“I’m afraid so. Now and forever. This will be the last time I speak with you.”
“But it can’t be…you’ve done so much for us! Isn’t there anything we can do? Some spell, potion?”
“You can’t grow a Death,” he replied. “Everyone has their time, Leopold. It was written in the stars; I noticed it years ago. Not that I could read it exactly, but the possibility was there…that is, as soon as I crossed paths with you.”
“Blackbeard, if you knew this—even as a possibility—then why did you come?” Mary asked.
“For exactly that reason,” the sorcerer said, with a grin. “I’ve trained my entire life to do what other men shrank from. To accomplish incredible feats, to win glory. Not to shrink away from the light and die safely in bed! I died as a great sorcerer—perhaps the greatest that ever lived.”
“So you…wanted to die?”
“Perhaps not wanted as much as needed. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“But what if people don’t know?” Leopold asked, slumping against a bookshelf. “If you die, won’t your accomplishments be forgotten?”
“That’s why I’m counting on you. Keep them alive; tell stories. Write a book…well, have someone write a book,” he said, looking solemn. “It doesn’t have to be you.”
“Why not?” he scowled, crossing his arms. “I’ll certainly have enough time while we’re shipped off to the Colonies…”
“Nonsense, there has to be a way out of this!” Mary snapped. “What about tea? Is there any more tea?”
“No, I’m sorry, that spell only works once,” he said, sadly.
“Forget the spell, I’m parched! I always think better with tea.”
“Wait, I have a suggestion,” Ivan said, coming forward. “Can you…can I speak to him alone?”
Leopold stood aside and gestured to the mirror, which now reflected a strangely diminutive Hildigrim Blackbeard. He seemed to become almost insubstantial, the edges of his hat and cloak blurring away.
“Father…I don’t want you to leave. Not like this. If you could bring Leopold back from death through Mary, then what about you…through me?”
“No! Absolutely not,” Blackbeard said, waving him off.
“Why not? I understand the risks—and they’re worth taking,” he said, almost defiantly. “I feel destined to do this. Otherwise, why did we meet? Just so I could watch you die? No, that’s not fate—that’s negligence.”
“I can’t accept your sacrifice; it’s too much to offer,” Blackbeard said, closing his eyes. “Don’t tempt me further.”
“And was it any less for Mary?” Ivan asked. “Why her life and not mine?”
“She was willing, but you…you don’t understand. Nor would your mother; it’s what she feared from the beginning.”
“That’s just it, I want us to find her, I want us to make her understand. I can’t do that without you.”
“I’m not sure she will ever understand,” he said, shaking his head. “She wrote her story long ago; she can’t unread the past. If that’s all I can offer you—”
“No, it’s just the beginning,” he said, close to tears. “I want to learn from you, father. To know you. Even if it’s just for a year, a few months, it’s more than I was ever given. I spent my entire life trying to know you—the wrong you. I deserve this. I’m willing to sacrifice whatever remains of my wretched life, but in return I want this; I want to be with you and not have to wonder why.”
The hazy spirit said nothing, merely floating with downcast eyes. As his hands seemed to dissolve in the reflected air around them, his voice said, “I beg you to reconsider. I would willingly come back to you, Ivan. There’s so much I want to show you. I, too, yearned to know my son—a son I never even dreamed I had. But this spell…I would rob even more of your life. Just take the book and keep me by your side.”
“A book isn’t enough,” Ivan said, defiantly. “You don’t have much time. Let me help you. I’ve never asked for anything else.”
Leopold, Mary and Lucas watched breathlessly for Blackbeard’s response. His head looked up at them—not even a head now, just a collection of vapor—and spoke. But the words were too faint and indistinct. A second later his body collapsed into mist and silence.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Philip ordered his men to batter down the door, though remained well in the rear of the party (he had to oversee the troops, after all). The soldiers rudely hacked through the door, which gave surprisingly quickly; they kicked it aside and stormed up the stairwell like a parade of ants. Higher and hig alher they went, swords, axes, and bec de corbins at the ready. Philip watched them spiral toward the very top of the tower, where a single door stood between them and his foes.
“Hildigrim Blackbeard: open the door!” a solider demanded.
No response. They hesitated, since something felt out of place. The door… it had no handle, keyhole, hinges, or—
“What are you waiting for?” Philip shouted up to them. “Knock it down!”
The soldiers nodded and crashed forward. What looked like a door (in most respects, that is) turned out to be a cleverly disguised window. The first dozen soldiers toppled out and landed in a pond directly beneath the tower. A few others lurched backwards and went careening down the stairwell, the clatter of arms and armor echoing horribly against the walls. Philip screamed and ran for cover, hiding behind Leopold’s aunt, whose capacious skirts looked surprisingly like his mother’s. With a sigh she crossed her arms and waited for the dust to settle. The groans and curses of soldiers provided the sole conversation for some minutes. Finally, almost losing her patience, she called out, “Leopold! Enough of this tomfoolery! I want a word with you!”
A few feet away, a trap door opened and Leopold emerged, offering a hand to hoist up Mary, who helped up Lucas, who assisted Ivan, who hauled up an extremely bedraggled-looking fellow. Leopold’s aunt squinted angrily upon seeing him, since she didn’t know exactly what she was looking at. At one time it might have been human, even somewhat handsome, but now seemed washed-out, dried-up, stretched, flattened, frozen, burned, and left to die in a garret. The figure smiled, though not without considerable effort, and made a gesture of apology.
“Forgive me for my lack of hospitality, especially for such honored guests. But I’m afraid at the moment even tea is out of the question.”
“I want nothing to do with your tea,” she frowned, stepping away from him. “Though you may not remember, we’ve met before. And I didn’t particularly care for your brand of hospitality.”
“Aunt…forgive me, I didn’t know you were in the country,” Leopold said, with an awkward bow.
“I’ve come to mop up certain matters. Your mother is worried sick; the stories she’s heard—the most alarming reports! You did something with that chest, didn’t you? The one your father warned you about?”
“I…well, I’ve been meaning to write to you, if only I had a spare moment--”
“Believe me, I’m all ears. And who are these people? Is she the one they’re looking for outside? And this one…is that him?”
“Ah, how can I begin…there’s been a tremendous misunderstanding. If we could only sit down and attempt to explain—”
“Explanations!” Philip thundered, jumping out from behind the aunt’s skirts, “Spare me your useless explanations! You’re all under arrest! The list of crimes committed today alone warrant the block! And you—wizard, conjurer, or whatever you call yourself; how dare you risk the lives of my men with your juggling arts! I have special tortures in store for you, a host of savage devices—”
Blackbeard seized his hand and held it in a terrifying grasp. Philip shouted, pulled, shrieked and twisted his body from side to side. Nothing worked. The sorcerer pulled him closer and looked deep into his eyes, eyes that reflected a total lack of understanding—and a deepening pool of dread.
“I see your crimes, l closer aittle one. I’ve crossed the bridge of death to find you. To make you account for your sins
. There’s no escaping me.”
“Let…let go…” he gasped, turned pale.
“Not so fast. Your father gave me a message to take back with me. He’s been trying to contact you for a long time. Would you like to hear it?”
Philip fainted on the spot.
“Pity. He said he forgave him; that he takes full responsibility for making his son the monster he is today,” Blackbeard said, dropping the hand.
“If we’re quite done with these theatrics, I mean to have an explanation—from you, from my nephew, from anyone with the sense to give one!” Leopold’s aunt shouted, stamping her foot.
“Madame, I’m at your command,” Blackbeard bowed. “Why don’t we retire to someplace more suitable for polite conversation. I’m in desperate need to refresh myself…I’ve had quite a tiring journey.”
“And you smell like the devil!” she muttered. “Yes, very well, we’ll take the entire entourage back to town. But I mean to have a through accounting for all this business with arrests, abductions, and whatever it is that came out of that chest!”
“Everything aunt, I promise you,” Leopold said, gesturing her outside. “If we could just go someplace more private—”
“Just tell me one thing first,” she said, staring him down. “This girl behind you: are you in love with her?”
Mary pressed against him, their hands held tight. He looked back at her and nodded vigorously.
“I see,” she said, with a click of her tongue. “Then that settles it. I’ll speak to her father—not the most charming man, incidentally. We’ll have everything patched up by morning.”
“Patched up?” he repeated.
“Patched up, resolved, married. I need to have something good to write your mother about. Unless you object?”
The lovers exchanged astonished glances. His aunt whisked out of the tower, quickly followed by the pair, Lucas, and whatever soldiers could find their feet. Ivan lingered a moment longer to help his father, whose show of confidence had taken a heavy toll. His knees buckled, and only with support did he totter outside, his pale, trembling hands clutching his son’s arm.
“I fear you’ve made a fool’s bargain,” he said, with a cough. “I’ll be of little use to you now.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Ivan said, sternly. “Can you walk? A few more steps…we’ll get you into the coach.”
“What would your mother think, eh? Joining forces with Hildigrim Blackbeard?”
“I think she knew,” he said, with a grin. “That’s why she left me. She knew I would learn the truth.”
“If so, it was a work of great cunning, perhaps her greatest work of magic. I wonder if she—”
Blackbeard stumbled, though fell safely in Ivan’s grasp. Ivan waited until the sorcerer nodded with assurance, then they continued. Lucas raced ahead, opening the coach door to receive them. Blackbeard took a last, nostalgic look at the tower, his eyes shimmering.
“I’m afraid I can never return. I’ll have to go abroad, find a new hiding place. As a magician it’s best not to leave a calling card.”
“You mean we will. We’re have to gconnected now, remember?”
“Of course, forgive me,” he said, grinning. “I trust you’re in good health?”
Chapter Sixty-Four
The party retired to a large apartment in the center of town, which had belonged to one of her husbands (he wasn’t sure which one; his aunt had married twice—a third was annulled). Leopold remembered it from his childhood; they had stayed here during the Coronation of ‘43, one of the last times he had experienced illness. His aunt quickly took charge of things, marshalling Mary’s father this way and that, dismissing troops, ordering wine and dessert. Once everyone was settled with refreshments, she excused herself for a private audience with Mary’s father. He clearly wasn’t used to such treatment, especially by a woman a few years his junior (or so he flattered himself—she was a full decade younger than him). He tried to protest, but she cut him off, motioning him severely into a small room where her servants waited. Gritting his teeth, he shuffled off with an astonished look at his daughter, as if to say, “and you want these people to be our relations!” The door closed with a resounding thud as if swallowing him up for good. Leopold couldn’t resist; he listened anxiously at the door, hearing little beyond his aunt’s calm, measured voice—but not the words she spoke.
“Anything?” Mary asked.
He shrugged pitifully. His aunt’s voice continued, with an occasional pause for someone else to speak, though he couldn’t hear any responses or objections. A half hour passed before he heard chairs scrape against the floor and feet stamp sullenly toward the exit. He hastily returned to his seat to find Ivan, Blackbeard, and Lucas deep into danishes and second glasses of wine.
Mary’s father came out utterly defeated. No one knew quite how, but he not only agreed to the match, but offered a considerable dowry—equal to what he had promised the Duke, which was extravagant to begin with! Leopold’s aunt smiled beneficently, gesturing to the young lovers. They rose reluctantly and approached. She took their hands and united them, smiling with what appeared to be heartfelt joy (perhaps more for her negotiating savvy than any true sentiment for the couple themselves).
“Gentlemen, I invite you to share my joy in proclaiming the engagement of my nephew, Count Leopold of Cinquefoil to Lady Mary Bianca Domenica de Grassini Algarotti. Their marriage date has been set for six weeks hence, at our ancestral estate in Hastings Glen. I trust you will join me in congratulating the young woman’s father in the union of our noble families!”
A series of toasts followed, all of which were grudgingly accepted by her father, who muttered into his glass. Leopold turned to Mary, his heart brimming with feelings he could scarcely contain; he took her hand and prepared to whisk her away to some private chamber, where they could—
“Ah, not so fast!” his aunt said, catching Mary’s sleeve. “I want a few words with this one…in private. I trust you won’t object?”
Leopold struggled for a moment, but realized his aunt would brook no delay. Mary laughed in her eyes before disappearing with his aunt into yet another room, behind another closed door, with goodness-knows-what being said. With a sigh he returned to his chair, where Ivan nudged a replenished glass across the table.
“Cheer up, brother! She’s yours now. And I can honestly say you deseprirve her.”
“Thank you,” he said, after taking a sip. “I can hardly believe…it’s over. I am right in saying that?”
“You’ll get no objection from me,” Blackbeard said, draining his glass. “I only hope I’m far away before you go tampering with another chest.”
“Another?” he gasped, choking on his wine. “Surely you don’t—”
“Your father was a man of many secrets. Perhaps you unearthed the worst of them, but there are others, waiting for curious, nimble fingers.”
“Oh no, I’m through picking locks!” he said, slamming down his glass. “I only have one life left to live and I mean to enjoy it!”
“Then I wish you luck,” the sorcerer said, raising his glass. “Does anyone have the time?”
Lucas removed his pocket watch, which remarkably still worked after all their adventures, and rattled off, “eight minutes past ten.”
“So late?” he mused, looking off into the distance. “Ivan, we should be going soon. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
“But you’re in no state to travel!” he protested. “Perhaps in a few weeks, after a suitable period of rest—”
“If I wanted rest I might have stayed over there,” he said, suggesting the world beyond. “No, now that my tower is gone we must make haste to find another…ah, well, no need to announce our intentions. Some things must remain mum between master and student.”
Leopold only shrugged, as if to say, “why should I care—I certainly don’t mean to follow you!” Blackbeard flicked his glass to make it ping with a musical note, and then rose from his chair, waving off Ivan
’s offer to assist him.
“I trust you found everything satisfactory…with the spell and my overall performance, despite a few minor—and quite unavoidable—setbacks?” he asked.
“What? Oh yes, yes, naturally,” the Count nodded. “Very satisfactory.”
“Then with your permission I’ll have that letter now.”
“Letter?”
“Don’t you remember? At the beginning of our business, I requested an open pardon, in writing, that covers any and all activities for the next fifty years affixed with your signature and official stamp. I still require one.”
Leopold laughed, since he suddenly remembered the entire thing—and a damn foolish request it seemed at the time! Now, however, he had no compunctions whatever. He nodded anxiously and gestured to Lucas.
“Lucas, can you fetch me some paper? I’ll draw it up on the spot. Though, to be honest, I’m not sure what good it will do.”
“Let that me my concern,” Blackbeard said, inclining his head.
Moments later, the contract was drawn up, stating that, in short,
Hildigrim Blackbeard, Conjurer-Magician and Sorcerer of the Sixth-Circle and personal friend to the Count of Cinquefoil, is hereby excused of any catastrophes resulting from his magical practices for the next fifty years, only excepting any explicitly treasonous acts or transformations of the royal family. This pardon extends to all portions of the realm, even the Northern and Far Eastern Colonies, and should be honored by all loyal subjects of the realm. I hereby affix my stamp as the Eighth Count of Cinquefoil on this year of 458, in the month of July, on the twentieth day of the month.
The sorcerer looked it over with a satisfied grin.
“Excellent, this is just the thing! I thank you for your generosity, Count Leopold,” Blackbeard said, tucking it away in his sleeve.
“No, please…thank you,” he said, offering his hand. “You’ve given me far more than my life. You’ve given me a reason to live it.”
“It’s the least I owe your father, for his kindness ages ago,” Blackbeard said, accepting his hand. “But I’m delighted to be of service to the next generation. I regret I won’t be in the country to attend your wedding. In a few years, perhaps, I may look in on you….just to see how you’re getting on.”
The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) Page 21
