The Lady of May Tulip (The Lynchman's Owl Adventures)

by B. Y. Yan

  “Ah, but it would be a good turn for my Abe to do some damage to that villain,” the train conductor’s wife told Madeline as they sat talking together inside her modest kitchen, “and I am glad to be of service any way I can too. I wasn’t there to see the whole thing play out, mind, but when I was told I became furious! Any hot-blooded national would be! My man I give to you wholly and willingly. You have only take him to the Governor-General, madam, and I would be much indebted.”

  But Madeline, however, found herself much concerned with matters other than the appearance of the train-conductor. It was a sentiment she had been unable to escape ever since setting foot in this quaint, domestic household. For all its humbleness, this association with the contest of the mighty powers of the land brought also unfathomable dangers to her mind, of which she was desperately trying to convince the mistress of the household.

  “But you, madam,” said Madeline to her, gripping her hands tightly, “We must first do something about you and your children.”

  The gravity in her voice brought the older woman to heel. On being told of her concerns, the train-conductor’s wife cast an astonished gaze first towards the young woman, then to her own sons and daughters. “But surely we cannot be targeted as well! We’ve nothing to do with the whole thing.”

  “If I know something about Lord Cudgmore’s methods,” Madeline persisted, “he will be quick to attach his anger at your husband’s patriotism to your whole family.”

  “But here, so deep inside our own borders?”

  “I have seen men do great wicked things for a little wealth handed their way. Not all are as noble as you and yours, madam, or so loyal.”

  The train-conductor’s wife began to go very white in the face.

  “But do not fear,” Madeline assured her with all authority, “The Lord Viceroy has given explicit instructions that you are all of you hereby placed under his protection.”

  “Gods bless him!” cried the older woman in relief. “I never doubted.”

  As you or I can attest to, however, the baron had made no such promises. He had, to the best of anybody’s knowledge, never mentioned anything remotely regarding the safety and wellbeing of the families and kin of those who might be placed in coming danger. As you can imagine Madeline had a hard time convincing September of her views, to mention nothing of the indiscretion of having given her Word in place of his master. But we will do credit to her efforts that eventually he came around to her way of thinking. After all, a man works best unburdened by the weight of his social responsibilities; and it was inconceivable to think that, should any harm come to his family, the esteemed train-conductor might be of proper mindset to help when the time came.

  Again the matter was put to the mistress of the house, and again she professed all gratitude towards their newfound patron. On their way out, however, a little something was let slip of her true feelings on the baron.

  “Daddy hates him,” her youngest daughter said to Madeline, tugging insistently on her fingers.

  “Who?” asked the young woman.

  “The bloody baron, he calls him,” she replied. “Mother has been swayed as well after he keeps calling him the greatest thief in the history of the nation—”

  A mortified look from her mother was quickly followed by a hand covering her mouth, and the girl—incredibly elegant and eloquent for her age, if I may be allowed to interject—was bundled away before the matter became truly embarrassing. Herding her children out the door with chiding whispers, this scene of commonplace domestic bliss swiftly brought a smile to Madeline’s lips. Alas, it was not to last.

  Outside the patrolman, when told of the change in plans, flung perspiration from his forehead.

  “Ah, madam, you have the right of it! We’ve had a disturbance just up the street. There’s no telling what, if anything, is meant by it, and the sooner we are to depart the better.”

  “Why?” she asked him, alarmed. “What has happened?”

  “Two of my comrades in arms were just running by a half-hour ago in that direction, and it is from them that I’ve heard. It seems another patrolman was alerted to a suspicious loiter about the area, but on confronting him the man produced two surprisingly well-armed allies. The patrolman retreated, twittering on his whistle, and nearly got his hand shot off for his troubles. But he drew some help nearby and it was one of the troublemakers who ended up pierced by a ball. It may mean nothing at all, but lying in waiting on the best route for the train-conductor to come home, I thought it was worth mentioning at least.”

  There was no time to lose. Whether or not the incident had anything to do with their errand was irrelevant. September, without the train-conductor in his custody, was at first reluctant to depart, until Madeline assured him that she will wait behind for him.

  “You?”

  She nodded solemnly, “It is imperative that Mr. Gamble’s family is seen to first, so that they do not become unwilling leverages for Lord Cudgmore later on. Inside your master’s own carriage, with all his titles and his name done up in golden lettering over the door, it will be a brave hand indeed who dares to strike. One thing at a time, Mr. September, and we will see the thing through yet.” Then, turning towards the train-conductor’s wife, Madeline embraced her firmly. “Madam, it is difficult to say which path is more dangerous. But for your sake and that of your husband’s, you must go with this man in his carriage. You will either arrive unharmed or you will be waylaid along the way. But you must stomach it all, for bait or decoy it is the only way.”

  The older woman, much flustered, could only leave everything in Madeline’s hands. She managed little in the way of protests before the carriage door slapped shut behind her. September, without much to offer otherwise, speedily mounted the box. With a snap of his whip they were all of them away.

  “That was a fine thing you did, madam,” said the patrolman tearfully to her as they watched the carriage turn and disappear around a nearby corner. “If some spies can be drawn off thinking the man is already in our hands, then all the better for it.”

  Madeline favored him with a waning smile. She was not as un-frightened as she was putting on, but she was far more courageous than he knew. She was, in the thick of the moment, only thinking of the family she had done her best to send to safety.

  “In any case you will be with me, sir,” she said to the patrolman comfortingly. “And we must not abandon our post now.”

  “You can count on me, madam,” he replied with a thump on his chest. “I shall take up my spot out here, but you may feel free to go back inside. It is chilly out, and the night is rapidly catching up to us. I shall let you know if anything happens.”

  She thanked him, and returned inside. It was just as well, for had she not been inside the house, she might have missed the telltale scratching at one of the rear windows an hour later. Wide-eyed she jumped up from her chair and raced into the kitchen, where she found a desperate hand clawing at the air just outside the glass panes. Despite herself she hurriedly loosened the latch, and when there was sufficient room she reached out to it, where a man was hauled tumbling inside.

  There is no need to dally on the obvious. Of course it was the train-conductor, and of course he was plenty surprised to find somebody—a woman, no less—in his own house, completely at home, who was not his wife. Introductions were performed in short order, and quickly he was brought up to speed.

  “So they are at the bloody baron’s?” he persisted in asking, even after having been assured many times over that it was so.

  “With any luck, they are dining with the highest in your land now,” said Madeline. She looked out of the window at the dark blue sky. “You are very late coming home, Mr. Gamble.”

  “Ah,” he replied, somewhat embarrassed, “but that was down to a misfortune or two. You can see I did not have an easy time of it, considering I had to come in through the window.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Well my normal route home turned out to be blocked by
a congestion. Several people informed me of a shootout breaking out between local gangs and policemen, or something of that sort, forcing me into one of the side alleys. I must have run afoul of lady luck today and never knew it, wouldn’t you know, for there I was, whistling contentedly, when I was suddenly set on by a ruffian with a knife.” He showed her, rather nonchalantly, a great big gash in his sleeve.

  “Gods!” cried Madeline, with one hand going to her mouth.

  “I think I was robbed, but did not stay to find out more. Thankfully a dog barking up a storm in a nearby yard drew his attention, and I was able to get away.” Seeing her expression, he laughed it aside. “Oh it was nothing! Just a run of bad luck, you see. Later a brick hurtled down from a rooftop and shattered to pieces before my feet. I was unharmed, but reluctant to go in that direction when I saw a pile of such things neatly arranged on one of the stone railings overhead. But by then I was near enough home that I thought I could make a shortcut of it to the kitchen window, which is where you ended up finding me.”

  “Mr. Gamble,” said Madeline gravely, “We must go at once. Your life is in imminent danger.”

  He looked to her befuddled. “What, hey?”

  It might be inconceivable that a man could be so ignorant as to his own plotted demise, given all that has happened, but Gamble was one such soul of boundless naivety. Truly outside his own obligations to make the trains run on time there was little else in his life with which he took an active interest. It was impossible for him to comprehend that somebody might deliberately wish him harm.

  “But why?” he protested. “What good would it be for anyone if I ended up injured?”

  “Has it occurred to you that it is not your services they are after?” Madeline asked him. “Dead or maimed, sir, and there you would be no help to their enemy.”

  “Well,” he said uncertainly, “when you put it that way—”

  As they were talking over the matter they had reached the front door, and drawing it open a touch Madeline was first over the threshold. There she uttered a sudden cry of shock, and turning around swiftly pushed against the bulky form of the train-conductor following close behind.

  “Back! Back!”

  “What?” he replied. Over her shoulder he got a look at what she saw which had so disturbed her. “Oh!”

  The patrolman who had been waiting outside lay sprawled over the steps, with a ghastly wound over the back of his head suggesting plainly the sudden violence which had befallen the poor man.

  We bear witness once again to Miss Madeline’s bravery, who, upon shoving the train-conductor forcefully back inside his own house, immediately turned her attention to the patrolman. She dragged him in where he lay insensitive over the hallway floorboards. Nothing she could have done would have roused him, however, for sadly he was by then beyond mortal help. Madeline wasted no time pulling the much flustered train-conductor back into his kitchen, where she began to work furiously at the window he had come in from.

  “Out, now,” she told him sternly. Halfway through he was still offering feeble protests for her treatment of him. According to him, they might as well just barricade them inside to wait the siege out.

  “And what if they set fire to the house, sir?” she asked him. With her hands on his bottom pushing forcefully, he squeezed through in the same manner as he had come in, and she dropped out of the window after him only a half-step behind.

  With the front door under attack, Madeline probably intended for them to escape by one of the numerous narrow alleys which existed between the buildings like the crisscrossing lines over a chessboard. The train-conductor, being a man thoroughly at home in the neighborhood, led her through with her hand in his until they came to an opening which led outwards into a wide street with a small park opposite them. There Mr. Gamble raised his hand and hailed for a cab. But he had no more uttered a syllable when Madeline, with a forcefulness which was amazing for her petite form, drew him back inside the alley again.

  “Hush, now!” she admonished him with her hand pressed over his mouth. Wide-eyed he could only follow her pointing finger, which ended at the park entrance where two or three suspicious looking people were huddled about, making a very obvious show of acting the lookout for some purpose or another.

  “Oh dear,” the poor man mumbled.

  He, the hapless creature, was just beginning to come to comprehend the dangers into which he had been plunged in this contest of titans. His heart shot through by fear, he offered no resistance as Madeline began to lead him back in the direction they had come. But they had not gotten more than a few feet when there came the abrupt sound of hushed voices coming from that direction. Nothing could be made out in the darkness but for stirring shadows dancing over the walls.

  Immediately Madeline came to a decision. The narrow alleys, if blocked off, would have been hopeless for them. She whirled, and taking hold of the train-conductor’s hand, led him out into the street. Looping her arm through his, together they began to walk down the cobble with the air of an unperturbed couple out for a late stroll. Heads held high they made the best of their disguise, though it is probably worth mentioning that with the entirety of the train-conductor’s weight upon her, it was all she could do to keep him from stumbling. In any case, they managed to reach the end of the street before the first howls of pursuit rang out from behind them.

  “Run,” said Madeline.

  It would be a great disservice to say that they merely picked up their pace. Without looking back, they flew down the street with the frills on the young woman’s skirt rippling over the cobble. The common wardrobe for women in that Age were as impractical for hurried escapes as it was for unexpected confrontations, but I am proud to say that Madeline made the best she could of an impossible situation. Behind them voices steadily swelled while before them suddenly appeared a six-wheeled work bus, rounding a corner and coming to a rolling stop. As the driver reined in the horses the doors popped open one by one, disgorging a steady stream of toughs brandishing mattocks and axes.

  They had no weapons with which to defend themselves. And skidding to a stop the train-conductor promptly went to his knees a blubbering mess. Madeline, however, snatched up a loose brick from beside her feet. Eyes brimming with fury she marched on towards the gang with the rectangular grey block raised high in her hand.

  Surely it would be obvious to you or I how the matter might have played out, for bravery was one thing, but she was very clearly going to her death. Still, she had the distinct satisfaction of seeing the thugs before her quail in uncertainty looking into the fire of her eyes, albeit only all too briefly. Gathering up their courage they came on then, mere moments before a great terrible crash turned their heads.

  They all of them turned to look. And looking they could not have helped themselves from roaring in unison, here from shock, there out of terror. For you see, the thunderous crash had resulted in the roof of the bus being nearly caved in by a falling projectile, with every window shattered and the doors nearly torn from their hinges. And rising slowly from the top of the wreckage, with one of the bus’s bent wheels rolling away to clatter noisily against a curb, was a sight which struck dumb all present by fear.

  It was not his preposterous top hat which stuck upwards like an exclamation point, or the swirl of feathers which was wrapped around his shoulders as a mantle. It was not even the hoarse, rasping snorts like scraping claws of steel which came in infrequent bursts through the iron beak sitting low over the chest. When he panned his gaze over them they were gripped by the sight of two eerie yellow eyes which held them in its clutches. As he stared them all down, unblinking, the creature raised one arm. In one massive, gauntleted hand he held what looked to resemble a long stick which glimmered wickedly in the moonlight. Pointing it at one man in the throng there was the briefest of hisses, and the man fell over with a cry.

  As the assemblage converged upon the fallen man to see to his distress the gesture was repeated from the top of the broken bus, and the crowd s
cattered with a shout. In their midst a second man was left lying over the payment, felled by that same weapon. By then the creature was already amongst them.

  The Lynchman’s Owl more than lived up to his reputation as the childhood fairytale monster of the populace, coming to snatch away the unforgivable into the dead of night. Here and there he jumped out from the mingling shadows, thrashing the nearest man before seemingly melding away into the darkness again. If trained marines in the pay of one of the highest military institutions in the land was once dismantled with surgical precision by him, then it stands to reason that this little band of neighborhood thugs stood little chance, having run afoul of an irresistible force they were not prepared to face. It is a shame then Madeline saw nothing of their battle, for by the time the Owl had broken enough bones for the battle to be settled, she and the train-conductor were nowhere to be seen.

  The Owl, however, had no time to look just then, for he still had a last opponent more resolute and formidable than the rest. Opposite him, pushing his way out of broken spokes and splintered frames that were all that remained of the bus was none other than the foreign diplomat’s valet in all his glory. The gang which has sold their countrymen for coin needed a watchdog to ensure their compliance, and this man was none other than Cudgmore’s angry giant. It will speak to the baron’s enduring good luck that this was probably just the opportunity he had been looking for in order to avenge himself over the prior insults he has suffered at the hands of this creature.

  So the Owl whipped out his weapon again, a long flute modified into a compact air-gun, and below him the giant gave up a roar of pain and fell clutching his foot. Of course he could have been shot through the heart just as easily, but you will forgive the baron for wanting some time with the man for the sake of his ego. It has been a very long time since anyone dared to lay their hands on him the way he did, and it is for this reason that the Owl fell upon him in a single bound now, belting him squarely across the temple.