The Curious Case of Simon Todd

by Vanessa C. Hawkins

  Molly frowned, pulling the blunderbuss around and aiming it down at him from over the ledge. “Take a look into my magic wand and say that, Chip!” she snarled.

  Jane chewed at his bottom lip, looking up at the whirling stories of the tower. “Is this really necessary?” he asked Fae, who shrugged.

  There was another pulse of energy, something that vibrated through the air and caused everyone’s hair to stand on end. A large pillar of lightning snapped down from the heart of the tower and crackled as Mr. Uovo absorbed it into his arm.

  “You can’t save her, Mr. Dashing,” Benedict said, voice low and deep. “Miss Baxter belongs to Heironymous at the moment.”

  Dick had fallen back, taking cover behind the ledge as the bolt of lightning hurtled down past them. His hat had fallen over his face as he went to work fiddling with the gears on his pistol, pulling a string of bullets from his belt as he hurriedly went about reloading.

  “If you haven’t noticed, we are currently trying to vacate the area, Benedict. Don’t tell me that demon of yours pulled a bit of your brain away along with your arm.”

  Mr. Uovo growled, and a few of the acolyte mages fell back as his arm brimmed with elemental power. “Just zap ‘im already, Benny.” Chip tapped the older man on the shoulder. His real arm was bare from the bicep down and Benedict was clad in a plain leather cuirass and military slacks. At his waist was a belt fitted with small pouches, along with a knife. Uovo fetched a vial from one of the small bags, inserting the glowing glass cylinder into a slot on his forearm.

  “Try not to hit Sally, if you can,” Ardale whispered after, smiling up into the barrel of Molly’s poised blunderbuss. “I’m a bit sweet on her.”

  Uovo grunted, splaying his legs as gears upon his arm began to whirl and turn with magic.

  “Are we gonna bleedin’ run or just wait till we’re all fried and dead?” Fae exclaimed, crouching down beside Mr. Dashing as he flipped the cylinder closed and grinned.

  “Better hurry,” he said, adjusting his targeting goggles as he turned to regard her. Fae backed away a step, looking over her shoulder towards the others as they contemplated his command. “Go!” Dick stood up, bending over the ledge as he pointed his pistol and began to laugh. “It’s gonna get a bit hairy in a moment.”

  Lines fell in place, targeting symbols directing Dashing’s aim as Uovo grimaced, his arm building power as the gears and pumps upon it hissed steam in an effort to comply with the demands of the magic. As the plume of electrical power began consuming the entirety of his limb, Dick bit his lip, concentrating on a small part within the engine of gears situated in the man’s bicep.

  “Time to scramble some eggs,” he whispered, pulling back on the hammer of his gun as the others resumed running. With a quiet pop of gunpowder, muffled by the runic casing surrounding the bullet, a ball the size of a water droplet shot out from the barrel. Crystalline and cloudy like chipped ice, it met its aim with relative disregard from the company of mages.

  “Off we go!” he called, holding his hat as he turned on his heel to join his fellows in their pursuit of the summit. Poor Benedict Uovo, who was unaware anything untoward had occurred, throttled the energy in his arm as it built up around him, focusing on the ledge and subsequent stories rising up to the top of the tower. As he released it in an attempt to consume the stairs before them however, an ambush of electrical energy detonated unexpectedly as the clear bullet from Mr. Dashing’s gun shattered, and a water spell rushed out to soak the area of mages around them.

  Unfortunately for the Grimguild mobsters, and to the expectation of Dick Dashing, that meant that the electricity from Uovo’s arm was conducted to the area surrounding them, preventing it from being unleashed outwards. Dashing smiled as his companions glanced behind, alerted to the noise of painful shouting and hissing.

  “What was that?” Fae called, as he overtook them. Dick was chortling, looking a bit silly from behind the bottle-like frame of his goggles.

  “Are they dead?” Jane asked between breaths, trying to keep pace with Molly and Sally at the rear.

  “Not at all, good sir!” He holstered his pistol, slowing for a moment to retrieve his blunderbuss from Sally to fling it on his back. “Just a bit singed around the edges perhaps.” The gunslinger laughed again, paying no heed to the decorated doors of the East Tower.

  “Are these all full of prisoners?” Fae asked, leather boots thudding against the stone flooring.

  “Maybe?” Dashing shrugged. “Maybe they’re old worlds or treasure rooms or,” he turned to regard her, “water closets?”

  Molly groaned. “Just keep running!” she said.

  After a long while, when the shouting from below began to fade and the party of companions were hurting for a good breath and pause, they reached the top. The Eastern Tower ended in a large yawning portal leading onto a grand parapet. Each corner was occupied by enormous, dirty iron smokestacks, bellowing out black frothy smog into the already soot-black sky. Industrial piping coiled around the tower walls, wide as a man was long, and, just as Mr. Dashing had hoped, the dirigible bay that all towers were equipped with was supplied with a small passenger zeppelin.

  “Quick! Onboard the ship!” He waved his arms, indicating the small boat attached to the floating blimp. He could already imagine other aircrafts being readied on the remaining towers, ushering out to pursue them.

  “Do you know how to fly one of those things?” Molly asked.

  “Not a clue!” He beamed. “Adventure is about learning on your feet, Miss Stein!”

  She didn’t seem too sure of that, but before she could protest, Fae Hershal swung around on the balls of her feet, turning to Mr. Darcy.

  “Jane can fly it!” she pronounced, splaying her arms victoriously. “He’s been flying since he was a lad, ain’t it right, mate?”

  Mr. Darcy widened his eyes, looking towards the small dirigible with his mouth agape. It was smaller than the ones in Fallfield, and the tiny boat hovering beneath was barely large enough to hold a dozen passengers. Jane also wasn’t sure steering a man-made flying machine made of wood and metal directly correlated to operating one’s own dragon wings. Nevertheless, caught up in the half-truth he had admitted onboard the elephant circus, Jane nodded, complying with Miss Hershal’s startling revelation.

  “Yes,” he said, turning towards the others in acknowledgement. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Dick’s eyes brightened as he walked forward, ushering them all along at a quicker pace whilst keeping his eyes trained to the sky. “Spectacular! The scholar earns his keep at last!”

  Jane frowned.

  Dick continued. “I’ll be your artillery then. You ladies keep eye to ensure the ropes are tight and fix anything if the need should arise.”

  Molly came up close. “You’ve two guns,” she said, removing the blunderbuss from the holster on his back. “You take port I’ll take starboard.”

  Mr. Dashing grinned, offering what Simon Todd may have deemed, if he had been with them, a lewd stare. “Marvellous,” he said, his voice low before whirling away again. “Come, come! No time like the present now.”

  They all boarded, Jane Darcy first of course so that he could promptly start the engines. Though the dirigible was rather small, it was still equipped with a propeller, as well as a complex range of pulleys meant to let air out and in as a means of rising and falling. Jane took the helm, grasping the wheel as he tried not to concentrate on the plethora of ropes around him.

  “How do we get it started?” Fae cried, looking a bit lost. Jane bent over, searching the deck for a way to start the propeller engine. Dashing was cursing, calling for haste as angry hollers began echoing from the entrance of the parapet.

  “Here?” Jane hadn’t meant to sound so unsure, but as he yanked upon a lever at the foot of the helm, a cough and jolt of power suddenly sent Miss Hershal sprawling over the floor.

  “Sorry!” he called, meaning to help her up before Sally tumbled over on top of her. The sound of th
e engine was deafening, but as the floating vehicle began moving forward in an effort to comply with the thrust, Mr. Darcy realized all the ropes were still tightly tying it down to the platform.

  “Damnation!” Now he was sounding like Mr. Todd. “We need those ropes untied.”

  “Not a problem!” Dashing spun around. The long tail of his duster whooshed behind him dramatically as he took aim, severing one of the ties almost immediately. Molly Stein followed suit, aiming the blunderbuss at the tethers, and smiling when she hit and one snapped off. The dirigible lurched again as the last knot was severed, and the party swayed to the sudden jerk of propulsion. Jane felt his knuckles turn white as he struggled to hold on. The air in his ears popping when they reached a high altitude also signalled he’d have to learn how to control the pulley system, and fast.

  “Firebolts!” The ship boomed as something hit it from underneath. Dashing crouched to one knee for stability and leaned over the rail as he began firing off rounds. “Bring us low, Mr. Darcy! The mists of Morningwood should keep us shielded more-so than open sky!”

  Jane grimaced, turning to regard Fae and Sally who were holding on to the railing. Anxiously, poor Mr. Darcy began yanking at pulleys, trying to discern which brought them up and which brought them low. A streak of fireballs, narrowly avoided, confirmed that indeed the pulleys to his right were more apt at lowering their altitude.

  “We’re just bobbing up and down!” Molly yelled, voice barely audible over the engine. Jane scowled over one shoulder.

  “I’m trying to avoid fireballs from disgruntled wizards, Miss Stein!” That it had been purely accidental he didn’t feel the need to express. “If you’d rather steer this thing then be my guest!”

  “You’re doing a bang up job, Mr. Darcy!” Again, Dashing leant, aimed and shot. Jane nodded smugly in Molly’s direction.

  To Dick’s delight, and somewhat disappointment, no other zeppelins seemed to be taking flight to pursue them. More and more firebolts began shooting towards them as Jane began heading for the mist.

  “Be prepared, everybody! They can’t see us, but we can’t see them either! Darcy, you’re flying blind.”

  I might as well be anyway, the gentleman dragon thought, working to secure the controls.

  The fog was as thick and cloudy as mushroom soup. Though the propeller continued to growl and sputter, the party was silent, peering through the dense, black sky for any signs of mage fire. Molly grabbed one of the ropes that previously held the vessel down and tied it about herself. Dashing did the same, securing Sally within it alongside him when a sudden roar hissed through the sky.

  The dirigible burst, the sound ringing in their ears as a comet of fire exploded through the sky and tossed Miss Hershal over the side. Jane fell forward, tangled amidst the ship wheel as the dirigible tipped starboard, rattling everyone on board. Mr. Dashing, his voice incomprehensible due to the eruption of noise, grabbed onto Sally, but was knocked unconscious as he hit the side of the boat. Molly, ropes not tight enough, also fell out into the darkness and promptly disappeared, to the chagrin of her seemingly distraught sister.

  Mr. Darcy, wishing he had his spectacles, lamented the loss of his ruby tinted vision, finding the barrage of color and blackness distracting. He was feeling rather ornery as one of the spokes of the wheel jammed into his midsection, right underneath where he surmised his ribs to be.

  “I’ve had quite enough with this entire, humiliating scenario!” he yelled in a huff, voice drowned in the noise of the engine. “And with being a human!” He squared his shoulders, feeling nauseated as the boat tumbled in another arc upside down.

  Simon Todd was most likely stuffed in a bottle somewhere in Grimguild. Miss Baxter surely a prisoner in one of those wizard closets he had already been forced to endure, and anyone else that had known about his hoard and lair fallen off this accursed piece of human technology. All that was left was to turn into his purple, diamond backed self, secure a wizard to dispel the ward, easy enough now that they were all congregated in one place, and his task was done. His treasure was safe. Mr. Darcy could go home now with peace of mind and end this horrible charade of being human.

  So he transformed, dreaming of gold and his library as Fae Hershal screamed out into the darkness.

  Chapter 27

  Almost Knocking At Death’s Dooars

  The transformation started with her dress, oddly enough. The macabre, fleshy, salmon color of her gown transformed first into black lace stretched over alabaster skin. Her bonnet, falling away in flakes like charred skin, was replaced by a horned crown, framing her face. Her crook completed the transformation, the smooth ivory segmenting until it looked as though several small pieces of bone made up the entirety of the staff.

  Finally, as the Grim Reaper slowly began to dissipate into the chains, the glowing black manacles wrapped themselves about her arms, her neck, and midsection until, in one vicious blow, all four links latched onto her chest just at the spot where her heart was. The young woman screamed.

  “Miss Baxter!” Simon hollered, cursing as he pulled one arm free from the many clawing skeletal beasts still flailing at him. The painful cries of the young woman grew louder, echoing throughout the Hellscape before abruptly changing its cadence. Laughter poured out of her mouth as she stretched her arms wide. Elongated teeth protruded over her bottom lip as eyes as black as polished stone glinted at Heironymous, Chancellor of Grimguild.

  Simon had just pulled himself up as she smiled, grasping her crook and throwing it up and outward.

  “You’ve got a bug on you, Heironymous,” her voice boomed. It was like two voices combined as it echoed throughout the black expanse of the Hellscape. “Let me get it for you.”

  The mountain of bones shot out in an explosion of power and rushed towards him. Miss Baxter, floating amidst the onslaught of rushing bone matter laughed, directing them like bullets towards the Wizard don.

  Poor Mr. Todd, who had just recovered his feet, stumbled and would have fallen to his demise if it hadn’t been for an odd, skeletal bird flying somewhere in the vicinity. Simon grasped onto the thing as it rushed by and felt his arms almost snap in two as the thing was forced to bear his weight. It went much slower afterwards and hovered almost in place as it struggled to stay afloat with the Frelish gentleman at its ankles.

  “Damnation!” Simon felt tears running down his face as he looked at Heironymous. The bug infested magician had swollen to incredible height and was the same length as the rotting hand that once held him. Drawing both arms backwards as Miss Baxter flew above, the sorcerer spat out some manner of magical incantation as he was pelted with undead skeletons ripping at his bug-like outer layer. Heironymous reached back, pulling at the tendons of the enormous limb until two bloodied veins ripped out like scarlet ropes.

  “Color me impressed,” he said, unfazed at the undead eating away at the wriggling pests swarming about him. Ripping the veins forward, he whipped the two ropes-like extremities towards her. The ends swelled and popped, horrid serpent heads hissing as forked tongues shrieked at her. Simon looked away as she sliced them in two, the top of her crook shifting into a reapers scythe last moment.

  A shower of locus rained down on him as he reached for the pistol in his trousers and began to turn the lever. Bloody globules splashed on his head, staining his collared shirt. Miss Baxter laughed again, dispelling the gory mess with a parasol she conjured from her pocket.

  Mr. Todd shook as the bird abomination he was desperately grasping onto, lurched with the weight of the rain of bloody grasshoppers. “Easy!” he ordered, his forearm shaking from the effort it took to keep his grip.

  Miss Baxter and Heironymous were flooding the area with magic. The two Hell Lords were running amok inside each one of the spellcasters, offering their power in full force in order to turn the tide of battle. Simon Todd could see the chains of Heironymous’ Midge demon fluttering about amidst the bugs, and so set Mr. Dashing’s pistol to full charge, hoping, beyond hope really, that perhap
s he could try and do something about it.

  There! He swiped at his brow, trying to pretend that it was merely gobs of strawberry jam he was wiping from his forehead. Aiming, trying to steer the dead-but-not-really bird creature closer, Mr. Todd could almost see the claw of chain attached to Heironymous’ chest.

  There is probably a five percent chance that I can hit this. Simon thought. Add fifteen percent considering the radius of the gunblast, subtract two for shaky hands.

  Heironymous was issuing off another spell, to Miss Baxter’s…delight?

  Using math, Simon continued. That means you have an eighteen percent chance of hitting him. Using math made it more hopeless! Dammit Dashing! he thought. As he was about to leave it to luck, however, there was another tremor in the air as Miss Baxter took a swipe at the enlarged forearm skewering the muddy Hellscape.

  Simon couldn’t believe his ears when he heard the yipping of a small dog, and paused in his aim as he espied the fluffy Bichon Frise running recklessly behind the transformed wizard atop the now vein-less hand.

  “Lucifer!” Simon cried, suddenly smitten with an idea. Biting his lip, he redirected his gun barrel to point in the small dog’s direction and fired. It was an enormous blast, one that sent Mr. Todd and his skinless bird scattering backwards from the recoil. Simon did so hate the notion of shooting at a small dog, even if it was a horrible little beast of a creature, but he was quite confident that doing so would produce a much higher probability of hitting Mr. Grimguild in the immediate future.

  Heironymous, as expected, noticing the large comet of gunfire, moved one large bug covered arm towards the robotic-legged little pooch and deflected the blast safely to the side. “You’re still alive, Mr. Todd?” he spat, which seemed to come as a surprise to Miss Baxter as well by the way she turned to inspect him. “You are quite the little gnat!” The dog bouncing behind Heironymous continued to bark. “Let’s squash you.”