Simon was utterly beaming.
“You’re right!” Manny smiled. “This will afford me another hundred years at least!” Pacing to the other end of the room with book in hand, Manny’s mood quickly changed. “And I don’t have to collect any more souls unless I desire it.” Clapping the ledger closed, he turned around. “That means only the best talent for the Circus of Exhaling Elephanti.”
“That’s wonderful!” Cherie cried, hopping up and down on the bed upon her knees.
Manny was celebrating Simon’s victory, conjuring up all sorts of new acts and endeavors his undead carnival could perform.
“Does that mean you will let us, and Mr. Todd, go?” Miss Baxter asked, still looking rather snug whilst bound in rope.
Manny stopped. Cherie rolled backwards on the bed, head over legs before stopping in a fit of giggles.
“Yes. You all can go.” He waved. “I couldn’t have killed any of you anyway. It’s quite against the rules.”
Simon smiled at Miss Baxter, moving to go and untie her ropes.
“But!” Manny continued, interrupting their merriment, “Mr. Todd has to promise to be my accountant again next time.”
Simon laughed, continuing his task. “Very well.”
“Then, it’s settled!” Manny pressed his hands together, rubbing them conspiratorially.
Simon meanwhile, was feeling rather lively as he freed his lovely neighbor. “We can’t drop you off at Ebonguard on account of this new matter of business. I’ve a mind to go another route and you’d all have to be dead to come along, but we can put you down around Birdwood. There’s a rather large town that’s settled close to some sort of tower. I’m certain you can acquire a dirigible to Ebonguard from there. I’ll ensure you are there by morning.”
“That would be wonderful.” Simon nodded, urging Miss Baxter to leave the room as Manny waved his hands. He was quite ready to be rid of this entire affair with the circus and was more than elated that he had managed to solve the problem all by himself.
What would Dick Dashing have done? No doubt that oaf would have went in, guns blazing, shooting up the place and realizing after all his ammo was spent that they were indeed undead. What would the avid gunslinger have done then?
Simon snorted. Then they all would have been dust. Manny may not have been death himself, but a Reaper certainly had to be powerful. Simon was sure they would have all ended up as permanent residents of the Circus of Exhaling Elephanti until Manny the Magnificent, with his ghastly account books, offered them up to dear old Mr. Grim!
But! Thanks to Simon Todd they were free to leave.
“Simon?”
Mr. Todd looked down, realizing that in his moment of victory, he had quite forgotten about the poor Miss Baxter who he was currently pushing towards the door. He felt more than slightly embarrassed.
“I apologize, Miss Baxter. I was swept up in my own thoughts.”
The young lady smiled, regarding him kindly. “You were really great back there. I didn’t realize how excellent you were at doing your job.”
Simon flushed, scratching at his noggin as he always did when embarrassed. Miss Baxter opened the door, and though the menagerie of circus denizens crowded the hall, looking rather confused as to why the pair were leaving, Simon chose to ignore them as they barreled their way through.
“Why, it’s nothing really. Just like solving a puzzle.”
Again she smiled, but this time Simon could tell there was something else invading the young girl’s thoughts.
“Are you quite alright?” he asked. “I’m sorry I took so long.”
Miss Baxter looked down. “I’m worried,” she said. “I think the tower Manny was speaking about is Grimguild.”
Simon inhaled through his nostrils, feeling his teeth clench anxiously. “Are you quite certain?”
To his chagrin, Miss Baxter nodded. “There is a town awfully close to it called Fallfield. A lot of the students of the University go there when they aren’t studying. It’s quite a large town, and the Ebonguard Dirigible Air Corps actually has a hangar there, though it’s a small one.”
“I think I’ve heard of Fallfield,” Simon replied, the mention of the E-DAC sky troops springing to mind. Ebonguard was the hub of Freland with the majority of their army stationed around the city. With the desert to the south, Arcadia looming isolated beyond and the Northern Helvallyn Hills exploding into icy clusters, most of the Frelish armies were growing fat in the Capital. Simon had heard stories from his father about the E-DAC troops and how mighty the bombardiers of the Ebony Zeppelins could be, but they were just stories passed on from his grandfather no doubt. Old Drayce saw an end to most air travel now, and the seas flanking Freland were too treacherous for air powered dirigibles to pass.
“I’ve always wanted to ride on an airship,” Simon said, momentarily lost in thought.
“The Cardinal is used for transport, but it’s rather expensive.”
Miss Baxter was looking at the floor as they made their way down the hall and one set of stairs to her room.
Simon fumbled for a more adequate reply, clearing his throat and deciding on the cliché: “Don’t worry, Miss Baxter! I’m certain nothing will happen to you.”
She nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Mr. Dashing will be there, after all.”
Simon deflated just a little bit. “Yes,” he said in a strained voice. “He will be.”
She looked up after a deep breath. “We’ll just have to be careful, I guess.” Her gown swished against her bedroom door as she turned around, golden hair sweeping against her face.
Simon wanted to touch it. “I’ll protect you,” he said, pinching his fingers in an effort to keep himself from reaching out. “I may not be able to shoot a gun or cast any magic but, I’ll protect you with all the power I can muster from this this scrawny little body of mine.” He laughed, then hiccupped when she was silent, clearing his throat a moment after as he covered his mouth with a fist. Finally, when Miss Baxter spoke, Simon felt his heart freeze a moment.
“Oh Simon,” she said, reaching out to touch his face with a giggle. “You’ve much more power than you think. Ghosts have a myriad of abilities they can utilize.” She stepped back. “I’m glad you’re okay, though.” Her eyes glistened, and from their depths there was something else hidden there. Something sad.
She turned away before he could say anything else however, waving goodnight as Fae hollered a hello from inside the room. Mr. Todd began his trek to his bunker, feeling the heat of the engines already envelope him the father down he went. Mr. Darcy was in the room when he arrived, Mr. Dashing as well, who was always busy polishing his pistol this time of night.
Mr. Darcy regarded him from the top of his book over the rims of his scarlet spectacles. He had been recently given a new novel to delve into and so if the young scholar wasn’t enjoying a read on the deck or in his room, he was sequestered elsewhere, drinking up the pages like a parched man.
“I thought I heard a commotion. Everything alright?” Jane asked.
Simon grunted, feeling all of a sudden very tired and too morose for manners.
“Bad night?” he asked as Simon sat down upon his lonely bunk. Cleo was already asleep in her small nook, her needlework sprawled on the mattress in front of her. Mr. Todd wondered how she had arrived here before he had. Could she disappear through walls as well?
Absently, he began to wonder how she died. The older woman was always so cheerful and bright, not yet old enough to have died due to old age. Didn’t centaurs live quite a long time? Mr. Todd was sure their lifespan quite exceeded that of a human’s.
“My night was fine.” He shouldn’t be so morose, but Simon couldn’t help it. He had come as close as he had ever been able to, to admitting, well something, to Miss Baxter. Her response, though he had wanted to see her dewy eyed reaction, hadn’t been what he expected. Tears of joy, or of realization that he was willing to do whatever it was to protect her. That was what he had wanted. Instead he was met b
y sadness and Simon, ever the self-loathing man, couldn’t help but think it was the surreptitious admission that had drawn the response from her.
From the bunk above, Mr. Dashing grunted. “I’m quite certain that Cherie girl is fond of me.”
Simon looked up, watching the gunslinger clean the barrel of his gun in nothing but a shirt and underclothes. He had garters holding his socks up, which surprised Mr. Todd. He hadn’t thought Dick mindful enough to care whether his socks were straight or rumpled.
“I think she belongs to the ringmaster,” Simon said, thinking back to his encounter with her in her boudoir.
“A woman like that?” Mr. Dashing wiped his brow. “She belongs to no one. She’s a free spirit, that girl. Like me.”
A lost spirit more like, Simon thought, but instead said, “Maybe.”
“Though Miss Baxter does have a shapelier frame, don’t you think, Darcy?”
Simon felt appalled. Mr. Darcy looked uncomfortable.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What?” Dashing stopped, looking over the side of the bunker. Of all the beds, there were only the three of them there besides Cleo who was quite asleep. Simon wondered if perhaps the others would now have to find other forms of entertainment for the night.
“You can’t tell me,” Dashing continued, “you’ve never had a look! You’ve seen the girl in her nightdress, for goodness sake.”
“Maybe he’s not a pervert, Dick,” Mr. Darcy observed.
Dashing slapped his knee, regarding Simon who was looking up at him.
“Don’t be daft! I’ve seen you looking down her dress, Mr. Todd, you old dog.” The gunslinger smiled. “Though I think Hershal’s daughter is much more endowed.”
Simon felt his eyes widen. He turned around in quite a huff, removing himself to his bed. “This is wildly inappropriate,” he said. “That’s the daughter of my boss.”
“What do you think, Jane? Or have you been too busy eyeing up Miss Hershal to take much of a fancy to Miss B.”
“Her name is Miss Baxter,” Simon piped up, crossing his arms as he lay down upon the bed.
Mr. Darcy, never having to really judge the anatomy of a human female, felt more than a little out of sorts. Despite his attempts to disassociate himself from the conversation via reading, it seemed Mr. Dashing did not see fit to acknowledge his pursuit of escape.
“Well.” He closed his book, trying to conjure up thoughts of what he considered to be physically appealing. Wing claws were always rather fetching, as well as spines. Darcy always considered good thick spines protruding from a female’s back to be quite handsome. Wingspan was also a factor in dragon attraction, and the amount of horns on a ladies brow bone.
He chewed on his tongue. It would have been all very good if he could simply blow a puff of smoke and incinerate these two right now. But he supposed he had to be patient. After all, his book would probably catch fire in the process. “I like the color of Fae’s eyes. They resemble gemstones.”
“What kind of gemstone’s brown?” Dashing asked, frowning.
“Enstatite.”
“Oh.” There was a moment of silence, though Darcy knew better than to pick up his book.
“Well!” Mr. Dashing grinned. “I’ll try and keep the young Miss Hershal from being swept up by my roguish good looks.”
“Thank you,” Jane replied, going for his book. He was not concerned in the least if Miss Hershal yearned for a moustachioed potato before desiring himself.
“Though, I can’t say she’s really shown any interest in either of us, except Mr. Todd,” Dashing observed.
But, Mr. Darcy thought, mind uninterrupted, there would be no reason to blame her for finding him attractive. Jane did pick out a rather handsome human form. All aspects were derived from the various books he read. A moustachioed potato couldn’t stand up against Mr. Darcy, the conglomeration of all his most beloved characters. Not in the slightest!
Why hadn’t she shown any interest in him?
Why?
“Don’t try and befuddle things, Dick. I’ve helped her out of a jam or two.” Simon shook his head.
Dashing nodded. “That you have,” he admitted. “Damsels do crave knights in shining armour, you know. Who’s to say she didn’t fall for you after all that?”
“No.”
Maybe it was his acting, Mr. Darcy thought. Maybe he wasn’t correctly acting the part of his character?
Mr. Dashing continued. “How do you know, Mr. Todd?”
“Because she doesn’t. And I’ve had enough of this jibber jabber.” Simon turned towards the wall, the furthest he could keep himself from Mr. Dashing and his train of questions without disappearing outright.
“Well, perhaps you’re right. Maybe she’s too busy struggling with Lady Luck to give much a fin.” Again, the gunslinger laughed.
I shall endeavor to act harder! Jane thought.
“Oh.” Simon turned on his back, eyes staring up at the top bunk. Dashing was to the left and a bunk up, while Mr. Darcy was perpendicular to his. “We are leaving tomorrow morning.”
“What?” The two men said in unison.
Simon folded his hands, realizing he needed to remove his coat, shirt and trousers before bed.
“Yes. Manny has other things he must attend to.” Mr. Todd didn’t rightly feel like discussing everything that had occurred right now, even though he had been the one to solve the problem and he had done so expertly.
“So we will be getting off in Fallfield in the morning. We’ll have to find our own way to Ebonguard.” Simon was feeling suddenly sleepy as he closed his eyes, rolling himself up on the mattress with hands under his head. He heard Mr. Dashing comment something about Simon’s secret spelunking’s, but the Frelish gentleman already had his eyes closed and the ambush of his foggy mind was already sending dreams to the forefront of his imagination.
After what seemed like a moment, Simon was transported. From the steam exhaling elephants of Manny’s circus, to the sunny town of Darlington, Simon was outside on Main Street, riding a big-wheeled Penny Farthing down the road. He saw Jeremy Baxter, with his balding head and big belly, resembling a full bag of flour, and Bernice at her Pharmaceutical shop with her son tangled about her leg. Mr. Hershal was there as well, in suspenders, counting scales in the window of the Darlington bank, and Fae in her short pants throwing mud pies at the boys from around the corner.
Simon breathed in the air as the road began to change and the flattened cobbles faded into the dirt roads leading to Miss Baxter’s farm. Undead cows and horses littered the fields, chewing at grass their bellies couldn’t digest. Simon removed his cap, wiping at his brow when he saw a tiny spider crawling up the cuff. He jerked to the side in a quick attempt to remove it.
The bike stopped and Simon found his legs quite unable to move the pedals. The Frelish fop frowned, looking down and startling rather violently when he saw the front wheel was completely stuck with spider’s web.
Hopping up on the seat, balancing himself there with his palms on the handlebars, Mr. Todd called for help, looking back to where the town lingered in the distance. The webbing expanded. Simon, horrified, began to feel a tingling in his nose as his allergies began to react. Digging urgently into his pocket to find his kerchief, he was a moment too late when he sneezed, and hundreds of tiny spider-lings began pouring from his nasal cavities like writhing ichor.
“Simon?”
Simon woke up when he fell from the Penny Farthing in his dream, violently cracking his head on the bunk above him then laying back down with his eyes closed. The person above him grumbled, woken by the noise of Simon’s head connecting with the bunk. It was still nighttime, but probably in the wee hours of the morning. Simon was still wearing his coat and trousers, and so he felt rather stiff and sweaty from the heat all the bodies in the room produced.
“Simon?” He had thought someone called his name in the dream. When he heard it again, Mr. Todd rolled over, throwing his legs over the bed whilst rubbing his fo
rehead. The room hadn’t any windows, and so it was choked in darkness.
“Yes?” he whispered, rubbing at his eyes. The voice sounded like a young girl. Cleo was the only woman in the room, and Simon would have recognized Fae’s accent or Miss Baxter’s sweet voice.
Squinting past the inky blackness, Simon frowned, trying to make out the outline of the figure before him. They certainly weren’t human. A goblin maybe? “Who are you?” he asked.
“Simon Todd, you made me.” Came the voice again. Simon could hear Mr. Dashing’s loud snorings coming from a bunk away. Great, he thought. It will take me forever to fall back asleep.
“Well, it’s awfully late. Why don’t you come back in the morning?” he whispered, rolling back into bed. “I’m all foggy at the moment. Not a good companion for conversation, I’m afraid.” He yawned, slipping off his coat and undoing the collar of his shirt. He thought he had fallen back asleep, or perhaps had experienced one of those strange phenomenon where a person awakes from one dream only to be ushered directly into another.
Simon closed his eyes, figuring he’d pay the mental apparition no mind at all. He was quite certain one could not offend a dream, and so he rudely turned aside, content to bid it no further consideration.
“Good night,” he said, shutting his eyes. He was trying to concentrate on the images floating underneath his eyelids when the feeling of something pulling at his shoulder made him grimace. Looking over, Simon languidly allowed his eyes to open when he was startled awake by the rather ghastly face of something with six eyes and sharp teeth.
Screaming aloud, Mr. Todd once again hit his head on the bed above as he struggled to back away from the creature. In the darkness, most of its features were hard to discern, but the black, shinning eyes on its face — five? Six? — were almost as visible as stars in the night sky.
“Quiet down, now. Some of us are in need of sleep!” Simon glanced upward, hearing the man above him roll over again. The thing in front of him was standing now, and as Mr. Todd’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he noticed it had long pointed teeth, and two spindly arms poking out its torso.
The Curious Case of Simon Todd Page 16
