Elizabeth Webster and the Portal of Doom

by William Lashner

  “I wish you wouldn’t read such books before you go to sleep. Why is that flashlight on the floor and still on?”

  “I was using it to read in the dark. I must have fallen asleep in the middle of reading and dropped it.”

  “Elizabeth,” she said, shaking her head as she walked over to the window, bent down for the flashlight, and turned it off.

  When she stood up again, she looked out the window. At first it was an idle glance, but then she looked more carefully, as if she was seeing something she didn’t expect to see. Or maybe something she expected but didn’t want to see. My throat tightened, and I was trying to figure out what lie to tell her, when she lowered the blinds and spun around.

  “I received a text from your father,” she said. “Apparently the Court of Uncommon Pleas will be in session tomorrow night. Your father said you should bring Keir.” She walked over and sat on the edge of my bed. “How’s Keir doing in school?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “He’s doing better than me, actually. He seems to have more friends, he gets his homework done on time.”

  “Which is surprising because I never see him do any.”

  “Why did you agree to Stephen’s idiotic idea to send Keir to my school?”

  “Your stepfather is quite perceptive—I mean, for a lawyer. It sounded foolish to me, too, but when Stephen proposed it Keir’s face lit up. It seemed wrong to deny him the opportunity. And he’d been locked away so long I thought it might do him good. It’s hard to care about other people if you don’t meet them first. Is it working?”

  “Well, when he talks in class, it’s all about how concerned he is about everyone, especially the poor. But then, any chance he gets, he takes advantage of everyone.”

  “Like he gets you to do his homework for him.”

  “Yes, just like. Without even paying me!”

  “He’s still learning. I heard he wasn’t so well liked in that castle where you found him. That’s why you’re so good for him.”

  “I’m not well liked.”

  “Well, let’s just say you’re not universally despised. I’m a little worried about his safety.”

  “Barnabas has been looking out for him.”

  “Good. Barnabas is a match for anyone.”

  “That’s funny. He said the same thing about you.”

  “Did he, now? How charming. Go to sleep, Elizabeth. You have a big day tomorrow. I pressed your robe. It got a little wrinkled after your last appearance, when Redwing tried to take you with him to the other side.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “I’m sure that won’t happen again,” she said as she stood and placed the flashlight on my night table beside my manga book. She turned the light out as she left, closing the door behind her, leaving me alone with the image of the vampire thing outside my bedroom window. What was I going to do about that?

  Just then the door opened again and I saw a shadowy figure framed by the hallway light. My nerves ran around like a crazy pack of squirrels before I saw it was my mother leaning into the opening.

  “Your father also mentioned something about a gremlin?” she said. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

  “It’s one of our cases,” I said after I caught my breath. “My case, actually.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “I sort of have a plan.” I hesitated a moment and then asked a question that had been flitting through my brain. “Mom, where did you hear about how Keir was in that castle?”

  “Good luck tomorrow, dear,” said my mother before closing the door behind her.

  THE BARRISTERS’ BENCH

  There were seven of us snaking through the damp stone maze in the basement of Philadelphia’s City Hall, eight if we count Althea, nine if we count you, following along, wondering why it took us all so long to get here.

  Barnabas was leading at a brisk pace, a bundle of scrolls secured under his arm, followed by my father, in his robe and white wig, and Mr. Topper. Behind them was Henry, carrying Althea’s crate, and my grandfather, who tapped his cane loudly on the stone floor. Tap tap tap. Keir and I took up the rear. I was in my black-and-purple robe, but no wig, thank you. I had enough issues with my hair without plunking an ugly white mop on top of the pink.

  “Do you think the queen bee will be there?” asked Keir softly.

  “If she doesn’t show up, you win,” I said.

  “I’m not so anxious to see her again.”

  “Don’t worry, the one place you’re safe from her is in front of the judge.”

  “Nice fellow, is he?”

  “No,” I said as we hurried to keep pace.

  When we reached a wooden doorway, Barnabas pulled out a long metal key with a human tooth at the end, slipped it into the lock, and spun it twice. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow circular stairway lit by flaming torches sticking out of the wall. The worn stone steps seemed to rise forever up City Hall’s famous tower. Without hesitation Barnabas started up the stairs, and we all followed. Up and around and up and around.

  It wasn’t long before I was fighting for breath.

  But Keir kept pace easily, having somehow recovered from his illness—and we both know how he had done that, don’t we? Henry also had no trouble climbing, even though he was lugging Althea up the stairs—he was a swimming star, after all. What surprised me was that my grandfather banged his way up the long, twisting stairway without a rest.

  “Are you okay, Grandpop?” I gasped between breaths. “This is quite a hike.”

  “Nonsense,” said my grandfather. “I’ve been climbing these stairs for decades. They’re more worn out than I am. There was a time I was rushing up and down this stairway four, five, six times a session. I was strong as an ox then.”

  “You’re still pretty strong.”

  “But not like an ox anymore,” said my grandfather. “More like an aardvark—an arthritic aardvark with an aching back. Are you ready for your case, Elizabeth?”

  “I think so.”

  “That’s the spirit. I’m sure Custer felt the same way.”

  “Didn’t he end up losing—”

  “The only way to go is boldly forward, I always say.”

  “But, Grandpop—”

  “Ah, we’ve arrived.”

  I bent over to catch my breath on the landing at the top of the stairs as Barnabas lifted the gavel-shaped knocker on the great wooden door and slammed it once, twice, and then quickly a third time.

  A moment later the plank high on the door swung open and the doorkeeper stuck his massive head through the gap. He peered down at us like a giant peering down at a flock of sheep.

  “Barnabas,” grunted Ivanov.

  “Ivanov,” replied Barnabas.

  “Case?”

  “Two on the docket,” said Barnabas. “McGoogan v. Laveau and Moss v. Topper.”

  “We’ve a cavalcade of Websters, I see,” said Ivanov. “I suppose the judge will be in a mood today. Is that Master Harrison there?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Henry.

  “Another ghost, young man?”

  “No, sir,” said Henry. “I’m just helping out with some evidence.”

  Ivanov sniffed the air. “What’s that in the carrier? Hedgehog?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Kinkajou?”

  “Kinka what?” said Henry.

  “Stop monkeying around, Ivanov,” said my grandfather. “It’s a gremlin.”

  “Oh, I hope not, Mr. Webster. The judge is not partial to gremlins, not partial at all. Last time a gremlin was in this courtroom it ended up on a spit.”

  “Why, that’s horrible,” said Mr. Topper.

  “Not really, sir,” said Ivanov. “With a little salt and a squeeze of lemon it was actually quite tasty. Well, it is best if you all hurry on. The court will be in session shortly.”

  Ivanov’s huge blocky head disappeared just before his arm reached out and yanked shut the high plank
. A moment later the door opened wide. Barnabas hurried through and the rest of us followed.

  After Keir passed the doorway he stopped suddenly when he saw Ivanov, no taller than Keir himself, standing in his brass-buttoned uniform beside a stepladder.

  “It’s good to see you again, Elizabeth,” said Ivanov.

  “You too, Ivanov. This is our client, Keir McGoogan.”

  “I thought you’d be taller,” said Keir.

  Ivanov snorted and then said, “I thought you’d be older.”

  “Then we’re both pleasantly surprised,” said Keir.

  “I have something for you, Ivanov,” I said as I rummaged around in my pack. Finally I pulled out an orange knit hat with a fuzzy ball on top. “My mother made it for those cold winter sessions.”

  “Thank her much for me. It can get right frigid up there on the ladder.” He took the hat and jammed it on his head. “How do I look?”

  “Like a pumpkin,” I said.

  “Perfect,” said Ivanov. “Go on now, both of you, before the rehanging judge makes his grand entrance.”

  I grabbed Keir by the sleeve of his shirt and tugged him into the courtroom. As he was yanked down the aisle, his eyes grew so wide he looked like he was walking through a fishbowl. He stared at the rows of benches filled already by the waiting crowd, at the cage hanging from the ceiling over a dark hole in the floor, at the live ram’s head sticking out of the middle of the five-pointed star at the front of the room.

  “Welcome to the Court of Uncommon Pleas,” I said.

  “What’s that smell? Taffy?”

  “Licorice.”

  “Who eats licorice? The judge?”

  “The ram.”

  Just then a bit of glitter fell onto Keir’s shoulder. He looked up at the little babies painted on the ceiling dome, who pointing at him and twittered as they flew around in their diapers.

  “And who might those rascals be?” he said.

  “Nobody important,” I said. “They’re just decorative.”

  My father was already at the front of the courtroom, talking to the court clerk, a tall woman with green skin and bolts in her neck. Barnabas was sitting in one of the back rows, with my grandfather, Mr. Topper, and Henry. Keir kept looking around until he froze, as if he had seen his own ghost.

  “There she is,” he said, “five or so rows down.”

  I looked over and saw the bluish back of Egon’s bald head and, beside him, a woman with swirling black hair. I got the creeps just looking at them. I pushed Keir onto the bench, next to Henry and the crate, and dropped beside him.

  “Mistress Elizabeth,” said Barnabas, leaning over in the bench so I could see him. “You should be sitting up front.”

  “I thought I’d stay with Keir.”

  “We’ll take care of Mr. McGoogan, Elizabeth, don’t you worry,” said my grandfather.

  “Much business is conducted on the front bench,” said Barnabas. “It is a place of honor. As a barrister admitted to the court, it is where you belong.”

  “Go on, Elizabeth,” said Keir. “I’ll be fine.”

  I gave him a false smile of confidence before rising and making my way to the front of the courtroom. I had never sat on the barristers’ bench. Would the wig-headed lawyers make room for me? Would my father be proud or annoyed? Why did everything feel like the middle school cafeteria?

  Whatever jitters were plaguing me turned into a swarm when Egon stepped smack in front of me, smiling his broken-toothed smile.

  “We meet again, Elizabeth Webster,” he said in his high-pitched voice.

  Not knowing what to say, I said, “I’m still waiting for the tea.”

  “And we’ve been waiting for you. You have a great honor coming your way.”

  Just then the woman sitting beside Egon stood and faced me. “How nice to finally meet you, Elizabeth,” said the Countess Laveau.

  She was the woman in the painting, of course, in a man’s pinstriped suit with a red scarf at her throat. And her hair, well, the paintings couldn’t do it justice. Her hair was wild and free, swooping and winding around her face like it was alive. Its very boldness made any concerns I had about my hair seem foolish and small. Made me seem foolish and small.

  “I’m not allowed to talk to you without your lawyer,” I said, remembering what my grandfather had told me.

  “Ah, the rules. Where would we be without the rules?” Her eyes widened. “Just imagine.”

  “I really have to go,” I said.

  “Don’t let me keep you. There must be a restroom somewhere in this mausoleum.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “It seems everywhere I visit, all I hear is Elizabeth Webster this and Elizabeth Webster that. Now that we meet, I can only wonder why. I suppose we’ll find out eventually, one way or the other. Oh dear, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Does she look frightened, Egon?”

  “Like a mouse in a raven’s claw,” said Egon.

  “I must admit, I do so love seeing little eyes bounce up and down in fear. I find it as nourishing as cake. This has been delicious, hasn’t it, Elizabeth? I hope we see each other again. In fact, I’ll make sure we do.”

  And that right there was my first meeting with the Countess Laveau. So much fun!

  When I reached the front of the courtroom I stared for a moment at the ram on the wall. He was chewing and staring back. He shook his big horns and let out a snort.

  To the left was the barristers’ bench, with its row of white wigs. Beneath each wig was a man (and they were only men), who I imagined was horrified that a mere girl was about to sit on this bench of honor.

  I might have retreated from such disapproval only a few moments before, but something of the countess’s electric presence had slipped into my bones and rattled them. Where Miss Myerscough was the tight-mouthed guidance counselor of my nightmares, the Countess Laveau was as wild and unconstrained as a thunderstorm. I had the peculiar thought that she was what my mother could have been had my mother made different choices, what I could be if I so chose. Maybe that’s what gave me the boldness to make my way to the barristers’ bench.

  I could feel the disapproval as I passed one, two, three of the barristers in their haughty white wigs. Deal with it, I thought before plopping on the bench beside my father. I could hear the grumbles rise like clouds about me and I didn’t care.

  “I just met the countess,” I said to my father.

  “Interesting woman?” said my father.

  “I think she’s a vampire.”

  My father shrugged as if to say of course she was. As he was shrugging, another barrister in a white wig sat down to my right. When I turned to look at him, he gave me a brilliant smile and I slid right off the bench.

  THE BANSHEE’S PLEA

  Elizabeth,” said my father sternly, looking at me on the courtroom floor like I was down there playing Twister. “Stop fooling around. This is a courtroom, not a playground.”

  “Careful there, Ms. Webster,” said Josiah Goodheart, my nemesis, as he reached out a hand, took hold of mine, and helped me up. His eyes were laughing, his face was dark brown and pudgy, his smile was insanely bright. “These benches can be quite treacherous.”

  “Thank you, Josiah,” said my father. “I don’t know what came over her.”

  “Don’t worry yourself, Eli,” said Josiah Goodheart. “It is certainly no bother to give assistance to the famous Elizabeth Webster.”

  Before I could swallow enough air to respond, the ram on the wall lifted his chin and bellowed before calling out in his brassy voice, “All rise.”

  We all rose.

  I felt strange standing between my father and Josiah Goodheart, who were apparently on friendly terms—what was that about? How could two enemies be so pleasant to each other? There was still a lot of law stuff I needed to figure out.

  “Oyez, oyez, oyez,” called out the ram in his horselike voice. “The Court of Uncommon Pleas, sitting now in the land of Penn’s Dominion, is hereby called to order
.”

  As the ram blathered on about the court and the judge, Mr. Goodheart leaned toward me and said in his raspy voice, “I’m looking forward with keen, I say, keen interest to our little contest today.”

  “I’m sure you have some sneaky surprises planned,” I said as a cloud of smoke burst to life behind the judge’s desk.

  As the smoke dissolved, Judge Jeffries appeared, coughing and hacking. He wore a red robe with a black stripe down the middle. A scraggly white wig sat atop his head. His eyes were bloodred marbles.

  “Be seated,” said the judge in his harsh British accent, between coughs. We all sat. “Now I warn you all, be brief in your pleadings or you’ll feel my wrath. We have a long night and I hear the hounds bellowing for justice, so let us not delay.”

  “I expect you have your own surprises planned, Ms. Webster,” whispered Josiah Goodheart as the judge kept on talking. “You might not see it, but when it comes to the legal arts, and some other things, too, I think we are birds of the same feather, if you catch my drift.”

  “I do not catch your drift,” I said.

  “No drift?”

  “No drift, no feather.”

  “Well, time will tell,” he said, maybe a little too loudly. “It always does.”

  The judge turned his head and aimed his red eyes at the barrister. Josiah Goodheart nodded slowly and amiably.

  The judge looked down at him with exasperation and then banged his gavel. “The time has come for the law to make its mark, for good or for ill, on all of you. The clerk shall call the first case.”

  The tall green clerk stood and in her strangled voice shouted out, “McGoogan v. Laveau!”

  “Eli Webster representing the plaintiffs Caitlin and Keir McGoogan in a claim of false imprisonment,” said my father in a soft voice. He stood tall in his robe and wig, next to Keir, behind one of the two tables in front of the judge’s bench. Standing behind the other table were the Countess Laveau, Egon, and a short, thick barrister with white wig and snuffy face.

  The judge put his hands over his eyes and shook his head. “It is always an insufferable day when a Webster stands before me. Let’s hope we make quick work of this. Are your clients in court today, Mr. Webster?”