by Kyle Shultz
The Return of Beaumont and Beasley
Beaumont and Beasley, Book 4
Kyle Robert Shultz
Copyright © 2018 by Kyle Robert Shultz
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Edited by Deborah O’Carroll
www.deborahocarroll.com
Created with Vellum
Contents
Free Short Stories
I. The Janus Elixir
Prologue
1. Who’s Afraid of the Lord of Death?
2. Two-Faced
3. They Don’t Make Bodies Like They Used To
4. The Doctor and the Monster
5. Yo-Ho-Ho and a Bottle of Poison
6. Dying is Forbidden
7. The Psychopath Will See You Now
8. The End…or Not
9. Home Sweet Cavern
10. I Love Beekeeping
11. Keep Out or Be Embalmed
12. Cerberus to the Rescue
13. You’re Welcome
14. I Am Fearless, and Therefore Powerful
15. Jekyll and Hyde
16. Goodbye
17. Melody
18. Hello
19. Questions
Epilogue
II. The Hound of Duville
Prologue
1. Don’t Pant in Public
2. Rooftops Make Me Introspective
3. The Canine Crisis
4. The Lady Vanishes
5. Let Slip the Dogs of Warrengate
6. The Curse of the Duck Fairy
7. Wrong Button
8. Nice Kitty
9. Teeth and Ambitions
10. Trouble Spots
11. More Monsters, of Course
12. Oops
13. We’re All Mad Here
14. A Parting of the Ways
Epilogues
Book 5: The Strange Cases of Beaumont and Beasley
Also Available: Crockett and Crane
Monthly Stories
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Free Short Stories
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www.kylerobertshultz.com/newsletter
Part I
The Janus Elixir
To my brother, Mark Eric Shultz.
“Oh praise Him, all His mighty works
There is no language where you can't be heard
Your song goes out to all the earth
Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah.”
“Hallelujahs”, Chris Rice
Prologue
Not every story ends in “happily ever after.” In fact, most stories never end at all.
Blah-blah-blah stories have consequences, blah-blah-blah magic’s not dead, blah-blah-blah Afterlands. Shorter version: once upon a time, a detective who thought magic and monsters were fake got turned into a monster by magic. Very ironic, the whole thing.
Now that we’ve got that over with, let’s skip on to the dragons, shall we?
You may or may not have heard that unfortunate detective’s story. But either way, it isn’t important. This isn’t his story. It’s mine.
My name is Malcolm Blackfire, and I am a dragon. I’m also an archaeologist, but I think you’ll agree that’s not nearly as exciting. Dragons do make excellent archaeologists, though.
Long before that detective teamed up with a rather eccentric young enchantress and started investigating magical phenomena—long before either of them were born, actually—I was the one people turned to when magic went haywire in Talesend. I wasn’t a detective, of course. But considering how many magical artifacts from the days of fairy tales tend to turn up in the modern era, an archaeologist is often just what the situation calls for.
Not to mention the part about being a dragon. That’s quite useful as well. Dragons also make excellent problem-solvers.
In the early nineteenth century, I dealt with troublesome magical relics alongside my…assistant, Melody Nightingale. She’s…I mean, she was…a jewel thief I met under unusual circumstances. It’s a long story that I will have to relate elsewhere.
This is the story of the Janus Elixir, and how Melody and I first encountered the man who made it.
It’s a story of secrets and shadows that would stretch far into the future, threatening the whole of the Afterlands.
And it’s a story which may not yet be over.
Chapter 1
Who’s Afraid of the Lord of Death?
The United Kingdom of Camelot
Thanatos Abbey
1816 E.A.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I said, as the tall iron gate of Thanatos Abbey swung open of its own accord. I tugged at the lapels of my crimson leather greatcoat—my favorite one, with an appropriately scaly texture to the material—and a bitter wind from within the Abbey’s walls tousled my red hair. “Or as bad as it looks,” I added, as I peered through the gate at the forbidden cemetery inside.
Melody Nightingale hugged herself and shivered. Naturally, because she never listened to me, she hadn’t selected the right outfit for this sort of outing. She wore a jacket dress with a divided skirt over trousers and long boots, but she didn’t have a heavy coat or even a scarf. “Well,” she said, brushing back a stray lock of her dark hair, “it sounds like we’re about to meet the god of death, and it looks as if we might be requiring his services ere long, so I look forward to seeing you explain how that’s not scary.” Her Northern-counties drawl gave her words an additional layer of sarcasm. Though not as much as my crisp Caledonian burr. Caledonians invented sarcasm.
I shrugged. “Yes, well, when you put it that way. Would you rather wait outside?”
“Of course not.” Melody marched through the gate. “Try to keep up, dragon-man.”
“I’m not a dragon-man,” I retorted as I followed her. “I’m a dragon, full stop. Ancient and terrible. Don’t let the dashingly-handsome-twenty-eight-year-old-human disguise fool you.”
“Sure, whatever.” She beckoned me. “Come on, then, Mr. Ancient-and-Terrible.”
There was a striking difference between the world outside the Abbey’s walls and the realm within. The graveyard and accompanying cathedral were on the edge of the city of Talesend, so the neighborhood was far from cheerful. The buildings were all from bygone ages, which meant they were now crumbling and sad-looking. But as we entered the cemetery, the air became colder and the shadows grew longer. The sense of abandonment and sadness gave way to a chilling fear. Plus, the ravens flying about and croaking “nevermore” in sinister tones did little to improve the ambience.
“You’re cold,” I said, watching Melody shiver. “I wonder what that feels like.”
“I’m glad you find it interesting,” Melody growled.
“I do. Humans fascinate me sometimes. Only sometimes, though; mostly they’re quite tedious.”
“A gentleman would be offering me his coat right now. Particularly a gentleman who doesn’t need his coat because he’s a dragon and can regulate his own body temperature at will.”
“Ah, there’s an idea,” I said. “Sorry, didn’t think of it.” I pulled off my coat and thre
w it around her shoulders. “Want any more of my clothes? You can have them all if you like. I only wear them to fit in; I don’t really need them.”
“Yes,” said Melody hastily, “you do. Particularly when we’re this close to a church.”
“It’s not a church, as such. Just looks like one as a cover for the god-cemetery.” I glanced down at my ridiculous waistcoat and pantaloons. “I’ll leave them on, but I do hope that your species’ conventions of fashion improve sometime within the next two hundred years or so, or I’ll be forced to violate the Treaty of Borogove and return to my dragon shape permanently. Either that, or stay human and go nude.”
“I’m not sure which one of those would make more of a stir,” said Melody, pulling my coat tighter around herself. “Where are we supposed to meet...him, again?”
“By the grave of Balder. You can’t miss it; the thing’s festooned with padlocks. Ah, there it is.” I motioned to one of the mausoleums, the door of which was liberally supplied with at least eight locks.
Melody looked nervous. “Those are only to stop people getting in, right?”
I shook my head. “Not just that, no.”
“Of course. Should have guessed.” As we came to a halt next to the mausoleum, Melody turned to me. “So, go on.”
My brow wrinkled in confusion. “Go on and what?”
“Explain to me why a cemetery full of dead gods isn’t scary.” She took in the gnarled, leafless trees all around us and the dozens of cracked, listing headstones. “And, for that matter, why the god of death isn’t scary, since he’s apparently still alive despite the contradiction in terms.”
I paused a moment, mulling over how best to make her understand. “I’m not saying he’s harmless, exactly. Or that this place isn’t dangerous. But what you need to realize is that these beings aren’t actually gods. At least, not in the spiritual, biblical sense. We use the word because it fits them best, but in this context, it means something very different from the uppercase-G God. He’s another matter entirely, beyond all of this.”
Melody nodded. “With you so far. What are these gods, then?”
“To cut a long story short—”
“Yes, please do.”
“—they used to be human. Back at the beginning of time, when nearly all sentient creatures were human. Then magic was unleashed by Pandora, the Mother of Humanity, when she disobeyed the First Command and opened the Book of Knowledge. On that day, her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren and so on were touched by the raw forces of magic, and then—”
“Wait, wait, back up,” said Melody. “‘On that day’…how was she still alive, after all those generations?”
“Humans lived a lot longer back then,” I said impatiently. “Let’s not get caught up in side issues. You’re the one who wanted this to be short, remember?”
“Fine, whatever. Continue.”
“The humans affected by wild magic gained incredible, almost unlimited power. There were no runes or laws to control magic in those days, so things became rather chaotic. The magic-powered humans set themselves up as the rulers of those who hadn’t been altered. They began to build an empire that threatened to cover the whole world.”
“So what happened?” asked Melody.
“Something—someone—intervened.”
“Uppercase God?”
I declined to answer the question. “One day, just as they were working on getting their empire started, most of the non-godly humans—except for a small group that became your ancestors—were transformed into other creatures. The magical races that exist today: minotaurs, dryads, centaurs, and so on. Not only that, but their languages were mixed up, which meant that the worldwide empire idea was pretty much finished. They all scattered and formed different nations, and the gods—who no longer had a nice, united gathering of human subjects—went their separate ways as well. A while later, the Fae—one of the species born from the Sundering—created the runic alphabet and bound magic under precise laws so that the gods’ powers were weakened even further.”
Melody blinked. “Right. I see.”
I half-smiled. “And that, Miss Nightingale, is the pre-history of the world according to Malcolm Blackfire. I left out the parts about the Deluge and the Blood Charm; we’ll go over all that some other day.”
“What about dragons, though?”
“What about them?”
“Were they once human too?”
“Certainly not!” I thundered. “The very idea. Dragons were always dragons. In fact, we used to rule this entire world before...” I broke off. “Never mind. That’s something else that should probably wait for another time.”
“I agree,” said a deep, sonorous voice from behind us, causing both of us to jump in surprise and spin around. “I asked you here to help with a problem, Malchazor. Not to run tours and give history lectures.”
“Ah,” I said, quickly regaining my composure. I smiled up at the figure towering over us. “Melody, allow me to introduce you to Hades, the god of death. Well, one of them, anyway.”
Melody gulped. “Ah. I thought he’d be...you know. More dead-ish.”
I knew what she meant. Hades hardly matched the popular image of a withered, pale, corpse-like man or a walking skeleton. He was well over six feet in height and broad across the shoulders. His muscular frame was clad in a dark robe, and his obsidian skin blended with the shadows. His hair and beard were cropped close, and his eyes glowed with a bright golden light.
“He’s scary, but he doesn’t look evil,” said Melody. “Not exactly. He’s just...”
“Indomitable,” I supplied. “That’s death for you.”
“He’s also standing right here,” said Hades, in a gruff Talesend accent. “Are you gonna quit gawking at me and do your jobs any time soon?”
Melody’s face turned bright red. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.”
The god’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Where’d you find her, then?” he asked me.
“That’s a very long story,” I said. “Fascinating, though. And strictly speaking, I didn’t find her, she found me.” The odd look in Hades’ glowing eyes worried me. “Why do you ask?”
“Coming through!”
A huge form suddenly shoved past Hades, nearly knocking him off his feet, and leapt on me. I fell back with a surprised “Oof!” as something big and dark and slobbery began licking my face with more tongues than any creature ought to have.
“Cerberus!” Over the happy barking and slurping, I heard a chain rattle, and the enormous three-headed dog finally withdrew. “Come on, boy,” said Hades. “Let ‘im up.”
“Sorry!” said a bright, cheery female voice that I knew well. “I can’t quite hold him when he gets excited.” The figure had the appearance of a young woman, though she was far more ancient than that. Light shone from her skin and her white robes. Her golden hair fell down past her shoulders, and she wore a tiara crafted from golden leaves. Her radiance seemed to permeate even the darkest corners of this place as she gave us a welcoming smile.
I grabbed Melody’s arm and used the sleeve of the coat she’d borrowed from me to wipe monster-dog saliva off my face.
She grimaced. “Eugh.”
“What? It’s my coat.” I motioned to the beautiful woman standing before us. “Melody,” I said, “this is Persephone, Queen of the Underworld and of Springtime.”
“Those don’t exactly go together,” Melody murmured.
“Hush,” I warned.
“Malcolm!” Persephone held out her hand to me, and I kissed it tenderly. “So nice to see you again.” She bowed to Melody. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss—”
“Nightingale. Melody Nightingale.” Melody clasped the queen’s hand warmly.
“What a pretty name,” said Persephone.
“I have a feeling it’s not her real one,” I said.
“No,” murmured Hades, as he frowned at Melody. “It isn’t.” He abruptly snapped out of his ominous mood and directed
his attention back to me. “Want to examine the scene of the crime, then?”
“Excellent.” I clapped my hands. “Come along, Melody.”
Hades raised an eyebrow. “Do we really need her? Perhaps she could stay with Persephone while we—”
“You do need me, actually,” said Melody. “You’ve asked Malcolm here to investigate a theft. I happen to be an expert on that subject.”
“You’re a policewoman?” asked Persephone, as she stroked each of Cerberus’ heads in turn, careful not to neglect any of them.
“The opposite,” said Melody, without hesitation. “I’m a thief.” She glanced at me. “Or rather, I was, before a recent change in career.”
Hades rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Malcolm? I thought you were my friend, and you’ve got the gall to bring a thief here, of all places?”
“I assure you,” Melody huffed, “I was never involved in stealing the sort of things you keep here. I don’t rob tombs; it’s against my principles. No matter how old the tombs in question might be.”
“Well,” said Hades, “she’s better than you in that respect, isn’t she, Malcolm?”
“I’m an archaeologist! Taking things from tombs is my job. And it’s not as if the occupants complain. Usually.” I cast an accusing glance at Melody. “Besides, don’t act as if you’re standing on the moral high ground. The only reason why you don’t rob tombs is because you’re squeamish about death. No offense, Hades.”
