The Accidental Highwayman

by Ben Tripp

  “Morgana,” I said, returning to the circle of firelight. Darkness was now full upon us. “If I could trouble you for a minute or two?”

  The Princess was no longer so stiff and formal as when we’d first met—and not just because she’d been advised against it as a matter of disguise. Her adventures had placed her firmly among the doings and customs of we manlings, and I suppose the human side of her was enjoying a newfound liberty. While she had once sat always as if upon a throne, no matter what the accommodations, with her back straight, her head erect, and her hands folded before her, now she was all elbows and knees upon the ground, sprawling comfortably. I suspected Lily’s influence may have been exerting itself, as much as anything else. She was an informal soul.

  When I spoke to her, Morgana immediately adopted a more regal posture, and rose decorously at my request.

  “I’ve got my eye on you,” Willum said to me from atop a heap of firewood drying by the blaze.

  Morgana and I retired a little distance from the others. I didn’t want to reveal the peculiar change in the map to anyone else, in case it was something dangerous. I showed her the sheet of paper, holding the candle close.

  “Do you see it?” said I. “The entire thing has changed. You can just see the edge of the old map, here at the bottom, but this is an entirely new drawing otherwise. And the little ciphers have changed, although they’re still penned in my master’s hand. I’d call it witchcraft, but I’ll warrant that’s stating the obvious.”

  “’Tis witchcraft,” Morgana said, peering closely at the page. “Magda’s work, this is. I thought it was but an ordinary drawing when first I saw it; there are no witchmarks upon it. But this is a borigium, a caster’s map. It would take hours to enchant such an object into being, and yet you said you took it from your master’s lifeless hand, with the ink scarcely dry?”

  “That’s right,” said I, confounded. But then, “Do you know—I recall something now. The day I met the old witch, when we parted, it went from afternoon to night, and from one place to another, in what seemed to me the blink of an eye. It didn’t bother Midnight, but I was sore disconcerted at the time. Could she have—”

  “That’s the very chance she needed,” Morgana said. “She must have hexed you out of time, prepared this borigium, and then hexed you back. Midnight wasn’t bothered because he carried you to the new spot himself, in the usual way. He saw time pass, and thought nothing of it. You were little more than a dressmaker’s dummy until Magda lifted the spell.”

  “But I first saw it before she could have touched it,” I protested.

  “The original drawings were indeed your master’s work. He was telling you what Magda had warned him would happen, but he didn’t dare label it. It’s the Eldritch Law, verse six of chapter two: ‘Of Faerie, make no record.’ Magda must have warned him.”

  “But what can the purpose of this be?” I couldn’t imagine what the witch had in mind—the map hadn’t been of much practical use.

  “If we had only known what you possessed, it should have saved us no end of trouble,” Morgana said.

  “I wasn’t hiding it,” I said, defensively.

  “I didn’t say you were! By the Starlit Falls, you are a sensitive fellow, Kit Bristol. All I mean is that I have myself been a fool for not recognizing this object for what it is. You see, with a borigium we receive warning of what’s to come.

  “The reason it has all changed since your master sketched it is because circumstances have changed. Some things came to pass. That’s what the drawings indicate: events to come. Others did not. These new illustrations tell us of events that could lie ahead. They may occur and they may not occur, but we can guide our course by them, like stars glimpsed through the dark clouds.”

  She swept a stray lock of black hair from her brow, and it fell back. So she took off her Gypsy kerchief and rearranged her hair, in such a very human and womanly way it was a delight to behold. I half expected her hair would brush itself by magic, but it tangled as hair ought to do.

  “Why are you staring at me?” she asked, without seeing that I did so.

  “I’m not,” I said.

  “But you were.”

  “I wasn’t staring, I was looking.” And a pretty poor defense it was. Most of the time, I couldn’t tell whether to be glad or irritated by her, so I was both, in rapid succession. “Anyway,” I went on, rather more gruffly than necessary, “there’s only one symbol on that map which hasn’t changed. The last one is a hanged man. It has remained a hanged man since the first, and I don’t like the look of it.”

  “It will change,” she said, but didn’t sound very confident. “Nor are we certain that it represents you.”

  “It looks like me,” I said, although in truth it was just a featureless stick-figure.

  “Let us see what we can decipher,” Morgana suggested. She touched the map with her slender fingers. “This is our route northward. The first of the drawings here at the edge shows our unusual carriage; that’s clear enough. I am thankful that Mr. Puggle used real gold, and not Dutch metal, to decorate his wagon, or we would all be captured or slain. The next sketch is a girl standing upon one foot, holding a spear, I think.”

  “I’d have said it’s a tight-rope dancer,” I ventured.

  “A what?” Morgana had probably seen every wonder genuine magic could devise, but apparently she’d never seen an aerialist in action.

  I explained the general principle to her, and how it was the very thing Lily did for a living, when there was a living to be had doing it (income being intermittent in the performing arts). Then we moved on to the next drawing: a face inside an oval with a loop hanging below it. Following that, as near as either of us could tell, was a portcullis, a barred castle gate.

  The following sketches we made no sense of; they looked like meaningless doodles. Morgana explained that too many things were now uncertain, so the future couldn’t be scryed that far ahead. All except the man in the noose, thought I.

  “Now that we know what this map is, I am encouraged to hope we might end our adventures better than we started,” Morgana said, when we had studied every inch of the paper. “But I cannot understand why the next event on our map shows Lily on a walking-rope. Is it so important that she give a demonstration, or does it refer to her in a general way, accomplishing some action?”

  I thought I had some idea of that, based upon my plan, but forbore telling her of it yet.

  We returned to the circle of light thrown by the campfire. Poor old Uncle Cornelius, though recovered from his shock, had fallen asleep and was snoring lustily through his mustaches inside the cabin. It was no wonder: By his own account he’d toured all of Europe since morning.

  Gruntle was toasting crickets in the coals, but the primary dish was the porridge, which everyone consumed with appetite, although it wasn’t very flavorful, there being no salt in the larder. Morgana seemed reluctant even to taste it at first, but hunger got the better of her. She was accustomed to more delicate fare. I vowed we would lay in a stock of food if we remained with the wagon for more than another day or two. And I intended we should. It was time to discuss my plan.

  “We have had quite an exciting day,” I said, when all were done eating. “And for some of us, several of them. I know that I intended to end my part in it yesterday; yet here I am, and it would be folly to leave this business unfinished. We’re well on the way to our goal, and everyone has played some part in getting us here.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Willum, and flashed his posterior on and off.

  “Well done one and all,” Gruntle said around a mouthful of insect.

  “I’m having ever so much fun,” Lily said. “My happiness would be complete if only Uncle Cornelius were to recognize me for just one minute.”

  “Perhaps he will, soon enough,” Morgana said.

  “No good him knowing you if it’s not in front of that nursemaid,” Willum observed. “You’ve a considerable fortune before you, and that nervy woman has it lo
cked away.”

  “Oh,” said Lily, “I care nothing for that. I just want to have my uncle’s mind clear for long enough to tell him I’m sorry for breakin’ of his heart, that’s all. Can’t one of you magical folk enchant him back to health?”

  “Regretfully not,” Morgana said. “Alike among your people and mine, the mind cannot be cured of its ills. My own father, King Elgeron—his very soul sickens. He lusts for power in the manling’s world, and even gold, although he cannot touch it. He envies me my human blood for that alone, I think. If he could but hold gold in his fist as I can, he would bury himself in it.”

  Morgana’s eyes were now moist, and Lily’s brimming. They fell into each other’s arms and sighed up a gale of feminine misery, as full of sobs as a plum duff is full of currants. I hadn’t meant to make everyone weep again, so I steered the conversation back to the topic on my mind as soon as they had recovered themselves.

  “Speaking of your father, or that is to say, of the topic of our journey, in which he is obviously implicated, I have a plan.”

  The women having exhausted their tears, I was given everyone’s full attention. Even Fred seemed to be listening from his perch atop one of the wagon wheels. I wondered again at the phrase of French I had heard that day, and puzzled over whence it had come. Surely not Fred.

  “We have among us,” I began, “three magicians, an aerialist, and a trick rider—myself, that is—with a fine horse. We have in addition a gentleman once numbered among the greatest impresarios of his day. We have a caravan, ideal in every respect for life upon the road, its property-chests stuffed to bursting with everything one might require to stage a modest spectacle.”

  “We know that,” Lily said. “What do you plan to do, sell us to a novelty collector for boat fare?”

  “I intend,” said I, getting to the meat of the matter, “to go on a tour of England, from here to the Irish Sea, traveling not in secrecy but full upon the open road, and to put on merry performances at every stop along the way.”

  There was a silence that gave to me the feeling of stepping off a high place in the darkness, not knowing what lay below. All eyes were turned upon me, and every face was an unreadable mask (except Gruntle’s, which was characteristically blank).

  Then Morgana spoke. “You suggest we conceal ourselves in the crowd.”

  “We make our own crowds, and hide behind them,” Lily added.

  “We hide in plain sight,” I agreed, relief flooding through me that they understood.

  “What a load of steaming—” began Willum, but Gruntle piped up.

  “I likes that idear. We found a merry Punch-theater inside one of the cupboards this arternoon. Willum and me can dress up as puppets and do plays for the childerns, and begging pardon to her Royal Highness, beside the several verses of them Eldritch Laws we’re like to break, but we could use our comprimaunts to get them fancy effects what no other show has. Why, our old whiskered gentleman—he could talk the fish out of the trees, he’s that good with words, like. He can do the tellin’ of the shows, we do the showin’, and by the ears of the stone wocklebear, nobody will dare bother us! We’ll be too famoust.”

  This speech positively stupefied Willum; he might as well have been hexed out of time by Magda. It may have been the longest statement Gruntle had made in a century.

  “Just so,” I agreed, before Willum could gather his objections. “If we’re popular, it will be that much more difficult to attack us. We’ll be noticed; there will be human eyes upon us much of the time, and that will make it difficult for those blasted pixies to strike. Your Eldritch Laws could be useful, for once.”

  “But you forget our entanglements in the human world,” said Morgana. “The very minute we show ourselves in public, that vindictive captain of yours may become interested, or word will get back to Prudence Fingers and her swain at Mr. Puggle’s estate. Then undoubtedly there will be some human intervention in our scheme.”

  “She’ll have the magistrate on us,” I admitted. “I though we could paint a different name on the wagon.”

  I didn’t share my thoughts about Captain Sterne. If he came for me, I’d have to make a run for it, that was all. The others could carry on without me well enough, I hoped. The hanged man.

  “I don’t think we need worry ourselves about Prudence Fingers,” Lily said, tapping her forehead. “A cunning piece of business, is she. With Uncle Cornelius out of the way, she can have him declared missing and take over his property until such time as he returns—never, with luck to her. It’s perfect—she’s above suspicion and gets all the benefit. So she’ll not be eager to find him now, thinks I.”

  This was an unexpectedly profound insight from simple Lily—but then, I supposed, she knew well enough how a female mind worked. It was men she didn’t understand.

  “I remain unconvinced,” Morgana said, staring into the fire, the light transformed to gems in her eyes. “The business with your uncle, Lily, is one matter, and not a fatal one. My father’s minions are quite another, and the Duchess another yet. Our chief obstacle remains the Faerie loyalists, who are searching for us with thousands of eyes. Should they find us, we shall have no rest or safety and our downfall is assured. If we make ourselves plainly known, as must be the case were we to perform in public, some magical creature will discover us before the first show is done, and we’ll be captured before the second show begins.”

  We all became quiet a while after that. I poked at the embers of the fire, and Willum’s bottom flickered like a rushlight. Then the missing element of our scheme came clear into my mind.

  “Your people,” I said, addressing the Faeries, “find human technology impressive, am I correct?”

  “If by ‘impressive’ thou mean’st ‘stupid,’ then yes,” Morgana grumbled.

  But Willum’s posterior lit up handsomely. “Of course we do. The canals! What a triumph! Ships on the ocean, wheels, cannon, cathedrals, ironworks, woolen mills, pickled eggs—these are mighty feats.”

  “And yet,” I continued, grateful that Willum, at least, would hear me out, “you laugh uproariously at our attempts to do things such as conjuring, or training brute animals to do our bidding. Even what Lily does you find unimpressive.”

  “They don’t, does they? Well I never,” said Lily. “Little ingrates is what they are.”

  “It’s nowt personal-like,” Gruntle broke in. “We can make pigs play the ’arpsichord, if we likes, and make neliphaunts walk upon two legs. We can dance on cobwebs and fly through the air. As for magic—well, nuffink personal to manling-kind, but you’re doin’ it wrong. That’s all.”

  “But don’t you see?” I said, rising to my feet in my excitement. “If we do precisely the things the Faeries aren’t interested in, they won’t suspect us for a moment! They’ll take one glance and say, ‘Oh, another miserable bunch of talentless, entirely human fools,’ and leave us quite alone!”

  “I think I begin to understand,” Morgana said, and her eyes were full of merriment now. She smiled at me, and I saw that when she smiled fully, she had only one dimple, because her mouth came up higher on one side than the other. But while I was falling into her eyes, she was still speaking: “What you suggest is we perform only human tricks and feats. No eldritch magic at all, no comprimaunts or caprizels. Our foes will look on our efforts with such scorn they will discount us!”

  “Precisely my meaning,” I said. “Faeries will think we’re beneath suspicion, and humans will think we’re above it.”

  “Brilliant,” Morgana said, and snapped her fingers at the fire. It burst up in a great green ball of flames, the coals flew up in a red spray, and all at once the light winked out. “I’m sorry,” said she, in the sudden darkness. “I didn’t know I could do that, either.”

  Chapter 21

  PLAY-PRACTICE

  FOR A few days, we divided our time between fleeing and rehearsing. Once, we heard gryphons screaming in the sky, but at a great distance; we spent the afternoon concealed inside a hay-barn, to be
certain we were not detected. On another occasion Willum was scouting ahead and spied pixies upon our route, so we took another road that led us long astray. All the while, bees came and went, Morgana keeping up so busy a correspondence with sympathizers to her cause that I thought it might have a measurable effect on the supply of honey that season.

  Part of our collective disguise was the appearance of leisure. If we raced at speed across the countryside, it would be evident that we were either fleeing someone or rushing somewhere. The former would arouse the suspicion of the human king’s forces, and the latter would arouse the suspicion of the Faerie king’s forces. So we took our time about it, stopping in the afternoons to practice our performances. These pauses allowed Morgana time to concentrate on her bees, as well. She didn’t need play-practice in order to read palms, or so I thought.

  The order of business was as follows: We would halt the caravan in some secluded place, preferably near flowing water so that there would be a defensive barrier against attack on one side. Then, while I freed Midnight from the harness, Lily would secure a rope between two trees, a couple of hands above the ground. Uncle Cornelius would set up the puppet theater. Willum and Gruntle would don their costumes, the hand puppets.

  I observed that the feyín’s wings could curl up like overcooked bacon if they wished to get them out of the way, until they resembled a rucksack on their backs. Gruntle’s injured wing would not curl, but it was flexible enough to lie along his side, so it wasn’t a hindrance to wearing the puppets.

  While everyone readied for their parts, I’d saddle Midnight—he would frisk like a colt at the sight of the leathers—and guide him to a level, clear patch of ground about the correct size for a riding-ring. The reason trick-riders go in circles is because the horse, in galloping, leans toward the center; this makes it easier for the rider not to be flung off. It also creates a full ring for the audience to stand in, which earns more pennies. But the primary advantage is defeating the effect of gravitation, at least a little bit.