by Bryan Davis
“Such is the thirst for the macabre.”
Maelstrom laughed. “It seems that the loudest among us are the most fluent in hypocrisy.”
“Gregor!” Orion called. “Come and install this rope.”
“Now the witches’ stake,” Maelstrom said. “I would like to inspect it.”
More footsteps signaled their descent from the platform. Marcelle crawled to the access hole and looked toward the stake. Maelstrom caressed the top as if he were petting a cat. A sword hung at his hip instead of a dagger, and his cheek still bulged. Whatever he was chewing, he never spat the juices, so it probably wasn’t tobacco.
“This old piece of wood needs a coat of protectant,” he said, his voice barely audible now. “It has not felt the flames in a long time.”
Orion nodded. “Too long, but I am no hypocrite. I refuse to condemn a witch or a Diviner without proof. If, however, you’re right about Marcelle, I will gladly light the wood myself.”
“And I would never refuse you the pleasure.” Still rubbing the stake, Maelstrom seemed to be speaking to the wood. “I look forward, my dear, to watching you embrace your lover with arms of exquisite torture. Your caress will make the witch writhe in blissful agony. The crowds will gasp in mock dismay, but they will never take their eyes off you and your partner as you simmer together in mortal ecstasy.”
Heavy footsteps pounded up the gallows stairs, then a voice sounded directly above Marcelle. “Governor,” Gregor said, “you have fifteen minutes until the court convenes.”
Orion turned. “Very good. Perhaps the gallows will receive a certain archives keeper soon.”
“And a banker,” Maelstrom added.
Marcelle dug her fingers into the ground. They intended to hang Father and Professor Dunwoody. She felt for her sword. It was still there. With this crazy dream acting in such unpredictable ways, she couldn’t be sure of anything. Since there could be no permanent consequences in a dream, maybe jumping out and whacking their heads off would be the best option. Still, what might she learn in the deep recesses of her mind if she let the dream play out? She had already invented a new torture device in Maelstrom’s hanging rope, copying the Relfections Crystal’s ability to detect truth and falsehood. This could be an interesting adventure, and no harm could come no matter what she chose.
After waiting for Orion and Maelstrom to return to the palace, Marcelle crawled out from under the platform and rose to her feet. Gregor stood on a box, tying the rope to the beam that hung over the trapdoor.
“Excuse me, Gregor, may I ask you a question?”
He teetered on the box, nearly losing his balance. “Marcelle!” he hissed. “What are you doing here?”
Smiling, she offered a mock bow. “I need to rescue my father and Dunwoody. Where are they right now?”
“In the holding chamber next to the upper courtroom.” Glancing at the palace, he hopped down to the ground, keeping his body between Marcelle and the palace door. “You’d better get out of here. Orion wants to spill your blood.”
“Well, he won’t get blood.” She grinned. “I don’t have any.”
“Seeing how pale you are, I can believe that.” He grabbed her shoulders, then jerked back. “You’re as cold as ice!”
“I know. It’s all part of the dream, I suppose.”
“The dream? What are you talking about?”
She spread out her arms. “This is all my dream. It can’t be real. I’m ice cold and white as a sheet. I passed through a small hole in a pile of rocks. I have no heartbeat.”
“No heartbeat?”
She extended a hand. “Here. Feel for a pulse.”
He backed away a step, his brow deeply bent. “I think your illness is affecting your mind. I’m awake, so you cannot be dreaming.”
“It’s no surprise that a figment of my imagination would say that.” Marcelle walked past him. “The adventure should be exhilarating. At least I can’t get hurt this way.”
Gregor pulled her back and drew her close. “Listen to me,” he whispered, his eyes focused on hers. “Put that thought out of your mind immediately. I don’t know what devilry has infected you, but if you don’t come to your senses, your recklessness will be the death of you and your father. If you march into the courtroom to defend your father while looking like this, Orion and Maelstrom will kill you both, you as a witch and your father as a heretic who supports witches. And old Dunwoody will be on trial as well, though I have no idea what they’re charging him with.”
“Interesting.” Marcelle looked at Gregor’s sincere face. Maybe his counsel was part of the dream adventure. Saving her father by stealth could be more exciting than a direct assault, and the mental effort could stimulate her physical brain and promote healing. “Will you help me?”
“To save your good father, I would give my life.” Gregor winked. “For you, however, I would merely sacrifice an arm and a leg. We have to be wary about entanglements with witches, you know.”
Marcelle clasped his arm. “Very well, then. Do you have the keys to the holding cell?”
“I have a key that works in every cell in the palace.”
She held out her hand. “Then give it to me. I’ll need access to the prisoners.”
“Let’s think for a minute.” He pushed her hand down. “Maelstrom brought a personal military force from Tarkton, and two of them guard the door. I can employ a distraction to allow you to slip inside, but you wouldn’t have time to flee with your father and Dunwoody. They’re too slow, and you won’t be able to fight your way out. I’m sure you can best one of the guards, but I’m not so sure about both at the same time.”
“I see you got another sword,” she said, touching the hilt at his belt. “The two of us could handle them. Remember, you said you’d give your life for my father.”
“Indeed, but I prefer an alternative to death.”
“If you have a plan, then tell me.”
Gregor glanced between Marcelle and the palace, still shielding her with his wide body. “I think they arrested your father and Dunwoody to lure you out of hiding. They know you won’t stand idly by while they’re being executed.”
“That’s true, but I can’t just let it happen.”
“I know you can’t, but we can use their zeal against them.”
“How?”
“Get the two guards to chase you, and I’ll get the prisoners out.”
Marcelle stroked her chin. That could work. And maybe she could disable at least one of the guards in the process. If she were to be captured, that would matter little. Facing Orion and Maelstrom in the courtroom while her father was safely hidden could be entertaining. “I like the idea. How shall we proceed?”
Gregor took off his cloak and wrapped it around Marcelle, pulling it closed over her face. “You are now my ill mother who fears spreading a contagion. That will keep people from getting too close. When we get near the courtroom, we will go to the holding cell, but stay far enough away from the cell so the guards can’t see you. Then, when I speak to them, come closer and drop the cloak. While you run, I will do the rest.”
Marcelle pulled the cloak tight and peeked through a tiny slit. The covering did little to ward off the chill. “Let’s go.”
Gregor led her through the corridor leading to the lower courtroom, then up the stairs. At this level’s spacious anteroom, the upper court’s doors lay directly ahead, perhaps fifty paces away. The hall to the holding cell lay forty paces ahead and to the right. A dozen or more nobles milled about, apparently waiting for the proper time to be seated inside.
Marcelle stooped and added a slight limp to her gait, hoping to mimic the hobbling pattern of a diseased old woman. Along the way, several people glanced at her. A few stared. When Marcelle neared the double doorway to the courtroom, Gregor pointed to a hallway to the right and whispered, “You stay here while I go to the cell. When you hear me cough, show yourself in that hall.”
She nodded. Trying to speak loudly enough to penetrate the cloak mig
ht give her away.
Gregor strode quickly to the hall and disappeared around the corner. Marcelle shuffled that way, continuing her old-woman gait as she kept her sword from dragging on the floor.
One of the courtroom doors opened, and Counselor Orion walked out with Maelstrom at his side. “You may now enter,” Orion called. “We will join you in a moment.”
After everyone filed in, Orion glanced at Marcelle, then bent close to Maelstrom. “When you read the charges,” Orion said, “make sure you use a fiery tone and blistering insults. If she is listening from a hiding place, we want to enrage her, to stir her passions and force her hand as early as possible. The longer we wait, the more likely that people will become impatient.”
Maelstrom’s cheek still bulged, though not as far. “What if she fails to show?”
“Then she will surely come to the hanging. She won’t let her father die without a fight.”
“Agreed.” Maelstrom returned to the courtroom while Orion headed for the stairway.
Marcelle sidestepped but tripped over the too-long cloak and toppled to the floor. Still holding the cloak together, she rolled to her back and peeked through the slit. Orion dashed toward her and dropped to a knee, touching her covered arm with a tender hand. “Are you hurt?”
She cleared her throat and attempted an old lady’s voice. “Only my dignity, dear Governor.”
“Then allow me to help you up.” He grasped her wrist and hoisted her to her feet. “Why are you covered like this?”
From the corridor, Gregor coughed.
Marcelle glanced that way. She had to get rid of Orion, and fast. “Ah! Good question!” She coughed, hoping to mimic Gregor’s sounds. “My beloved son said I was too ill to come at all, but how could I miss this trial? It should be quite a spectacle. He told me I should protect others from my very contagious disease, so I am trying to do so.”
Orion brushed his hands on his trousers and backed away. “Who is your son?”
Gregor coughed again, louder this time.
“Why, just the finest guard in your service. Gregor.” She cackled, ending with another series of coughs. “Of course, a mother would think that, right? Even one who is certain to die of a plague.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Gregor coughed once more, adding gasps and gurgling breaths.
Orion leaned back and looked down the hall. “It seems that your son has contracted your illness.”
“That well could be.” Marcelle leaned with him and added a wheeze to her respiration. “I kissed my dear son this morning before we learned how sick I had become.”
“Guards!” Orion called. “All of you report to the infirmary at once!”
Gregor emerged from the hallway, the other two guards trailing—Tarks, by all appearances. Their orange uniforms with black trim matched Leo’s. As they approached, Orion backed away several more steps, pointing at Marcelle. “Apparently Gregor has contracted his mother’s illness. Take her with you and submit to quarantine.”
One of the two guards glanced back at the hallway. “Who will watch the holding cell?”
“They will be unguarded only five minutes. I will send Leo for them when they are summoned to trial.”
While the two Tarks marched toward the stairs, Gregor laid an arm around Marcelle’s shoulders. “I will take her, Governor. I think her cloak probably protected you from her illness.”
“I certainly hope so. The trial starts in mere moments. I have no time for quarantine.” Orion hurried toward the stairs.
Gregor passed a key into Marcelle’s hand. “You’ll have to do it yourself. Make haste. I’ll go to the infirmary and explain your absence.”
“Godspeed, Gregor.” Pulling up the cloak to keep the hem from dragging and again pinching the hood closed in front, she strode to the corridor. About twenty paces down the hall, a sign on the metal door to the right read The Accused. She inserted the key, turned the bolt, and flung open the door. Her father and Professor Dunwoody sat on a cushioned bench against the opposite wall. “Father!” she called in a loud whisper. “Professor! Come with me!”
“Marcelle?” Her father shot to his feet. “Is that you?”
She made a shushing sound. “Hurry! We don’t have much time!”
Her father took three steps to reach the door, his gait shaky. “If I leave, they will think I am guilty.”
“If you don’t, they’ll hang you. They’ve already decided you’re guilty.”
He spread out his hands. “There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.”
Professor Dunwoody joined them. “Actually, there is a place to hide in the archives, and there are provisions.”
“Perfect,” Marcelle said, sliding the key into her pocket. “Let’s get your necks out of a noose.”
Her father shook his head. “Rebelling against the authorities is not the best way to—”
“Those authorities tried to poison you!” She released the cloak, allowing the hood to fall to her shoulders. “If you don’t hurry, you’re going to end up looking like this!”
Her father’s mouth dropped open. “Marcelle! What happened to you?”
“I’ll explain later.” Marcelle shook the cloak the rest of the way off and drew her sword. “Let’s just get going.”
They skulked down the hall toward the courtroom, Marcelle leading the way. When they reached the end, she slowed and tiptoed into the anteroom between the stairs and the courtroom entry, scanning the area for Orion. With the doors closed and the people seated in anticipation of the trial, the anteroom lay empty. A chandelier hung over the center of the floor, but with abundant skylights in the ceiling, the extane-burning bulbs sat dark in their sockets.
Marcelle stopped and listened. The sound of rapid clopping drew close. Spreading her arms, she blocked her father and Dunwoody and forced them back to the hallway.
Orion ascended the stairs, his head low and his eyes focused on the floor. When he reached the courtroom, he opened the door and rushed inside.
As soon as the door clapped shut, Marcelle pointed at the stairs with her sword. “Professor, take my father to the archives. I’ll join you there as soon as I can.”
“Why aren’t you coming with us?” her father asked.
“I’m coming. I’ll trail you to make sure no one’s following.”
Just as the two men started for the stairway, the courtroom door swung open. Maelstrom strode out and turned toward the hall. When he spied Marcelle, he whipped his sword from a hip scabbard. As radiance from the skylights above shimmered on the polished blade, Maelstrom smiled. “Orion told me about the diseased woman he encountered, but he was too kindhearted to guess the truth.”
The two escapees paused, but Marcelle waved them on. “Go!”
“Halt!” Maelstrom shouted, raising a hand.
Her father stopped in midstep. Professor Dunwoody pulled on his arm, but he seemed unable to move.
Marcelle flung herself at Maelstrom, her sword swinging. He parried her blow with a powerful shove, sending her into a wild spin. She slammed into the courtroom doors with a loud thud. After bouncing off and regaining her balance, she stalked toward Maelstrom again. With his attention diverted from her father, his hold on him collapsed, and the two escapees hurried down the stairs.
She lunged and crossed swords with Maelstrom, firing imaginary darts with her eyes. Since he stood at least eight inches taller and weighed a hundred pounds more, bending her knees and pushing with her legs was the only way to keep from collapsing under the pressure. He glared back at her, his pupils pulsing like throbbing black pearls and his cheek still bulging as he gnawed on the ever-present wad within.
Marcelle jumped back, making the blades zing as they parted. Now standing just out of his reach, she gave him another hot stare, her sword lifted and her feet set for battle. “Let’s see how good you are without that energy-sapping power of yours.”
He lifted his own sword. “I will be glad to demonstrate.”
As they sideste
pped around a central point, creating a makeshift tourney ring, the courtroom doors opened. Several men and women peered out, and a buzz grew. Soon, a bustling line of finely dressed men and women gathered around the impromptu match, making a semicircular line.
Orion burst through the crowd. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I am exposing the sorceress,” Maelstrom said, keeping his eyes on Marcelle. “Everyone can see her appearance now, and they will soon see the color of her blood … if she has any.”
Orion’s face reddened. “I will not have a summary execution here!”
“Don’t worry,” Marcelle said. “I’m not going to kill him. I’m just going to cut off his hands so he can’t use his …” She looked around, extending her pause to bend every ear toward her. “His sorcery against anyone else.”
A few gasps rose from the onlookers, but with a glare from Maelstrom, they quickly silenced. “Her bravado stands on mere words, Governor. I should like to silence her here and now, but since you wish to see her burn, I await your instructions on how to seize her without doing harm.”
“Marcelle,” Orion said, altering to a gentle tone, “if you will submit to a trial, I pledge that you will get a fair one. There are reliable tests that prove whether or not a person is a witch or a Diviner, so if you are not one of those evil breeds, you have no reason to fear. I am sure everyone is anxious to hear why you appear the way you do. If it is mere sickness, we will get a doctor to—”
“Spare me the hot air, Orion, and open your eyes. The only sorcerer here is Leo. Everyone’s just too blind to see it … or too bewitched by him.” She glanced around. Not a single person seemed affected by her words. They just stared wide eyed.
“Leo,” Orion said calmly, “bring her father here. I’m sure you can persuade Marcelle to acquiesce.”
Maelstrom nodded toward the stairway. “He escaped with the other prisoner.”
“Likely to the archives. My guard there will soon bring them back.”
