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

by Joshua Grasso

  “When I first arrived I came here often, comforting myself with the thought that I could escape…with one fatal step. But of course I could never do it.”

  “Then take my hand; we’ll do it together,” she smiled.

  “Surely you jest,” he said, fearful of this unexpected intimacy. “Besides, once you marry you’ll soon be away. He would never stay here. No one willingly stays here.”

  “Is it so bad, really?” she asked, stooping to retrieve a stone. “Obviously, I’ve heard terrible rumors of a plague. But you’re still here…”

  “There’s no plague,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Many noblemen and women from the mainland came here to discreetly suffer from certain…unspeakable ailments. Their families passed it off as the plague. It’s the healthiest place on earth. You can live forever out here. And feel every minute of it…”

  “Incredible!” she laughed, throwing the stone. “How deceitful of them. But aside from the isolation, it seems quite beautiful. Is there something else…?”

  The Majordomo walked in agitated circles while stammering vague syllables. He finally committed to an answer, which was simply “it drives me mad.”

  “Mad? You seem quite sane to me. Bored silly, but sane.”

  “Of course it’s a lovely place; lovely for someone who’s had their fill of adventure, who’s traveled and explored to their heart’s content. Not someone like me. I’ve seen nothing,” he said, his head dropping. “I yearn to do some good in the world. Even to serve a proper master with distinction. But here…I’m merely waiting on death.”

  “And yet I almost envy your position,” she said, seeking the shade of a tree. “You can still choose your wife. Or not marry at all. You have the luxury of being overlooked. I, however, am conspicuous, a jewel to be bought and worn.”

  “At least you have worth. Not that I should be valued, signora; please forgive my prattling. I only mean to say…I wish to be of value to my employer, to someone who could recognize my gifts. Every servant desires to be made use of.”

  “But I do value you, Majordomo. But what a name—Majordomo! It’s a title! Who are you, really?”

  “My name is my title, signora. It’s the pride of my office.”

  “I’m not going to spend day after day calling you ‘Majordomo’. I can scarcely keep a straight face. Please indulge me.”

  The Majordomo couldn’t resist her pleading stare, which seemed to look upon him not as a broken armchabroken air but as a thoroughly respectable companion. Nevertheless, he broke down and admitted his given name was Lucas. Lucas Henry McDonald. Mary got up and offered him her hand, which he impulsively shrank from. Was she simply making fun of him? She laughed and insisted that she shake his hand and drop all this ridiculous formality. After all, they were hardly in the King’s Ballroom or dining in Stanislav Square. Lucas, fearing a trap and shaking in every nerve and muscle, extended his hand and felt it enfolded by her soft yet friendly grasp.

  “We shall be friends, Lucas. And I give you my word, I will get you off this island. For I mean to escape myself.”

  “Escape?” he coughed. “But when—how? Not before…your husband’s arrival?”

  “Before—quite soon—this instant!” she insisted. “But I need your help. You of all people should know the secrets of the island.”

  “I would know, signora?” he said, his heart failing him. “But I couldn’t possibly…there’s nowhere to go! Miles and miles of ocean! And no ships!”

  “Yes, that’s true. But we don’t need to escape, not really. Can you keep a secret?”

  Another secret? He had room for one, at best; two would split his seams, send truth gushing out every pore; he would spill at the slightest opportunity should someone ask. But yes, he nodded, he could keep her secret.

  “I’m being rescued,” she whispered. “My true love will come for me, it’s just a matter of time. But I need to escape the castle—go somewhere discreet where the Duke will never find me. Any ideas?”

  Lucas swallowed hard, realizing that the adventurous life and opportunities he had often wished for was here, right now, demanding an answer. And it scared the devil out of him. It was one thing to dream of living, but to actually do it, to throw everything aside for the prospect of happiness? Who was this woman, anyway? Was she mad? The way she spoke to servants and defied convention…she must have had a tremendous dowry for the Duke to put up with it. Unless he didn’t know her at all, which was distinctly possible. In which case allying one’s future with her was suicidal. Once the Duke got wind of it he would toss her out—perhaps abandon her on the island and go off to marry someone else (she could conveniently die of the plague, after all). And indeed, so could he.

  “You have to promise…take me with you,” he said, in a weak voice.

  “Didn’t I already promise?” she said. “You can live with us, and I’ll make sure you develop those talents and ideas of yours. Lucas, you can trust me.”

  He looked into her eyes and believed her. Sane or not, she had a good heart. Amazing she had kept it intact so long.

  “I know a place that might work,” he nodded, stirring up his conviction. “But it’s quite far. We’ll need to pack food and supplies. You’re up for it—a half-day’s march? Over rough terrain?”

  “Lucas, I’m up for anything—and so should you!” she beamed, embracing him.

  When she released him, he could scarcely think or speak. However, one thought troubled him even so: what if the rumors were true? What if the cave actually had…but no, they couldn’t be true. Like the plague it was simply one of tmply onehe colorful myths of the island. Though unlike the plague, the locals all claimed to have seen it at various times, though accounts differed on its size and appearance. The one thing they were adamant on was its location: the cave by the headless tower in the east hills. Everyone swore it lived there. At any rate, they would know soon enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Blackbeard passed a restless night full of splintered dreams. None of them bore retelling, but each one shared similar images and situations. He consistently found himself facing a tribunal of sorts, answering questions that only had one answer—the one they least wanted to hear. What was troubling him so? Hadn’t he made amends for his previous mistakes? Obviously there was still the question of Leopold: could he die without death, or would he live forever, frozen in the mask of a twenty-two year old? There were so many questions. Nevertheless, he had done what he had to do. Count Leopold was saved, Ivan was rescued, and now Mary would have to be snatched up and returned to her rightful place at Leopold’s side. Funny how each of these good deeds would meet with general disapproval—if not outright condemnation—from the powers-that-be. Hopefully they wouldn’t learn of his involvement.

  After his morning toilette, where he finally saw to his neglected beard, Blackbeard went downstairs to find Leopold and Ivan in a heated debate. The subject concerned the mysterious events of last night. Ivan thought about it over and over in bed, but might as well have been asked to recall his grandmother's childhood. Surely he would remember some fragment of the melee, a stray scrap of fear or defeat? Leopold brushed his concerns aside, assuring him that without him they would both be dead. How else could he have defeated his death?

  “Then why don’t I remember?” Ivan insisted. “It’s like I wasn’t even there!”

  “But you were there…unless I’m a liar,” Leopold said, icily. “Is that your implication?”

  “Don't be silly! My point is simply this: if I couldn’t help you then, when it most mattered, when can I help you? What use am I to you, who fainted away at the mere sight of death?”

  “Gentlemen,” Blackbeard intervened, “is this really necessary? We could quibble about the how’s and why’s of the matter eternally. But the truth is clear: you were there, Ivan. You did save his life.”

  “I can’t accept that in my heart. I feel as though I’ve betrayed him instead,” Ivan said, head in his hands.

  “You know,
many warriors remember nothing of the battles they’ve fought,” Blackbeard said, sitting beside him. “It’s all a blur, they say; that is, the ones who are honest. The others brag and boast and make themselves heroes in the grand manner. Don’t torture yourself needlessly. Besides, we have other matters to attend to.”

  “Mary,” Leopold nodded, anxiously.

  “That…and the matter of Ivan’s escape,” he said.

  “My escape?” Ivan said, distracted.

  “Yes, the word has spread and the Secret Council has been scouring the city streets for your whereabouts. Rumor has it that the current Count of Cinquefoil may be involved.”

  “Pah,” Leopold said, “they can’t prove anything. Besides, why would I want to save my father’s bastard? No offense.”

  “No, of course not…but you’re right, they would never guess the real reason,” Ivan nodded.

  “Nevertheless, you can’t be seen; we have to get you out of the country at once. But no road is safe. Eyes are everywhere. The price on your head is significant, considering you’re the first criminal ever to escape from the Dungeons.”

  “But what does this matter? We don’t even know where she is!” the Count exclaimed.

  “It matters a great deal, unless we want to save them the trouble of finding Ivan and execute him ourselves,” Blackbeard glowered. “Besides, I know exactly where she is.”

  “You do? But how? Magic?”

  “Magic…or the palace gossip,” he said, feeling his beard (clipped a bit short, he frowned). “A soldier whispered it to a servant who told the entire castle. She’s en route to the island of Cytheria, where she will be married to some Duke—a Russian, I believe.”

  “Married! She can’t be—she’s mine!” the Count gasped, leaping up.

  “Blackbeard, that’s several days journey from here, not to mention the difficulty of charting a vessel on such short notice,” Ivan said. “It would take days—”

  “Days? Impossible, we only have hours! Blackbeard, there has to be something you can do!” the Count raged, pacing the room, knocking into tables.

  “Count, calm yourself; I’ve thought of everything,” the sorcerer said, his eyes narrowing. “This is what I need you to do: tell your servants to prepare your carriage—you’re off to Belladonna at once.”

  “Belladonna? Are you mad?”

  “Hardly,” he said, meeting his crazed stare. “Do it at once. It’s a ploy, of course; the carriage will go without you. The Secret Council will assume Ivan is with you and follow you there—and out of the way. Meanwhile, we’ll be speedily off to Cytheria.”

  “Yes, of course; I’ll do it at once,” the Count nodded, exiting the chamber.

  Blackbeard waited until his steps vanished down the hallway, swallowed up by the castle’s deep silence, before continuing.

  “Ivan, I want you to go with him. But watch him closely. I fear the spell may have affected his wits.”

  “Aren’t you coming?” Ivan asked.

  “No, I want to stay here. I need to examine the box. I may have to reopen it.”

  “Reopen? But I thought—”

  “Yes, yes, his death is gone, that much is clear,” he nodded, impatiently. “But something else…the spell may have had unforeseen consequences. I need time to study it.”

  “I won’t leave his side, you have my word,” Ivan said. “However…I’m still a little confused about how to get there. No roads, no ships…”

  “You know how to fly, I trust?” Blackbeard said.

  “Fly?” Ivan laughed. “I don’t understand…”

  “Don’t worry, you will.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Lucas led Mary through the thick, fragrant forests of the island toward the hills in the east. Birds flew overhead, strange animals whistled all around them; even the trees seemed to bend in salute as they passed, curiously alive and watching. Only the plague seemed conspicuously absent. A fortunate misconception, she now realized. How quickly it would otherwise have been ruined, trees replaced with roads, towns, shops, and other places to spoil the view. It remained a fitting place for exile, a place to hide from the world and find yourself. A pity Lucas couldn’t see it.

  “There, do you see it?” he said, pointing at a shape dimly visible through the trees.

  “I see something…what is it?” she squinted.

  “What’s left of an old tower; it marks the opening of a cave,” he said, clearing a way forward. “It gets steeper here. Take my hand.”

  “I can manage,” she said, following him.

  They continued through the brush, ascending step by step until they were almost above the tree-line. The tower stood out prominently now, its top curiously missing, as if removed with a single stroke. The stones seemed older than the trees or anything else on the island. Lucas knew nothing about its origins; legends said that it had been built by the island’s original inhabitants, who mysteriously left one day and never returned. A terrible flood, some surmised…others believed they simply found a better island. As they approached the tower the mouth of the cave became visible, too. Strange markings surrounded the opening, most of them obscured by vines that tangled the entrance. It felt abandoned; not even animal tracks appeared to molest it.

  “This is as far as anyone goes,” Lucas said, with a grin. “You can’t get anyone on the island to so much as peep in. I figure it’s the safest place to be in caseb of a search party.”

  “Why? What’s inside?”

  “Oh, nothing—old legends. Probably something was once here, a wild boar or something,” he shrugged. “The locals claim a dragon lives here…you know, the type that breathes fire, hoards treasure, and comes out twice a year for prey.”

  “A dragon?” she repeated. “But surely…those can’t still exist, can they?”

  “

  “Only in nursery tales. You know the peasant’s imagination…anything to avoid doing work.”

  “Perhaps,” she muttered. “But I’ve seen things…things that would make a dragon quite reasonable by comparison. Are you sure—”

  “A dragon-fly, perhaps,” he said, with a disdainful gesture. “That’s what separates us from them, my lady; the ability to use our heads. Of course, if you would rather return to the castle…”

  “I’ll take my chances,” she said.

  It was quite dark inside, as if even the light thought twice about intruding. Only a thick odor emerged to greet them. A deep, smoky scent…not altogether unpleasant, but strangely unfamiliar. Gradually, their eyes adjusted to reveal a large central chamber. Yet it all seemed artificial somehow, as if a discerning eye had shaped it. An overwhelming sense of habitation filled the room. But where? Her eyes ran over the walls, the ceiling, in every corner and crevice. Nothing. Even Lucas seemed unnerved, no longer striding boldly forward; his face tightened, as if stubbornly avoiding the obvious.

  “How odd,” he finally said.

  He felt his way forward, Mary close behind him, reading the face of the rock. Again, it was too smooth to be natural; a conscious art went into the design of the room. Perhaps something had once lived here. Perhaps, like the tower, the cave was once the spoke of a great civilization, whose people—

  He was gone. She froze, crying out for him. Were the walls alive? Had something reached through and…but no, he was still here, she could hear him groaning in the distance.

  “Lucas!” she cried, the walls echoing, mocking her fear.

  “Don’t…move,” he moaned. “I fell. The ground…stops.”

  Mary knelt down, feeling the floor around her. As she slowly advanced her right hand went over. In the darkness, almost invisibly, the floor gave way to a cavernous pit. She couldn’t make out anything except Lucas’ voice, rising up to her with the smell—noticeably stronger now.

  “Are you hurt? How far did you fall?”

  “Not too far…but my back…landed on something. Don’t come.”

  “Reach for my hand!Reach fohanlmost i she cried.

  “Can�
��t…too far…”

  Mary squinted desperately into the pit, able to make out vague shapes, but not enough to judge how far or even where he was. There had to be something nearby, at least a stray branch to lower down. She felt in the darkness but only found small rocks and assorted debris, as well as one thing that felt curiously like a skull. She dropped it in horror as her fingers slipped through the eyeholes.

  “The floor—it’s moving,” Lucas said, dazed but alarmed.

  Mary could see it, too. A strange glistening in the darkness, like thousands of small creatures scurrying beneath. The accompanying sound paralyzed her, a great dull drumming from all sides. Not just the floor but the entire room—it was alive and moving!

  Mary froze, waiting for whatever was there to emerge. The terrible drumming slowed, replaced by a scarcely perceptible hum. It sounded distantly below, then moved closer, quickly surrounding her. It was now so close that she feared if she reached out…

  “Ah, humans,” a voice said.

  Something long and rough swept gently against her cheek. She shuddered but lacked the ability to move or cry out. The hum became more agitated, sounding from every direction. The echo of the dragon’s purr. What must have been its tail brushed across her and then vanished in the air; she could hear it swishing overhead.

  “Why have you come here? To rob me?”

  “No…no…I didn’t…” was all she could manage.

  “You don’t smell like a thief. You smell like…diamonds.”

  Mary tried to remain calm. Surely if it meant to eat them it would have done so. Unless like a cat it liked to toy with its food, torturing it by slow degrees…

  “Yes, you smell soft, pure, refined…I could add you to my collection.”