Dark Jenny

by Alex Bledsoe

  “That’s true.”

  “He did something wrong. And then to cover it up, he did something evil.”

  “We all make mistakes.”

  “No, this was no mere mistake, this was…” Kern trailed off again into his memories. I tried prompting him, but he ignored me. When he finally spoke again, it made me jump. “Say … you haven’t seen the Crystal Cave, have you?”

  I shook my head.

  He got to his feet, wiped the lute strings with a cloth, and gently put it aside. He extended a hand to help me out of the chair. “Come on, then. See a man’s life’s work.”

  chapter

  TWENTY-TWO

  I leaned against the doorjamb for a moment while my head stopped spinning. I didn’t realize how fuzzed-up I’d become until it began to dissipate. The clean air outside felt like ice water in my lungs, and I sucked it in until my chest hurt. Give me good old drunkenness any day.

  A cobblestone path led from the cottage to the mouth of the cave. The individual rocks were pressed deep into the ground, indicating a lot of back-and-forth traffic. In the bright morning sun I saw lots of other other bare spots and paths; the Crystal Cave must do bang-up business.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Kern said with a satisfied sigh. “Come on, youngster.”

  Kern’s bare feet smacked on the stones. As I followed, I looked around at the shadows within the thick forest, suddenly struck by how many places were suitable for an ambush. It seemed unlikely that Agravaine and his pals could have tracked us, though. We’d been on well-traveled roads with a wagon identical to hundreds of others on the same byways, and we’d gone hours without seeing anyone else. With no distinctive trail or witnesses, we should be completely safe. Unless they knew where to look.

  “You know,” I said to Kern, “I met a boy who said you have dragons in the woods around here.”

  He laughed. “Hot steam shoots up from the ground in a couple of places. Same thing that heats the spring in the cave. Makes a hell of a noise. I might’ve let on that they were dragons, though. It keeps a certain kind of person from trying to sneak in here and make mischief.”

  A wooden gate blocked the cave entrance, its lock dangling from a chain. Kern opened it and called out, “Hey, girls, it’s just us!” A giggle of acknowledgment rang faintly from the depths.

  Kern took a lamp from a hook, struck a flint, and lit the wick. It cast a golden glow that sparked off the wall’s quartz deposits. “I found this place when I was a boy,” he said wistfully. “I bought it as soon as I could and for four decades never told a soul. Chased two bands of squatters out of it over the years before I finally built my cottage and moved in permanently. It’s the last place I want to see when the light finally fades for good.” He closed the gate behind us and locked it.

  “You have the key?” I asked. He had no apparent pockets on his tunic.

  “I’m the world’s greatest wizard, I don’t need a key.” He snapped his fingers and the big lock popped open. He snapped it shut again and we headed deeper into the cave.

  “When I left court,” he said as we walked, “I decided I’d create my dream here, out of rock that wouldn’t equivocate or resist when I tried to polish it.”

  “Like Marcus?”

  He didn’t respond.

  More faint giggles and splashing reached us. The floor was relatively level, going horizontally into the rock instead of downward. The ceiling was a high arch, the stalactites safely out of range. “It’s just up ahead,” Kern said, pointing with the lamp.

  A wooden partition closed off the tunnel; one end went flush to the wall, while the other left a gap you could step around. The words YOU’VE FOUND IT! THE CRYSTAL CAVE were painted on the wood in big, looping letters, decorated with flowers and butterflies.

  He stopped. “Wait,” he whispered, and closed his eyes. I was about to ask what he’d heard when I realized he was praying. His lips barely moved, but he stood formally straight. Then he sighed, turned to me, and smiled. “Every time I come in here, I thank the spirits of the cave for their hospitality.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in magic.”

  “I never said that, son. I said I didn’t need to use it to do the things most people consider magical.” Then he gestured that I should precede him around the barrier.

  I admit, I was skeptical. I’d seen gimmicky things like this before, and they never failed to be tawdry, vaguely depressing experiences. Such as the Mermaid of Agoya, who was just an old woman with deformed feet trying to be sexy in nothing but strategically placed seashells. I stepped around the partition and stood in the darkness, waiting for Kern to bring the light.

  And, boy, did he bring it.

  A miniature city of impossible detail rose from the cavern floor. The tallest building didn’t quite reach my chest with its delicate, impossibly thin spires. Since it was built from the same rock as the cavern, it sparkled with the same reflected light, helped by the black paint that covered the cave walls and ceilings.

  At the center stood the walls of a huge, square fortification. Within these, taller than anything else, rose a beautiful castle with tiny banners flying from its towers. Inside the real building, I knew, lay the fabled meeting chamber of the Knights of the Double Tarn, unseen by anyone not part of their brotherhood with the lone exception of Cameron Kern. I wondered, if I peered into this model, if I would see a facsimile of the real one.

  “Motlace,” Kern said proudly. “As I always saw it. The real city is considerably less…”

  “Sparkly?”

  “Clean,” he said with a laugh. “I left out the mud and manure.”

  “It’s … something,” I said, truly at a loss for words. I knelt and looked at the nearest building, a tiny livery stable at the city’s edge. I realized that, rather than being an etched surface, its walls were made of tiny stone-chip planks stuck together with glue. Even the ropes dangling from the hitching posts were not made of thread, but rather tiny stone beads fitted and glued to resemble ropes. The illusion was uncanny. It would not have surprised me had a little blacksmith no taller than my thumb emerged and waved up at us.

  “This is what I tried to create through Marcus,” Kern said. His voice was no longer amused, but had grown sad and weary; for the first time he sounded like an old man. “We had everything we needed at our fingertips. And it almost happened, too. A bit more focus, a frog’s hair more courage, and it wouldn’t be just an old man’s toy. But the real world won’t stand for such beauty.” He sighed with weariness and defeat. “That’s really why I left. I wanted to create something beautiful, but the ugliness always wins.”

  I stood, still awed by the creation before me. “How long did this take?”

  “It doesn’t really matter. At least I created my paradise somewhere, and people can see it and appreciate it.”

  “Has Marcus ever been to see it?”

  “No,” Kern almost spat. “He’s not interested in seeing more proof of his failure.”

  “Most people consider Grand Bruan a stunning success.”

  “Compared to an acorn, a sapling is a giant. But it’s nothing like a full grown oak.”

  “You know, Mr. Kern,” I said diplomatically, “you keep dropping these hints and comments, so I feel I have to ask. What exactly did Marcus do that was so bad?”

  Kern sagged, and his eyes grew wet. He closed them tight. “I can’t tell you, son. You’re right, I want to tell you, I want to tell everyone. Nothing, not rock or metal or the dirt of your grave, is as heavy as a genuine secret.” He wiped the lone tear that escaped his eyes and smiled. “I’d hoped you would figure it out for yourself, you know. You’re a smart one, I can tell. Maybe smarter than I was at your age. You know all the players and all the pieces.”

  I scowled. I didn’t need a giggled-up old man criticizing my professional skills. “Maybe I’m not as smart as you think I am.”

  “Do you play anything?” he asked out of the blue. “Any musical instrument, I mean.”

&n
bsp; I was a worse musician than I was a horseman. “No.”

  “Learn. Pick something, learn to play it. Best thing in the world for staying sharp. Your brain will thank you one day.” He had an idea and slapped my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll give you your first lesson.”

  “No, that’s okay, really.” I held up my cast. “See?”

  “Ah, come on, that’s nothing. I’ll have you playing ‘The Smiter and the Smote’ before dinner.”

  I tried to change the subject. “Shouldn’t we check on Jenny and Amelia?”

  He threw back his head and hollered, “Jenny and Amelia!”

  The cry echoed until its response—a lilting “Wha-at?”—drowned it out.

  “Just checking on you,” Kern bellowed.

  “Fine as wine,” Amelia replied.

  Kern turned to me. “There’s no way into the cave but this one, and I pity anyone who riles up Amelia.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Unless you want to join them? Amelia and I share everything. Everything,” he repeated with a wink.

  “That’s okay,” I said quickly, hoping the unwanted mental image would soon fade. With a forced smile I added, “You know, I’ve always wanted to play the lute.”

  * * *

  BACK in the cottage, Kern relit his pipe and I again demurred a puff. He handed me one of the two lutes. “Okay, first get used to the weight.” His eyes narrowed. “Hey, you’ve held one before.”

  “I’ve tried.” The knuckles on my good hand tingled in anticipation of the whacks I used to get from my music tutor.

  He plucked a few notes. “Try that.”

  I leaned against the wall; there was no way I could play trapped in those chair cushions. I imitated him, hitting the right notes but with no rhythm. It had nothing to do with the cast.

  He winced. “Try again.”

  I did.

  “It sounds like a chicken caught between two millstones,” he said.

  “I do have a bad hand.”

  “Maybe your ear needs a cast, too.” With that he gave up on me and began plucking the strings. He sang in a surprisingly strong, youthful voice.

  Riding my steed,

  Giggling the weed,

  Shining knight, you better watch your quest.

  Bandits ahead, dragons behind,

  And you know that lady just crossed my mind.…

  With no warning the door burst open and Amelia and Jenny staggered inside. Both were damp, drunk, and cackling in delight at some joke. Amelia’s robe was open, and the towel around Jenny threatened to fall away at any moment. I wondered if she’d notice.

  Amelia filled the room with her larger-than-life feminine presence. She held up the now empty wine bottle she’d claimed before and announced, “We’re dangerously close to sobering up. And nobody wants that.”

  Kern grinned, his pipe clenched in his teeth. “Help yourself, ladies.”

  Amelia bowed, her sizable, unrestrained bosom jiggling with the motion. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

  Jenny was unsteady on her feet and heavy-lidded. She regarded me with a damp, measuring gaze that told me she’d left her inhibitions back in the cave. “Well, hello,” she said throatily. “You want to pick up where that kiss last night left off?”

  “Ah-HA!” Amelia cried as she found the bottle she sought. She stood, wrenched the cork out with her teeth, and spit it into the fire. She turned up the bottle and took a long, sloppy swallow. The liquid spilled down the sides of her mouth, trailed down her neck, and dovetailed into her cleavage. She extended the bottle toward Jenny.

  Jenny reached for it, then said suddenly, “I need to sit down.” The words were thick and heavy; evidently she wasn’t used to real drinking.

  Amelia put her arm around the other woman’s bare shoulders and held her up. “We’re going to lie down,” Amelia said. “Anyone care to join us?” She looked directly, blatantly, at me.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.

  Amelia shrugged and turned to Kern. “What about you, Cammy?”

  “You know I’m always up for adventure.”

  “Just a minute,” I said. I took Jenny’s face in my hands. Her eyes were red and watery and her mouth hung slack. Her hangover would be vicious. “How drunk are you?”

  “Not so drunk I need a babysitter,” she slurred.

  “Do you want to go with them?” I pressed, nodding at the other two. “You don’t have to, you know.”

  “Why not? Might be fun. Something I’d never do at Blithe Ward.” Her home castle’s name barely escaped her thickened tongue.

  Amelia led her into the bedroom. The tall woman looked at me over the top of Jenny’s head and licked her lips as the door closed.

  Kern stood and stretched. “Sure you won’t join us?” he asked, as casually as if inviting me to go fishing.

  “She’s drunk. They’re both drunk.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a square peg. You sound like that hypocrite Marcus. No one’s making anyone do anything.”

  “That won’t make her feel better when she sobers up.”

  “Join us, then, and make sure she has nothing to regret.” He winked, and I really wanted to punch him.

  Kern went into the bedroom. Through the open door I glimpsed four bare female feet at the end of the bed, one set significantly larger than the other. Then the door closed.

  I immediately went outside; I damn sure didn’t want to overhear anything. The horses raised their heads from the trough. They were still hitched to the wagon so I let them loose to graze in the clearing. I climbed onto the wagon’s seat. The sun was almost directly overhead, and I put on Jenny’s discarded hat against it.

  Kern said I knew all the players and the pieces. So I sorted them in my mind. If Megan Drake was truly stage-managing things from off the island to avenge both her mother and her sisterhood, as well as take out the lover who once jilted her, she had to have agents in the king’s inner circle. Her son, Ted Medraft, was one, but he was nowhere near Nodlon when Sam Patrice died. Medraft pulled Agravaine’s strings, though, and Agravaine had been there. Yet how could he have done it? If he’d been around the apples, someone would have seen him. So if he did it, he’d have to use an agent as well. That was a lot of fingers pulling a lot of strings, and the puppets could easily get tangled.

  This all assumed Marcus was the ultimate target, and that it wasn’t just a simple murder plot gone wrong.

  And how did the absurdity of two identical Jennifers, one light and one dark, fit in? And what if this was all about the Jennifers and had nothing to do with Marcus?

  No, that didn’t work, either. They hadn’t tried to hurt or kill Jennifer, they’d tried to publicly embarrass her, something that could’ve been accomplished much more easily by revealing the prenuptial switcheroo. So that secret, so far, was still safe. So it had to be a plot to get at the king through his queen.

  But wait: Megan Drake was a moon priestess, just like the queen. I knew nothing of their order’s rules, but this kind of betrayal seemed uncharacteristic of the ones I’d known elsewhere. Unless—that word cropped up a lot—Megan Drake had gone against her sisterhood in her quest for revenge.

  And beneath all this confusion, literally, was the unmarked body of an innocent young woman who’d been beaten to pieces hours before. Among my various chains of improbabilities, that was my lone impossibility.

  Unless …

  And I got it. Again literally, it had been right in front of me all along. At one point even close enough to touch.

  Then I heard the whinny and rattle of approaching riders.

  chapter

  TWENTY-THREE

  Through the trees I saw movement on the road that led only here: three men on horseback. In a moment they’d reach the clearing, and I sat in plain view. I had no time to make it to the cottage, where my sword still leaned against the wall, so I threw myself flat in the bed of the wagon. I pulled the hat over my face and crossed my ankles so that if they did see me, they might think I was some sleeping f
armer. Since I still wore expensive, if dusty and wrinkled, court clothes, it was one of my weaker disguises.

  None of the riders spoke as they approached. Their spurs jingled, and leather armor creaked. I expected to hear Tom Gillian’s voice saying I’d missed my deadline, and he was here to collect my head. I hoped I’d have time to explain.

  One of the three dismounted, groaned as if he’d been in the saddle a long time, and said, “Now what?”

  A familiar distorted voice replied, “Sped out. Ib dey try anything, kill dem.”

  I felt a huge rush of relief that it wasn’t Gillian. I hadn’t realized how truly scared of him I was until then.

  “But Kern’s a wizard,” said a voice I now recognized as Cador’s. “He probably already knows we’re coming. He probably knows why we’re coming.”

  “Don’ be a candy ass,” Agravaine snapped. “He’s juss an obe man. He’s gop as much ‘magic’ as I hab in my ass.”

  Hoel, the one who’d dismounted, yelled, “Hey, Cameron Kern! Come out in the name of King Marcus Drake, and bring the man LaCrosse with you!”

  I risked lifting the hat’s brim. I couldn’t see them over the side of the wagon.

  When there was no reply, Agravaine said, “Ty abain.”

  “Cameron Kern, this is Sir Vincent Hoel of the Knights of the Double Tarn! I order you and LaCrosse to appear in the name of the king!”

  At last the cottage door squeaked open. Cador gasped, “Shit!”

  “The cave isn’t open today,” Amelia said. Her sheer presence froze the three knights in their tracks. “Hold on and I’ll get you free tokens for your trouble.”

  Another pair of boots hit the ground. Careful not to make the wagon squeak, I rose enough to see that Agravaine now stood beside Hoel, both of them in front of Amelia. Agravaine looked even more squat and dwarfish with her towering over him, her robe cinched tight against her showstopping form.

  “Whez Kamera Kerr?” Agravaine demanded.

  She scratched the side of her head and frowned, as if thinking was a real effort. “Who?”