The Curious Case of Simon Todd

by Vanessa C. Hawkins

  The young woman seemed to wince, opening her eyes to look around. Simon frowned as she raised her now skeletal arm to her forehead in an effort to arrange her thoughts.

  Miss Baxter seemed to notice right away that something was amiss, but only sighed as she regarded her arm and settled back into Mr. Todd. “Mortimer got out of hand,” she said, taking in a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have let him take control.”

  Simon’s lips were pinched together in a straight line.

  “No doubt you’re swimming with questions,” she said, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

  “Well.” Simon didn’t want to appear too forward. “I won’t pretend I haven’t any.” He chuckled unsurely. “Though, perhaps inquiries would be better saved until we’ve safely landed.” He looked down. “I seem to be having trouble pulling myself together at the moment.” He licked his lips, trying not to appear too concerned when one foot slipped through the pedal again. As the bike dipped down and the couple inhaled sharply at the sudden lurch, Miss Baxter looked back with her doe eyes, seemingly understanding the situation with but a glance.

  “Mortimer’s gotten up to some mischief it seems.” She raised her hand, skeletal fingers calling the image of her crook. The ivory instrument appeared in her hand a moment later. It looked immensely more regular than it did before. The polished surface caught the moonlight and began to glow a faint violet as she murmured a string of words.

  All at once the Penny Farthing seemed to level out, and as though paused upon a lift, it slowly began sliding gently downwards towards the forest floor.

  Miss Baxter sighed, sitting back and looking as tired as Simon felt.

  “Are you alright, Miss Baxter?”

  “I’ll be alright,” she replied, holding her hand out to let the small dog lick it when it jumped up to investigate.

  “We’re really quite close to Fallfield. Once there you’ll have the chance to—”

  “I don’t think it wise to return to Fallfield, Simon.”

  Mr. Todd paused, nodding his agreement. Of course it wasn’t safe, he thought. All the mages of Grimguild would be looking for them.

  The bicycle landed, and Mr. Todd was quite pleased at how smoothly it did so. “Your old donkey, Salvador is close by!” He beamed, helping her off the Penny Farthing, ignoring the small dog as it bounded off a moment later. “We’ll go and fetch him and the remainder of our supplies.” Simon was almost certain he remembered where they had hitched him. “We’ll take a much needed rest and try and find the others in the morning.”

  Miss Baxter smiled, her green eyes vibrant despite the black circles beneath them. Simon was more than elated to finally have her back, though a bit of his mirth wavered when he saw a shadow of a chain waft away into the darkness behind her.

  He was about to break the silence when the young lady did it for him.

  “I’m sorry for what happened to you, Simon,” she said.

  Mr. Todd was so taken aback that he stuttered out a few garbled words before looking away with a blush on his cheeks.

  “For what?” he said finally, scratching at the back of his neck.

  Miss Baxter held onto her crook, and Simon couldn’t help notice her lean into it for support. “Heironymous was right. It is my fault you’re like this now. And it’s gotten all the worse thanks to Mortimer.”

  Mr. Todd couldn’t really fathom how it would be Miss Baxter’s fault that he tumbled off her roof and expired atop her rock garden. He surmised his current disposition was perhaps due to some magic that had been afoot, and perhaps said magic belonged to the young lady, but the fault was entirely his own. If only he hadn’t been so eager to see if she had returned home.

  To be quite honest, however, Mr. Todd didn’t feel all that inclined to dwell on the issue. He was already quite ashamed of himself as it was.

  “Well, you certainly entertain strange friends.” Was Morty a bedfellow? The sudden phrase ‘blood orgy’ popped up into his mind and Simon Todd felt sick to his stomach before purging the idea.

  “I shouldn’t have bound myself to him like that. I shouldn’t have allowed him that freedom of power.”

  Simon turned as she spoke, and the duo began walking through the woods side by side. Simon felt quite a bit better now that he was free to be a ghost completely, though it was rather strange to walk through the brambles while Miss Baxter avoided them.

  “I…” Simon blinked, turning his head to the side to watch as the little Bichon Frise began trotting beside them like a long lost friend. Mr. Todd shook his head. “I don’t think I quite understand all this Hell Lord business.” He looked to Miss Baxter. Her loose hair spilled over her shoulders, and the black lace of her gown blended into the salmon colored hem at the bottom. “What are these chains that bind you?”

  The young shepherdess pressed her lips together, and Simon couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she looked, kissed by the moonlight. “The chains are what siphon the power from the Hell Lords. Usually,” she paused, looking down at her now boney fingers before continuing. “Usually spellcasters only bind themselves with one chain, but the more you have the greater power you can control. Mortimer is a powerful demon and not one to usually aid sorcerers.”

  Simon nodded. “So you needed four?”

  “Yes.” Her gown rustled as it dragged along the alders. “In order to persuade him to bind to me, I needed the use of four chains. The more chains one has, the more power they can control, but the more freedom a Hell Lord has over the person’s body.”

  Simon looked behind her, watching as the young woman’s shadow blended that of the trees. “What about…?” He didn’t feel comfortable pointing it out, though Miss Baxter seemed to understand his meaning by his subtle glance to her right arm.

  “I failed to draw him back properly,” she explained. “I’m lucky really, Mortimer could have left me with much less than this.” She held it up.

  Simon shivered to think about what could have happened.

  “Benedict Uovo,” she continued, returning her grip to the crook, “he lost an arm when he failed to control his Hell Lord.” She looked sad. “He refuses to re-bind himself, despite having been a great wizard before it all happened.”

  Simon wasn’t sure all the power in the world would be enough to have him sign a contract with a demon, but then again, he had never been given the opportunity.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Baxter, for all these questions but—”

  She stopped short, looking up at him earnestly as her fingers brushed his arm. “Not at all, Simon. After all I’ve put you through,” her voice wavered, “you are truly my dearest friend.”

  Simon smiled, shaking his head. It was nice of her to say, but he thought of her as someone so much more than a friend that he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. His resolve began to pool in the pit of his stomach. “May I ask…?”

  “Of course.” She smiled.

  Simon licked his lips. “It’s about your mother. Rebecca.”

  The light in her eyes dimmed.

  “Oh.” Miss Baxter’s head fell as she regarded the ground for a moment.

  Together the two walked, silent as Mr. Todd waited for her reply. He didn’t want to rush her, knew that she would respond in her own time. In the meantime, he was utterly grateful to have been a ghost. He was sure had he not been that he would have been floundering over old roots and fallen branches idly decorating the forest floor.

  “My mother was betrayed,” she said finally, drawing in a deep breath. “Heironymous had her killed.”

  Simon glanced earnestly in her direction. “Are you certain?” He had always been told she died due to sickness. Though Simon was sure Miss Baxter was not fabricating falsities, he hoped that by asking she would reveal more about her mother’s mysterious death.

  “My mother was turning against Heironymous. She didn’t like how things were being controlled, how mages and wizards were running amok. She wanted to take over Grimguild and the mob, to change it for t
he better.”

  Simon frowned.

  Miss Baxter continued, “Some say it’s not true. Heironymous insists it isn’t, but there isn’t any other explanation for it.”

  Simon could see her body tense, her knuckles turning white against the ivory crook she strangled in her grasp.

  “My mother was killed, and her body disposed of. Heironymous knew that if given the opportunity I would have questioned the corpse. A necromancer has three questions they can ask the dearly departed.” Miss Baxter looked up at him, her eyes shining. “All I would have needed is one.”

  “I’m sorry,” Simon said, feeling inadequate.

  Miss Baxter pursed her lips. “My mother had many wizards and mages that rallied with her, believed in her ideals. Her allies share the same sentiments I do about her sudden disappearance.” Her eyes narrowed. “I hold a lot of power with Mortimer as my Hell Lord, but I am young. I need more than a wily Grim Reaper to persuade my mother’s allies to take action against the Chancellor of Grimguild.”

  Again, Simon was confronted with her glassy, emerald eyes.

  “I need gold. Lots of gold.”

  Simon nodded, inclining his head as the realization of this whole expedition’s purpose dawned on him.

  “So you’re hunting for dragon treasure.” It wasn’t a question.

  Miss Baxter smiled affectionately, her body losing some of the tension. “Mr. Dashing came to me with a map a little while back: said he needed a wizard to help him fend off some of the wards around the dragon’s hoard.”

  Simon looked to his right, his eyes distracted by a wavering blade of moonlight reflecting off the surface of a lake. Lost in her explanation, he began walking towards it. Miss Baxter followed.

  “Like I said, he used to teach at the University, so we had become friends a while beforehand.”

  Simon nodded, espying the path just a league away to the right.

  “I decided to help him, hoping that perhaps my share would help me build an army against Heironymous.”

  Simon paused, looking at the shoreline and the bobbing cattails congregating between the slightly glowing mushroom caps of the forest. So this was the reason she had never swore allegiance to the University. It hadn’t been due to some moralistic objection against the mafia, but because of her mother’s death. Miss Baxter, the Mistress of the wizard mafia? Simon could hardly paint the picture in his mind unless he used the terrifying visage of her and Mortimer that he had seen in the Hellscape.

  But then, he thought, he still loved her. As blind as he may have been to her endeavors, Miss Baxter was still the sweet girl that lived next door. She was a powerful, brilliant, sweet woman whom he still saw haloed before every light. He, in comparison, was Simon Todd: an accountant and also a ghost who could barely hold onto his borrowed pistol and sneezed eight-legged arachnids.

  “Well,” he began morosely, hands hidden inside his trouser pockets, “with Mr. Dashing’s help I’m sure you can do whatever is necessary.” To his surprise, she chuckled, and the sweet sound brought his gaze to hers.

  “I need your help too, Simon. Without you I wouldn’t be able to do any of this.”

  Simon felt his eyes brighten and the muscles of his face pick at the corners of his mouth. “No,” he said, feeling bashful, leaning forward sheepishly in order to scratch at the back of his neck.

  She giggled again, smiling warmly as he revelled in her praise. “It’s true. You are a very important element to this entire plan.”

  “You’re too kind to this old ninny, Miss Baxter.” Simon laughed, amazed at how easily she could uplift his spirits.

  “Simon!” She shook her head. “Call me Penelope. Penny! We’re friends enough that you ought not to be so formal all the time.” Simon threw up his hands to object, backing away even as Miss Baxter insisted. “You rescued me from Death himself! I think we’re close enough to be able to refer to each other by our first names.”

  Simon wasn’t sure of that. The concept of being so familiar with her seemed outright profane. Still, the idea of calling her by her first name was titillating, and after all it was just the two of them at the moment. Surely the crickets and frogs and mushroom caps of Morningwood wouldn’t be too scandalized to hear him utter it?

  “Thank you, Miss—” He laughed, trying not to let his smile seem too eager. “Thank you, Penelope.” It felt like honeydew on his tongue. He wanted to say it again.

  “Though, I have an admission, Mr. Todd. A very important one I should never have withheld from you for so long.” The mirth in her face wavered.

  Simon perked up, and despite his exhaustion he forced his body to resume its physical manifestation so that he could grasp her hand. “I do too, Miss—” he stammered, “Penelope.” It seemed to give her pause, and cocking her head to the side she looked up at him and all Simon could see was that innocent young girl he had fallen for. Mr. Dashing, Fae, Molly, damnation perhaps even Jane Darcy may have known about his affections for Miss Baxter, but the poor girl, in all her power and confidence, was still oblivious to his feelings for her. He couldn’t stand it. He knew this had to be the moment.

  “Penny.” He chuckled, realizing that he had only managed to repeat her name twice now. Ducking his head, trying to shake his nerves free from worry, realizing there was a subtle itch in his nose from his still irritatingly active allergies, Simon tried to conjure up the words.

  “We’ve been neighbors a long time and well, I really appreciate you asking Mr. Dashing to allow me to be able to attend this journey. Even if I am a poor excuse for an equerry.” He grinned, Miss Baxter, looking curious, smiled with him. “But,” Simon resumed, “I’ve never been able to quite muster up the correct words to tell you this but—” He was dead. The Grim Reaper himself had said he consumed half his soul. Why was it then that Simon could still his heart beating wildly in his ears?

  “Well, the truth of the matter is, Miss Baxter.” Simon bit his lip, forcing himself to stand up straight before the gently waving ripples of the lake.

  “I love you.”

  Chapter 29

  My Darjeeling Miss Baxter

  Simon swallowed, taking a long breath in through his nose and exhaling with a bit of a shamefaced chuckle. Looking away, then back, then away again. He didn’t want the moment to grow awkward but even the small amount of silence yawned like a chasm threatening to devour him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said finally, smiling despite himself. “You don’t—”

  But Miss Baxter frowned, her expression solemn as she placed her hand atop his own. “Mr. Todd, I love you too. Truly.” A small smile tilted her lips.

  Simon felt his insides explode and flutter about his ribcage. Bright, colorful pastels floated in front of his eyes. Butterflies spawned from the cap wearing fungi of the swamp, dancing amid the swaying cattails that swung like wonderland pendulums in the predawn night. Simon was glad he was corporeal again. Even within his material body he felt like he was floating.

  “You are my dearest friend.”

  He looked down, blinking past the euphoric daze engulfing him, to address the other half of her reply. Friend? A friend? Simon searched her face for any double meaning but like the title page of an old novella, it was written there as plain as day. Miss Baxter, the wonderful, beautiful, divine, aspiring woman that she was, saw him as nothing more than a friend?

  The apology in her expression was almost too much to bear, but despite himself, Simon scanned her features, hoping that perhaps there was some glimmer of hope. Some other emotion highlighted in her face that whispered of her heart’s desire and how he might claim the position. All he found, however, was pity. Love yes, but simply and everlastingly, platonic.

  Simon opened his mouth, but he found his voice had deserted him. Removing her hand from his, he took a subtle step backwards as his body faded back into misty phantasm. “Yes, well—” He blinked, several times in rapid succession. “We should be heading off now, hmm?” He stepped to the side, nodding as his legs carried him tow
ards the path. He could sense her reluctance behind him, but was glad she didn’t say anything as he led the way towards to the right side of the lake where he knew the road to be.

  Simon Todd, you stupid, stupid man!

  He should never have said anything. Dick Dashing, he must have known this would happen. Simon hated him. Miss Baxter was too good, too lovely to ever see anything but a simpering old fop. How could he even imagine her loving him?

  You are my dearest friend.

  How he wanted to be so much more, to hold her and care for her. All his silly imaginations of them together in his home, her father attending dinner to reminisce over pies: nothing but the musings of a madman in love. But then, he couldn’t even taste anything anymore, now could he? He was dead, half a soul with the other piece only gods knew where.

  A friend. He was her dearest friend.

  Well, at least he had that. If nothing else, at least he could stay close to her and love her and know she cared for him in some way, even if the thought was ill equipped to hold together his broken heart.

  He walked blindly in a straight line, the path zipping under his feet as he tried to set a quick pace as to hide the fact he was currently grief-stricken. He didn’t even realize where he was until her voice penetrated his curtain of gloom.

  “Salvador!” Penelope ran forward, her crook in one arm as her dress fanned out behind her. Simon looked up, couldn’t help a smile as the old, downtrodden beast of burden looked up from behind its mop of a mane and regarded her with all the life of a mouldering old log.

  He hadn’t realized they had walked so far. Or perhaps, that they had been so close in the first place. Nevertheless, Mr. Todd followed in the woman’s shadow, almost tripping over the damned Bishon Frise as it followed in his wake, and tried to let her happiness at seeing the old ass paint his own expression brighter.

  “He should have all the gear on him,” he said plainly, walking in the wake of his broken dreams, feeling like an empty husk of a man, more so than when Mortimer cursed him.