The Lion Lies Waiting

by Glenn Quigley

  “Her daughter,” whispered the old man next to him.

  The same old man who had fallen asleep when talking to them the day before. He was swirling in a haze of cider, whiskey and a local concoction which was a heady mixture of brandy and lovage and cursed with a remarkably distinctive odour.

  “It’s what you’re wondering, isn’t it? Who the second lantern is for? Gone these thirty years, poor thing. Mrs. Firebrace keeps it lit for the duration of the solstice celebrations. She says as long as she does, her girl will always be home.”

  Robin pitied Mrs. Firebrace. How well he knew the pain a solitary solstice lantern could bring. He wondered if perhaps her way wasn’t better. Behind them, a table of gamblers had gone from boisterous to unruly, flinging insults and accusations.

  “If they’re not careful, they’ll wake the man upstairs,” mumbled the old man.

  “Who is this “man upstairs” you all keep talkin’ about?”

  The old man pointed surreptitiously to the mezzanine at the end of the room.

  “Nasty piece of work, he is. Set himself up in a storeroom up there a few months ago, after the hurricane. He comes and goes as he pleases, and when he’s here, you better hope you don’t do anything to get his attention.”

  “Why’s that?”

  The old man drew his thumb across his own throat and went back his drinking.

  After ordering a whiskey for himself, which turned out to be exceedingly poor quality indeed, Robin spoke gently to Edwin.

  “What did your mother say?”

  A quiet moment passed.

  “She told me things. Things she should have told me a long time ago. She’s sick, Robin. There’s something wrong with her mind, something making her lash out the way she does, and I think maybe…”

  “Maybe what?”

  Edwin shook his head, as if he were shaking away an unwelcome thought.

  “She wants me to stay here,” he said. “With her. On Blackrabbit.”

  Robin let out a quick, nervous laugh.

  “Are you seriously thinkin’ about it?”

  Edwin sat back and rubbed his hand over the back of his head. His short, cropped hair—what remained of it—made a bristling sound where his hand passed.

  “I have to at least consider it. It might be best, in the long run.”

  In the corner of the bar, a quartet of musicians settled in and began plucking at a variety of stringed instruments. They talked of the practice they needed to perform before the upcoming festivities.

  “I’ll stay too, then,” Robin said.

  Edwin looked perplexed. “No,” he said. “No, you can’t do that. Not now, not with all that’s happened recently, finding your mother—a family for you, at last. No, I couldn’t do that to you.”

  “Then what ’appens to us?” Robin asked.

  The musicians had settled on a tune to play and though their initial notes were a tad strained, they quickly settled into a pleasant rhythm.

  “We’ll figure something out. Anyway, it’s not decided yet. Don’t worry,” Edwin said, smiling weakly.

  He motioned to order another drink.

  “I think you’ve prob’ly ’ad enough,” Robin said.

  Edwin looked at him for a moment, then put his hand down and stared at his empty glass.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. Then, with a glint in his eye, he said: “We should probably get to bed.”

  Hand in hand, they left the library bar and went to their room upstairs where Edwin stripped off his shirt. Robin stood behind him, placing his hands on Edwin’s hips before moving them round and up to his chest, embracing him tightly. He kissed the broad, freckled shoulders, then moved to his neck, kissing it lightly at first, then more forcefully. Edwin moaned slightly, tilting his head to offer more flesh to Robin’s mouth, then turned around in his arms and kissed him.

  But it was different. There was a desperation to the kiss, a longing, a pleading, almost. As if it wasn’t so much release he was seeking, as refuge. It was as though Edwin were trying to hide away from the world in Robin’s embrace, to use his arms as shelter from the storm. It was sanctuary Robin was only too happy to provide. Were it in his power, he’d defend Edwin against every torment, save him from every hardship, shield him from every woe, until his last breath. He took one of Edwin’s hands in his own. How soft it was compared to his. He always worried about squeezing them too hard, about hurting those long, beautiful fingers. He kissed them, one by one. Then in a whisper so faint it was barely there at all, Edwin said simply: “Don’t let me go.”

  Robin stalled, just for a moment, struck by the despondent tone of the request. He put his lips close to Edwin’s ear and said one word.

  “Never.”

  As snow gathered on the diamond window panes of the little room, the two men lay upon freshly-folded sheets of the tumbledown bed and made love while the music played.

  Chapter Sixteen

  EVA FUSSED WITH her fur-lined gloves as she glided through the harbour. Most of the smaller fishing boats had been hoisted out of the water for the winter season and their crewmembers were busy checking them by lantern light. Her mind was still swimming from her visit to the prison. What was happening there was monstrous and had to change, she knew, but how best to effect such change? A prison should be for criminals and no one else. By where else could those people go? The hospital? Hardly suitable in the long term.

  In times past, the harbour would have been the last place she went to gather her thoughts but her short time living in Blashy Cove had given her a new appreciation for the sights, sounds and even smells of the sea. A group of men were putting the finishing touches to the huge bonfire which would serve as the denouement to the tar barrel parade when she spotted a massive structure she hadn’t seen before. Certainly it hadn’t been there when she and Iris arrived.

  She stood before it—an enormous, covered stage built right to the edge of the harbour wall—craning her neck to take in every detail. The sea sloshed jealously below it, throwing up waves in a vain attempt to claim the construction as its own. The stage was furnished with plush seating made of expensive looking red leather and oak. The outer frame, running up both sides and across the front, was covered in dozens if not hundreds of animal masks, each one peeking out from behind real branches and leaves.

  “Excuse me,” she called to one of the several guards protecting it, “but could you please tell me what this is?”

  The young woman she addressed stood to attention.

  “It’s the council stage, ma’am,” she said. “For the parade?”

  “The council stage?” Eva asked, advancing on the young woman. “This? This is what the council have been spending their money on?”

  “Um, yes, ma’am?” she said, nervously.

  Eva’s cheeks flushed and her ears burned as she turned and stormed off towards her carriage.

  “Driver!” she bellowed as she clambered in. “Take me to the town hall! Now!”

  FOUR OF THE five council members of Blackrabbit Island had gathered for the final meeting before the New Year. Located at the top of the town hall, the council chamber had a domed ceiling painted cerulean and decorated with little gold stars, walls made from rough-hewn sandstone and the general atmosphere of being inside a cave. In fact, the whole affair was constructed specifically to invoke the stories of the original rulers of the island, the ancient coven of wise women who were said to meet in a grotto underneath the standing stones of the nearby hill. That no such space was ever found did little to diminish the popularity of the story.

  Although there had been only minor points to clear up, there were a good many of them and the meeting had run late. Baxbary Mudge fidgeted slightly in his chair. He was fiddling with his fox mask and he’d swear it was heavier than ever before. The other council members were getting on his nerves more than usual. He could just about tolerate Loveday Bezzle’s prattling, especially when she hid her smug face behind her Magpie mask. Agatha Samble, Rabbit,
didn’t say much yet he always felt like she was watching him, judging him.

  However the worst of the lot was Horace Rundle. Badger. The one who most lived up to his title of office. Squat, hairy and short-sighted, he sat across from Baxbary looking through a wad of documents he held close to his scrunched-up face. His black-and-white-striped mask rested on top of a huge, bushy moustache running across his lip, cheeks, and over his ears. He was the kind of older gentleman who exerted an unending stream of noises. Every action, be it grand or small, was accompanied by a sigh, or a gulp, or a snort, or a wheeze, or a mumble. Air was constantly trying to escape from his bloated body via one exit or another. More than once had Baxbary been tempted to live up to his own title by leaping across the table and tearing Badger’s fat throat out with his teeth.

  “I suppose we won’t be seeing Swan tonight?” Badger asked without taking his little eyes from his papers.

  Fox was snapped out of his vicious daydream. “Unlikely. He’s not at all well.”

  “Poor old Marley. Looks like it won’t be long before we’ll be swearing in his successor,” Badger said, with a note of genuine sadness in his gravelly voice.

  “Who has he nominated?” Magpie asked.

  Before anyone could answer, they were disturbed by the sounds of raised voices coming from the hallway. Suddenly, the chamber doors were swung open and Lady Eva Wolfe-Chase entered, followed by a panicking council clerk.

  “I’m sorry,” the clerk said. “I couldn’t stop her…”

  “Lady Wolfe-Chase, was there something this council can help you with?” Rabbit asked, rising to her feet. “How is your father? Please tell him how much we all—”

  “Never mind all that!” Eva shouted. “I demand to know what you people are doing!”

  “Doing about what, my dear?” Magpie asked, sweetly.

  “That…monstrosity by the harbour you’ve built for yourselves!”

  “What about it?” Badger asked.

  “What about it? What about it?” Eva almost shrieked. “What were you thinking? There are people in this town freezing on rooftops, children are starving, and you’re building follies by the waterside! The money you spent on it could rebuild a dozen houses for the Stormlost!”

  “They will have their homes repaired in time,” Rabbit said in a soothing tone of voice, “but for now there are other concerns, there are traditions to be upheld and—”

  “Traditions!” Eva said, throwing her hands in the air. “Traditions! Damn your traditions! I would scour them all from the world!”

  Baxbary pressed his fingers together and grinned.

  “They are beyond even your reach, Lady Wolfe-Chase,” he said. “I’m afraid you won’t be getting your own way this time.”

  Eva stared at him fiercely, then apparently realising she wasn’t going to win, turned and left. The clerk closed the heavy chamber doors and Rabbit returned to her seat.

  “And she, my dear Magpie, is Marley’s successor,” Baxbary said.

  “Surely not!” Magpie said. “She doesn’t even live here anymore! And they hardly get along, from what I can see.”

  “She has to be approved by the Swan committee, of course, but I can’t imagine they’ll put up too much of a fight,” Rabbit said.

  “He made the nomination a long time ago. It might be worth checking to see if he’d like to change it,” Baxbary said. “Sooner, rather than later.”

  “Can you imagine if she actually accepts the position?” Magpie said.

  “She’ll be in charge of all shipping to and from the island,” said Badger, gloomily. “We’ll all have to deal with her on a daily basis.”

  “Don’t panic unduly,” Baxbary said, smiling beneath his fox mask. “She’s not Swan yet.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  DUNCAN MURMURED AS he came to. Through the thick gauze of the bag which reeked of hops, he could tell he was indoors. He was sitting down, his hands tied behind his back and his head was pounding. His thin, gold-rimmed spectacles with their ingenious collection of magnifying lens sat skewed and bent on his little button nose. With a sudden jerking motion, the bag was pulled from his head and he squinted a little before a pair of bony hands straightened his glasses. The thin fingers numbered only nine and a half, and the remaining ones ended in dirty, chipped nails.

  “Hullo, Duncan. How nice to see you again,” said Baxbary, in a voice like honey coated thorns. “Sorry to keep you waiting, I had business to attend upstairs.”

  Duncan’s mouth dropped, then snapped shut as he almost snarled. He stared dead ahead at his captor. Baxbary was seated with his elbows on a desk and his chin resting on the backs of his fingers. From the mouth up, his features turned vulpine. A long nose, tufts of red feathers over his cheeks and cavernous eyes leading up to two pointed ears, tipped with black.

  “Baxbary,” Duncan said.

  “Ah, ah,” his captor said, tapping his mask, “you know the local custom. It’s Fox when this is on. I hope my men weren’t too rough with you.”

  Duncan turned his head as far as his husky neck would allow.

  “I recognise you two from the Roost.”

  The spindly man and his muscular young companion laughed.

  “I told you he didn’t remember us from before,” the spindly man said. “We remember you, though.”

  “I’m hurt,” grunted his companion.

  “From before?” Duncan asked.

  “When you used to live here. We were just Vince’s humble lackeys back then, of course. Probably beneath your notice,” the spindly man said. “Had a bit of a promotion since them days.”

  “Have you? Oh, please, tell me more. I find the details of your life endlessly fascinating,” Duncan said, rolling his eyes and hoping he sounded braver than he felt. “Now, speaking of Vince, where is he? I thought you usually got him to do all your manhandling, Baxbary?”

  The spindly man, rankled by Duncan’s snide remark, forced a little laugh. “Vince ain’t as reliable as he used to be.”

  The comment earned him an admonishing glower from Baxbary.

  “What’s this about?” Duncan asked. “Didn’t you say all you had to say over dinner?”

  “Hardly,” Baxbary scoffed as he stood up and walked around to the front of his table. “It just wasn’t awfully private.”

  He dipped his masked face low, so the snout obscured his full lips. “You were so fantastically vocal in your insistence that you’d never come back here again and yet here you are, poking your fat, little nose around the Roost. I can’t help but wonder why.”

  “Why?” Duncan asked. “I was helping a friend find his mother.”

  There was the horrible, perfect smile again.

  “Your friend’s mother. She would be Mrs. Sylvia Farriner, yes? Interesting woman. A handful, certainly, but she knows how to work a crowd.”

  “And by crowd you mean the little army of foxmen you’re assembling?”

  “There, you see? You do know more than you should. Back here for two days and already knee-deep in matters which don’t concern you. You just can’t help yourself, can you? You just can’t stay away from me.”

  “Believe me, all I want is to stay away from you.”

  “Mmm, well, sadly, that’s no longer an option. You never should have come back here, Duncan.”

  “Take that stupid thing off, will you? What have you still got it on for?”

  Baxbary brought his slender hands to the back of his head and his long, smooth fingers worked at the complex knot. Slowly, he removed the mask and set it to rest on his desk.

  “We wear them on any official business,” Baxbary said. “They remind us of our duties, they hide our true selves, remove our personal desires and prejudices. When we wear them, we become the living embodiment of the island itself. Or at least, that’s the idea.”

  Baxbary’s dark hair was slicked and controlled, his brows arched above eyes which looked right through you, and always there was the same insufferable, self-satisfied expression. Duncan
struggled to remember what he had ever seen in the man. He had honestly loved him, though. Baxbary had suffered at the hands of an uncaring father, just as Duncan had done, and their shared pain forged a bond between them. They were two broken pieces that fit together. But the damage done to Baxbary ran deeper than he let on. Duncan came to doubt if Baxbary ever loved him, convinced instead their relationship was all part of a grand scheme. He was never anything more than a pawn in Baxbary’s game.

  “Last night, at Chase Manor, you didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me,” Duncan said. “It’s almost as if you knew I was here.”

  “I did. Vince spotted your arrival when he was at the harbour.”

  Baxbary leaned in unsettlingly close to Duncan’s face.

  “You came to stop me,” he whispered.

  “Stop you from doing what?” Duncan asked, genuinely confused.

  “Don’t!” Baxbary yelled.

  Duncan jumped a little in his chair.

  “Don’t pretend, Duncan! Not with me! You said you’d stay away, but here you are! So close to the solstice!”

  He reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a flintlock pistol, turned it over in his hands.

  “But I can’t just get rid of you, now can I? Not now, it’s too risky. What if you’re found? No, I think I’ll keep you, for the time being. One less thing for me to worry about.”

  “What do you mean, ‘keep me’? What’s going on?”

  Baxbary leaned in even closer, resting his hands on Duncan’s bulky forearms, digging his nails in.

  “It’s finally time,” he whispered.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ROBIN SAT BY the window, flicking through the pages of his father’s little red journal and toying with the anchor pendant hanging from it, a double of the one sewn to his own cap. The unique style, with a spindle of rope set in its crown, had only ever been seen in connection with his father, Captain Erasmus Shipp. Even through all the hardship he’d suffered in his father’s name, Robin wore the symbol with pride.