“You need to calm your suspicions, child. The rumours surrounding Rebecca are obviously falsifications meant to guide you against the school.”
Simon was biting his lip as the man spoke, his interest piqued at the mention of Miss Baxter’s late mother. The young girl didn’t seem entirely upset with her current situation, though she did look away at the mention of Rebecca’s name.
“Heironymous,” she said, her voice soft like a melody. “You won’t persuade me with lies.”
Simon looked down, opening the panel of his coat as he produced Mr. Dashing’s brass pistol. Though the chamber was covered in windows, pewter chandeliers and sconces lit up the space quite elegantly. In the glow of the firelight the pistol seemed iridescent, almost as bright as the swirling runes adorning the cylinder.
Simon took a step forward, feeling muddled with apprehension. Though Heironymous was suspended from the scarves, his back was towards him. Simon watched as a long length of braid swayed down the great wizard’s spine, tucked at the crown of his head into a sooty flat cap with a set of thick goggles.
What in the seven hells are you doing, Simon Todd? he asked himself, slinking forward, holding the pistol up and just to the right of his face. He’s the Chancellor of Grimguild and you’re a simple accountant with a firearm you’ve only fired once. He was sure the entire room could hear his pitiful heartbeat, and if not, certainly they could hear his teeth chattering together.
Just shoot him, Mr. Todd. He could hear Mr. Dashing in his head, telling him to shoot at the silks, watch as they were consumed in spitfire. But as Mr. Todd paused to cock the hammer and aim the gun properly, his poor old hands trembled so violently, he wasn’t sure he’d even manage to shoot the thing at all.
Seven Hells! he whined, pressing his lips into a thin line as he slumped forward. He could still hear Heironymous speaking, laughing, trying to employ some manner of persuasion on the young girl. Simon had looked up to Miss Baxter with hopeless eyes when he was startled to see her staring back at him.
Miss…
A loud bark from behind him shot the hapless accountant clear out of his shoes. Though it was neither deep nor necessarily intimidating, the resounding noise scared Mr. Todd so severely he leapt into the air, turning on his heel as the gun was discharged into the floor and the blast ricocheted upwards. Glass shattered, falling down in large shards as a small white, impeccably groomed Bichon Frise continued to yelp its displeasure at the feet of the poor Frelish fop.
“Lucifer?”
Simon, who had stumbled deeper into the room in all the kerfuffle, turned again with wide eyes, trying to cock the hammer on the gun as Heironymous Grimguild turned to address the interruption.
“Who—”
Simon raised the pistol, splaying his legs as the man swung around in the silk, twisting it effortlessly to turn direction.
“L-L…You leave Miss Baxter alone!” Simon yelled, licking his lips as he concentrated his effort in keeping both hands still. “Else I’ll shoot you right in your…” What would someone with more nerve say? “your damned noggin!” Simon was sure no one in history had ever said anything like that, much to his chagrin.
At his feet, the tiny dog continued to bark, running amok between his legs as it pulled at the cuffs of Simon’s trousers. Mr. Todd shook his leg at the pooch, trying to keep himself focused as it growled and yipped. He felt quite miserable that a fluffy white, round headed canine was causing such a ruckus.
Heironymous meanwhile seemed to consider the bedraggled young gentleman, quirking a brow before turning his face to the side.
“Lucifer, to me.” The Chancellor commanded, his deep voice curious. The small dog acquiesced almost immediately, and despite Mr. Todd’s relief to be rid of the thing, Simon was a bit curious about the creature’s robotic left-hind leg as it scampered towards the feet of its master.
“And who are you?” the wizard enquired.
A bead of sweat dripped from Simon’s forehead onto his lapel. “I am here for Miss Baxter!” He attempted to keep his voice from shaking. “Let her go or I’ll be forced to unload this pistol, Sir!”
Heironymous crossed his arms, pulling the silk closer towards his body as it gathered in the crooks of his elbows. “Miss Baxter…” he seemed to mull over the name, tossing it about his mind before looking back over his shoulder at her. “Do you know this odd young man?”
The young shepherdess sighed, her features worried as she leant forward in her restraints. “Simon, please…It’s alright.” Her dress rustled against the wooden legs of the chair.
Simon flinched, feeling like she was trying to protect him. “Yes,” he agreed, taking a step forward. “Y-Yes, not to worry, Miss Baxter! We’ll have you out of here post haste.”
Heironymous frowned, though looked somewhat amused despite the intrusion of the trembling gentleman. “Simon, hmm?” He smiled, the glass of his thick goggles catching the glare of the sconces. “Well Simon, I think you are a bit confused.”
Mr. Todd was silent.
“Your Miss Baxter came of her own accord. We’re simply having a bit of chin wag, if you don’t mind.”
Simon guffawed. “You’ve got her tied up in a chair!” he shouted, pointing to her with the pistol.
The older man turned, nonchalant at the observation. “Well yes,” he said, matter-of-fact. “We can’t have her calling to her Hell Lord now, can we?” He leant forward in the scarves, settling his chin on the back of his hand as the silk twisted about his forearm.
“There is something quite curious about you though, Sir Simon.”
“Todd! Mr. Todd.”
Heironymous shrugged. “Mr. Todd,” he corrected himself, pausing to properly regard the young man. “Now don’t tell me you’re helping your little Miss Baxter even after she went ahead and killed you,” he said with a grin. “Because then I’d have to have a bit of a laugh at your expense, I’m afraid.”
Simon pursed his lips. “She didn’t kill me!” he insisted, feeling rather proud he managed to keep his voice still. “I took a rather nasty fall is all.”
The wizard smiled again, looking rather comfortable tangled amidst his silks. “A rather nasty fall doesn’t cause a man to become a ghost, Mr. Todd.”
Simon was quiet.
“I’m afraid that is the result of sorcery.”
“Poppycock!” Simon took a step forward, stalling as Lucifer resumed his barking.
Heironymous laughed, seemingly amused and unoffended by the pistol pointed at his head, or at least in the general proximity, while Miss Baxter bit her bottom lip and looked rather full of an idea.
Simon already knew he was no match for the silk dancing magician. Pistol or not, the only thing Mr. Todd was doing at the moment was creating a diversion. If only his mind could come up with a way to free Miss Baxter of her restraints. He was certain, that upon being freed, Miss Baxter would be able to conjure her magics in an effort to thwart old Heironymous. But how was Mr. Todd to ensure she was removed from her bonds without significantly endangering her? And how was he to do it before Mr. Grimguild expelled him from the universe forever?
“Quiet, Lucifer,” the wizard don said, looking at his young adversary.
“Though you seem to be of amicable character, Mr. Todd, I’m afraid I’ve other business to attend to. I suppose when Mortimer comes to collect you, you may ask him as to your curious disposition and Miss Baxter’s involvement. If he’s not entirely ornery, perhaps he’ll deign to answer.”
Simon frowned, nostrils flared as he chewed his tongue, trying to conjure up an appropriate response. “You’re going to kill me?”
Heironymous laughed. “Why, you’re already dead, Mr. Todd.” He untangled one arm, which he used to wave the young accountant off. “I’ll just summon a reaper to collect you.”
Mr. Todd thought it funny that he now knew what a reaper was. Seemed as soon as you learned something new, it was more prone to come up in conversation after.
“Alright, look.” Simon lowered
the firearm, holding up one hand in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s not get too hasty. What if I just leave?” He began to step to the side, ignoring Miss Baxter’s concerned expression.
Heironymous shook his head. “You do understand that I’m running a mafia, Mr. Todd.” He smiled, the corners of his moustache curling towards a rather large nose. “I will have to have you drawn and quartered, or at the very least, flayed by lesser Hell Lords.”
“You’re really getting my goat!” Simon could see the points of the summoning circle at his feet and lined the angle up with the position of Miss Baxter in his mind. The idea was stark, raving mad! But still, he could hear Mr. Dashing telling him to: use math. “I apologized! The gentleman thing to do would be to forgive and forget.”
Simon could see chains appearing around the man’s wrists, misting at the ends where they seemingly disappeared into the floor. There was one around each wrist, and another at his ankle, akin to the chains Simon had seen on Miss Baxter, minus one.
“If I had a fin for every man who said he was sorry before he was about to blasted into the next realm,” Heironymous began. “Well I’d be a school of bleedin’ fish now, wouldn’t I?” He cracked a grin. “I’m afraid, Mr. Todd, I’ll have to forgo civility in favor of gangster etiquette.”
Simon blanched despite himself, watching as the ends of the aerial silks began to lift up from the floor. Though at moment they were obviously white, pleated things, in the next they were long, ivory necks, attached to a bulbous, serpentine heads with forked tongues.
Mr. Todd felt his resolve threaten to liquefy upon the great room floor. But as the magical creatures slowly inched forward, hissing like a gale of trapped wind in a corridor, he squeezed tight on the trigger of his loaned pistol. Simon hoped he had his numbers right when he measured up the appropriate angle. How many degrees were needed for a ricocheted bullet to bounce off in the correct direction? How high up did one have to point? What about gravity pulling at the bullet and wind resistance? Did this chamber produce any wind resistance?
Mr. Todd tried to calculate it all in his head. Even if he were the best accountant in the entire universe however, he was certain that with all the ruckus brought up by Heironymous and the pressure of the situation, it was inevitable he would fail horribly. So, due in large part to his poor self-esteem, Mr. Todd aimed the gun at the floor, hoping that perhaps the little knowledge of magic and Hell Lords he had accumulated along the way, would prove more fruitful.
The summoning circle, in which Miss Baxter was centrally positioned, was scuffed by the blast. A long line of chipped stone and char marred the otherwise sleek surface as the discharged ammo ricocheted up and out another window, subsequently shattering it while in the process dispelling the magics surrounding Miss Baxter.
Heironymous, surprised, twisted the white silk to regard the damage. The transfigured serpents bowed their necks, reverting into their prior, inanimate forms as the wizard narrowed his eyes. Untangling his bare feet from the scarves immediately, the bare chested sorcerer slipped effortlessly from the silk even as the chains around Miss Baxter’s limbs began to form around her wrists.
“You’re more trouble than I envisioned, Mr. Todd,” Heironymous said, his own chains sliding deeper into the stone as his feet touched the floor. Though he was addressing Simon, he focussed on the young woman, who was smiling as something else began to appear from behind her.
“On the contrary,” Miss Baxter said sweetly, sitting up straighter as her chains pulled what appeared to be a squat, old gentleman from the floor. “Mr. Todd has always been an asset to the team.”
Simon was glad to hear it, even if he was unable to fully appreciate the sentiment at the moment. Currently he was preoccupied with the man untying the ropes around her back.
“Thank you, Morty.”
The chains that bound Miss Baxter to her new found companion faded in and out, until they were very hard to see at all. As the older man now accompanying her backed away, Simon stepped to the side, ignored for the moment, and therefore able to take him all in.
The man was short, much below the stature of an ordinary man, as well as rotund and balding. Though not obese, he was stuffed into a nicely pressed suit that minimized the paunch around his midsection, as well as some very polished, brand new gentleman loafers that would serve to make even the stiffest of fops envious.
“We’ve talked about this,” he said, his face stoic. “Mortimer if you must, Mr. Grim if I insist. Morty? No.”
Miss Baxter smiled in the man’s direction. She was a good hand span taller than him. Though the ends of her chain were invisible, Simon could tell by the way they had hung that this man was attached at the other end. Did that mean he was a Hell Lord? The thing he had seen before in Fallfield had been much more frightening…
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Miss Baxter replied, holding her hand up as the ivory crook, previously unseen, appeared in the palm of her hand. “I’ll try not to forget.”
The man, Mortimer it seemed, nodded. “Good.”
“I don’t—” Simon was interrupted as a boom of laughter bounced off the great room.
Heironymous Grimguild stood up straight, a good six feet tall as he fetched a cigar from his pocket.
“Mortimer Grim! How’s the family business?”
Simon looked between the three, the pistol dangling like a forgotten limb at his side.
Mr. Grim rolled his eyes, stepping up beside Miss Baxter as he repositioned the cufflinks on his jacket. “Tedious as always, I’m afraid. Try as I might to delegate tasks, I’m always stuck behind a desk filing paperwork these years.”
“No hard feelings about the circle then?” the wizard don continued.
Simon was flabbergasted.
“It matters not to me.” He looked towards Miss Baxter. “Of course, Milady may think otherwise.”
Heironymous nodded, stepping back as he cracked his knuckles. Once again the links of his chains grew visible and slowly began drawing power from the floor. “Shame. Once upon a time you were the one to establish this school.”
“Eons ago, and when I was young, I assure you.”
“And now look, you’re on the opposing end. All for a pretty face and one night in an orgy of blood?”
Simon felt his eyes bulge out of his head. A blood-what? Mortimer Grim blushed.
“Well, we all deserve a holiday every now and then!” he said rather defensively, smoothing back his graying hair as Miss Baxter giggled. The old man seemed to stopper his bad temper before it had a chance to flare. “Besides,” he said more calmly. “When I see promise… it’s been awhile since a worthy necromancer has been able to summon me.”
“Indeed…” The smoke at the end of the Chancellor’s cigar began to twist, breaking off and sputtering into blackflies. From behind him, the floor began to yawn away, black bile pooling over what appeared to be a giant cyst.
Simon jumped back, fear renewed as Heironymous shot both arms forward, pulling the chains taught as the veins beneath his skin began to bulge. A black mass broke the surface, elongating into obsidian fingers as all manners of insects, worms and spiders began to crawl out the bubbling pustule.
“Seven hells!” the trembling accountant called, moving to the side until he was just behind his sweet mannered shepherdess and her Hell Lord. “What in damnation is that?”
Mortimer Grim’s face seemed to brighten, while Miss Baxter looked on curiously. That neither of them seemed rather perturbed by the situation was a miracle, Simon thought. Heironymous himself, who seemed to be pulling the creature from the seven hells with naught but his biceps, laughed as a terrifying scream filled the chamber, breaking all the glass in the great room to waterfall upon the floor.
Mr. Todd held his palms over his ears in an attempt to thwart the noise, but the gesture seemed to be in vain. Mr. Grim called out jovially in a most familiar tone as he stepped forward. The scream was interrupted just before it had had a chance to rupture his poor eardrums.
�
�Midge! Is that really you?” Mortimer opened his arms incredulously.
“Mortimer Grim?” The long, inky hand stopped; bugs, creepy crawlies and all manners of wriggling white worms paused in the wake of the Hell Lord’s voice. Then, a moment later, the enormous hand seemed to liquefy into gas and evaporated into a very heavily pregnant young woman.
“I haven’t seen you since the last apocalypse!” he declared.
Simon grimaced, flinching back as a particularly huge and very ugly spider attempted to investigate the sole of his left foot.
The woman, dressed in a white shift, had hair down to her bellybutton, with a bundle of her ebony locks rounded up in a beehive at the top of her head. In the torchlight the loose ends looked like dripping tar, halting mid fall and incredibly straight. Her face was white as canvas, but sallow and gaunt, and there were greenish bruises around her arms, decorating her skin in sickly designs.
“Has it been so long?” She gave him a head to toe look over. “You’ve gotten quite husky, Mortimer!” She laughed, covering her mouth in a manner Simon Todd thought most coquettish.
Mr. Grim cleared his throat, pulling at the bottom of his suit jacket. “Yes well,” he began, smiling despite himself. “Just look at you. Pregnant?” He seemed amazed.
The woman. Midge? Waved her hand. “Yes well, I thought it was about time to settle down. Pestilence is all well and good, but it’s been a dog’s age since I’ve been out and about, reaping with the old four.”
Mortimer nodded. “I haven’t seen the others in forever.”
He paused, reliving a favored moment, Simon guessed.
“How far along are you?”
The woman shrugged. “A few centuries now… Far enough along that I wee a bit every time I’m summoned to the mortal realm.” She framed her mouth with one hand in an effort to be discreet. “Are you bound, Mortimer? I’d have thought those days were behind you.”
The Curious Case of Simon Todd Page 27
