The Return of Beaumont and Beasley: The Janus Elixir and The Hound of Duville (Beaumont and Beasley Book 4)

by Kyle Shultz

  “What is this place?” I asked, once I was sure that the danger had passed. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the poor lighting. There wasn’t a single window to be found, and the only illumination came from a flickering lantern somewhere nearby. I considered conjuring a fireball to make things brighter, but I didn’t want to take chances in case there was something flammable or explosive nearby.

  “The Jolly Roger Pawn Shop,” said Melody.

  The decor certainly matched the pirate motif in the name. If hadn’t known better, I could have mistaken this for the captain’s quarters of a ship, albeit slightly larger and with a floor that didn’t rock back and forth. Coils of rope hung on the walls between the shelves stocked with merchandise. Nautical equipment was strewn about the place as well—compasses, maps, sextants, anchors. None of it was in working order, though. The maps were tattered and inaccurate; the metal items rusted beyond repair. It looked as if the owner of the Jolly Roger had regularly pilfered from junkyards used by sailors to acquire his merchandise...though I suspected the unmarked boxes on the shelves held what the shop was really selling. Clearly, the proprietor didn’t want everyone to know what he traded in. The nautical rubbish was merely a disguise.

  I didn’t spend much time taking all this in, because the octopus-woman standing in front of the counter quickly arrested my attention. Technically, she was a cecaelia, but I’d always thought “octopus-centaur” was a more accurate term for her race. Tentacles emerged from beneath the hem of her dress, undulating through the air. Her skin was a pale bluish-grey, and her eyes were milk-white. Her long tresses of white hair drifted up from her head as if they were moving through water. She bared rows of shark-like teeth at the young man behind the counter, and snarled something in a language I couldn’t translate. Despite the angry tone of her words, her inflection was almost musical. One of her tentacles deposited a bottle on the counter and pushed it toward the lad on the other side. Purple smoke swirled within the glass, occasionally congealing into the shape of a screaming, distorted face.

  Whatever she had said, the proprietor of the shop wasn’t having any of it. His eyebrows drew together in a stern line as he glared at the cecaelia. He was surprisingly young, probably no more than seventeen years old, with shoulder-length dark hair held back by a bright red kerchief. A thin braid hung down over his chest, adorned with a tiny, glittering medallion at the end. I noticed that the boy’s left hand was withered and scarred, and secured across his chest with a sling. He wore a leather vest over a white shirt with puffed sleeves. A three-cornered hat and a cutlass in a scabbard lay on the counter nearby, no doubt part of his privateer costume.

  “For the last time,” he said to the cecaelia, “I don’t trade in souls.” He held up a large snail shell which had been fashioned into a necklace. “If you want this translation shell, you’ll have to trade something else for it. Take your poor unfortunate victims elsewhere.” He spoke with a strong West Country accent.

  The cecaelia gave an angry hiss and whipped out a tentacle to snatch the bottle back. She proceeded to shout—or rather, sing angrily—a series of what sounded like insults at the boy. A few of her remarks may have been curses—literal ones—because the translucent blue bubble of a ward spell flickered around the shopkeeper as she spoke, shielding him from magical attacks.

  “Go on then,” he said, waving his good hand at her in irritation. “Off with you. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

  The cecaelia spat out a single Logrish word. “Pirate!”

  The boy grinned. “Why, thank you.” His expression shifted back to annoyance in the blink of an eye. “Now, get out.” He took a tiny phial of green liquid from the pocket of his vest. “Or shall I pour a few drops of this on you? Lernaean Hydra blood. Kills pretty much everything. I always carry it with me, just in case.”

  The octopus-woman flinched, snarled once more, then sang a few notes and waved her tentacles in a complex pattern. Purple mist swirled around her until she was hidden from view. A moment later, she was gone.

  “That’s her told,” the boy muttered. He noticed us for the first time. His face lit up as he looked at Melody, and he waved his undamaged hand. “Well, hello there, favorite customer! Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age.”

  “I’ve been busy,” said Melody. “Chasing down magical relics, saving the world, that sort of thing. Long story. How have you been, James?”

  “Oh, can’t complain.” He thought for a moment. “Actually, I can complain, anytime I like, but I won’t right now.” He motioned to me. “Who’s your friend? He looks intriguingly wealthy. I smell gold on him.”

  “Gold doesn’t have a smell,” said Melody.

  “Yes, it does,” James and I said in unison.

  She shook her head. “Whatever. Malcolm, this is my old friend, James du Maurier. The most respected and sought-after fence for stolen goods in all of Talesend.”

  “All of Camelot,” James corrected. “Possibly all of the Afterlands.”

  “And this,” said Melody, pointing to me, “is Malcolm Blackfire. Archaeologist dragon. Don’t ask.”

  “Of course I’m going to ask!” said James. His eyes gleamed with interest. “A dragon and an archaeologist? Oh, I’ll bet you’ve stored up some treasures over the years.”

  “Yes,” I said curtly, “and you’re not getting your hands on any of them, so let’s dispense with that line of inquiry, shall we?”

  James wagged a finger at me. “I don’t give up easily.”

  “Not even when you’re about to be devoured?”

  “Stop it,” said Melody. She thumped me on the chest. “Do you have threaten to eat all my friends within seconds of being introduced to them?”

  “Introduce me to a friend of yours that’s not fixated on stealing everything regardless of whether it’s nailed down, and we’ll see.”

  “So I take it you two didn’t come here to do business with me,” said James. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “No,” said Melody. “We came here for information.”

  “Ahh.” James leaned casually against the counter. “Well, I must warn you, information’s quite expensive these days. Inflation and so forth.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” I growled.

  “Watch your tone, dragon.” James held up the phial of poison. “I’ve still got this. Pretty sure it works on dragons.”

  I allowed a few flames to play around my hands. “Listen, you. I will not be trifled with by a mere hatchling. I have devoured gods without a hint of—”

  Melody thumped my chest again. “No, not the speech. Don’t do the speech again. Once a day is more than enough.” She turned back to James. “Don’t worry; payment won’t be an issue.”

  “Exactly,” I said, “because I’m not paying you a penny—”

  “—less than your information is worth,” Melody finished.

  “That is not what I was going to say!”

  “Being a dragon,” she continued, “Malcolm naturally has all sorts of lovely gold bits and bobs lying around that he’d be happy to part with.”

  “No, I do not!” I shouted.

  “In fact, he’s got an entire hoard of gold in the cellar of his townhouse that he uses just for sleeping on.”

  I gnashed my teeth. “It’s a cavern, not a cellar! And you’re not supposed to tell anybody about that!”

  “Help us,” said Melody, “and you can come over and take your pick from his collection.”

  “Stop it!”

  James’ eyes had been growing steadily wider as Melody made her offer. He now looked like a little boy who has just been told that Christmas is only a few days away. “Really?” he said, his voice squeaking with astonishment.

  “No!” I thundered. “Absolutely not.” I turned on Melody. “Also, you’re fired!”

  “You can’t fire me.”

  “I can fire anyone I like! I’m a dragon! I invented firing!”

  “Only one item,” Melody coaxed. “No bigger than a breadbo
x. How does that sound?”

  I began to protest again, but hesitated. Perhaps this wasn’t so unreasonable. I might be a dragon, but I’m not insanely greedy. I could stand parting with something breadbox-sized. In fact, I was pretty sure I had a golden breadbox somewhere in my hoard. And this was important—we couldn’t have people running around making god-brain soup, after all.

  “You’re sure this person can help?” I asked Melody.

  “Very sure. James hears everything. Especially things pertaining to the theft of magical items.”

  “Fine,” I said, reluctantly. “I agree. But you will be watched very closely while you’re in my cavern, and if you dare try to get away with anything more than what I allow you to have, I will—”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure he gets the point,” Melody interrupted. “So, now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  “Certainly,” said James. “What do you want to know?”

  “We’re—” Melody hesitated. “We’re looking for a bloke…or something.”

  James raised an eyebrow. “Well now, that’s specific.”

  “We aren’t certain of exactly what he is,” I explained. “He might even be a she; there’s no telling for sure. For the sake of grammatical convenience, we’ll assume he’s male.”

  “He’s big, strong, and has pretty substantial magic,” said Melody. “But he’s wild, too. Sort of throws his magic around without really thinking about it, you know what I mean?”

  James rubbed his chin. “That describes a fair few people in my acquaintance…how strong are we talking, exactly?”

  “Very,” I said. “Strong enough to take down a god.”

  James blinked. “That certainly narrows it down. Only one person I can think of who’s that powerful.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Hyde.”

  “Let’s not get melodramatic,” I scoffed. “What would I need to hide from, after all?”

  James rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant. It’s Hyde with a ‘y’. It’s the bloke’s name.”

  “Oh.”

  “And this…Hyde person,” said Melody, “he could square off against a god?”

  “I’ve never actually seen him do anything like that,” James admitted. “Not a lot of gods in this part of town. Except for a few barely powerful enough to call themselves gods. But I did see Hyde wrestle an ogre to the ground with one arm and a centaur with the other, so I’d say he could probably handle your average deity without much trouble.”

  Melody raised an eyebrow at me. “Sounds like a promising suspect so far.”

  “And he doesn’t use magic properly,” James elaborated. “Not that I’m an expert on the subject—I’m not a Charmblood or anything. But I didn’t see this bloke casting any runes. There was red light flashing around his hands while he was fighting, but that’s it.”

  “He was human, though?” I said.

  “To look at. Then again, lots of people look human who aren’t really. But those people usually stop pretending when they’re angry, or when they’re around people they’re not trying to fool. Hyde always looks human, even then.”

  “Could a human be capable of this sort of thing?” Melody asked me.

  “A very damaged human, perhaps,” I mused. “A Charmblood who possesses vast magical power, yet can’t focus or control it properly.”

  “So he wouldn’t be able to cast runes,” said Melody.

  “No. Magic would just…bleed from him, lashing out at random.” I glanced at James. “What else do you know about him?”

  “He’s only been around for a few weeks,” he said. “Showed up one day out of the blue. Seems to get into fights with powerful creatures at the drop of a hat. It’s like he’s drawn to them. Moth to a flame. And…he’s messed people up pretty badly. They’re usually burnt to a crisp by the time anyone finds them. Or every bone in their body’s broken, or their lungs have been turned into gills, or—”

  “We get the idea,” I interrupted. “Uncontrolled magic is notoriously brutal. And extremely rare. I’ve heard of Charmbloods with disorders that prevent them from channeling their powers into runes, but I’ve never encountered one in the flesh.” I realized that James was looking at me strangely. “What?”

  “Moth to a flame,” he murmured. His face had gone pale.

  “What?” I repeated. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “It’s just occurred to me that you’re the most powerful creature who’s come through this part of town in a very long time. And this is also Hyde’s main stomping ground, so…”

  As if on cue, the earth began to shake, causing the boxes on the shelves to clatter against each other.

  “Hyde,” James whispered.

  “The word or the name?” asked Melody.

  “Both! This is how it always happens when he shows up. Little earthquakes, then boom, there he is. I’ve managed to stay out of his way this long, but now you’ve lured him right to my shop. Thanks a lot!” He vaulted over the counter and pointed to the door. “Out! Now! And I’ll still be showing up to collect my payment, posthumously if necessary!”

  Before I could take him to task for unceremoniously throwing us out, the wall behind us exploded.

  Chapter 6

  Dying is Forbidden

  The shockwave threw me to the ground in a cascade of pulverized bricks. I coughed and squinted through the dust as I crawled toward where Melody had been standing. “Is everyone all right?” I rasped between coughs.

  “I’m here,” said Melody, her voice hoarse. “I’m all right, I think. Just a little bruised.” I began to make out her form through the haze. “James shielded me with his own body.”

  I looked down at him. He was lying in front of Melody, his eyes closed, his face pale. “Is he dead?” I asked.

  “No,” she said sharply. “I’ve checked. He’s still breathing and his pulse is strong. I think he’s only stunned. And there’s no need for you to be so cavalier about people dying.”

  “What? I’m not trying to be rude, but I mean, really, how much can you expect from one of these useless human bodies you’re cursed with? They barely hold together any longer than Victor’s homunculi.”

  Her eyes went to my side as I noticed a stabbing pain in that general area. I glanced down to see blood oozing through the fabric of my coat. “Case in point,” I sighed.

  “You’re hurt,” she exclaimed.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re on fire!”

  “Yes, that’s normal.” Sparks and flames spurted from my wound, and the fire quickly spread across my entire body. I moved away from Melody to avoid burning her.

  “What’s happening?” she demanded.

  “My human body is too damaged to survive,” I explained. “So my dragon form is going to take over until my human form has a chance to renew itself.”

  “You mean you’re changing into a dragon? And you can’t stop?”

  “That about sums it up.” Crimson scales rippled across my skin as my claws and tail sprouted and my teeth lengthened. I crouched on all fours and crawled away from the ruins of the Jolly Roger, out into the street, so my dragon self would have sufficient room to grow. Even so, I was still going to be a bit cramped.

  “Probably for the best,” Melody called up to me as I loomed over her. “We are dealing with an insane Charmblood, after all. Where do you suppose he’s got to? Why blow up the shop and then do nothing?”

  “He’s watching us,” I said. “Waiting for the opportune moment to make his move.” I was now fully transformed. My nostrils flared as I sniffed the air. “I can smell him. And his magic.”

  “Magic has a smell too?”

  “Oh yes.” I spotted a shadowy figure moving through the slowly-dispersing clouds of red dust. “Get behind me, Melody,” I warned.

  She ignored me, of course, choosing to stand beside me instead.

  The man stepped into view, his fists clenched, a look of fury in his eyes. He was easily as tall and muscul
ar as Hades. His features were coarse, almost simian—so much so that I nearly mistook him for an orc at first glance. His shirt and trousers were torn and frayed, and his feet were bare. Red light crackled around his fists and blazed from his eyes as he fixed us with a murderous glare.

  “Well,” I said, studying him. “This is interesting.”

  “That’s one word for it,” said Melody.

  “Dragon.” Hyde spoke in a deep, rumbling voice.

  I inclined my head politely. “Indeed. Malcolm Blackfire, archaeologist and, as you so astutely pointed out, dragon. This is my associate, Melody Nightingale. I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re out on the streets instead of in some dusty old tomb, but actually, we’ve just recently come from one of those, and its occupant was missing a certain prized possession. No longer functional, but it had great sentimental value.” I leaned back on my haunches and held out my forefeet about ten inches apart. “Smaller than a breadbox. Grey. Wrinkly.”

  “I’ve never killed a dragon before,” said Hyde, with an ominous grin.

  “Right,” I sighed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t introduce that motif into the conversation, but oh well. I should warn you that though I’m technically not allowed to assume my dragon form in a public place, the Borogove Accords do make an exception for occasions when I have to defend myself against an extraordinary threat to my life. I believe you just might qualify.” I bared my fangs. “Or at least, you would, if I was still human.”

  Hyde advanced with slow, lumbering steps, like a bear preparing to charge. The red glow around his eyes and hands grew brighter.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know a Dr. Henry Jekyll, would you?” I said, deciding it was worth a try.

  Hyde’s manner became more frenzied. “I don’t need Jekyll!” he shouted. “You hear me? I don’t need him! He’s nothing! I don’t want to be him!” He raised his hands, preparing to attack me.