"Can I see...the box?" she asked.
He suddenly felt wide awake. How to answer that!
"Whatever for, my love?" he replied, taking her hand. "It's empty now, of course. Nothing to fear."
"Then why did you lock it?"
"Did I? Oh yes, I suppose I did...rather thoughtless of me. Instinct, I suppose. It just felt the right thing to do."
"I know this sounds odd, and perhaps this is also mere instinct talking...but I want you to open it. I want to see inside it."
He turned away, realizing that this was a test of sorts. Damn the box! He should have burned it, thrown it into the ocean, had it shot from a cannon. Its very presence implicated him, whispered behind his back. How could he be Leopold when it remained to tell everyone he was not?
"I wish I could, but the keys, you see...I don't have them. That very night, the first night of my liberation...I flung them off the tower. I watched them sail into the moonlight and vanish beneath the tree line. Gone forever."
"But what if we needed to open it, for whatever reason?" she asked, almost desperately. "What if...something was still inside?"
He turned pale--or at least felt he did. He couldn't control his thoughts or emotions. Before this they had existed as one, a single will, a conviction. Now everything depended on something else. Though he told himself that she knew nothing, a simple question sent him spinning, scrambling, desperate to confess it all—that he was his shadow! How incredibly stupid, to be defeated in this way (and by a woman)! He knew this, felt it throughout his being, and yet whenever she looked at him and spoke...all thoughts swam away.
"There's nothing left, I can assure you. We made quite sure."
"But Ivan isn't sure. I would feel better...if I could just see. If I could know for myself."
"The key...it's gone!" he gestured. "I don't know what else to say."
"You could find it. It's out there, somewhere," she insisted, eyes searching him out. "We could find it."
"To look through the entire forest?" he laughed. "It would take days, perhaps even months! And even then…”
"It's a smÀuot;It'sall favor to ask...I want to know it's gone. Forever."
He checked an overwhelming impulse to shake her. Stupid girl—look through the forest for days and nights for a key he hid in his boot! She knew now, didn't she? She knew he was hiding something. So now he had to go through the farce of pretending to look instead of celebrating their wedding. There was no other choice; he had come too far to abandon his plans. After a few days she would see the futility of it all, and perhaps his strength would return...she would be convinced, given time. Yet just she needed time away from the sorcerer. He had to remove him.
"Then I grant you this favor, and repent the foolish impulse of throwing it away," he said, kissing her hand. "We'll start tomorrow morning...I fear the light is already declining for a protracted search."
"Yes, and you need your rest," she said, kissing his forehead. "In the morning."
He wanted to keep her with him, but already his eyes grew dim and the world of dreams tugged at his shoulders. He sank greedily into the bed, waving her off...there would be time to think tonight...time to meet with the sorcerer and ensure his cooperation. Soon...
Mary closed the door behind her and walked briskly down the hallway. As she approached the stairwell a voice whispered out of the shadows. She nodded, staring pensively toward his room.
"He's lying. He still has it...but I don't know why."
Chapter Forty-One
The following day Mary followed Leopold into the woods to find the missing key. They both knew it was futile, though Mary spent more time looking for 'him' as they did so. What was he hiding? Why go through this elaborate farce? What did he fear? Meanwhile, Leopold stole anxious glances at her, smiling all the while. How does she know? What does she know? Perhaps he should find it, if only to prove...what, exactly? Proving one thing would reveal another, and before long he would be forced to open the box. No, it could never be opened, they could never find it. How ever many weary hours he had to endure the sun and flies and her relentless questions.
"Anything yet?" she asked.
"No, nothing...I fear it's hopeless. Perhaps we should abandon our quest."
"So soon? Can't we keep looking? We're bound to find it, especially if you said--"
"Yes, I know very well what I said," he muttered, turning away.
Mary stared after him. This was more than a missing (or hidden) key; something quite unpleasant was behind this. He was becoming peevish, even resentful of her presence. She could see the way his eyes swept over her, as if wanting to push her into a ravine where she would never emerge. A strange elopement, searching for lies in a forest of murder and revenge!
"Leopold, ƀI've had all of this I can stand. What are you doing?" she insisted.
"What am I doing?" he said, almost laughing. "Why, I thought I was searching for this key you want me to find...or have our plans changed, my love?"
"There's no need to insult me," she snapped. "I don't enjoy playing games."
"Playing games! You think I enjoy crawling on my hands and knees looking for keys—"
"There is no key!" she shouted, pushing him. "I knew we wouldn't find it! I just wanted to see how far you go. To your grave, apparently!"
"What do you mean, no key?" he repeated, losing steam.
"You're lying! I don't know why, or about what, but everything else is clear. There's no key...or at least, it's not here. But you know where it is. Why can't we open the box?"
"Don't be foolish; I threw it away—didn't I say so? I wanted it closed forever. Please, enough of this, it's over now," he said, crossing his arms.
"Nothing is over--not when you're acting like this!" she said, grabbing him. "Listen to me—listen! Where is it?"
"I told you--"
"Why, Leopold? Can you really look at me and lie like this? As if I don't matter?"
"Mary...don't make me--"
"What? Tell the truth? Or something worse? You think I can't take it? What is it--what did you do with the key?"
"What do you want me to say? I don't know!" he said, shaking her off. "I can't think...I'm so confused and weary all the time...just leave me be!"
He stumbled away, trying to run without the strength to do so. A misstep sent him careening into a stump where he collapsed heavily on the ground. He was out. Mary ran over to him, her anger faded; she felt him all over, relieved that he wasn't hurt. No, just sound asleep.
"Why can't you trust me?" she asked, stroking his face. "I've never kept anything from you."
She kissed him but felt no response. That is, there was no warmth, no feeling of the human beneath. Just flesh. Just stone. Angrily, she began searching through his pockets, up his sleeves, anywhere he might hide an errant key. Where was it? In sheer desperation, she felt through his trousers--fighting a powerful blush as she did so (if her mother could see her now!). No secret pouches or hidden ˀes or hipockets. Noticing one of his boots was loose she removed it, shaking it out. Finding nothing she tried the other. Nothing--
Plink! Something small fell out and bounced along the ground. Her eyes widened and before she could understand what she found, her arm shot out and her fingers closed over a cold, metallic key. The key. Zounds, she thought to herself, I've found it! I've got to take it to Blackbeard!
But she couldn't leave Leopold alone, passed out in the forest for anyone to discover. So she discreetly tucked it into her clothing, hoping he wouldn't notice when he came to. When he finally did--close to an hour later--he seemed to have forgotten the entire incident. He apologized for 'dozing off' and brushed himself clean.
"No key?" he asked.
"No key," she shrugged.
"I'm sorry...it's a big forest. I was thoughtless."
"You don't need to explain. In fact, I think we've looked enough for today. Maybe it is pointless," she said, taking his arm.
"But I thought...you want to go?"
"We've do
ne what we could. Perhaps tomorrow," she said, nudging him forward.
He followed her through the forest, though a nagging doubt remained. Why would she yield the search so abruptly when just moments ago (or so it seemed) she had been so desperate about looking, looking, looking? Her brutal insistence had made him think—for only the briefest of seconds—of doing her physical harm. Nothing terrible, of course...just a wrench of the arm, perhaps a good smack to reassert his position. Yes, she would have to learn her place. Leopold had given her far too much authority. He would correct that...but not now, some other time. When he felt better. After a good night's sleep. As they walked off, he moved his foot about, looking for the familiar stab of the key. It must have bounced into a corner just out of reach of his toes.
As they neared the palace, Lucas flagged her down, running breathlessly to greet them.
"I just came to find you! Blackbeard says a large party is approaching the castle. We've got to get you inside."
"Not my father!" she gasped.
But Lucas only shrugged, insisting on all possible haste. Once inside Leopold excused himself--"just a brief nap, only a few minutes"--leaving Mary to find Ivan and the sorcerer. Ivan found her first, dancing out of the shadows with eager, imploring eyes.
"Anything?"
She nodded but pushed past him. Blackbeard was just beyond, glowering over a cup of tea. He didn't look up but acknowledged her presence with a brusque, "we have visitors. Looking for the Count."
"We'll have to stall them. I found this."
She shook her sleeve until the key rang sharply on the table. The sorcerer hastily swatted his hand over it, eyebrows raised.
"How did you...?"
"In his boot. Now let's go. I want to see it."
Blackbeard nodded, whisking the key into a pocket.
"You," he said, indicating Lucas, "have the servants make some pretense when they come to the door. If they insist upon entering, meet them and make excuses...but above all, do not let them see the Count."
"Of course; I'm very good at this sort of thing," he said, with a bow.
Chapter Forty-Two
Something seemed alive in the box. Whenever she looked at it, especially since they opened it, she could almost hear voices, almost detect the slightest movement from the corner of her eye (but never when she was looking). Now that they were before it again, key in hand, she felt terrified; what would they unleash this time? Apparently Blackbeard felt much the same. He pulled his beard and narrowed his eyes, weighing this and that possibility. Yes, they had to open it, to see what remained, or what had never been destroyed in the first place. Some terrible secret had been kept, though why Leopold saw fit to conceal it defied explanation. The sorcerer looked back at the others for encouragement. Ivan nodded. Mary crossed her arms.
"And if it's in there?" she asked.
"It is in there—weakened, perhaps, but we'll find it alive," he said. "We must be ready for anything. The devil alone knows what form it will take."
"It won't escape me this time," Ivan said.
"Go on...open it," she insisted.
With a last show of reluctance, Blackbeard removed the key and inserted it into the first lock. Click. The lock swung open and fell to the floor. Mary's heart jumped. Then the second lock: click! It, too, rattled against cold stone. She seemed to hear something faintly: the sound of wind...or was it waves? Now for the third: click! Blackbeard drew a breath. The lock was removed and tossed aside. He heaved open the chest and took a step back, but nothing emerged. No sounds, no eyes, no tentacles or childish voices.
"Where is it?" Ivan asked.
"I don't know...deep inside, perhaps."
Mary pushed her way forward and looked in. There was no bottom. She seemed to be looking into a pool of water, shimmering with lights and reflecting the world above. Yet the reflection showed nothing of their world: instead she saw sunlight, clouds, and dancing seagulls. She reached inside—but Blackbeard caught her arm.
"No—it's too dangerous!" he cautioned.p
"Dangerous? You warn me of danger now?" she snapped.
"Please, I should be the one to go," Ivan insisted.
"You? You had your chance, and a fine mess you made of it, too!"
"Neither of you can go in—it's out of the question."
Mary started defiantly at Ivan. With a mixture of affection and guilt he stepped aside, knowing it was the wrong decision. She then confronted Blackbeard, determined to go inside and face whatever remained—to strangle it with her own two hands if necessary. He remained in front of the box, a pathetic guardian, pleading with fearful eyes.
"I won't be able to help you," he warned.
"I can help myself," she said.
"Mary, I must insist—”
"You’re wasting words with me, sorcerer. Right now, the only words I understand are Leopold and the box. And I intend to go through one to get the other. Now stand aside."
They both conceded. Blackbeard helped her into the box and cautioned her: the Death would trick her, use all means of flattery and deceit. Trust nothing. Find out what you can and return quickly. Don't risk your life unnecessarily. Think of him.
"I always think of him," she said, and vanished into the box.
"She's gone," Ivan whispered.
"Have a little faith," the sorcerer admonished, perhaps more to himself than Ivan.
It felt like slipping through the water. Something enveloped her, closed over her head, and then...she was on the shore. The seagulls, the smell of spray, distantly crashing waves. What was this? She walked toward the water, her feet sinking into the wet sand, leaving a trail behind her. Everything looked and felt so real, and yet it had to be a spell, a mere trick of the monster. She called out "hello!" A foolish thing to do, she suspected. But nothing responded.
The waves rushed out to greet her. She shivered as the icy coldness brushed against her ankles. Surely this was no illusion! She knelt down and scooped up the sand, coming up with a seashell; pressing it against her ear she heard the echo of the ocean. Everything was here, to the smallest detail. But why? Why create all this illusion simply to disguise its presence?
Scanning over the horizon--which was curiously absent of life--she heard something. Deep within the silence of the shore was a quiver of breath. It must be behind her. She would be ready--to do what, she didn't know, but it wouldn't take her without a fight. Clenching her jaw she slowly, defiantly, turned to face it.
"Leopold!" she gasped.
He was buried up to his neck in the sand, tucked away in a shadow just out of sight. She ran to him but stopped short. Of course this wasn't Leopold but it...in exactly the form it knew she would respond to. Tears welled from her eyesӀfrom her as imagined his torment, the most terrible vision in a nightmare of hell. But it's not him! It can't be! I was just with him!
"Mary?" he said, looking up. "You're...here? But how?"
"It’s not you," she said, utterly without conviction.
"Where is he?" he said, suddenly agitated. "Did he trap you? Is Ivan still here? What about Blackbeard? Did he find him, too?"
"You're not dead...he said he killed you," she said, ignoring him. "Why didn't he kill you?"
"What did it tell you? Mary, it took Ivan--it tricked me down here. I couldn't stop him and I lost the sword. Did you see him? Did he try...did he come to you as me?"
Mary fell to her knees in confusion. Blackbeard warned her: it would use all means of flattery and deceit. But this...this was beyond cruelty. She knew it couldn't be him. Yet why wasn't it dead? Did Leopold's courage fail him at the last second? Did he behold his Death and feel compassion? And if so, it remained for her to do it...she had to remove all trace of love or compassion. She had to set him free.
"He said you wouldn't know the difference, but you're here now--you did know. You knew it wasn't me," he said.
"Liar," she said, angrily. "He couldn't kill you, but I can...I've seen what you're doing to him. Killing him by slow degrees. That's the pri
ce for his compassion!"
"Mary, no! I'm here--that isn't me! He took my face, my voice, everything about me except the one thing he couldn't steal. That's still here. That's what loves you. Mary, you must believe me...surely you see that isn't me!"
Evil and callous. It would do anything to defeat her. She cursed him through tears, turning away. How could she kill him? Even to know that he was a monster, some filthy abomination assuming his likeness...she still had to strangle his throat, look into his screaming eyes and block out his pleading voice. What did she love? The man…or his looks? Could there be one without the other?
"You know I have to kill you. I have to save him. Do as you will, try to poison my mind and extinguish my heart; I'll do it and rejoice in it.”
"Mary! Listen to me; if I could have killed it I would have! I would have never left it alive; it tricked us both--just as it's tricking you! Mary, you can't--"
"Be silent and die! I won't listen!" she screamed.
And with that she reached out to kill him.
Chapter Forty-Three
She grabbed him--but her arms went limp at his throat. She couldn't do it. Leopold's eyes bugged out at her, his face frozen in love and desperation. I have to--he'll die if I don't! She willed herself to grab hրvim; her hands seized his throat, tried to press down, watery eyes clenched firmly shut. Just a minute or two, then I can rest!
"Mary! No! Listen!" he rasped.
Her hands flew up to her ears. She couldn't do it and hear him, hear the voice full of pain begging for mercy. She could deny him nothing. Even if he was only an ‘it,’ a thing that masqueraded as the man she loved. She loved them both: the man and the mask.
A rock...I just need one big enough to kill him. A single blow. I wouldn't even have to get close.
She looked around in vain. No rocks--at least, none small enough to move. It had planned everything, it seemed. It knew she couldn't go through with it.
The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) Page 13
