The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) (21 page)

"Fire!" someone screamed.

Mary turned to look with the rest of the crowd. Zounds—the entire city was aflame! Waves of fire danced from one building to the next, consuming roofs and spires. The crowd dispersed in a dozen directions. Coaches were overturned in the confusion, windows broken, guns fired. Only Blackbeard's voice at Mary's ear, whispering "just a distraction," saved her from panic. She looked up and saw the stage almost completely deserted, save for a few guards and the lone prisoner, still fastened in the noose. They rushed the stage, Ivan and Leopold overpowering the guards while she pushed ‘him’ down and removed the rope. So here it was, the creature who stole his likeness, who claimed to love her. The sooner they destroyed it the better. And yet, why did it do all this? Why did it want to be
him
, love her, and spin such an elaborate web for something it could never have---or be?

She pulled off the shroud and almost gasped to see Leopold, exactly as he was a moment ago, smiling back at her. There was no difference: even in the eyes, she felt his presence.

"So you've come to save me? Can I interpret this as a sign of love?"

"You know exactly why I'm here," she said, dragging it up. "You have to go back."

"Go back? Where can I go? I'm here."

"Back in the chest--or to oblivion, or wherever things like you go! Now quickly, we have to--"

Suddenly it grabbed her and removed a pistol from his jacket. It held the barrel at her skull, shouting loudly for the others to notice. Ivan and Leopold froze in place. How the devil did it have a pistol?

"I won't hesitate to kill her if it comes to that," it said, pushing her forward. "I'm afraid this is all very expected of you, though I enjoyed your little fireworks. But the comedy is at an end. Time to pay the actors."

Soldiers rushed the stage, followed by the young boy Leopold had met in the Dungeons. The boy stared in disbelief at the Count; or rather, he looked from one Count to the other, trying to decipher the real and the fake one--and failing at both. Nevertheless, he ordered Leopold and Ivan arrested and taken to the Dungeons. Mary he overlooked, as the Death wanthe Deathed; however, he had plans for that one, too...all in good time.

"The sorcerer!" the Death shouted. "He was right there--find him!"

The soldiers scoured the audience for Blackbeard; he had vanished. Mary felt some small consolation at this. Blackbeard had other plans--he would find them. She just had to bide her time. Already, she could see the Death stifling a yawn, the eyes looking red and blank.

"Let's go," it commanded, marching her off.

From a distance, Blackbeard watched it all and nodded grimly.

The Death shoved Mary in a nearby carriage and stood outside the door, waiting, expecting to be followed. It knew that little fool wouldn’t let them simply disappear into the wilds. After a few minutes it screwed up his face, annoyed; no sign of anything, which was the worst sign of all. It yelled something to the driver and climbed in, sitting across from Mary, who squirmed to one side so their legs wouldn’t touch.

“I suppose I don’t really need this, do I?” it said, lowering the pistol.

“So what are your plans? To run off together? Live happily ever after?”

“I understand your hesitation…you don’t see me as him. We’re two different people in your mind. But it’s not so; I am him, that is, the most essential part of him. He has all the gross, material aspects…I have the mind, the heart. I am the one you fell in love with.”

“Don’t be stupid!” she said, almost spitting. “You’re just some thing that lived inside him like a parasite. You may have seen what he saw, and thought what he thought, but that doesn’t make you the same. I can read a thousand books and pretend I wrote them, but that still doesn’t make me a writer.”

“On the contrary, I am his thoughts. He can’t live without me. If you went back to him, you would notice the difference; he would be nothing, a mere shell. I gave him the words he spoke to you!”

She turned away, horrified to see him speaking these words. Settling for the vague impression of its face in the glass, she replied,

“You forget that I kissed you, told myself over and over that you were him. But you weren’t. Everything about you is cold and lifeless. When I touch him I feel alive. I could never feel that way about you.”

“It’s this body, I’ve never had to use it before,” it said, angrily tossing an arm. “Once I learn to master it there will be no coldness, nothing for you to object to. I will be him, as you’ve always known him. If you would just let me show you…”

It moved closer to her, only to be repulsed by her boot. Another inch and she would strike, her eyes warned. With a gracious shrug it returned to his seat.

“Let me ask you this, then: why do you love me?” she asked. “What about me, of all the women in the world, excites your fancy and admiration?”

“You…are perfection.”

“Based on what?” she laughed. I fUYour careful study of women? Your past relationships? What do you know of women? Hmm? What do you know of love?”

“I…I know what I feel,” it said, looking away, out the window.

“You know what he feels! That’s all you know. But you don’t understand. You don’t know what he sees in me, what made him want to—”

“Your tears.”

“What?”

“He saw you crying. In a hallway in the palace; he didn’t know why. He saw you in the shadows, alone, and wanted to protect you.”

She knew exactly what he meant. The moment opened before her eyes, the cold floor, her beating heart, the spinning room. Tears for her mother’s death, learned weeks after the event—her father couldn’t be bothered to inform her. Mary had been forced to leave the country to be shown at court, her official “coming out.” Her mother knew she was dying, however well she hid it, and begged her father to wait a few more months (she was only thirteen). Such arguments held little sway with her father, whose desire to make a profitable match had been his only consolation for having a daughter. So they left with scarcely even a good-bye to her mother, who struggled out of bed defiantly. Do as your father says, she told her, but don’t ignore the will of your heart. Could a broken heart have a will of its own?

She had never seen Leopold in the corridor, and even if he had seen her, it could have only been a fleeting glimpse. Her governess found her within minutes and whisked her away, consoling her with lies and empty words: that they would leave in enough time to see the funeral (they never did); that her mother would be so proud of her conduct at court (how could she know?); that her father only wanted what was best for her (even the governess didn’t believe it). She couldn’t remember the next time she saw Leopold, but it was probably around the time they first began speaking to one another. No longer as children, but as intimate friends, with their own language and secrets.

“And was that when you fell in love with me, too? Did you want to reach out to me—to protect me?”

“There is no distinction between us. I was there, I saw you in the shadows, I felt your pain. And yes, I loved you, too.”

“You call this love?” she shouted, waving her fist, just inches from smashing its chin. “Can’t you see what you’ve done? Do you imagine this is how men and women fall in love—marry? Through impersonation and murder?”

“Those were…necessary evils, I’m afraid. I want to start fresh, no more lies. Only the truth. You know everything now.”

“And the others? The price for our happiness?”

“I’m afraid they chose this path,” it said, growing annoyed. “I should have remained with Leopold to the end. But Blackbeard intervened. Leopold knew this but wanted to keep me locked up; he wanted life without the shadow of death. Meanwhile, I was cursed to live, to dream, to think—to see you before me. So yes, they paid the price for their greed and indifference.”

“Oh, come now! You can’t blame Leopold for his ignorance, nor for wanting to escape some monster in a box! He was a child. Children don’t make choices about life and death. Blame Blackbeard, if you will. But your revenge is misplaced on Leopold; you love and hate the wrong people!”

“Then who should I love? Who in the world loves me?” it said, angrily.

“Love is not something forced upon an unwilling objecze="+0">t,” she replied. “I might by slow degrees pity you, even wish you a compassionate end; but for now I only despise you. Ask me again in a thousand years.”

Without the slightest hint of action, it suddenly flung himself across the coach and seized her throat. She gasped and clawed in defense but its fatigue had burned away. Now single-minded rage consumed its body, giving it the strength it lacked in love. It grinned horribly, releasing its grip slightly to whisper in her ear,

“I do love you—but unlike him, my love is not some weak-willed, puppy love. It’s savage and passionate; it is a love that defies the grave. You will know true love by the end of it, and you will never want him, or anyone else, again!”

The coach lurched to a violent halt, throwing the Death off her and against the window. The door swung open and it collapsed in a heap on the road, dazed; but just as he came to someone fired several shots into its chest. It flailed and cried out, then fell suspiciously silent.

“Lady Mary! Quickly, let’s go!”

Lucas! He was the driver—or rather, he had convinced the driver to jump into a ditch a few miles back.

“It’s not—you can’t kill it!” she said.

“Not trying to kill it, just trying to get a running start,” he said, taking her hand.

He fired one more shot at the crumpled figure and they fled into the surrounding woods.

Leopold and Ivan were shackled and brought not to the Dungeons, but to a smaller, less imposing prison a short walk from the gallows. The guards seemed terrified whenever they looked at Leopold, and one even said, “this wasn’t our idea; please don’t bite our ears off.” Leopold promised not to. The child came briefly to their cell to look them over, yet without the bravado he once possessed. He particularly inspected Leopold, squinting through a monocle and muttering something inaudible (it sounded like “card tricks”). Once he left, the brothers were left in pitch blackness, heavily shackled and unable to walk more than a foot in any direction.

“So we’ve come full circle,” Ivan said. “When we first met you asked to trade my life for yours. Now they’re both worthless.”

“Worthless? Surely you don’t think this is the end!”

“Isn’t it? I only worry about Mary.”

“Wherever he goes, I can find her. Don’t forget, I know him…I know what he’s thinking. I can almost see them now; that is, I can hear the wheels of a distant coach…”

Ivan let the silence build between them, but his thoughts demanded expression. For better or worse, he had to speak.

“She’s a wonderful girl. I admire her greatly.”

“You have no idea. I’ve known her for so long, but I never appreciated her as she deserved. I took her for granted.”

“No, surely not. She knows how much you love her. She’s very observant, she takes everything in. I even fear…she might have noticed my interest.”

“Your interest? What, that you have feelings for her?” Leopold said, with a slight laugh. “Why would she think that? If anything, she might suspect the opposite. You’re rather cold around her.”
I never a

“Cold?”

“Yes, I was worried you didn’t like her. Perhaps you could talk to her a bit, just so she doesn’t…think you disapprove. You don’t, do you?”

“No—no! Quite the opposite. In fact, she may have cause…to think otherwise.”

“How on earth would she…wait a minute, are you saying you like her? Mary?” he asked, his voice rising.

“It’s the last thing I should admit to, but it’s there, growing in my mind day and night. Yes, she’s marvelous—I can only say this to you. You should have seen her with the dragon.”

Leopold laughed, the kind of mirthless laugh that indicated something nasty would follow.

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t see her with the dragon; you left me in that box, remember?”

 “Leopold,” he winced, “you know I never intended—”

“Do I? At the moment I’m beginning to seriously doubt your intentions! Zounds, you must have been quite disappointed when she found me. So what would you have me do? Bow out gracefully? Withdraw my affections so she can trade one brother for another?”

“And this is your response to my honesty!” he said. “These may be our last moments, Leopold; I want you to know my heart. She knows nothing of this—that’s why I tell it to you!”

“Isn’t this torture enough?” he shouted, rattling his chains. “And now I have to think of you and her together? You have my sincerest thanks!”

“Don’t be such a child, Leopold,” he snapped. “I meant this to show my loyalty to you, not my betrayal. I would die to save you both; you can’t doubt that, not now.”

“Perhaps father was right to separate us,” Leopold muttered. “In the short time I’ve known you, you’ve managed to kill yourself, kill me twice over, attempt to kill Blackbeard, and now—Mary? Say, we still have a few hours before our execution. Can you manage anything else? Is there anyone else to murder?”