The Curious Case of Simon Todd

by Vanessa C. Hawkins

  “This one fer real, Miss B?” But even as he said it the shadows surrounding the four individuals began to metamorphosis into some kind of spiralling vortex. Chip was standing beyond the chaos, coat tails flapping dramatically in the morning breeze as he clasped his entire fist together until his knuckles were a bloodless white. Simon paled when he looked down at his own feet, noticing a bright outline of light that replaced his shadow.

  “Wha—” he blubbered, stepping away as a swirling pool of darkness began to froth with smoke.

  Chip laughed. Benedict Uovo was nonchalant. Simon felt sweat pouring from his brow.

  “Don’t worry, friend. You’re not as tough as ya look.” And thrusting his fist into the sky, the inky shadows solidified into something that looked relatively human. Wearing a gentleman’s suit, bowler hat and, Simon was quite sure, a pocket watch, it lunged at him with fists raised, a bullet of a shadow of a man, mirrored as Mr. Todd’s own sooty reflection, barrelling straight towards him.

  Simon Todd shouted. Though aware of wizards, he had never before encountered one with any intent to harm, and so, was utterly cowed by the power of its sorcery. Tucking into himself with hands on his head and knees slightly buckled, Simon held his breath as he waited for the thing to strike him down when he suddenly had the feeling of someone standing over him.

  “Miss Baxter?” he called, opening his eyes to a rather extraordinary sight. The young lady, with crook raised, had blocked the blow from the magically manufactured doppelganger, and in fact had counter spelled the apparition with something along the lines of an ultra-violet electric cloud burst. Simon wasn’t sure of the correct terms, but the effect certainly looked marvelous as it rippled around Miss Baxter’s purple gown in a current of light and electricity. It seemed somewhat effortless when she began to utter a few nominal words. From the crescent of her shepherd’s crook, the shadows of Chip’s spell were swallowed into a brightly illuminated nothingness, much the same as light pouring from the center of a magnifying glass, only reversed and with the absence of sunlight.

  Mr. Todd’s doppelganger writhed quite pathetically before being dispelled into Miss Baxter’s crook. Simon thought it unfair that it should mimic his personality as well.

  Chip smiled. Hands at his side as he watched Miss Baxter close her eyes and relax, the grin that consumed the wizard’s face before, seemed to widen. Simon was flabbergasted, frozen in place by the enormity of what just occurred. He had never before seen the young Miss Baxter show off any of her magical abilities. Though her farm, her education all revolved around sorcery, and in particular necromancy, she didn’t often show it off. With good reason, he supposed. It wasn’t always met with good humor. Raising the dead also seemed to raise a substantial amount of eyebrows and disgust. But this was beyond what he had expected. This was real magic pouring out of her. Simon could feel the Arcane energy. He’d wonder later if it was a result of being a ghost, but it seemed to reverberate through his very being, like passing through a squall or the sensation of being lowered into a vat of warm water.

  Mr. Todd was also quite taken aback because in all the commotion he had snuck a glance, quite by accident mind you, at the young girl’s hosiery. All the way up to the thigh. She was wearing white garters with blossoms on the straps. It was all rather delightful and shameless of him.

  “I’d expect no less from ya, Miss B.”

  Forced to look away, Mr. Todd’s gaze settled on the young mage. There was a chain around the wizard now. Attached to Chip’s left wrist, the fetter was contrived of thick, transparent smoke, whirling and contorting at the edges in curling patterns. At the end of it was an enormous alligator. It swam above the ground, circling the young man’s body and was given form by the complexity of orbiting shadows.

  Miss Baxter relaxed back into position as Simon climbed to his feet, feeling utterly pointless in the events unfolding about him.

  “If you wouldn’t mind…” Miss Baxter began, turning slightly to include Mr. Todd in the conversation. “I’d prefer if you left Mr. Todd alone.” Her voice was sweet, like a sprig of marjoram.

  Chip shrugged. “Then tell him to run home to his ma.” He thumbed his nose, the gator at his wrist opening its jaws as he regarded the young accountant. “Give her a suck for me, eh?”

  Simon was appalled.

  Before he had any chance to respond however, the red-haired vagrant swept his arm up into an arc, drawing the gator with him in an impressive show of Arcane control. Miss Baxter, ever at the ready, hoisted her crook into position as the reptile burst into a spray of darkness and began to envelope the area around them. People screamed in an effort to vacate the area, and others who had remained before, after Miss Baxter’s impressive display, shouted now to join the others as they ran. The older gentleman, still having remained silent all this time, watched with a bored expression on his face before collecting a piece of jewelry from his inner jacket pocket.

  “Miss Bax—” But the whirlwind of magics pervading the area deafened the spell casters, and as Chip gathered the writhing shadows and threw it towards Simon Todd’s lovely shepherdess, the young man couldn’t help but feel that he must do something to help her. So, as any gentleman in love would be wont to do, Mr. Todd stepped in front of Miss Baxter to hopefully take the blow in her place. This may have seemed chivalrous if not for the fact that she had already prepared her own incantation to fight it off. So, as a plume of shadowmancy swept through him, it was joined, in contrast, by a rather dreadful necro-sorcery spell that left the him motionless on the ground.

  “Simon!”

  Oh, but if he were to die at least he’d hear his name said again on those pretty little lips.

  “Simon get up ya bleedin’ bastard!”

  “Wha…” The world had ceased to be whole. Instead to Mr. Todd, it quite resembled a puzzle all askew. Blobby, oblong shapes of color were all sitting atop themselves, unable to form an accurate picture as someone quite rudely yanked on his arm. They fell back when he ceased to be physically substantial, hands going through him.

  “Get him up!” Another voice called. Then there was a blast and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dick. Simon groaned.

  “I hate him so much,” he said, feeling another tug to his person. Sluggishly, the Frelish gentleman was pulled to his feet; felt a shoulder thrust beneath his armpit as someone was trying to drag him away.

  “Miss Baxter needs me,” Simon explained. His neck was feeling rather floppy.

  “She don’t need ya, mate. Best to get out of the way now.”

  He was desperately trying to solve the equation of all these blasted blots in his vision. That Fae Hershal was carrying him away was evident now, but all the dust surrounding them was getting into his eyes.

  “What’s happening?” He had a hand on Fae’s shoulder. A moment later it appeared to have gone through her.

  She hadn’t noticed. “They’re having a row of some sort. Wizard mobsters. The lot of them are off their rocker.”

  “We….” Simon fell, his body struggling to anchor him physically. Fae seemed concerned when once again the young gentlemen pooled through her like water.

  “What in the seven hells?”

  “We can’t leave Miss Baxter by herself with those scoundrels!” Simon was on his hands and knees, watching as particles of dust floated through his forearms. His clothes were utterly filthy. It was his best coat, too. He was sure it was completely ruined by now. How unfortunate that it should happen so close to the beginning of their journey.

  “Dashing’s with her. He’s shooting up the bloody place like a mad man!”

  Just great, Simon thought. “Does he have his goggles on?” He wasn’t sure why that was important, but his brain thought he ought to ask it anyway.

  Fae groaned, trying once again to get him to his feet. “I think so? What does it matter? Come on!”

  He wasn’t sure where they were huffing it to, only that Fae was bound and determined that they do it quickly. The dust was beginning to
settle as the two abandoned the tumult of battle behind them and Simon suddenly had a hankering for rabbit stew.

  “I feel awfully funny,” he said, grasping his midsection with his free arm. In the distance he could hear the donging of Piper’s clock tower. Though it wasn’t midnight, it felt like it was laughing at him anyway. Fae stopped.

  “I think we’re okay here,” she said, looking behind her. They were located somewhere within the labyrinth of narrow roads that comprised the back streets of Piper’s Toss. Here the buildings were more congested, squeezing in on top of each other like honeycombs. Simon collapsed, stretching his legs out as Fae looked towards the larger main street. They could still hear gunshots, booming like cathedral bells.

  “I bet a lot of hungover lollygaggers will be ornery about the noise,” he said flatly, chin to his chest. Fae, obviously satisfied with their current position, bent down to regard him.

  “What’s going on, Simon?”

  He tried to smile, feeling lightheaded. “I honestly don’t know. Apparently the wizard mafia is after Miss Baxter.”

  “I mean with you!”

  Simon offered her a goofy look. “Hmm?”

  Her eyebrows knit together. Fae’s platinum hair was a sooty gray now, and it clouded around her head when she moved, like a halo. Simon reached up absently to brush it away.

  “Simon.” She moved from his touch. “You’re…” she paused to find the words, grasping his arm and finding it semi-solid, much like butter at room temperature. “It’s like you’re disappearing.”

  “Oh.” He waved a hand, dismissing the idea, still lost in his own dizzy reverie. “I died a few days ago is all. Nothing to worry about.”

  Contrary to his suggestion, Fae looked beyond concerned. For the moment, Simon couldn’t fathom why.

  “What?”

  “Fell off the roof. Couldn’t find my body.” Damned sheep. “I’ve been a sad, sad ghost-man for a week or so now.” He sighed.

  Fae blinked, tossing her head around like she was struggling with the idea. “H-how did this happen?”

  “Not entirely sure to be honest. Magics. The Baxter farm is full of necromancy, just look at old Salvador.” That poor donkey, Simon wondered where it was now.

  “But ya feel whole!” She paused, making a face. “Well, mostly ya do.”

  “Haven’t figured it all out yet. I think it has to do with all that magic whatnot hanging around.” The fog in his head was beginning to dissipate, as was the gun thunder beyond. “Don’t tell the others.”

  Fae shook her head. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want Miss Baxter to feel responsible.”

  “Well she bloody well is!”

  Simon looked down. The rounded cobbles embedded into the city streets were a pale gray. One stone was flecked in white quartz, running like a vein from top to bottom. It reminded Mr. Todd of the porcelain basin Miss Baxter had been bathing in on the day of his fall. She had skin like the flesh of an apple.

  “No,” he said after a moment. “She’s not.” He was a delinquent. That was what had killed him. What irony.

  “Are you two alright?” Simon looked up in conjunction with Miss Hershal, seeing himself in the reflection of Dick’s aviator, targeting goggles. Mr. Dashing was holding up his pistol, moustache impeccably groomed against the contours of his chiseled jawline. Simon envied the young man’s duster as it waved melodramatically behind him. He looked like some sort of hero, swooping down from the clouds to save the everyday ragamuffins. Simon so wanted to not be a ragamuffin, to the extent that he began trying to pick himself up despite the mud in his head and the present elasticity inflicting his limbs.

  “I’m okay, but I think Simon’s hurt.”

  “Quite alright,” he argued, bracing his hand against the wall as he attempted to leverage the rest of his body upwards.

  Fae tutted, but bent to take his arm to hold him upright.

  “You sure you’ve got him?” Mr. Dashing cocked his head, looking more concerned for the young lady than for Simon. When Fae agreed, he turned. “Take him back to the Thirsty Bush. Mr. Darcy should be up by now. Let him rest until we get back.”

  Simon wondered absently if they’d have biscuits available for breakfast. “Miss Baxter…” Mr. Todd began. She was, after all, always at the forefront of Simon’s thoughts.

  In reply, Mr. Dashing tipped his hat. “She’s quite alright, my good man. Chasing off those hooligans as we speak. You better rest or she’ll be awfully worried about you.”

  Simon was having a hard time maintaining focus, but felt a pang of ebullience overwhelm him. It spread across his features and made him grin like a lunatic. Fae didn’t seem to notice, but the idea of Miss Baxter being so distraught for his well-being granted some life back into the young man’s limbs.

  “Miss Hershal?” He looked towards Fae who turned her head towards him. “I think I must rest.”

  “Ya bloody well think?”

  Mr. Dashing looked back over his shoulder, raising his gun in front of him like a cowboy. “We’ll be back before long,” he said, the rune on his aviators glowing faintly. “Get some shut eye.” And into the clouds of dust he went, laughing, Simon thought, like a loon.

  Chapter 8

  A Matcha-Do About Nothing

  Jane Darcy was much impressed with himself. Not only had he secured for his party two healthy mares, but he’d also had fantastic luck finding a new wardrobe that was much less stiff and uncomfortable. The tailor, who had agreed to adjust a few pieces already in stock, was to have all the preparations finished in the afternoon. Then, as soon as his party woke up for breakfast and concluded their own tasks, they could all make their way to the barn that promised two mounts for an agreeable price.

  So far, his endeavors to be human were all working out marvellously. Though he still couldn’t understand why no one could ever say his name the first time round.

  “Did you say Jon?”

  “Jane. Jane Darcy.”

  The man at the market had made the same mistake as the tailor who had made the same mistake as Mr. Todd. Jane would have just changed his chosen nomenclature, but since all the members of his fellowship had already taken pains to learn it, he thought that may have been unwise. Humans weren’t usually in the habit of changing their names unless some unsavory lot was chasing them or there was some degenerate tag associated with their character.

  Jane certainly did not want to imply anything like that, so with a smile he shrugged it off as he made his way back to the Thirsty Bush.

  The proprietor was speaking to the young lady from the night before when he’d returned. Miss Molly Stein was wearing a black blouse with ruffled shoulders and spilling neckline atop a leather corset. Her skirt, which was a combination of jet black with a chocolate hemline, fell from her hips in a manner not popular with the other ladies Jane had seen. Unlike them, it was shortened in the front, revealing her long pale legs and vertically striped hosiery. She didn’t look at all like yesterday, and despite the slight difference of skirt, Molly appeared to be leaving the Thirsty Bush.

  “Good day,” Jane said to Gino De Vaunt, lifting his top hat in greeting. The man with his seemingly eclectic taste in clothing, turned to regard him, his pantaloons swishing with the slight movement.

  “Ah Mr. Darcy!” He was clasping his hands together. “If you desire breakfast, have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.” Miss Molly was regarding the dragon-in-disguise with quirked brow. Jane absently wondered if he might have something on his face.

  “Thank you,” he said politely, smiling at the young girl. Fae had informed them the night before, after Simon Todd retired for the night, that Molly Stein was a harlot. Jane wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but by the way Miss Hershal had spat out the word it seemed like a profession one ought not to associate with.

  So he walked by, resolved not to say a word to her when he noticed a rather handsome brooch on her left breast. A young lady’s portrait, intricately painted, was framed by thick
blossoms and vines made of brass. It was the size of a lady’s palm, and so delicately crafted that Mr. Darcy could not help by stop to regard it.

  “Can I help you?” Molly asked, darkly bronzed tendrils of hair falling around her face like ribbons. The majority of her long mane was rolled up into two loose buns on her head and secured with pins.

  “I apologize. I was just mesmerised by your brooch.” He hadn’t yet procured a souvenir. The revelation suddenly dawned on him, making him anxious.

  Molly looked down. “This? It’s a picture of my sister.”

  Jane leant forward to study the designs of the brass and admire the brush strokes. “It looks to have been painted by mice,” he marvelled.

  Molly laughed. “No, but an artisan for sure.” She backed away a step, prompting Mr. Darcy to stand upright.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to part with it?” he asked, folding his hands behind his back.

  The young lady smiled, her eyes mischievous. Coyly, she placed a hand on her hip, leaning to the side. “I don’t think so.”

  Jane frowned. If he were a dragon, he would have simply taken it and gobbled her up in one mouthful. It was tiresome to be polite and considerate all the time. “Well, might you direct me to the craftsman who made it?”

  “I made it.”

  Mr. Darcy was confused. “But you’re a harlot.”

  Molly had made to reply when they were both distracted by Fae Hershal dragging a half conscious Mr. Todd through the door. The young gentleman looked utterly miserable, with dark circles beneath his eyes and a sickly pallor to his skin.

  “Don’t just stand there, ya bloomin’ muppets. Give a hand!”

  Jane, a bit taken aback by the whole scenario, moved to comply. Miss Stein however, was a good mix of concern and curiosity.

  “Mr. Todd?” She took a step forward before Gino barrelled out in front of her.

  “What’s going on? No drunkards in my establishment!”