The Strangely Wonderful: Tale of Count Balásházy

by Karen Mercury

  Apparently, no man would, for every last man jack scrambled wildly for all four corners of the drawing room. It took Tomaj to firmly oppose his whaleman friend, yardarm to yardarm with both cutlasses clashing, holding steady with fiery eyes.

  “Ian,” Tomaj boomed. “It may be true that the way we receive a visitor depends on the clothes he wears, but the manner in which we see him to the door is determined by the way he’s conducted himself.”

  One could hear the bats squeaking as they wheeled over the garden.

  MacKendrick laughed, briefly. His hand loosened around his cutlass hilt, allowing the blade to drop to the floorboards. He slapped Tomaj on the arm. “Of course, old friend, of course.”

  MacKendrick took his relief further, extending an open hand to Zaleski, who had been hovering poised with all manner of Arabic swords at the ready. Even Zaleski dropped a few yataghans in order to shake the harpooner’s hand, and the atmosphere returned to one of merriment.

  Zeke was a frequent visitor, at first borne on a fancy filanzana he’d had decorated with tassels and feathers, as befitted his status as Tamatave’s most important merchant. It didn’t take long, however, for the incessant peculation of the queen and her demands for more tribute to undermine all profits, and he later arrived in a plain hired palanquin chair.

  He brought news that Boneaux, sire of the heir apparent who resided in the queen’s womb, had overtaken Tamatave harbor with the most glorious frigate Madagascar had ever seen. Tomaj had long been accustomed to not using that harbor, so he simply shrugged. Everyone by now knew to stand directly into Mavasarona Bay. Boneaux’s soldiers, who at first were eager patrons of Zeke’s kipping ken, soon became obnoxious, one night knocking over his bar, another night strangling to death an unimportant fisherman in Zeke’s only bathtub.

  The queen’s child would inherit the throne, though his birth date be the subject of unspoken questions, because by Madagascar law, “when a man dies, any children his widow may afterwards have are looked upon as his.”

  This information cast a pall of unease over Barataria dinner parties, especially when Monsieur Rabelais himself came to Barataria to request asylum. Soldiers had murdered almost all of his sugarcane workers, scattering their remains about the fields. Tomaj and Rabelais were a long time in Tomaj’s library with their heads together, and when they emerged, a new family was welcomed into Barataria. Madame Rabelais salvaged a great deal of goods from her former plantation, and Dagny spent many carefree hours with her, arranging her hats and shoes.

  Dagny had not spent many nights in her own chamber, so she gladly gave it over to the Rabelais family. While she waited for Tomaj to retire, it was relaxing to read novels, or study her Naturalist’s pocket book, with its “approved methods for collecting and preserving the various productions of nature.” Some nights she worked at a desk on the book she was writing. Every night Tomaj came to bed, stretched his glorious body, and made love to her. She adored braiding his hair playfully, adorning the queue with sundry pins, jewels, and ribbons, threading his hair through his celestine ring. He was warm, so warm. When she cradled his head to her, his coarse black hair lay across her bosom. The “Nefarious King of the Betsimisaraka” was a gentle, sensuous panther in her hands, sinuous and loving, licking her nipples with a rough cat’s tongue.

  Tomaj renamed the Bombay Oyster to Edvarda, and had Smit carve a new figurehead that was based upon the painting of Dagny.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  AT PERENNIAL PETE’S ROCK

  WORD GAME THAT SLUSHY HAD FOUND A MINIScule chameleon, the likes of which Dagny had only seen stuck to the bottom of Zeke’s boot.

  The tiny lizard was to be found in the eastern forest behind Barataria—Slushy waited there for her next to the rock shaped like Perennial Pete’s head.

  The clearing was bright and tolerably warm, and Dagny and Sal strolled uphill arm in arm. Slushy stood by the big rock, waving.

  “Turtle dove, I’ve been wondering.” Dagny adored leaning into Sal, the way he smelled of eucalyptus and lemons, the hot sun warming his locks of hair against her face. “How have you fared since the … since we left the Bay of Antongil? What I mean to say is … I worried it may have brought up sorry memories of your father in South Carolina.”

  Sal breathed deeply and smiled. “I’m doing fine.” He seemed happy, the cicatrices on his cheekbones creating pleasing shadows.

  “Yes, but … I loathe how your father had you run out of town like that. That never should have happened. You were a great medicine man. I just hope it’s not going to affect… your studies of rocks, perhaps.”

  Sal squeezed her hand. “My father only told the town it was my fault that he had his hands on me because that’s what he needed to say. He needed to blame me. Don’t you worry. If I hadn’t been sent out of South Carolina, I never would have met you. I’d truly regret that.”

  “But do you not abhor … men? I just want you to be as happy as I am.”

  “No. I cannot abhor men, when there are men like Tomaj who’ve taken the Black Picture and turned it around so that he’s looking at himself. His life inspires me.”

  Dagny smiled and breathed in of Sal’s essence. “As you inspire him.”

  “Why does Slushy keep waving? Doesn’t he see us coming?”

  “What’s wrong with him? It must be some sort of wonderful chameleon for him to be so—”

  Slushy broke free from the rock and tore like lightning down the hill. Arms flailing wildly, his eyes had a strangely squashed look, as though someone had stepped on his head. He staggered, not having much use of his bad leg. Dagny and Sal rushed forward, stumbling through bushes.

  Slushy wailed, “Avast! Beware the perfidy of mankind! Humanity lurks behind the big stone!”

  Dagny gasped, “What’s he trying to—”

  “He’s trying to tell—”

  An explosion from behind the large rock laid Dagny and Sal flat.

  After a bit, Dagny breathed in, her eyes locked upon Sal’s. Acrid powder smoke drifted into their faces.

  They drew their own pistols and bolted to their feet. Slushy lay sprawled on his face, limbs splayed out like an insect. Blood flowered on his back, seeping like a ruptured forest bloom. Dagny turned him over. He had the same expression as the chameleon on the bottom of Zeke’s boot—skewed, astonished, flat.

  “They shot him in the back,” Dagny whispered.

  Paul Boneaux stepped from behind the rock, leveling another pistol at Dagny.

  “You shot him in the back!” she shrieked, waving about her own pistol.

  Boneaux sauntered down the hill. “He was useless, once he ran and tried to tell you I was there.”

  “You shot him in the back, Paul! Weren’t you about to reveal yourself anyway? I’ll have you arrested for murder!”

  Paul chuckled, stopping ten feet from them. “Arrest the sire of the future ruler of Madagascar? I think not. No. You are coming with me, Miss Ravenhurst. Enough of this playing pirate with these base freebooters. You will come with me now.”

  “I’ll shoot you.”

  Paul swiveled his arm so that his pistol pointed at Sal’s head. “I’ll shoot your brother. Put down the pistols, both of you.”

  Dagny looked to Sal. They were two, Paul was one. In the event either one of them shot Paul, he’d still shoot Sal.

  They dropped their weapons. Paul picked up both pistols, sticking them in the waistband of his trousers.

  “I don’t know what you’re hoping to gain by this, Paul,” Dagny said in a low voice she hoped was menacing. “I’ll come with you for now, but where are you taking me? You know you can’t prevent me from returning to Barataria.”

  Smiling impudently as if he’d just tail-wagged her in front of her brother, Paul reached out to tweak her chin affectionately. “And why would you want to go back to a den of thieves and bastards when you can live in the finest opulence with me?” He chuckled as though they were alone on the hill, as though Slushy’s body wasn’t sprawled near hi
s feet. He tickled her behind the ear, and she wanted to bring her knee up into his groin, but he still held the pistol pointed at Sal’s face. “My doll. I know you stayed in the Tamatave cottage hoping I’d come back. Now I have somewhere even better for you. Do you know the Rabelais plantation? Well, it is now mine.”

  Dagny frowned with horror. “Paul. You’re delusional! Why—what will the queen think once she finds out you’re keeping me? What will your wife say? Besides—how many guards can you have? I’ll walk out that door the minute anyone turns his back on me!”

  Paul’s beady eyes stilled, his mouth a thin line. “Why would you do that? You have said that you love me, that you would be with me for all eternity, that nothing could ever part us!”

  “Why, yes, I did say that at one point, but that was a long time ago, Paul, and—”

  “Maybe he’s right, Dagny,” Sal said calmly. “Maybe he’s got a good idea.”

  Turning her head to Sal, Dagny nodded. “Yes … you’re probably right.”

  “Do you see?” Happily, Paul wagged the pistol. “Listen to your brother! You must come with me, and we will make ecstatic love under the moonbeams!”

  “But she needs to take some things, Monsieur Boneaux,” Sal said. “You can’t just expect her to come along with only the clothes on her back.”

  Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Boneaux returned the barrel to Sal’s face. “I can send for her things later! In fact, you! Salvatore. Go back to her rooms and gather everything she needs, bring it to the Rabelais plantation. I will accept only you at the gate!”

  “Yes, my sugarplum,” Dagny said in a fresh, warm voice, sidling closer to Paul. “That’s probably the best idea. I’m sure you already have a lot of nice things there for me anyway, right, Paul?” She slid a hand along his burly chest, causing him to falter a bit and look down at her.

  A cherubic smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. “Why, yes, my doll. I have already put some things there for you, a pelisse of taffeta, and …” Dagny toyed with his cravat, and he faltered even more, “… a new gown with the gigot sleeves that are in fashion, and a carriage scarf of Japanese gauze …”

  She pitied him! How could she, when he was trying to take her by force? Yet she did—she found it exceedingly sad and pathetic that this Grand Frenchman, who possessed a lovely wife and children, the grandest empire in the Indian Ocean, and the ear and heart of the queen, should be so unhappy as to pine lovesick for a woman of mature years who preferred a Hungarian pirate to him.

  “… a gold chain with a small essence bottle suspended from it…”

  Her lips brushed his face. This sort of cupboard love came as second nature to her, after a decade as a doxy. “Oh, that sounds delightful, Paul. The Rabelaises have a well-appointed kitchen as I recall. I hope you’ve had it stocked well? I shall make you some of those delightful custards that you adore so much.” That last was a fish story—they’d never eaten more than a few oysters or bowls of rice together, and Dagny knew about as much at making custard as building palaces.

  Soothed, Paul stroked her face with his fingertips, and lowered the pistol to his side. “Yes, my doll. It shall be our own private cave, where none but the serving bears and—”

  “—the serving bears and the footmen and maid bears shall come—”

  “—and serve us in our own private den—”

  She even brushed her lips against his. “Yes, yes, but we must let Sal go, so he can bring all my important foundations, my bracelets, my evening petticoat.”

  Paul waved Sal off disinterestedly with the pistol, eager to return to billing and cooing with Dagny.

  She broke away carefully to embrace Sal, whispering, “I know what I’m doing,” before returning to coddle Paul.

  “If you’re sure, now,” Sal said.

  Dagny waved at him as though she had little bells on her fingers. “Ah, yes, you know me, Sal … I can never resist the lure of true romance!”

  Sal walked down the hill, looking back over his shoulder frequently, and together Paul and Dagny walked up, back to the rock and the forest.

  The men tiptoed through the jungle that fringed the clearing, so brilliant in the sun the lime-green reflection hurt one’s eyes.

  “He’s killed Johnny, that scaly scabby hog in armor!” Zaleski cried quietly, making a sudden lunge toward the clearing.

  Tomaj violently flung him back against a tree trunk. “Cheese it!” he hissed. “Let’s not tip our hand! Let’s creep closer and make our move when he doesn’t have a pistol to Sal’s head!”

  “Maybe Slushy’s not dead,” Broadhecker whispered. “Maybe he’s playing dead duck.”

  Tomaj urged them up the hill, Zaleski cursing under his breath and slapping his boarding axe in his palm.

  When Tomaj had first heard the pistol shot, he raced about asking everyone where Dagny had gone. Bellingham told him they’d gone to the rock shaped like Perennial Pete’s head to meet Slushy about a chameleon. Forbidding Bellingham to accompany them, Tomaj grabbed the two closest and most murderous men, and they raced through the thick forest, at first like wild boars, then as they neared the rock, like timid tenrecs.

  Now as Tomaj peered through some foliage, he saw Dagny kissing Paul Boneaux.

  Although he instantly knew it was a ruse, it enraged him and, like Zaleski, he had to contain his rage. Tossing his head at the men, they crept uphill behind the rock to get the advantage on Boneaux. A few minions of Boneaux’s, including the majordomos Sodra and Rabotobefe, lounged under a tree, so the pirates stopped moving.

  Tomaj was about to tell Zaleski to go surreptitiously scrag the minions when an odd thing happened—Sal sauntered down the hill, alone. Tomaj told Broadhecker to intercept Sal and find out what had happened, and tell Sal to race to Barataria for more men.

  As Dagny and Boneaux headed toward the minions, thoroughly sweet on each other, Boneaux still gripping one pistol casually at his side as he held her arm, Tomaj and Zaleski slunk through the undergrowth. Slapping Zaleski on the shoulder, Tomaj gave him authority to snabble the minions the moment Tomaj made himself known to Boneaux. There were three to Zaleski’s one, but Tomaj had no fear of the outcome of that engagement.

  Tomaj skulked closer, maybe ten yards from the happy couple—then something unforeseeable happened.

  The moment Dagny must have spied the minions, she released her hand from Boneaux’s shoulder and yanked a pistol from the waistband of his trousers. Stepping back blindly while leveling it at Boneaux’s face, she shouted, “Now! It is you who must throw down your pistol, you crazed scum of the mud of hell! Throw it down!”

  Taken by surprise, and perhaps to distract Boneaux, Zaleski drove his axe into the skull of one gaping minion while backhanding his cutlass into the neck of a second. Tomaj had no choice but to shoot Boneaux in the chest while bounding into the clearing. But the jackfool was quicker, leaping at Dagny and grappling her to the ground, so Tomaj’s shot tore into a tree trunk. As he cocked the hammer of his second barrel, a shot came from the rolling pair.

  It was impossible to tell who had the upper hand, so Tomaj dashed after them, unable to get a clear shot at Boneaux.

  He settled for bellowing, “Release her, you swag-bellied pig! RELEASE HER!”

  They rolled to a stop, Boneaux hugging Dagny to his chest so that her torso was exposed to Tomaj’s pistol. Boneaux wrenched her wrist so savagely Tomaj imagined he heard bones crunch, and Dagny dropped the spent pistol. Boneaux lunged to his feet with Dagny as a shield—the epitome of cowardice.

  Her shot had shattered his left bicep, tearing away the coat sleeve and a goodly hunk of muscle and bone, leaving an oozing wound that poured blood over her shoulder as he clutched her to him.

  As Zaleski finished off the third henchman and loped down the hill unbeknownst to Boneaux, Tomaj subtly held up his hand, to indicate to Zaleski to belay.

  “Release her!” Tomaj bellowed once more.

  Boneaux, of course, had the barrel pointed at Dagny’s head, and he tried
to hide his face behind her. He peeked out an inch. “Ha! And why would I do that, you lousy fornicating freebooter? She is mine, and I will kill her if you take one more step!”

  “It’s all right, Tomaj,” Dagny said in a voice admirably steady. “I’ll go with him. He’s—ah—he’s not so bad. He’s a, a rich man, and will take good care of me, right, Paul?”

  As though she hadn’t just shot him, Boneaux shook her happily and yelled, “Yes! You see? It is you who are the scum of the mud of hell, you who abandoned your navy because you were too afraid to fight! Now I have all the desirable women of this island!”

  Tomaj had been taking several miniscule steps uphill to gain the weather gauge again, but Boneaux noticed and moved accordingly. Tomaj’s pistol never wavered from its target at Boneaux’s ear. He could shoot him without touching Dagny, but would Boneaux shoot her first? “Release her, Boneaux, and I will leave this island. I will leave you Barataria, Mavasarona Bay, everything, my farms, my godowns, only release her!”

  Uphill, trees shook and lemurs screeched with the arrival of a large crowd, and Zaleski flung himself out of sight behind a bush.

  Boneaux wasn’t stupid enough to turn around to look. “See?” he chortled girlishly. “I don’t need your permission to take Barataria—I have the backing of my queen’s army! We will simply come and take Barataria from you, and you cannot do a thing about it!”

  Indeed, a detachment of about twenty armed soldiers entered the clearing, the lieutenant ordering them to swarm down the slope.

  “It’s all right, Tomaj,” Dagny cried, an edge of hysteria creeping into her voice. “Go! Save yourself—I’ll get out of this somehow, and I’ll return to you! Just go! Run!”

  Tomaj remained as he was with his barrel fixed on Boneaux’s ear. If anything, he felt even more steadfast, calmer, more certain of his position. “I will not abandon the woman I love to a scum-licking insect who has sired the future terrorist and rapist of Madagascar.”