Brimstone and Lily (Legacy Stone Adventures)

by Terry Kroenung

  The Marshals were trying their darnedest not to laugh, but it wasn’t working too well. Romulus howled like the hound he’d once been, rolling in the grass. Ernie held his fat sides as if they would explode, which wasn’t a sight I wanted to see in my predicament. One calamity at a time. Roberta and Pitts snickered from the river’s edge.

  “This ain’t funny!” I hissed. “It’s a disaster.”

  “Oh, it’s a disaster, all right,” said the peach tree. “Worst disaster since Bull Run.”

  Roberta chomped her sharp beak into the branch she sat on. The tree yelped. “Be nice,” she told Pitts.

  “Some friends,” I groaned. “Are you gonna help me find the sword or not?”

  “It’s around your neck, duckie,” Ernie said, pointing.

  I groped at my throat. The Stone still hung there, on its silk cord, but I found something new there, too. It felt like a dog collar, but all made of steel. “What’s this?”

  “Morphageus,” said Romulus.

  “Can’t be. He’s not talkin’ to me. No voice in my head.”

  Ernie rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

  “Goes without sayin’, shipmate,” added Roberta.

  “What do you mean by that?” I demanded, tugging at the collar.

  “He cain’t talk to you when you changes shape,” Romulus said, as if I’d asked to be told my own name. “All his power’s goin’ into holdin’ the spell.”

  “She didn’t read the contract,” Ernie told the others with a shrug.

  “Didn’t read the contract!” tree and parrot exclaimed in unison.

  Romulus just shook his bald head in disappointed wonder.

  Seems to me the Stone-Warden ain’t gettin’ the respect you’d think she’d deserve. “Okay, okay! So I didn’t read the contract! Do y’all feel superior now?”

  They looked at one another and nodded.

  “And what else might I want to know? Hmm…How’s about when do I stop bein’ a tree-gnawer? That’d be handy information.”

  “Spell just lasts an hour, matey,” Roberta answered. “Better hurry up with this.”

  “Hurry up with what?” I notice that I talked with a lisp. Darned beaver teeth. “Everybody talk plain. Jasper may read minds, but I can’t.”

  “Crossin’ the river, lovie,” Ernie said.

  “Finally!” sighed Pitts. With a cracking of limbs and rustling of leaves, the uprooted peach tree waded into the Potomac, then slid over as if a lumberjack had felled him. Roberta launched herself away from her crashing perch. “Ooh, that’s nice!” Pitts said, wiggling his shoots. “Cools the roots, you know.”

  Circling overhead, Roberta called out, “Let’s get goin’. That battalion’s on our trail.”

  No sooner had the words left her beak than a bullet cracked past us. Romulus splashed into the water, clutched a large branch, and hid himself in its foliage. Our parrot guide swooped down to pick up Ernie and drop him into a knothole. I hesitated, but not for long. When more bullets started humming past us like horseflies from hell, I waddled into the water myself. The soldiers were close enough now that their voices could now be heard by ordinary ears.

  “Push!” Ernie hollered.

  “Huh?” I still wasn’t sure of the plan.

  “You’re our steam engine and our screw. Pitts is the hull.”

  “And the lot of you are freeloading passengers,” the tree said.

  Now I realized why Jasper had given me this silly form. Not only was I a beaver, a natural smooth and strong swimmer, but I’d kept my Verity size. One enormous rodent, able to propel the tree along with good speed, even in the strong river current. It took a little getting used to, but after a couple of minutes of experimenting with my tail and webbed feet I had Pitts gliding through the water like a Yankee clipper. Good thing, too, because the vanguard of the infantry unit had arrived at the water’s edge and commenced to blasting at us with their Springfields. It must’ve looked odd to anybody watching, to see dozens of blue-coated soldiers standing on the bank at midnight, shooting at a floating tree. No doubt some of the troops thought it strange, too. But they followed their orders and kept firing at the ‘Rebel’ tree.

  Before we were halfway across, I started to believe that I had found my natural form. Being a swimming beaver just felt right, somehow. Gliding through the cool water made me think that Roberta might’ve had the same sensation when she flew. I felt weightless, like the hot-air balloons the Army observers used, and as powerful as a locomotive engine. My broad flat tail threw out a great wake as it propelled us along.

  “Woo!” I shouted, snout popping above the surface. “If I’d known that shape-shiftin’ was this much fun, I’d have done it years ago!”

  “Not always so much fun, miss,” Romulus said. “’Specially if it ain’t yo’ choice, and you gots no way back.”

  Ernie ran along Pitts’ trunk until he could stand right in front of my nose. “That’s why you’ll only hold shape for an hour. It can become a cravin’, like opium. Some mages get so attached to it that they have no control. They either lose themselves and can’t shift back, or their power is so corrupted that they shift with no intention. Sometimes their bodies shift in a mix of forms. Then you get monsters like Venoma, or worse. So don’t get to lovin’ this too much. It ain’t a good thing, missy.’

  “Then you don’t feel a thrill, bein’---?”

  “Lordy, no! A forced shift is a curse put on you by a twisted power. Any good feelin’s are washed out by the evil that’s witched you.”

  “But I didn’t choose to take this shape, either. So why do I---?”

  “Yes, you did. Somewhere deep in your mind you decided that this would be a good thing. All Morphageus can do is boost your mind and body. Except for defendin’ you from harm, everything else he does is caused by your will.”

  Defending me from harm would have been a great idea right then. A monstrous geyser blew up just ahead, drenching all of us. Hard on its heels came the boom of naval cannon. It looked like the Merchantry had more than just the infantry battalion in its pocket. Dahlgren guns were firing from the heavy artillery battery to the north. Two more enormous cannonballs splashed nearby, while a third skipped across the surface and threw up a tower of mud on the far bank.

  “South! Turn downstream!” ordered Pitts. Two of his main branches began paddling like the arms of a human swimmer. His longest roots kicked, too, making him look like a lifeguard on a mission. We swung around in a wide left turn. The young tree’s crown tried to rise up out of the water, but couldn’t get high enough to get rid of the drag. I flicked my tail and swam up to its ‘armpit’ to add my strength to the cause. Dozens of Minie balls from the soldiers’ rifles spattered sharp about us, clipping leaves and twigs. Bark cartwheeled through the night air. Roberta squawked and raced ahead, out of harm’s way. The rest of us moved to the far side of Pitts’ trunk for cover.

  “Thanks,” Ernie said.

  “You’re very welcome!” he snapped. “I gather that I’m just a wall to you people. A piece of lumber to cower behind. I have feelings, you know. This doesn’t exactly tickle.” Saying that, he rolled over and started doing a lazy backstroke. Romulus, Ernie, and I were ducked under.

  “You ain’t the only one with feelin’s,” I told Pitts. “And if you don’t start bein’ more polite I’m gonna try out these new beaver teeth on your hide. Make the sawdust fly.”

  “Touchy, touchy!” the peach tree muttered. But he shut up and continued swimming down the wide river.

  We were coming up to the Long Bridge. It came by its name honest, for the Potomac must’ve been near upon a mile wide at that point. Made of masonry at each end, it was wood elsewhere, with three draws in it so boats could pass through. Though no boats were in sight, one of the draws had been raised anyhow, to keep unauthorized crossers from having an easy time of it. That wasn’t much of a problem, since the Army had placed forts atop Arlington Heights in case the Confederates tried to storm the capital. Filled with cannon an
d infantry, they strictly controlled access to Washington City. Near the open draw stood a pair of soldiers, smoking pipes and every now and then spitting into the river.

  My witched ears could hear the pair talking. I shushed the others and whispered to them that we had to pretend that we were nothing more interesting than a fallen tree and a lonely old beaver. Romulus and Ernie hunkered down amidst Pitts’ leaves, all but invisible in the quarter-moon darkness. I glided through the water, staying as silent as I could manage while still steering the tree toward the gap in the bridge.

  The soldiers were doing what soldiers always did on guard duty in the middle of the night. They were complaining. “Blockhead gunners,” one of them said in a northeastern accent. “Shootin’ at a river full o’ nothin.”

  “Yep,” his partner agreed. He sounded older. “Anybody with half a brain knows that every grayback in Virginia is down at Richmond, laughin’ at McClellan.”

  “Aw, Little Mac knows what he’s about, I expect. Mark my words. He’ll turn the tables on Johnny Reb yet.”

  The older guard guffawed. “If he don’t set the table for ‘em instead!”

  “Harney, I’m willin’ to lay you a steak dinner at the Willard that---say, what’s that there?”

  “Where?”

  “To yer left, ‘longside that tree.”

  “I don’t see nothin, Buck.”

  “You know, fer a guard you ain’t got the eyes God give a mole. Right there, in the far-side fork.”

  “Looks like a…beaver. A big’un, too”

  The younger sentry unslung his musket. “Big’un is right. That’s a trophy I don’t aim to pass up. Make me a whole suit o’ clothes and two fine hats, he will.”

  Harney protested that even if he hit the beaver he’d likely never get it out of the river, but Buck had already banged away. Any other critter would’ve been dead to rights, but this rodent had magick ears and understood the Queen’s Britannic. I ducked under, letting the peach’s trunk absorb the heavy bullet. It dug a giant crater in Pitts’ hide.

  “Ow! Damnation!” he hollered, rising halfway out of the water. His limbs snagged the side of the bridge as we were about to rush through the draw. With a mighty wrench he hauled himself onto the roadway and glared down the astonished soldiers. They gaped right back at the dripping talking tree, mouths hanging open like beached fish.

  “I do declare that I have had my fill of you hairless apes puncturing my integument!” barked Pitts. “How would you like it if I did the same to you?”

  A green peach, solid as a rock, bounced off of Harney’s noggin. The sentry sat down so hard he bounced. Rubbing the egg-sized knot on his forehead, he goggled at the tree and gibbered like a baby. His partner, still quicker on the draw, hauled up Harney’s own Springfield and cocked it. An instant later Pitts snatched it out of his hands and tied it around the bridge rail like a holiday bow.

  “That’s not a rhetorical question,” grumbled Pitts, punctuating his remark with another painful peach shot, this time at the soldier still standing. When Buck had plopped down beside Harney, nursing his own lump, Pitts advanced on them. They were too amazed to stir an inch. I sympathized. Typical Army drill didn’t include enemy tree attacks.

  “Lucky for you two I’m in a hurry, or I’d plant you deep. I reckon I’ll have to settle for watering you down to the roots.” With that he plucked the soldiers up by their blue sack coats and hurled them downstream close to a hundred feet. They skipped like the cannonball had earlier, landing in the shallows on the Washington side.

  No sooner had Pitts made a self-satisfied nod of his crown than I heard distant clattering from the bridgehead. Troops coming at the double-quick, from the infantry company posted down there. No doubt already alerted by all the earlier shooting, they had sprung into action when the sentry had fired at me. Time to exercise the discretion that I’d heard was the better part of valor.

  “Let’s go!” I cried. “Their friends are on the way. More bad news for your integument.”

  Pitts hopped off the bridge and landed with a whoosh on the far side. I swam through the draw. Romulus and Ernie were already there, splashing toward the tree to grasp its trunk again. To make better speed Pitts let his roots drift downstream. I resumed pushing with all my beavery might. By the time the reinforcements arrived at mid-bridge, we’d lost ourselves in the river’s gloom. To anyone else who might spy us we’d just be a fallen tree floating along, all innocent and natural.

  Arlington Heights disappeared to our right rear. The cannon and musket fire had riled up some of the bastions up there, but no one shot at us. Either word hadn’t got out to all the troops across the Potomac, or the Merchantry didn’t command as many of them as I feared. I felt dead certain, though, that enemy telegraph signals were flying thick and fast ahead of us. No doubt more trouble waited for us at Alexandria.

  “Won’t they just wire ahead and order more soldiers to go for us?” I asked Ernie, who stood on a limb drying himself with a leaf.

  “They would if they could, matey” said Roberta, landing heavy behind the soggy mouse. “But it seems that all the telegraph wires goin’ south have fallen down.” She spit a piece of frayed black cable out of her beak. “Savvy?”

  Okay, I need to remember that I’m travelin’ with trained professionals. “I savvy. Good work, ma’am.”

  The scarlet parrot chortled. “Ma’am! Ain’t you the well-brought-up child.”

  “Well, I am the bright shinin’ hope of the free world,” I said with a grin, believing none of it.

  “Hah!” grumped Pitts. A flexing knothole seemed to be serving as his mouth, but I still couldn’t spot anything like eyes to see with. Guess it wouldn’t be magick otherwise.

  “Where exactly do we aim to cross over?” I wanted to know.

  “Need to get to Confederate territory,” Ernie answered. “Beyond the Yankee emplacements. Once we get past Alexandria it won’t be far. More unguarded shoreline there.”

  Roberta nodded while using a toe to clean bits of cable from her beak. “Jeff Davis has stripped near every one of his troops out o’ northern Virginia. They’re all ‘round Richmond now, tryin’ to hold off McClellan. Stonewall Jackson’s moved out o’ the Valley, too. Guess he got tired o’ sailin’ circles around Banks and Fremont. If he’s at Richmond a Rebel attack can’t be far off.”

  “That means we should have an easy time of it,” said Ernie. “From here to Richmond should be mostly empty, if we choose our route with care.”

  “But then,” Romulus pointed out, “we gots to find ourselves a way through--or ‘round—two armies.”

  “I’ll fly over and wait for ya, shipmates,” snickered Roberta.

  Ernie took her glasses off of her face. He looked around for something dry to clean them with, then gave up and perched them back on her beak. “Maybe I’ll go with her.”

  “Y’all’s doin’ me a load o’ good,” complained Romulus.

  “Me, neither,” I said. “If I stayed like this I could maybe swim around the Peninsula, but I guess I’m gonna change back soon. Fifteen or twenty minutes, maybe.”

  Ernie climbed onto my furry head. “Don’t worry. Ol’ Ernie has a few tricks up his sleeve yet.”

  I dug my claws into Pitts’ hide with a muttered apology and climbed aboard. Now that no one took notice of us I didn’t need to push, speed not being so essential. The tree steered himself and we made good time just going with the Potomac’s current. With the cool night breeze and easy gliding action of the river we could’ve been on a calm pleasure cruise. Of course, havin’ monsters and sorcerers trying to kill you does bleed a bit of the bliss out of the thing.

  Alexandria slid into sight on our right. It looked to be a good sized place, but a lot smaller than Washington. Most of its citizens were Union soldiers, the local populace having fled last year. A few loyalists remained, along with those who didn’t care to take sides one way or the other. Lots of spies and Merchantry men, too, no doubt. None of that was visible at one in the m
orning. No lights to speak of, not even in Fort Ward, the big bastion built last year to defend the approach to the capital. All dead quiet. We floated past the town with not so much as an unkind word directed at us. After all we’d been through in the past few hours, I could hardly believe it.

  A couple of miles past Alexandria brought us to a wide and empty patch of weeds on the southern side. I slid back into the water and helped to maneuver the tree into the shallow spot. Roberta flew up over the shore for a mile in every direction. Reporting back, she assured us that all was clear and we could safely leave the river for solid ground. Pitts rolled over, stood with much creaking and complaining, and waded to the bank. Romulus, with Ernie in his pocket, got ashore on all fours and shook himself dry. I followed and did the same. Then I stood up and peered about with my witched eyes, sure that I now qualified as the largest rodent in the Confederate States of America.

  I was in Virginia.

  Enemy territory.

  13/ A Brief Rest

  Roberta made a rude sound from somewhere amidst Pitts’ foliage. “Aw, bosoms ain’t all they’re cracked up to be, missy. More trouble than they’re worth, most days.”

  Enemy territory? Can’t be any worse than my own house and neighborhood have been today. Not much peace, love, and joy since this afternoon.

  My first act on Southern soil was to collapse on the grass. Small wonder, what with shape-shifting, swimming the Potomac, pushing a tree through the water, getting shot at with muskets and cannon, and burning up any reserves of energy I might’ve had after fighting and fleeing various impossible monsters. Those reserves chose that moment to get used up. I flopped face-down and lay there as if some mage had tripled the Earth’s gravity. At that moment I believed it be perfectly possible.

  Crickets chirped all around us. Far off an owl hooted. Something burrowed beneath us, maybe a mole or groundhog. How many of them were like Romulus, humans magicked into animal forms against their will? Had I been in carriages pulled by former schoolmasters? Was last week’s beef dinner a case of cannibalizing a curator? Did we trap rats at Ford’s that had once been laundresses? If I’d had the strength I might’ve shivered at the thought.