, almost bone-white feet and no appearance of hair – certainly not in this light. That left the lower half only in sandals and breeches cut off just above the knee. With great care – and reverence for the skin – she unfastened the knots tying the wolf’s head and hide, and removed the headpiece that covered most of her upper body, setting it aside. Standing up with light
of the torches illuminating her, it was Georgiana, bare save for a tunic that went no farther than her elbows, cut-off breeches, and sandals. And, of course, the gigantic sword strapped to her back. She was either already breathing heavily from the exertion, or just seething in hatred, as she turned her eyes briefly to Audley and Heather Littlefield, and then back to the marquis. Her face was painted with red paint like some kind of tribesman, with two red slashes starting just above her eyebrows and going down her cheek.

  To the marquis’s stunned silence she only answered – in her real, womanly voice -, “You were expecting someone else?”

  CHAPTER 14

  At first no one dared to approach her. Then, perhaps with sheer curiosity, or judging her no longer a threat when revealed to be a member of the weaker sex, one of the bandits did have the gall to approach her, not necessarily with guns blazing, but even his tentative advance didn’t get far. Without blinking she pulled something from her pocket and tossed it at him, some kind of small dagger, which pinned him to the tree behind him by his shirt collar. When the others staggered, she drew her blade, handling it with remarkable ease, and the marquis raised his hand for his men to stay back.

  “Is this another trick?” the marquis said, raising his own rapier.

  “No, my Lord,” she said. “No more tricks. At least, not from me.” She must have noticed his hesitation. “And if you have any qualms about fighting a woman, I would point out that you already have, twice now.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You know what I want.”

  “We’re beyond the point of talking about marriages, Miss Bingley. We’ve all come too far for that. But a deal can be worked out for your life – and your silence. Would your illustrious family like to know about your nocturnal wanderings?”

  She didn’t flinch. Instead, she gave a scary, sick sort of laugh. “I think they already know – or else they’ve forgotten last year. What do you think a girl like me is doing in a proper English seminary, being taught manners and how to dress and how to act and all that nonsense?” She shook her head. “No, Monsieur de Maret – as you said, we’ve come too far for bargaining.” She raised her blade, digging her wooden shoes into the dirt beneath her. “Agreed?”

  “Agreed, Wolf.”