The Accidental Highwayman (38 page)

About two weeks after my unusual arrival on Ireland's shores, I retuned from exercising Midnight to find a man in knee-garters arrived at the gate with a letter. It was exciting to receive news that wasn't borne on the wings of a bee. I eagerly tore open the envelope.

Sweet Morgana and dearest Kit
[it began, unhappily],

It is me Lily. I trust this finds you well for I am told by Master Willum that you have arrived safely in Ireland as he learnt by long-distance bee. I am well and Willum and Gruntle are well also who are here staying with me until such time as it is safe for them to make passage there to you. I take up pen though not a good hand at writing because my message is too long for magick bee.
[I have omitted the unique spellings, which would have proved Lily's critique, in the cause of legibility.]

It was a great sorrow to part from you unexpectedly the night of the fire in that silly town. You may not know what happ'ned afterward. I fell from the rope and cracked a bone in my foot and Uncle Cornelius was knocked senseless in the confusion and broke his dear old head. I did not see you again but heard of your capture some days later and lost heart altogether and a few days after that Uncle Cornelius was ailing sorely abed in an inn and begged me to deliver a message. He told me of a lawyer he kept in secret from that wretched nursemaid Prudence Fingers and that he had told the lawyer also the three questions to make sure Miss Fingers did not attempt to lie about the answers in order to keep herself in command of his fortunes. Which as you know is just what she done.

Uncle Cornelius never came to recognize me but told me how much I looked like his niece Lily and how he loved her and wished her happiness and if I met her would I tell her so and I said I was sure she already knew. He said he had never had such delight as traveling with us and it was the best tour he ever made of the world and hoped we might do it again the following year.

Well then that very night my poor blessed uncle died and how I wept you can only imagine. I went with heavy heart to the lawyer he named. A very handsome young fellow not like a lawyer at all to look at him. He is very clever and had an idea to test my claim right away.

He took me back to Uncle Cornelius's house with me in a veil so my features couldn't be seen and Prudence Fingers asked me the questions again and I answered them right and that wicked girl said I did not answer them right. But the lawyer whose name is Mr. Stoker, Esquire knew the answers already and seeing that I knew them also he knew then that Miss Fingers was a liar and a thief and I was truly Uncle Cornelius's Lily so now I am mistress of the estate and set handsome for life.

That Prudence Fingers and the man with the red hair have fled and hid somewhere but I have old Fred here to protect me once Willum and Gruntle have departed. And not only Fred but Mr. Stoker, Esquire for we was married but three days past and at last I am a honest woman. I miss Uncle Cornelius every day but I am used to that. I miss you every day and it pains me still. Be well.

With all my love,
Lily Stoker

P. Yes—Fred misses Midnight he said so.

I am not ashamed to admit my eyes were wet with happiness at the conclusion of this letter, for I had often wondered about what had become of Lily after that terrible night. I read the letter through several more times.

That same morning, I had awakened in my corner of the fisherman's cottage to discover a sack of small silver coins in the crook of my arm; I gave as many of these to the fisherman and his wife as they would accept, which was as few as need would permit them. They were honest folk.

Not wishing them to see my confusion of moods, I determined to go down the cliff to the shore and watch the sea awhile. I hadn't ventured back to the fateful beach since my arrival. It was a cold day with a good breeze tugging at my borrowed hat, autumn in the breath of the wind. It was a time to be philosophical, not to drown in misery. I had won the heart of a princess, after all. How many fellows in all the history of the world—this world, or another beside it—may make that claim? But I hadn't been able to keep her. That was the Faerie way. There seemed always to be a trick at the back of their doings, no matter how long it took for the thing to reveal itself.

I was lost in thoughts of this nature when a tiny figure emerged from the water. It was a feyín, more or less, but different from any other I'd seen: She had long, stiff wings like the fins of a fish on her back, and she was entirely silver in color except for the black tiger stripes that wrapped all around her body. She had no hair on her head, nor garments on her person. I guessed this must be a water sprite.

She skipped out of the creamy surf between the going of one wave and the coming of another, and stood before me. “Art thou Master Kit?” she inquired.

“I am he,” said I, doffing my hat.

She curtsied. “I am Ribbonfish. We have been waiting for you to come down to shore this past fortnight. We cannot venture far from the water's edge, and you seemed content to sit at yon window evermore.” Here she indicated the shed, up at the top of the cliff.

“You could have sent me a bee,” I suggested. I was in agonies of excitement and dread. Surely this creature would know what had happened to Morgana!

Ribbonfish bowed low. “So few bees beneath the water. I have a message for you, Master Kit,” she continued, and my heart leapt almost out of my mouth. Her next words would either dash my hopes forever or set them aflame.

The sprite tipped her head to remember the exact wording, and then said, “The Princess Morgana ne Dé Danann Trolkvinde Arian yn Gadael ou Elgeron-Smith sends thee her affection.”

I can tell you this without fear of seeming ridiculous, I think: I all but fainted, right there on the strand. It was as if the cold, blustery day had vanished, and the whole world was made of warm honey, new butter, and fresh bread for toasting. I sank to my knees and clasped my hands over my heart. Ribbonfish's tiny, black-eyed face was bent with concern.

“Art thou ill?”

“Merely overcome. That is very good news,” said I, when I'd got my wits back. “Pray tell, is there more? Surely she said more. When may I see her?”

“Between now and never,” the water sprite said. “She begs thy forgiveness, but the Princess would not risk thine life so freely there as thou wouldst do. The One-Eyed Duchess survived, and is most wroth; wouldst have your lungs for a bath sponge. And there are perils worse than she. Princess Morgana journeys through dread places in the Realm Between, seeking allies to our cause; the first is the Fortress of Teeth. Thither and there no manling may go, according to chapter nine, verse twelve of the Eldritch Law.”

“May I trust you to deliver a reply?” I said.

“The Princess eagerly awaits your word, Master Kit.”

“Tell Morgana no law shall keep us apart. I'll see her soon.”

After all, what did the Eldritch Law mean to me?

I was a
highwayman
!

END

 

The Accidental Giant

READ ON FOR A PREVIEW FROM KIT AND MORGANA'S NEXT ADVENTURE

I
T WAS
a chilly morning. The grassy commons where my appointment with death would occur was a half-mile away. It seemed a thousand times that distance. As I approached the green through the pale, flabby mist, I saw my seconds and a couple of spectators had already gathered at the killing ground, despite the early hour. They had the advantage of horses, which I saw stamping and steaming beneath some trees nearby. It wouldn't do to have one struck by a stray pistol-ball. They were valuable animals.

My seconds were the local undertaker and Doctor Mend, still suffering from the drink he'd taken the night before. They beat their sides to stay warm and traded jokes about tuberculosis until they saw me coming through the gloom. Then they straightened up, and indulged in only one more laugh before cloaking themselves in solemnity. The spectators smiled nervously—what a thrill to see a man about to die! I'd seen that look on many a face before, when I went to Tyburn to be hanged.

I greeted them all in a voice pitched uncommonly high, more of a squeak; this spoiled the insouciance I was hoping to affect in saying hello to begin with. The seconds and I shook hands. Mine continued to shake afterwards. There was a space of a few minutes during which we all stood in a group, facing the same direction looking at nothing but the paling mist, and then there were footfalls approaching, and three silhouettes came near.

There was my opponent in the middle; I recognized his shape. To either side of him were figures that seemed familiar to me. Their outlines filled in with every step. When they were twenty paces away, I knew them. It was Mr. Scratch and Mr. Bufo, King Elgeron's infernal coachmen. Scratch whipped the horses while Bufo played footman; both of them were cruel beings, and bewitched. The last time I'd met them it was nearly at the cost of my life, and as I had enabled Princess Morgana to escape their clutches, it seemed likely they would finish me perchance I survived the encounter with pistols.

“Gentlemen,” said Captain Sterne. He was grinning like a skull. “A chill morning, but ere the blood has dried I think it will brighten into a fine day. Shall we to't? I've an appointment at eight o'clock.”

He shook hands with my seconds, and lastly with me, and clasped my hand with great force, whether out of aggression or a desire to weaken my shooting grip, I do not know. If a man must die, I thought, better to die in the course of a brave business. I didn't much believe this, but that's what I told myself, and returned Sterne's grip with all the strength I could muster.

Now we observed the usual formalities. There is a very particular set of steps to undertake in the course of a duel, whether with pistols or swords. Every boy knows them, for duels are famous occasions and it's a popular game lads play to reenact the latest fights. I'd done it myself, never dreaming I was practicing for my own demise.

“If I may intercede,” Dr. Mend said, “the cause of this quarrel seems to me a small one. I witnessed the offense, and in truth can scarcely call it an offense at all. If apology can be made, and with grace accepted, all may be carried from this ground upon their own legs.”

This speech was not a spontaneous outburst of concern from the doctor. It was part of the ritual, intended to establish the point of honor. Duels were supposed to settle only the most egregious insults, although in practice—especially in Ireland—they were often fought for the most trifling of reasons, or none at all. In order that the victor should escape a charge of murder, the cause of the duel must be firmly established.

“I disagree,” said Captain Sterne, his eyes fixed upon me and smoldering like coals. “To the contrary, the insult was a grave one, for this road agent and blackguard tried to ruin me, and then laughed about it. All you witnessed was the laughter.”

This speech, too, was obligatory. Now he had, in his reply, insulted me. He had called me names. That meant I should have to offer him a challenge, whether or not I apologized for the original offense. Now both of us had cause to strike flint.

“You will retract those words, sir,” said I, and to my great surprise my voice was steady and reasonably manful. I think I had begun to grow angry at this vain, quarrelsome man.

“I will not,” said the captain, and that was that.

Mr. Scratch handed the pistols to Mr. Bufo and the undertaker; each made a cursory glance at the weapon. Mr. Bufo was satisfied, having no reason to doubt its efficacy; the undertaker didn't know a pistol from a candlestick, and so was equally satisfied. The weapons were then passed to the seconds, Scratch and Dr. Mend. These men, using the furniture provided in the pistol-case, loaded their respective weapons with powder, wad, and ball. All eyes observed the process and no fault was found with the arming of the weapons. Then they were handed to Sterne and myself.