by ich du
"But you are only a clerk," said M. Voltigeur, "and as a clerk you surely have no skill in magic at all!"
"I can read," replied Malchance, "and that rare talent, which made me your servant because I could do it better than you, allowed me to search in forbidden books for that which men of my station are not supposed to have. You do not know what I can do, Monsieur. You do not know me at all, for I am merely an appearance to you, about which you cannot truly care - just as she was."
M. Voltigeur looked again at the portrait.
"Why did you steal her gifts to my children?" he asked.
"Because they should have been gifts to my children. It should have been my children that she bore, and not yours. You have no right to these things I have taken - you have no right to your own family, though I know you would not care if they were taken away, and so I have not sought to hurt them. I loved her. All her love-tokens are rightly mine, and all the things which she loved."
"Oh Jean," said the magistrate, with a sigh, "you are a great fool. I was your friend, and you should have been mine. Instead you are a famous robber, and a faithless betrayer. How will I find a punishment to fit such crimes?"
"We are not here to pass judgment on me," said Malchance. "I have been occupied in passing sentence on you. In the eyes of the people of Yremy you, not I, are the famous robber. My denunciation has carried to every covert and corner of the town, and because it came from your trusted friend it is believed! And in the morning, valuables stolen from many houses will be discovered in those chests beneath your bed, to add the final proof. Your confession, dictated to me in your final hour of life, and signed by your own hand, will also be offered in evidence - I have it in my pocket now, with your name already forged. Your loyal footman who admitted me tonight fully believes the story which I told him, that I was bitterly sorry about our quarrel, and came to make amends. When I swear that you died by your own hand, and that I was just too late to prevent it, I will shed such tears that no one would doubt me for a moment. Every detail is now in place."
"Not quite," said M. Voltigeur. "I have not died by my own hand, and have no intention of obliging you in such a matter. In fact, I rather think that I might shoot you dead instead."
"Alas," said Jean Malchance, "I think that you are wrong, and can only hope that you will not be too disappointed."
"I must stand by my belief," said the magistrate, "that your evil magic will not work on a virtuous man, and that whatever daemon has given you your skill will come for your soul, not for mine."
And so saying, he fired his weapon, determined this time that the smoke and the recoil would not affect his aim.
The powder in the pan sizzled madly for a moment, and then the pistol blew up in his hand.
The force of the explosion sent fragments of twisted metal into his eyes. One tiny sliver penetrated to a deeper level; and killed him on the instant.
Jean Malchance had thrown up his arms to shield himself from the explosion, but he quickly lowered them again.
Poor man! he thought. You were ever a poorer Judge than you thought. It does not need magic to block up the barrel of such a stupid weapon as that, and only the pettiest of spells to accomplish it unobserved. If I have damned myself for such a little thing, so be it, but I do not think I have.
The coachman arrived then, followed by the footman and the valet, and all the other servants who had kept such fruitless watch.
"Alas," said Jean Malchance, "the poor man was so deluded and deranged that he thought his phantom had come back to haunt him again. But see! It is only a portrait of his dear late wife."
So saying, he picked up the little picture - bloodstained now - which had fallen on the floor, and when the servants had looked at it, he put it in his own pocket, and took it away with him.
Malchance was quite correct in his estimation that the people of Yremy would believe what he told them, and he had more than enough apparent proofs to convince them. He pretended to be so stricken by grief that he never served again as a clerk to the court of Yremy, but retired to live in solitude, alone with his memories and his secrets.
M. Voltigeur, who was famous while he lived as the Great Judge, became more famous still after his death, albeit briefly, as the Phantom who had haunted himself. It was said of him by many that he had devised the most fiendish of all his punishments for himself.
Whether Jean Malchance was damned for those petty magics which he had used to secure, as he saw it, a penalty uniquely fitted to his enemy's trespasses, no one knows. All that is certain is that he died but a few years after, and that just before he died he made a full confession of the whole affair - not to any eager priest of Verena or Morr, but to a wandering story-teller like myself, whom he first forced to swear that the tale should never be told within the walls of Yremy.
The inevitable result of that injunction, of course, was that everyone within those walls had heard the whole of it within a fortnight - and the lowest of the low were for once united with the highest of the high in thinking it the finest tale to which their humble town had ever given birth.
CRY OF THE BEAST
by Ralph T. Castle
Tomas woke suddenly, with his senses alert and his heart pounding. For a moment there was nothing but the hiss and roar of the surf on the beach outside his bedroom window. But then, once again, he heard the noise that had roused him. It was a high-pitched wail - an inhuman cry rising and falling on the wind.
He slid silently off the straw mattress, struggled into his boots, breeches, and leather jerkin, and crept to the window. He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the tiny panes of hand-blown glass. It was still night outside, but the foam on the waves glowed white, catching the first faint light of dawn.
Again, the strange cry echoed around the bay. Tomas's skin tingled. He shivered.
He crept across the rough-hewn boards and opened the door into the other room of the little cabin. He paused and listened. Brodie was lying quietly on his cot beside the hearth. The fire in the grate still smouldered, and the room smelled of wood smoke. In one corner were shelves of dishes and pots and pans above a simple wooden table. In another corner was a washtub. Everything was neat and clean and stowed in its place.
Tomas crept across the room. Carefully, silently, he lifted the stout oak bar that secured the front door.
"Tom?" There was a rustle of blankets as Brodie sat up. "What are you doing, there?"
"I was just - going for a walk."
"A walk?" Brodie's voice rose in disbelief.
Tomas hesitated. "It's almost dawn."
"But not quite." Brodie lit the oil lamp and struggled out of bed. He was a Halfling, a tubby figure less than four feet tall, with a round, friendly face and a touselled head of hair bleached white by the sun. Muttering to himself, he set about dressing in his usual clothes - a faded blue sailor's jacket, leather breeches, and boots that looked one size too large. A red silk handkerchief was stuffed into his breast pocket, a rusty sword was sheathed at his hip, and an ornamental flint knife hung on a thong around his neck.
He ambled over to Tomas. "What's your hurry? After breakfast, it'll be light enough to venture out."
Reluctantly, Tomas let go of the wooden bar. Having just passed his eighteenth birthday, he didn't like being told what to do. "I heard something," he said.
Brodie put fresh wood on the fire and used leather bellows to fan the flames. He broke eggs into a cast-iron pan, set the pan over the fire, then picked up an old cutlass and sliced a fresh loaf of heavy, dark bread. "I know what you heard." His voice sounded gruff. "I heard it too." He put the bread on a plate, then pointed at Tomas with the cutlass. "I'll wager you don't have the slightest notion what kind of creature would make a sound like that."
Tomas shrugged. "That's why I wanted to find out." He sat down at the table. "Do you know what it was?"
Brodie shook his head. "I'd rather not talk about it." He glanced toward the window, then looked quickly away. He slid the eggs
out of the frying pan, onto a plate. "Eat your breakfast."
When Tomas stepped out of the cabin half an hour later, the sun had risen into a clear, pale blue sky. A breeze from the west was raising spray from the white caps of the waves. It was a brisk, bright spring morning.
Brodie's cabin stood on a wide ledge of rock just twenty feet above high tide, beneath chalk cliffs that formed a shadowy white wall around the bay. The cabin had been built before Tomas was born, using planks salvaged from a shipwreck. He had shared this tiny refuge with Brodie for as long as he could remember.
Brodie's fishing boat was anchored out in the bay, and a small rowing boat lay on the sand. Tomas started picking his way down the familiar path from the cabin to the beach. It was his job, on most mornings, to take the tarpaulin off the rowing boat and push it out into the surf. Together, he and Brodie would row to the fishing boat, tether the smaller boat to the bigger one, then set sail for the open sea.
Today, however, the routine was interrupted. Something was lying on the beach where it had washed ashore during the night. At first, as Tomas started toward it, it looked like a sodden bundle of rags. But as he drew closer, he realized that it was far more than that.
"Brodie!" he shouted. "Come quick!" And he started running, his feet spraying sand.
It was a body - thin, pale, and frail - wrapped in a cloak soaked with seawater. The arms were stretched out, as if trying to cling to the sand beneath, and the face was turned to one side. As Tomas circled to get a better look, he saw that the features were not human.
"It's an elf woman!" he shouted, as Brodie came hurrying down from the cabin.
The Halfling reached the prostrate figure, kneeled, and gingerly touched his finger to the side of her throat. "Seems she's still alive. Help me turn her on her stomach. Quickly, now."
Methodically, he started moving her arms and massaging her back, forcing seawater out of her lungs. For a long while, there was no sound other than the roar of the surf, the occasional cry of a gull and Brodie's breathing as he worked hard on the unconscious figure. Finally, after Tomas would have been ready to give up, the elf woman stirred. She made feeble choking noises, coughed some water onto the sand, and tried to turn over.
With gentle strength, Brodie sat her up. "Easy," he said. "You'll be all right, now. Easy."
She coughed again, then turned toward him, blinking in the sun. "Thank you," she gasped. Her thin, delicate face widened in an attempt at a smile. Tomas saw that she seemed to be just a year or two older than himself. She was deathly pale, her hair was plastered flat to her head, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Even so, she had an exquisite, fragile beauty.
"Back to the cabin," Brodie said. "You hold her under the arms, Tom, and I'll lift her knees."
Together, they carried her across the sand. As they started up the path, she looked out at the ocean. "My brother," she said weakly. "Still out there."
"One thing at a time," said Brodie. He kicked open the door and laid her in front of the hearth. He threw two new logs on the fire, then turned back to her. "We'll wait outside while you get your wet clothes off. Here, dry yourself with this," he gave her a towel, "and then put this on." He handed her a blanket.
"Where do you think she came from?" Tomas asked, as he and Brodie left the cabin and pulled the door closed behind them.
The Halfling scanned the ocean. "Shipwreck. See the timbers there, just off the point?" He pulled out his spyglass and peered through it. "Two-masted brigantine. Must have run aground just before dawn. Smashed to pieces; there's little of it left. The crew must have drowned."
"Maybe the wailing sound I heard," said Tomas, "was the elf girl crying for help."
"No." Brodie's voice was a curt denial. He stowed the spyglass back inside his jacket and massaged his fleshy face. "Look, if you give that girl some hot food, I'll take the row-boat out there for a look around, just in case."
"Won't you need help?"
"I can manage well enough. You take care of her for me. Will you do that?" His voice sounded unsure, almost plaintive. For some reason, he seemed to have lost his usual bustling confidence. Tom looked into the Halfling's eyes, and saw a trace of fear.
The fire hissed and crackled. The elf girl sat huddled in her blanket, sipping a mug of soup, while Tomas hung her clothes up to dry. "If your brother's still alive, Brodie will find him," he said. "He's an expert seaman."
She stared into the embers of the fire. "If I am to face the truth, I have to admit my brother must be dead." She sighed deeply. "He gambled, last night in Remas. Lost most of the crowns we'd made from trading our silks and yarns, then drowned his sorrows in wine before he set sail. And now, he's drowned himself, as well."
There was a long, uneasy silence. "What's your name?" Tomas asked.
"Linna." She turned her pale grey eyes toward him. "And you?"
"Tomas Fenman." As their eyes met, he felt strangely drawn toward her. He had never seen a human woman so delicately beautiful.
"You live with a Halfling," she said. "How is that so?"
"I never knew my parents. Brodie found me wrapped in a blanket when I was just a few months old. He took me in and cared for me."
"The Halflings are well known for their hospitality." She smiled faintly. "A generous people."
"Yes," said Tomas.
"And he makes a living as a fisherman?"
"Yes."
"And you help him?"
"Yes," he said again. He felt annoyed, as if he ought to be able to think of more to say. But there was something unsettling about her steady stare and her questions.
"It must be a dull life here for a strong, independent young man like you," she said, looking frankly at his broad chest and muscled arms.
"It isn't dull at all," he answered defensively. "I've studied to be a mariner.'
"On your fishing boat, yes." She shrugged. "I saw it anchored in the bay."
"When we trade our catch in the town," he went on, "I earn money as an entertainer. I do backflips, and I juggle anything the crowd gives me. Stones, coins, even swords and daggers with bare blades."
She nodded thoughtfully, as if picturing it.
"Some time, I hope to join a travelling carnival."
"But that would mean leaving your friend Brodie. He must be getting old, now. Nearing his hundredth birthday? I'm sure he needs your help here. And you seem a kind person. I think you're too kind to abandon him. So if you dream of adventure, you must know, really, it can be no more than a dream."
Tomas felt suddenly angry - all the more because what she said was uncomfortably accurate. "I don't think that's any of your business."
"Oh." She looked down into her lap, and then nodded to herself. "You're right, I spoke without thinking. I am upset about what has happened. My brother is gone; our ship and crew are gone; I have nothing left. I apologize for offending you."
Tomas's anger left him abruptly. "It doesn't matter." He shifted uncomfortably. "If there's something I can do - "
"You could sit here beside me," she said. "Your presence might be a comfort."
He joined her on the cot. He felt himself grow tense, reacting to the nearness of her beauty. He didn't quite trust himself to look at her.
"Thank you," she said. She rested her head on his shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and closed her eyes.
Minutes passed. From her breathing, Tomas realized she had gradually fallen asleep. After a while, he carefully moved her so that she lay stretched out on her back. She muttered something, but didn't wake up. He laid another blanket over her, then paused and looked at her. Her face was serene in sleep. The curve of her neck lay revealed beneath her tangled blonde hair. How could someone who battled storms in the Great Western Ocean seem to fine and frail?
When the Halfling came back to the cabin he was weary and dejected. "No sign of her brother." He eyed the elf girl, still sleeping soundly. "There's a few things worth salvaging, but I'll need your help, Tom."
; "Shall we wake her?"
"No, best not." Brodie glanced around. "We'll keep an eye on the place from outside."
Tomas frowned. "What are you afraid of?"
Brodie slapped his belly. "Afraid? Me? Hah." He took Tomas's arm. "Come on. She'll be fine." But his eyes still moved quickly, checking every shadow.
By late afternoon they had recovered the ship's log - which was in an elven language that neither of them could read - and some food supplies in small wooden crates. They returned to the cabin, woke Linna, and Brodie cooked a meal.
The food seemed to revive her. She told them something of her home life on the isle of Ulthuan, where she had lived in one of the Elven Kingdoms. Her parents had been traders who had died unexpectedly in a typhoon that sank their ship. She and her brother had tried to continue the business alone, and had scraped by for a couple of years, despite his drinking and gambling. The two of them had made the hard voyage from Ulthuan to the Tilean Sea half a dozen times or more.
As the sun set over the ocean, turning the sky gold, Brodie broke out a keg of rum. He started telling some of his old sea stories, of lost treasure, piracy, and giant serpents that could swallow a ship and all the crew besides. "But that's not the half of it," he went on, happy as only a Halfling could be when his belly was full with ample quantities of food and drink. "Why, there are creatures to the north, in the Sea of Claws, that would eat such a serpent for breakfast." He bent toward Linna, as if sharing a deep, dark secret. "Did you ever hear of a mariner by name of Richard Crowell?"
"I know little of human legends," Linna said.
"This man was no mere legend. Fifteen years ago - maybe a little more - it was a bad summer. Day after day the skies were dark with storm clouds, the land was wet and cold, and nights seemed longer than they had any right to be. There was talk that the creatures from the underworld were rising up against us. Babes were carried off by griffons, even hereabouts in the Tilean Cities, and beastmen were seen roaming the hillsides. People were scared to go out even by light of day."
