“And when Sinister got on the boat,” Justice asked, “what happened?”
“Mistress—I mean the Winter Witch, um, Miss Jones, came after him, and the shark got him and me in the process,” the boil said. “And that is all I know of Sinister until seeing him in the courtroom just now.”
“Your Honor,” Justice said, “I have no further questions for this witness.”
“Very well,” the Head Magistrate said. “Sir Gareth, do you wish to try your hand at the boil?”
“Your Honor,” Sir Gareth answered, “of course I wish to cross-examine the boil, or perhaps I will just lance him . . .”
“Wait a minute,” piped up the boil. “I don’t want this perfumed pus licker to touch me!”
The Head Magistrate ignored the boil’s outburst without even the barest hint of a smile. Sir Gareth was indeed a perfumed pus licker! “Sir Gareth,” said the Head Magistrate, “can you call any witnesses to refute the boil’s testimony? Or are you just going to waste my time and get a whole lot of pus on that nice lavender robe of yours by questioning the boil?”
Sir Gareth looked down at his robe as if considering what the Head Magistrate had said. “One quick moment, I beg Your Honor, while I have a word with my clients.”
“Make it a very quick moment.”
I observed a heated but quiet argument between Sir Gareth and the Blackhearts, but in the end, Sir Gareth rose and announced that he would not question the boil. Justice smirked as he stood and also indicated that he would rest his case and await the court’s ruling. “I have a good feeling about her ruling,” he whispered in my ear as he sat back down. Knowledge and Wisdom were confidently patting me on the shoulder. I was not so confident—I had heard that before!
“Now then, first I have some housekeeping issues,” said the Head Magistrate. She looked to the Winter Witch, who sat on the witness stand with her familiar still trying to shake the boil off its backside. “Miss Jones, please bear with me for a moment,” she said. “I may need you to help me complete my ruling in this case.”
The Winter Witch merely nodded, and even the boil did not offer a pus-covered protest. Clearly, everyone but the infernal cat was waiting with bated breath for the Head Magistrate’s ruling. What did she need the Winter Witch for? Surely the boil was not going to be reattached to my ass? The Head Magistrate looked up at me as if reading my thoughts and smiled. My heart sank. I was surely doomed.
“First off,” said the Head Magistrate, “I have never seen such a clear and blatant case of conspiracy to perpetrate a fraud upon this court and alienate a father from his children. Blackhearts, you should be ashamed of yourselves, and Sir Gareth, perhaps you should choose your clients a little more carefully.”
Sir Gareth rose gingerly. “Your Honor, if I may . . .”
“No, you may not!” the Head Magistrate scolded. “I suggest you sit down and mind your tongue. And to top it off, your clients conspired to create an abandonment charge that, ultimately, they were guilty of—and with Immortal Divorce Court property to boot!”
Sir Gareth sat quickly, seeing the withering gaze of the Head Magistrate and the approaching deputies. That lavender robe would not protect him very well from the inferno of contempt, I mused. I could hear Justice snickering under his breath ever so quietly, as he was clearly enjoying the proceedings.
“Mr. Sinister, I find you not guilty of abandonment,” said the Head Magistrate, looking me in the eye reassuringly. “In fact, the one that is guilty of constructive abandonment is your now ex-wife, Miss Blackheart. You do not owe her any alimony, and I hereby decree any of your marital obligations to her as dissolved.”
No alimony? I wanted to kiss Justice, but instead settled for a double kiss with Knowledge and Wisdom. I could not wait to really celebrate with them later.
“The problem the court faces is that, even though Miss Blackheart committed constructive abandonment, and Mr. Sinister was the victim of said abandonment, she did have sole custody of the issue of this marriage during the entire time of the abandonment. And during this time, Mr. Sinister did not contribute anything to the welfare and maintenance of the children.”
Justice rose quickly to his feet. “Your Honor, there was no way he could contribute anything to the children’s welfare. He was chained to a wall in a dungeon in the bottom of a castle, with a talking boil on his backside.”
“I am aware of that, Mr. Justice,” the Head Magistrate said. “But that does not cure his duty to support his children, and Miss Blackheart, though committing constructive abandonment, never waived her right for support. Isn’t that correct, Sir Gareth?”
“It is quite correct, Your Honor, thank you,” said Sir Gareth grinning evilly and nodding knowingly to the Blackhearts.
“I am afraid I have no choice, Mr. Sinister,” the Head Magistrate said. “As much as it pains me to do so, Miss Blackheart is due back child support these last sixteen years for your four girls.”
“But, Your Honor,” Justice protested.
I felt my ire raising and stood to give the Head Magistrate a piece of my mind.
“Sit down, Mr. Sinister,” the Head Magistrate commanded. “I don’t think you would find a second go-around with the Lord of the Underworld as pleasant as the first time.” I sat. Quickly.
The Head Magistrate shuffled some papers. “Your assets,” Justice hissed. “Stay calm, and whatever you do—don’t talk.” What assets did I have other than the gold and jewels of the goblin hoard?
“Ah,” the Head Magistrate said. “Perfect. I hereby decree your house in Paris, recently decreed to you by one Oliver von Cliffingham, to be deeded to Miss Blackheart for a period of sixteen years for the collection of rents on said property, after which time, it falls to your children in equal shares.” So, Oliver apparently gave me a house, and now it was to go to the Howler and then the girls? That absolutely worked for me. But what of the girls—just where were they?
“I have but one question, Your Honor,” I said, rising to my feet. I ignored Justice’s plaintive glance of panic and the approaching deputies. “With your permission, may I speak?”
The Head Magistrate nodded. “You may.”
“I have not seen my girls in sixteen long years, a mere glance at them in swaddling clothes is all I have ever had. Can you order them to tell me where the girls are?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Sinister,” the Head Magistrate said. “Mr. Blackheart? Where are they?”
Angus Blackheart stood and addressed the court. “From an early age, the girls displayed physical gifts and skills that made them uniquely suited to follow in Mr. Sinister’s profession. So, we did what we thought best and recently sent them for advanced training to the best teacher we knew of.” He paused, and looked to Sir Gareth, who shrugged.
“So, where are they?” the Head Magistrate queried again.
“With the esteemed and revered Master Assassin Ernesto Sinestra.”
“With Father?” I shouted. “That is amazing. Your Honor, may I have leave of this court to return to Sa Dragonera?”
“Yes, in one moment,” the Head Magistrate said grimly. “You will want to hear this, I promise you. The court will not tarry one minute longer than necessary and keep you from your children. I caution you it has been sixteen long years. They do not know you, and you cannot guess what the Blackhearts have said about you. Proceed with great caution and a well-protected heart.”
“I will, Your Honor, thank you,” I said. “May I go now?”
“Yes, you are free to go,” she said. “But first, I hereby order Victoria Jones to transfer the boil to the face of Angus Blackheart for a period of one hundred years as punishment for misappropriating the property of this hallowed Immortal Divorce Court and using it for an evil and nefarious purpose.”
“I would much rather stick with the pussy than end up on that dick, if you know what I am saying,” the boil said.
“Fine,” the boil agreed, hawking a huge yellow glob of pus in the direction of Sir Gareth, narrowly missing his shoe. “The dick it is. Bring me dickface’s kisser. I am ready!”
Sir Gareth popped up like a daisy. “But, Your Honor,” he pleaded, wringing his hands in anguish. “My client throws himself on the mercy of this honorable court and knows the error of his ways. I beg of you to reconsider your punishment, reduce the term of years, or pick another spot for the boil—perhaps his elbow or big toe.”
“Your Honor,” the boil interjected, “he is getting punished, so how can his lawyer, Sir Loose Anus over there, run his gums? You promised me his face just now! What kind of fun is a big toe? Unless, of course, Sir Loose Anus can confirm, or deny, that his client dickface has a foot fetish, then maybe . . .”
“The boil is completely out of line,” Sir Gareth exclaimed. “I protest.”
The boil was a bit more successful with his next pus launch, which landed right on Sir Gareth’s nose. “I think I was right on the line, if you ask me,” it said happily. “Protest that!”
The Head Magistrate managed to barely stifle her smile as the yellow pus dripped off Sir Gareth’s nose and right onto his fine lavender robe, which caused him to retch impressively on himself, soiling his august robe even more. “You get the face of Angus Blackheart, boil,” she said. “And Mr. Blackheart, I am putting in my order that if you should ever dare to misappropriate the property of this honorable court again for your own nefarious purposes, so help me, you will have the boil attached to your phallus while you are bound in the bowels of Peel Castle for all perpetuity by the very Immortal Divorce Court chains you purloined—and that means forever and ever!”
A recovered Sir Gareth wiped his mouth with a ruined handkerchief. “My client understands completely,” he said. “You will have no more trouble out of him.” But to me, the look on Angus Blackheart’s soon-to-be boil-marred face said something exactly the opposite of his attorney’s words.
“Is it too late to choose the lifetime of pussy?” the boil asked, and seeing that it was, he sighed. “Great, here’s to hoping I don’t end up eternally on the dick of an eternal dick.”
I walked out of the courtroom not in chains but yet still utterly bound by trepidation about the journey ahead to be reunited with my girls. I did not even crack a smile when I heard the screams of Angus and the boil as they, too, were united. Justice put a hand on my shoulder. “You leave in the morning,” he said. “I will get you a crystal to get you where your heart needs to go.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I will leave now. I’ve waited sixteen years and cannot bear waiting a moment longer.”
Justice nodded, and I wiped a tear from Wisdom’s long lustrous lashes. “Understood,” Justice said. “Now let us get you to your children!”
I could barely stop myself from breaking into a full run back to Justice’s abode. I found myself shaking in anticipation or nervousness, or most likely both. Knowledge pulled my face close to hers as we walked. “You will do fine,” she said. “You will know just what to say and how to say it. And besides, your own father will be there to help you.” I nodded, although my heart was not entirely convinced. What if they did not want anything to do with me? Or hated me with every fiber of their sixteen-year-old beings?
Justice broke into my thoughts as we arrived at his office. “All right then,” he said. “You are now well-equipped with one of the most powerful weapons ever forged, and I can get you a day or two’s worth of supplies. Just in case the fickleness of the crystals combined with your troubled, unfocused mind, deposits you somewhere in Spain, or Majorca, and not at your intended destination.”
“I do not know how I can ever repay you,” I said.
He scoffed. “Well, for one thing—I really don’t need to see you anytime soon, or ever again, for that matter. And you have paid me, remember? Two chests of goblin gold are always welcome in this office.” He handed me a star-shaped, red crystal, which I took with a sense of dread. Something was causing the hair on my neck to stand up. I embraced Wisdom and held her tightly.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” I answered. “Must be my nerves.”
Knowledge joined our embrace. She reached up to stroke my hair gently and put her hand on my chest to feel my steady heartbeat. “It is not your nerves,” she said. “Be careful and trust your instincts.”
I looked to Justice for guidance, and he merely shrugged. “You’ve made a lot of enemies in the last couple of centuries. They are probably standing in line for a chance to repay you. Don’t wander into a goblin camp, and you’ll probably be fine.”
I smiled and adjusted the Blade of Truth across my shoulder. “I can live with the ‘probably fine’ part because that is better odds than I face most of the time!” I kissed Knowledge and Wisdom long and passionately, and stepped back, focusing on Sa Dragonera. Finally, for the first time in what seemed to be eons, I was going home!
I looked down at the crystal, thinking only of the comforting views of Sa Dragonera. But the strangest thing happened. The red, star-shaped crystal turned to black in my hand and began melting into nothingness. There was an audible pop and strange pulling sensation as the office of Justice and the tearful faces of Knowledge and Wisdom faded from view, and I found myself spinning out of control through space. A huge black fist came out of the ether and struck me full in the face, sending me tumbling head over heels, until I crashed hard into a stone wall and rolled down a sandy embankment, my head landing in seawater. I licked a mixture of blood and salt from my lips and rose to my feet, taking in the squat stone tower that I had tried to knock down with my face. I knew instantly that I was not on Sa Dragonera, and a second look at the tower and my surroundings confirmed this.
The owner of that ebon fist had deposited me in front of the Aragonese tower at La Pelosa off the island of Sardinia. I had come here centuries ago to train with my father, and it was on this very spot on the beach in front of the Aragonese tower where I had finally bested him in swordplay. Fond memories indeed, but who had brought me here and, the real question was, why?
I opened my hand to look for any remnants of the charred crystal, but it had either completely melted away, or I had lost it in my collision with the tower. I had never heard of a crystal going bad, but that was clearly what had happened. Of course, I never heard of getting punched in the face by a disembodied fist as you traveled by crystal either. I was not sure what bothered me more, but I did not have time to think about it. I was not far off from Sa Dragonera, and I would have to catch a boat on Sardinia. The sun was high in the sky, and with luck I could make it to Sardinia before nightfall and find someone willing to part with a fishing vessel or give me passage to Majorca. Nothing was going to stop me from seeing my children—not a messed-up crystal—not a phantom fist—nothing.
I wiped the sweat from my brow, and steeled myself against the heat radiating off the sand. A fierce wind came out of nowhere, whipping the sand in front of me into a small hurricane. The sand bit deep into my skin, and I dropped to my knees, shielding my eyes. I felt a great heat from below, and the sand beneath my knees began to give way as if it were melting. I rolled quickly away in the direction I knew the water to be, my eyes still closed, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I entered the cool water of the sea. I rose from the sea with my blade drawn and eyes wide open to find four helmeted and well-
armed horsemen facing me.
“Oh, bloody hell,” I said to no one in particular. “You got that right,” a deep voice rumbled behind the riders, from the hole in the sand leading to the Underworld.
The biggest of the riders, clad in crimson armor, was astride a well-muscled red horse with flames flickering from its nostrils and sparks shooting from its hooves as they struck the sand. The red rider raised an immense bloodstained blade, seemingly too large to be wielded, and pointed it directly at my heart. The second rider wore bright gold armor and rode a horse so black it seemed to suck in the very light of the sun. The gold rider nudged its horse forward and raised a huge golden scythe, turning its point toward me. The third rider wore dull-green armor made of interlocking plates of crocodile scales, rode a creature that was more lizard than equine, and raised a bow and arrow that dripped with poison so vile that the very sand hissed in protest as the venom landed upon it. The fourth rider was smaller than the others, wore dull-gray chain mail, and was astride a horse that had seen better days, for its bony ribs were poking out from its sides, and foam dripped from its mouth and nose. But this horse was no creature to be trifled with, as it snorted evilly and pawed the sand, sending a bevy of crabs rushing for the safety of the ocean only to be crushed beneath those bony hooves with frightening speed and intensity. The gray rider did not wield a weapon that I could see, which made me all the more wary of what danger it brought to bear. The Lord of the Underworld had indeed called in his mark, for facing me were his elite warriors—the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, or some version of them. An evil laugh echoed up and down the beach, reveling in the vengeance that was soon to be wreaked.
I scanned the waters behind me, considering a nice swim to avoid combat with these emissaries of the Dark One, but spied a bevy of circling black dorsal fins that encouraged me to stay just where I was. If I could get to the tower’s entrance, a narrow stone doorway would enable me to face my enemy without getting outflanked, which was an inevitable consequence if I stayed on the beach. So I did the last thing these creatures from the abyss expected—I attacked.
My Ex-Wife Said Go to Hell Page 30
