by Amy Cross
“Is that right?”
“You'd better believe it.”
“You seem very protective of your brother,” Quill replied, turning to her. “I was under the impression that the pair of you were not on good terms.”
“Your information is out-dated,” she told him. “Besides, it's one thing for us to bicker and have little fights, but when things get serious, you can bet your ass that I'm going to be standing right beside him.”
“Beside him?” Quill smiled. “I don't see you standing beside anyone. You're all alone.”
“I came here to give you a warning,” she continued. “Leave Edgar alone, leave Thaxos behind, and get the hell out of here. Forever.”
“Why isn't your brother here to deliver that warning himself?” Quill asked.
“None of your business. The truth is, whatever you've heard about Edgar Le Compte, I'm ten thousand times worse.”
“He must know by now that I'm here. After all, I left a little message for him on one of the walls of the stone chamber. Perhaps I should add a few more, although...” He paused, and slowly a smile crept across his lips .”Or perhaps Baron Le Compte is simply too scared to come and face me. Is that it? Is he cowering somewhere, driven mad by fear as he thinks back to our last encounter? I must say, I knew I'd made an impression on him, but I didn't realize I'd caused quite so much psychological damage.”
“Edgar's fine,” Madeleine said firmly. “All you need to know is that your plans are officially canceled. Consider yourself lucky that I'm giving you a chance to leave this island with your head still attached to your body.”
“And why are you being so generous?” Quill asked. “I would have thought you'd tear me apart as soon as you saw me, unless...” He paused, before glancing at her belly. “You're with child.”
“Let's focus on -”
“I understand now,” he continued. “Your brother is too weak or too scared to come and face me, so he has either sent you in his stead or you have come of your own accord. Ordinarily you'd try to fight me, but the child in your belly is holding you back, as if you're actually worried that it might get hurt.”
“Don't test that theory,” she said firmly. “You might get a nasty surprise.”
“I don't think so,” he continued, leaning heavily on his cane as he limped toward her. “Tell me something, Ms. Le Compte, why do you think I use this cane?”
“Because you're weak and old?”
“Try again.”
“Because you're just a husk, clinging to life?”
He smiled. “Try again. Once more.”
“Because you're rotting from the inside?” she suggested. “Because your soul is so foul, it's burning the rest of your body and you can't heal the injuries you suffered during the war?”
“Not quite,” he replied, as he reached her. “The truth is -” Letting out a faint gasp, he stood up straight and tossed the cane aside. The bones in his back made a faint cracking sound, as if they'd spent so long hunched over, they'd forgotten how to straighten. “The truth is that I find it useful to make my enemies think I'm weak, when in fact nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Is that -”
Before she could finish, Quill grabbed her by the throat and swung her around, slamming her into the stone wall with such force that a crack broke through the surface plaster.
“Listen to me,” he sneered, leaning closer as Madeleine struggled to push him away, “and listen carefully, because this is important. Tell your miserable brother that he'll need to come and see me himself if he actually wants to make any headway. Tell him he can send everyone else on this island, one by one, but none of them will get any closer to the truth. Tell him that I will kill every living soul on Thaxos unless Edgar Le Compte comes to me, kneels before me, and submits to my will. Tell him all of this, and don't forget to mention that time is running out. I won't remain patient for much longer, and if he doesn't come soon, I'll have to knock on his door.”
“Edgar will never kneel before you,” she gasped, struggling to get his hand off her throat. “He'll -”
“Careful,” Quill added, placing his other hand on her belly and starting to dig his fingers into her flesh. “You were right to be worried about hurting the child, Ms. Le Compte. It might be barely formed, but it could still get damaged. This child is the weakness that will undo you.” As Madeleine continued to struggle, Quill pushed his fingers harder still against her belly, until the tips of his fingernails began to tear deeper through her clothes and skin. “The last thing the world needs,” he sneered, “is yet another Le Compte. Perhaps it would be kinder of me to -”
“No!” Madeleine gasped.
“I should dig this one out,” he continued, as he started to slice his fingernails through her flesh. “It's still so young, it wouldn't last more than a few minutes outside your body. I could even help it along by stamping it into the ground.”
“No!” she shouted. “Please, stop!”
Smiling, he stepped back and let go of her neck, allowing her to drop breathless to the floor, gasping for air. Raising his other hand, he took a moment to examine the trace of blood on his nails.
“What kind of life will your child have,” he said after a moment, looking down at her, “if it is born on this dead rock, into a dying family?”
Pulling her shirt up, Madeleine saw that although Quill had cut her skin, the injuries were only flesh-deep. She wiped away the blood, while trying not to panic at the thought that any stress had been transferred to her unborn child.
“I do admire your pluck,” Quill continued, wiping his hand on his shirt. “I did my research, of course, and I was aware that Edgar Le Compte had a sister, but it never occurred to me that you might come barreling down here to confront me. I dare say that if you didn't have such a glaring vulnerability, I might have had to break out into something of a sweat while I killed you. As things stand, Ms. Le Compte, you're more useful to me alive. I'm going to let you go back to your miserable brother and deliver a message. Tell him that I'm here, and tell him that I'm waiting. Also tell him that the longer he waits, the more people on this pathetic island will die. I think I'll start in this town and work my way slowly up to that mansion on the hill, killing everyone I find.”
“Go to hell,” Madeleine hissed, struggling to her feet.
“Is that a threat?” Quill asked, stepping toward her. “I don't respond well to threats.”
She instinctively took a step back, before forcing herself to hold her ground. “This isn't going to work,” she told him, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “There's no way Edgar's going to bow down to you. He told me what happened in Sepphos, and about the war, and about everything!”
“He did?” Quill replied. “That surprises me.”
“He told me how the city was destroyed. He told me about the children who died, and he told me how you captured him and tortured him.”
“That's absolutely true,” Quill said with a smile, “but is that all he told you?”
“It's all I need to know.”
“Ask him about the Gulf of Narm,” Quill continued, as his smile faded. “Clearly he doesn't mind talking about all the dead hot-blooded vampire children, but what about the cold-blooded victims? What about the children who were ripped out of their own skin by your brother and his friends?”
“They were fighting to save people,” Madeleine said firmly, “not to slaughter innocents.”
“Those who win the war get to create myths and legends,” Quill pointed out, “while those who lose merely get trampled into the dirt. Your brother is a brave man, Madeleine, and I can't think of many things that would make him cower and refuse to come and face me. In fact, the only thing that could terrify him so much would be the realization that he has to face up to his own crimes. He might have come home as a conquering hero, but on the very last day of the great vampire war, he and his friends committed the greatest atrocity of all. Why else do you think all the cold-blooded children died?” He st
epped closer again. “Ask him about the nests in the Gulf of Narm. Ask him what happened when he and his werewolf friend decided to take their revenge. Make him tell you the truth, I dare you.”
“You're lying,” she whispered.
“Then simply ask him,” he continued, tilting his head slightly. “You'll know, when he answers, if he's telling you the truth.” Looking down at her belly, he smiled. “You're lucky, Ms. Le Compte, that I need you to deliver this message to your brother. Next time we meet, I promise you, I will slaughter you, and I'll rip that child from your belly as assuredly as your brother and his friend laid waste to the children of our nests. By the time I'm finished, Thaxos will be nothing more than a smoldering rock sticking out of the Mediterranean, and the ash of your brother's soul will run through my fingers like the sands of time.”
She stared at him.
“Boo!” he shouted, leaning closer.
She stepped back, bumping into the wall, before turning and hurrying to the door.
Smiling, Quill paused for a moment, listening to the sound of Madeleine running out of the station. Once she was gone, he turned and took his cane, before hunching over and starting to limp through to the cells, where he stopped in the doorway and watched for a moment as Jennifer Kazakos sat in the corner, staring down at the concrete floor.
“Not long now,” he whispered. “The slaughter of Thaxos will begin tomorrow, and the first victim will hang from a noose in the morning sun.”
Part Thirty-Six
I
They began to gather at dawn, nervously at first but with growing confidence as they watched the makeshift wooden stage being built. Some clung to the shadows around the cantina door, muttering to one another, wondering whether they were right about what was going to happen; others were more brazen, standing out in the morning sun, unable to help themselves as they watched the preparations. Finally, just before 9am, Quill arrived to inspect the carpenters' work, and the crowd began to edge closer.
“It's an awful thing,” whispered Muriel Wetherly, with tears in her eyes. “I know what she did, but still -”
“We can't let murderers get away with their crimes,” replied her husband Sebastian. “Not on Thaxos.”
“I thought we'd left this sort of thing in the past,” his wife said, turning to shuffle away. “I don't want to watch. Justice shouldn't be theater or entertainment.”
Nearby, Emma Lowndes was watching proceedings with barely-concealed glee. She'd barely even blinked for several minutes.
A little after half-past-nine, once the stage was complete, Quill thanked the builders and gave them the money they'd been promised. He took a moment to inspect their work, pushing the legs of the stage to make sure they were firm and admiring the tall gallows. After acknowledging the growing crowd with a nod and a wave, he took his cane and limped along the street, heading back to the police station. He moved slowly, wincing with pain at every step, but he refused all offers of help. As he said to one passerby:
“None of us should seek help for the burdens the Lord has sought to place on our shoulders. They were given to us for a reason.”
“Such a good man,” said someone nearby, with clear admiration in her voice. “We've been short of those on Thaxos for a while.”
Quill allowed himself a faint smile.
The journey to the station took almost half an hour, since he walked so slowly, but as soon as Quill stepped through the door he straightened up and set his cane aside. He checked to make sure that no-one was around, and then he strode confidently and quickly through to the cells, where he stopped at the bars and watched for a moment as he saw Jennifer Kazakos kneeling by the window, seemingly lost in prayer.
“Wake up,” he said with a smile, banging his knuckles against one of the bars. “It's time for justice to be served.”
***
Kneeling by the freshly-filled grave, Leonard Mediaci laid a single white rose on the ground. Tears were welling in his eyes, but he wiped them away, determined not to be weak.
“I don't know why she did this to you,” he whispered, his voice cracking a little with emotion, “but she isn't going to get away with it.” He reached down and placed a hand against the dirt. “It won't bring you back, but at least she'll face judgment. All thanks to Jonathan Quill. That man has brought sanity to this island.”
***
In the schoolhouse, Mrs. Beacham walked slowly past the rows of desks, setting out the day's books, ready for when the children would arrive a short while later.
***
Making his way along the quiet corridor, Jacob stopped for a moment and listened to the silence of the house. It was so rare for him to get a moment of peace and quiet, with everyone either away or asleep, and he found himself enjoying the chance to relax, if only for a few seconds. Life as the personal manservant of Edgar Le Compte was nothing if not eventful, and sometimes he even forgot about his own cares and concerns.
Feeling a twinge of pain in his back, he stopped and leaned against one of the tables for a moment. As his mind cleared, he reached into his pocket and took out a small leather pouch, which he opened so he could take a look at the tattered, faded photographer inside, which showed the face of a woman.
A faint smile crossed Jacob's lips, as he thought back to happier times.
And then he heard a noise nearby.
He quickly slipped the pouch away and, ignoring the pain in his back, he forced himself to stand upright, with the posture expected of a man in his profession. Heading to the hallway, he looked through and saw a figure stepping through the main door. For a moment, Jacob couldn't make out the figure's features in the low morning light, but finally he realized that his master had returned, and he couldn't help feel a hint of relief.
“Baron Le Compte,” he said, stepping forward, “I was starting to worry about you.”
“There was no need,” Edgar replied, staring down at the floor with wild, manic eyes. “I was simply...”
Jacob waited for his master to continue, but as he got closer he realized that something was wrong. Edgar seemed lost and preoccupied, while his skin and clothes were dirty and smeared with mud. Having been down in the underground chamber for several days, Edgar had been entirely consumed by the matter of the wooden carvings on the walls, and he'd paid no thought whatsoever to his own needs or to the basics of his health. Now, even though he had finally returned to the house, part of his mind was still in the chamber, still examining every detail of the carved images. It was as if the very first whispers of madness had gathered in his soul.
“Shall I...” Jacob paused, worried by the change in his master's demeanor. He had never seen Edgar like this, and he was worried about saying or doing the wrong thing. He knew of old that his master's temper could be shocking, and that it could arrive with no warning. “Shall I prepare a bath for you?”
Edgar paused, before turning to him with a frown. “A bath?” Another pause, as if the word meant nothing to him. “Yes. And then... And then bring me a change of clothes. I have been away for too long, and I need to get to work. Wake Nixon, too, and tell him to wait for me in my study. Tell him I might be a little while, though.” He made his way to the foot of the stairs, before turning back to Jacob. “And food. I need food, lots of it. Meat.”
As Jacob headed off to start with the list of tasks he'd just been given, Edgar looked down at his own right hand and saw that it was still trembling slightly. He had hoped that by returning to the house he might be able to banish the fear that had grown during his time in the chamber, but now he found that the fear had followed him home and had seemingly twisted its way into his soul. He was certain that he had to force the fear from his body as soon as possible, that he had to find the old passion and anger that had seemed to be an inescapable part of his identity.
He just didn't know how.
***
“But is she coming home today?” Anna asked. “She never goes away like this.”
“She'll be home soon,” Kate replied
, as she brushed the tangles from the little girl's hair. “Don't worry.”
“Where is she?”
“She's... having a little holiday.”
“Where?”
“Not too far away.”
“That can't be true,” Anna told her. “Thaxos is an island, so everywhere is either very close or very far away. There can't be any inbetween.”
Sighing, Kate realized she was never going to be able to win this particular conversation.
“I know when something's wrong,” Anna continued, with a worried look in her eyes. “You're lying about something.”
“No, I -”
“If she's not home when I get back from school, I'll know something's wrong.” She paused for a moment. “Should I try praying? I've never really known if that sort of thing works. Mother says it's for sops and fools, but I know other people who say God really listens.”
“Give it a go,” Kate replied, feeling a heavy sense of dread in her heart. “Right now, anything's worth a shot.”
***
Dropping the last of his tattered clothes to the floor, Edgar walked naked across the room. Every muscle ached, every inch of his body felt as if it had been pushed beyond its limits, yet he had not been in battle. Somehow, those days and nights spent hunched in the chamber had taken their toll, leaving him feeling weak and drained.
As he lowered himself into the bath of hot water, he flinched slightly as he felt his wounds stinging. He didn't even know how he'd managed to get so many cuts on his body, but he figured that he'd been so wrapped up in his work, he hadn't noticed most of them until now. Madness took many forms, and eventually it always demanded to be shown somehow on the body. Slowly, he began to peel away the loose and damaged skin, wincing a little as he felt the sting of freshly-exposed muscle below.
