Cameo and the Highwayman (Trilogy of Shadows Book 2) (13 page)

The man examined Opal’s face for a moment.

“Are you certain it’s him?”

“The soldier who identified him was murdered.”

“By… this man?”

“Yes, Mister Lantillette.”

He cocked his head to one side, “Mond was supposed to be an orator. I’ve never heard he was much of a duelist.”

“I’m not Mond.”

“Silence, prisoner.” One of the soldiers shook him.

Lantillette looked at the man before him doubtfully. “Well, the king will know the revolutionary on sight, as I understand it. He remembers him from childhood. Wait here.” He turned abruptly and reentered the room he had just left.

Opal and the soldiers seemed to utter a collective sigh at the tedious nature of this situation. They tossed him back down onto the bench that he had been plucked from moments earlier.

The highwayman glanced back down the hallway at the exit. He wondered if it was possible to simply charge his way past the guard. Of course that would incriminate him even if Avamore didn’t recognize him. If he could evade them, it would only be a short distance to reach Cameo, who was just at the other end of the palace.

One of the guards placed himself directly in the archway that Opal was staring at. This was about the time that Opal realized he had been staring in that direction. Not terribly subtle. Still, the guard who had placed himself there wasn’t much more than a boy and could probably be knocked to one side if he really did make an attempt at escaping.

The door down the hall creaked open, and a soldier exited, motioning to the others to bring the prisoner in.

Wild with terror at the thought of being discovered by Avamore, Opal leapt to his feet and threw that young soldier, the one who had been standing in the archway, to the dark wood floor. He bolted back down the hall that he had just been dragged through. Light was streaming in the frosty windows, and freedom was just within reach, when he felt someone grab his duster and yank him back. Opal tried to drop out of his coat, but another hand had one arm, forcing him to spin around and face them.

It was the young soldier.

He continued to walk backward now, attempting to shake free.

Several other soldiers knocked him to the ground. One had a blunderbuss pointed at his chest.

“And you aren’t Francois Mond, hmm?” A guard sneered.

* * * * *

Opal was marched into the music room with a pistol to his head.

King Avamore, a tall, dark-haired man, had been standing with his back to the door, conversing with Lantillette but glanced over his shoulder as the group entered.

“Sit him there,” Avamore motioned toward a rather exquisite gilt chair that seemed to have been moved to the center of the room for just this purpose.

Opal had been in the music room once since his father had died, and that was after the mob had ransacked it during the rebellion. How beautifully it had been restored; it was nearly the same as when he was a child. He tried not to marvel at it. He needed to be able to lie well, and not seem the least bit knowledgeable about this palace, let alone nostalgic.

“So,” Avamore began in his silky smooth voice, “you’re accused of being Francois Mond as I understand it. Are you the revolutionary Francois Mond?”

“No, sire.” Opal kept his eye on the floor.

Avamore smirked. “Lantillette, have one of the soldier’s remove that awful eye patch.”

The older man motioned for a soldier to do as the king had asked.

“Francois had one white eye, if I remember correctly. He and his entire family contracted smallpox when he was a lad, and it left him rather disfigured.”

“I’m not, I’m not Francois,” Opal was saying as they pulled the patch from his face.

Avamore’s eyes widened. “Your eye is white.”

“Yes, I had smallpox, but I’m certainly not that
bloody charlatan
. No, I’m Frederick Black—just a vagabond, a gambler. I’ve spent most of my life living out of taverns in Lockenwood.” He smiled, “I know a lady who could vouch for me if you would only ask her here. Well, more than one really—”

“Spectacles, Francois. You used to wear spectacles after you got smallpox and one of the lenses was dark so no one would have to look at that hideous orb you have there. I thought them quite ridiculous, but the patch is far more so. Those things get rather dirty after a while.”

“I’m not—”

“Guard, bring me that item you found in his pocket.”

Opal touched his pockets, they were empty. The soldiers must’ve gone through his clothes back at the tailor’s shop when he was unconscious.

One soldier brought forth Cameo’s brooch and handed it to the King of Shandow.

“A cameo.” Avamore examined it, “A bit damaged.”

“That’s mine.” Opal stood, then hesitated as he realized that he was threatening the king and now had every pistol pointed at him. “This is all a mistake. You have me confused with someone else—”

“Enough! I know who you are. Don’t you understand that? I remember you from my visits to Cammarth when I was a boy! Your father gave music lessons and my cousins played the spinet, and you assisted him. You held music, you carried instruments, and sometimes you helped my cousins with their lessons.” Avamore tossed away the brooch. “And not so long after that, you killed them. You killed my cousins. You and your revolution. You
are
Francois Mond.”

Opal shook his head.

“Soldiers, take him to that spinet. Let’s hear you play us a little tune, Francois, something from the past?”

“I can’t. I can’t read music.”

“Take him outside. Take him to the pillory.”

“Sire!”

“Then why don’t you spend some time with your beloved people, Francois? Let’s see how much they love you now?”

Opal fought with the guards as they hauled him away.

“How long, sire?”

Avamore fell into an arm chair, exasperated. “Ask me again in a few hours.”

“He could die out there in that temperature, you realize?”

Avamore met his eyes coldly. “Well, don’t let that happen.”

“The mob could kill him.”

“Yes. I know. Now, leave me be. I wish to rejoin to my party. I am in the middle of a game.”

* * * * *

It was evening by the time the military brought Opal back into the center of town. The pillory was exactly as Opal remembered it: a simple pole, darkened with age, standing in the town square.

Several people stopped as the jailer’s cart rolled up, staring at him as they tied a wooden plaque around his neck that read:

Francois Mond—murderer

Soldiers bound his hands together and tied them to rings at the top of the pole, and one of the men read his wanted poster aloud and nailed it to a wooden trash bucket that was nearby.

“Francois Mond?!” someone exclaimed. “Look over there!”

“What’s going on?”

“Just read that wanted poster.”

“It’s true,” the soldier said as several people began to crowd around him. “This man is the revolutionary, the tyrant, Francois Mond. The man who ordered the deaths of our beloved royal family!” Then he mounted his horse.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving him here to your mercy. Good day to you.”

The crowd watched as the royal militia that had just marched Francois down to the pillory was now marching away, confident that no one would free him.

Opal tested the cord that his hands had been tied with. His arms were stretched to the top of the pole. Freeing himself would pose some problem. Thank heavens he had a coat, boots, and gloves, even if they were a little light for this weather.

The crowd was made up of local shopkeepers, sailors, servants to the royal house, artisans, and the poorest of the poor, those barefoot living in the streets. They neared him slowly, apprehensively and perhaps with a bit of awe.

A middle-aged man approached him, taking off his hat as he did so. “Are you really
the
Francois Mond?
The architect of the rebellion
?”

Opal surveyed the crowd. The expectant looks on their faces. The reverence. Then he glanced down at the man who was kneeling nearby him. “Yes,” he whispered.

The man was stunned at the admission. He drew out a small knife and moved in closer.

“Please free me.”

The man looked into Opal’s eyes, still in awe, and before Opal realized what the man was doing, he walked away with the sign that the soldiers had put around his neck.

“Wait!”

“It’s him!” the man nodded at the people who clamored around him now, and the prize that he had just acquired.

Suddenly people burst toward him, with shears and knives in hand.

“Free me,” he pleaded as the mob cut off the buttons holding together the front of his duster, the buttons on his sleeves. Someone took the ribbon out of his hair and several others clipped off pieces of it.

A woman kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for killing the royals, then told him how terribly sorry she was that he was going to be martyred for standing up for the people. Then she ran away with a lock of his hair.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please, if you could please untie me.”

“We love you, Francois!” came a cry from the back of the crowd.

“Did you return from exile to reignite the revolution?”

He turned to find a somewhat well-dressed young man going through his pockets.

Someone had brought a chair to the pillory after noticing the rather gaudy ring Opal had taken to wearing, which was, as one might expect, set with a black opal. After a bit of tugging, that token of his namesake was gone.

“If you don’t cut me down, I will be drawn and quartered by the king.”

Someone ripped open his waistcoat.

He looked out beyond this writhing mass of insanity at the snow that was beginning to fall. “If you admire me so much, why won’t you free me?”

* * * * *

Edel’s eyes opened. He was conscious again. He didn’t dream. He never dreamed. It was simply the act of lying down in his coffin in the morning, and then opening his eyes again, and it was dusk. It seemed only a moment had passed.

He smiled. There was someone sort-of human in his home now to talk to, and now every day seemed a little more interesting.

The vampire slid back the lid of his heavy stone sarcophagus and was met by not only Chester, but Cameo as well.

“What are you doing down here?”

Cameo looked down at him. His stone coffin was actually buried in the basement of the palace under his apartment. It made sense she supposed. He was literally lying in the dirt of his homeland, probably on the exact spot that his house used to stand.

“They’ve taken Opal,” she said, arms folded in front of her.

“Did Chester bring you down here?” Edel slid his arms into the jacket that Chester was holding for him.

“Yes. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up for hours. The military took Opal prisoner. I saw them; my thrall brought me the message.”

“Your thrall?” he said, despising the use of the word.

“A shadow.”

“A ghost—”

“Who cares?! Opal is probably in jail. You have to let me free him.”

Edel shut the lid of his coffin slowly, thinking, trying to buy time. “How did you get Chester to bring you down here?”

She looked at him coldly.

“No one is allowed down here, you realize.”

Cameo appraised the dank room. It was empty except for one sconce that they had been using and the coffin. It was clearly a room meant to be a tomb for a monster.

He looked away from her. “A monster, yes.”

“You and I are both monsters. Only our deeds can change that now.”

“You’re only saying that because you want me to let you go.”

“Please,” she said, dropping her arms to her sides. “Please have some empathy. I, I… like him.”

He smiled at her thoughtfully.

“I don’t want him to die.”

Edel was shaking his head slowly, “He will die eventually.”

“He doesn’t have to die now. Let me go to him.”

Chester was running a rake over the dirt in the room behind them and Edel turned to look in his direction, considering losing Cameo. Letting her go. The idea of regaining consciousness again the way he had before she had come to liven up his existence didn’t strike him as something he wanted to do. If only she could understand how empty his life had been, then perhaps she could forgive him for saying
no
, but he thoroughly doubted it.

“I’ll go,” he sighed.

“What?”

“I will go see if I can find him.”

Her face brightened. “You will?”

“Chester, my cloak.”

The zombie dropped the rake that he had been using and walked out the door, up the stairs, and back into the apartment.

Edel removed a watch from his pocket and checked the time. When he looked up again, he found her staring at him.

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to have to ask that you don’t make a habit of coming down here.”

“I won’t.” She took his arm suddenly as he took a step forward. “Don’t hurt him.”

He could feel the slow
thud
of her pulse through the material of his jacket. Her heartbeat was somewhat slower than a human’s, but it still gave him pause to feel her so close. He met her eyes, steeling himself against the warmth he felt emanating from her. “Or you’ll kill Chester?”

“I’d rather not make that threat.”

He leaned in closer. “I’m not going to hurt either of you. There’s nothing to worry about. So why don’t you go upstairs and try to eat something. I’ll be back shortly.”

She nodded and let her hand drop. A moment later he had disappeared.

* * * * *

“Lantillette,” Avamore motioned for the man to come over.

“No cheating, your highness,” one young man chided as the minister joined the card party.

“Yes, yes, we’ve had enough interruptions for one night already.”

The king ignored them. “How long has it been?”

“About four hours, sire.”

“Go get him. If the mob hasn’t torn him apart, then deposit him in a cell for the night. Have him brought out to me tomorrow during court,” he took a sip of wine. “I’ll make decisions about his future then.”

“Yes, your highness.” Lantillette bowed and left the room.