“What,” he whispered, crushing himself against the wall, “what are you?”
It didn’t speak at first, only seemed content to look at him. Then, a moment later with a sigh, it turned and began to leave, something bulbous bobbing up and down behind it like a massive bustle. “I am Cosette,” it said, and left.
Chapter 15
A Familiar Friend Around The Blend
Mr. Todd had a great amount of trouble sleeping that night. Even though he had spent an incredible amount of time trying to convince himself that it had all been a dream within a dream, the moment Mr. Dashing climbed from his bunk and therefore signalled that it was close to morning, Simon’s hopes of a good night’s rest were dashed.
“Have trouble sleeping, old boy?” the gunslinger had asked, running a hand through tawny hair and whiskers.
Simon, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes, looked up at him sluggishly. “What?”
Dick had been preparing for his morning shave, a ritual he rarely skipped. “You gave an awful shout last night. It nearly tore me out of bed.”
And so it was that Simon resolved the whole affair had been in fact reality. He could vividly recall the glinting black eyes and elongated arms of the monstrosity. If not for the fact that Mr. Todd was acquainted with the majority of the Elephanti’s denizens, he may have thought the creature part of the menagerie.
It said I helped create it, Simon thought. Which was bizarre, as the only thing Simon had ever created was tea and a good helping of stew on cold days. Was it possible he had caused someone to become ornery at him? Had he slighted someone in the past and now they were out to exact revenge?
Simon rolled out of bed, feeling in need of a good bath. Looking over towards Mr. Darcy’s bunk, Simon was not entirely surprised to see it empty. The man had gotten up sometime before dawn, leaving his pack and book behind. Mr. Todd wondered if he also had trouble sleeping that night.
“Do you recall seeing a large, spider-like girl in the circus?” Simon asked.
“Spider?” Dick pulled out a leather strop, began sharpening his razor from the unoccupied bed below his. A few people were still slumbering and so the two men spoke in whispers.
Dick shook his head. “Haven’t seen anything like a spider.” He laughed. “Why?”
Simon sighed. “I’m having strange dreams is all.” He got up, pulled out his travelling case from under the bed and began to redress into something fresh and more comfortable. He had a tawny corduroy suit with blue socks, freshly pressed, at the bottom of his luggage. He pulled it out, turning to see if Cleo was still asleep before removing his clothing.
Mr. Dashing was thoughtful for a moment. “It’s been a few weeks since you were home, Mr. Todd. I’m sure a lot of it has to do with being homesick.” He smiled, regarding the blade of his shaving tool before placing the strop back into his satchel. “Strange dreams are all part of the adventure!” He clapped him on the back as he passed, giving him a sincere smile before excusing himself.
Though Simon would be inclined to agree with Mr. Dashing, the image of the six eyes staring at him in his mind’s eye was too vivid to toss away as any mere fabrication.
“Cosette,” he said it again, letting the syllables frame his mouth. It was a pretty name, one he couldn’t recall hearing before. Simon couldn’t help but shake his head. He was a ghost being haunted.
Adjusting his bowtie, Simon pressed his lips into a thin line. He had to concentrate on protecting Miss Baxter now, he thought. Fallfield was a few hours away. Grimguild and his wizard mafia were looming ever closer. Mr. Todd had to be ready, and he’d have to be prepared to give it his all if those goons from Piper’s Toss showed up again.
I may be a simple accountant, Simon thought, tying an exceptional bowtie, but I’m an extraordinary gentleman. He smiled, retrieving his bowler and popping it on the top of his noggin. He had just enough time to prepare a nice, home-made curry, something he endeavored to do right away.
Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy had been above deck, lounging on a stack of boxes and looking out along the woodlands. Birdwood looked vastly different from the ground than it did whilst flying. In the sky, the evergreens resembled a verdant, green carpet, expanding in the distance with glades marking their existence within like yellowed, speckled patches. From a slightly elevated vantage point, like the circus platform, the trees were more like fuzzy spears. The sunlight highlighted their spindly pines much like a magnifying glass.
Mr. Darcy was adjusting his bowtie for the third time this morning. Having returned from a much needed flight a few hours ago, he was feeling much more comfortable in the second skin he had been occupying these last several days. The Circus of the Exhaling Elephanti, he would be glad to leave it he thought, breathing in the morning air. It was much harder to escape the wandering carnival than a party of three, especially when one had to remove all their clothing before transforming.
It was an absolute bother, to say the least, and as Jane swiveled on his heel to return downstairs, he was surprised when he saw Miss Fae Hershal in a collared shirt and suspenders, standing on the deck in short pants and high, leather boots.
“G’day!” She greeted him, dragging a hand through her white hair.
Mr. Darcy smiled, closing his eyes and stepping forward. “Good morning, Miss Hershal,” he responded, inclining his head and pulling at the bottom of his faded green tweed vest. He was wearing it underneath a black tailcoat and slacks and had accompanied it with a black bowtie. Despite the lack of the obvious surname, he thought he looked rather dashing.
“Miss Baxter says we’re leavin’ after breakfast. Going to some place called Fallfield, yeah?”
Mr. Darcy nodded, “Mr. Todd said as much last night.” He looked over the side of the steam powered automaton. “It’s not long off, maybe an hour or so in the least.” He recalled the city lights from his flight this morning. “It’s rather large. I’ve heard it boasts an airbase for the Ebonguard dirigibles.”
Fae nodded, pulling at her sleeves until they were beneath her arm garters. “The Ebony Zeppelins. Me dad’s been on one before. Me too when I was young. Don’t much remember it now.” The wind pulled at her hair, sweeping it back over her shoulders and exposing her ears. Mr. Darcy wondered if auditory organs were considered objects of attraction in humans. Of all the books he had read, most of the descriptions of the opposite gender had been about virtue and a slim waist. Miss Hershal certainly had a lithe frame, but she wasn’t dainty like many of the women. She had spirit, certainly.
“Do you like to fly?” Horns. Horns were attractive characteristics that highlighted a female’s ability to protect their young. Were they concurrent with ears? The things looked too floppy to be considered anything but limbs of the cranium.
“Nah!” she replied, peering back at him with perfectly polished enstatite eyes. “I’m fine on the ground and up high, but I like me feet to be planted, thank you very much!”
“Are you afraid of flying?” Mr. Darcy couldn’t imagine his life without wings. If these human’s had had them, they would have been to his lair and back by now.
“I suppose. You think that’s odd, do ya?”
“Yes.” He was always under the understanding that humans craved wings. In many of their stories they talked about angels and how angelic good people were. Weren’t such creatures idolized for their wings? “But I learned to fly when I was a lad.”
“Really now?” Fae laughed, waving her hand. “Fair enough. We’re all afraid of something I gather. Some more than others, probably.” The girl snickered. “Mr. Todd’s got something cooking downstairs though. I just came up for a bit o’ air. It’s bastard hot down there!”
“Well I’m absolutely famished. Shall we go?” He offered an arm, standing next to her straight-backed with a smile on his face. Fae stuck her tongue out, making an odd noise.
“I’ll beat ya down there,” she said, running off ahead and leaving Mr. Darcy alone and only slightly confused.
Breakfast was serv
ed in the engine room. Steel piping made up the majority of the décor, and several portholes were dotted around the cramped room, meant to let the heat out. Everything, including the countertops, was made of some grade of metal, making the room seem more like a factory than any kind of mess hall.
The four party members broke their fast together at a small table meant for two. Crowded together with four small bowls, they finished their meal amicably. It was there and then that Simon decided to keep the secret of his undead disposition to himself. Miss Baxter seemed willing to acquiesce, as made evident by her sly look and wink. Mr. Todd enjoyed the conspiracy he shared with the young shepherdess, even more so than her complimentary story of how he helped Manny the Magnificent with his account books.
“But now we have to find a way to Ebonguard by ourselves,” Mr. Dashing said, stuffing the leftovers of the morning curry into his mouth. “We may have been better off if he hadn’t.”
“But what sort of gentleman would do that? Manny has enough earnings now that he doesn’t have to go to the capital,” she lied. “A good accountant wouldn’t jeopardize his reputation for convenience, now would he?”
Simon was grateful for the white lie the young girl offered in rebuttal. Mr. Dashing had nodded thereafter, agreeing she may be right.
After polishing off the entirety of their breakfast, the party went back to their chambers to pack and meet up on deck.
Manny was already there, along with Cherie and a few performers who were practicing routines in the morning sunlight.
“Ladies, gentleman!” he said, clapping his hands together. He was wearing a teal tailcoat with gold embellishments overtop another, slightly diverse black and white striped suit. Red hair spilled over his shoulders from beneath a wide top hat adorned in matching teal lilies. “So sad to see you leave! But alas, our circus has other things it must attend to.”
Cherie, looking much like a ballerina in black, spun in a dramatic circle behind him, bending backwards in some profane contortion that made Mr. Todd blush.
Mr. Dashing regarded her with sad eyes.
“We understand, Mr. Magnificent,” Simon said, stepping forward. “Thank you for allowing us to travel with you thus far.”
Manny smiled, the gesture somewhat sinister. “I hope to see you again someday, Mr. Todd. Perhaps when my carnival has concluded its parade of mirth and my lost souls have been ushered to other parts of the world.”
Simon gulped. “Well, I’m sure you’ll see me soon,” he said, holding his hand out to shake. “When your account books need updating, I mean.”
The ringmaster laughed, taking Simon’s hand in his. It was icy cold.
“A few years, Mr. Todd.” Then, glancing at Miss Baxter and scowling he said, “Consider taking up a new trade, young lady. You won’t be young forever, and I’m sure more Reapers than I will be looking to vent some frustrations when you eventually pass into the next world.”
Simon turned to the side, watching his companions to gauge their reactions. Necromancers were no friend to Reapers. They mixed up the dead, transformed their bodies and souls into something harder to transport. Manny had told them such the night before, but their friends were still oblivious.
Miss Baxter however, smiled sweetly. “I look forward to seeing you again, Manny. Perhaps, next time, with an army.”
Manny laughed. Fae, who had been looking at the pair oddly and Mr. Darcy who had been regarding Miss Hershal, were startled out of their reverie. Dashing however, had been transfixed on Cherie.
“Good!” he said. “Life beyond the carnival will be promising!”
Simon cocked a brow. He had been so distracted watching his companions that he hadn’t heard the young sorceress’ response. Looking to Miss Baxter, the young farm-girl continued to smile even after Mr. Dashing walked forward, clasping Cherie by the hand as she rolled back up.
“I’ll come see you again, Cherie,” he said.
The girl looked surprised. “Why?” she replied.
Manny looked sidelong at the two.
“Why?” Dashing said boisterously. “I’m a lost soul as well! Wandering the world, searching for adventure. I’ll see you again, I’m sure of it!”
The girl laughed, tapping him on the cheek. “Maybe, cherie. Maybe.”
Her eyes, Simon thought, looked sad and somewhat empty, like a pool of water with no reflection. For the second time since joining the carnival, Mr. Todd wondered how they died. Did they leave behind a happy life? In Cherie’s case he didn’t think so.
“Well,” Manny said, his tone dark, “let us be rid of you then.”
Mr. Dashing had stepped back, regarding the clown girl who had once again collapsed backwards, forming the shape of a ball with her spine bent and hands on feet. Rolling away in what Simon thought was a rather gruesome display, Cherie pulled herself over the side of the deck and toppled over. The Elephanti were still exhaling steam as a cord was loosed, but after a few moments, the great behemoths stopped and Cherie swung back up with her trapeze, somersaulting into the air and landing perfectly behind the waiting ringmaster.
“Your Salvador will be waiting below,” he said as Cherie opened the hatch behind him. Simon’s party began to walk forward, packs ready, cases in hand. Miss Baxter led the procession, followed by Jane, Fae, Dashing then Mr. Todd. Simon saw a scowl cross the ringmaster’s face when Dick gave the wispy acrobat another look, but it all but disappeared when Simon passed by.
“In a few years, Simon Todd,” Manny said, eyes ablaze.
It made a shiver creep down the poor man’s spine. He wondered if perhaps he would have to deal with Reapers again, sometime soon. Mr. Todd hadn’t really thought much about being dead, aside from his new found abilities and lack of taste. He supposed it was rather silly to not believe there would be any other repercussions.
Mr. Todd sighed as the platform was lowered to the ground and the party began making its way back to the road. Birdwood was dense in coniferous flora and though the steaming automatons were quite adept at creating their own path within the forest, it took a few moments for the road to be located.
“Fallfield shouldn’t be very far,” Mr. Darcy proclaimed.
Simon watched in rapt attention as the Elephanti turned and wandered back towards the direction of the Great Plains. He wondered if perhaps he would indeed meet the peculiar carnival man again.
“I would say about an hour,” Miss Baxter concluded, grabbing onto Mr. Dashing as he spurred the horse forward.
“Good,” Dick replied, “Just in time for lunch.”
Fallfield was named after its location. It was a rather large settlement, buried beneath the slopes of a shorn mountainside that had long ago been cut in two after a large earthquake rattled the city. Some said a large dragon that slept below Fallfield, consuming gemstones and burrowing deeply into the soil, was the cause of the tremor, while other blamed the wizards of Grimguild and their Arcane experiments.
That was a century ago. Since then however, no more quakes had been experienced at Fallfield, and the once trembling brooks that gently flowed down the mountain had transformed into sparkling waterfalls, tumbling like lace over the cliffs.
It made for a rather breathtaking sight on a clear day, especially when combined with the inflated orbs of the dirigibles climbing into the atmosphere and dragon wings jutting out from the gondolas. At night, when the sky was turning pink and the lush forests were lost in darkness, the lanterns would shine from all the rafters of the houses. Suspended on bridges, from rooftops, and on trees, the small, round lamps hung like glowing pumpkins, making the city seem warm and comfortable even on a cold evening.
When Simon and his party arrived, and the gravelly crunch of their mounts’ horseshoes were transformed into the clatter of steel on cobbles, it was still daylight. The houses of Fallfield, large and wooden, were basking in the sunlight. Green roofs covered in grass, some as high as four floors with a bridge between structures, were stuffed with people and adorned with lanterns. Every house had a
terrace and every house was decorated with circular windows. Unlike Piper’s Toss which was gloomy and smog choked, Fallfield was fresh, exploding with flowers and saplings even despite the innumerable buildings clustered like stacked dishes in a cupboard.
“Some call Fallfield the City of Lights,” Mr. Darcy explained, watching the residents go about their business. “Some prefer the City of Flowers. During springtime, the blossoms produce the most alluring perfume.”
“It is rather nice.” Miss Baxter agreed.
Simon, as always, was trailing behind, bobbing up and down on the back of old Salvador and trying to hold in his allergies. He was certain Mr. Hershal held business here. If his recollections were correct, there was a small loan house. It seemed an apt place for it, what with the University so close.
“How far is the tower from here?” he asked, looking over the city.
Miss Baxter turned slightly, grasping the hindquarters of the old mare in her endeavor to regard Mr. Todd. “About a day’s ride,” she said, looking away and up towards the mountain peak as though imagining it looming from the crest like an effigy. “But as I said before, not just anyone can find it. You’ve got to be led, especially if you’re not a sorcerer.”
Mr. Todd breathed in through his nose, trying to string together some line of encouragement when he was interrupted.
“Have no fear of any of those lawless vagabonds!” Mr. Dashing hollered. “My pistol’s been hankering for a good fire fight ever since Piper’s Toss!”
“I’ve sorta been itching to see ya fire it,” Fae admitted. “It was too bloody smoky last time.”
Simon looked around, huddling down when a few of the city folk began looking in their direction.
“Keep your voices down,” he scolded, ushering Salvador forward. “Miss Baxter told you a lot of students like to frequent this place. Some could overhear you.”
Mr. Dashing smoothed down his long, perfectly sculpted whiskers. “You’re right. We should find ourselves an inn at once.”
The Curious Case of Simon Todd Page 17
