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The Magical Adventures of Ladies and Gentlemen
First of all, I want to apologise to anyone who isn't reading this, and is annoyed by all these posts. Unfortunately, they're not going to stop. But thank you for putting up with it, in any case.
Chapters 1 and 2
Chapters 3 and 4
Note: Concerning the chapter titles, most of them are quotes from something that amused me, or a song, so they don't generally make a lot of sense. The ones that do make sense are rather self-explanatory.
The ambassador in this chapter actually switches roles with the man he was waking up when they appear again. It's confusing, but such are the hazards of NaNoWriMo. Further evidence that trying to write 50,000 words in one month leads to insanity.
Chapter Five – We’ve Had a Rough Week
They were half way to Hillfort, when Mr. Sevenson ordered the carriage to stop. Martha peered anxiously out the window into the black night. Frederick glanced warily at Mr. Sevenson, who nodded stiffly.
“What’s going on?” Martha asked nervously. “Why has the carriage stopped? Is something wrong?”
“I have a bad feeling,” said Mr. Sevenson, not taking his eyes off the road outside, “and my bad feelings usually prove correct.”
Martha shivered. “And what do you have a bad feeling about?” She was not entirely sure that she wanted to know, now that it came to it.
“I have a bad feeling about the man hunched in the tree top there,” Mr. Sevenson replied, nodding toward the black form, which was sure enough hunched in a high branch of an oak, staring intently at them.
Martha gasped. He was pointing a pistol straight at the carriage. “Not again!” she cried. “He’s going to kill us! Why on earth have we stopped?!”
“Because,” said Mr. Blackstone, “it is better to take care of him now than to have him follow us to our hidden location. That would be disastrous indeed. Yes, Miss Bright, I have good reason to believe that the man hunched up in that tree, aiming a pistol at us, is none other than the notorious French spy, Pierre Noir. The very name is disgusting to my lips.”
“What are we going to do?” Martha whispered.
“You three continue on,” said Mr. Blackstone. “I am going to face Pierre Noir. One of us will be victorious. If I arrive at our secret location tomorrow, it means that I have defeated Pierre Noir once and for all. If Pierre Noir arrives at our secret location, it means that he has destroyed me. Till then.”
Mr. Blackstone climbed down from the carriage, and as soon as he was standing in the road, Pierre Noir sprang down from the tree and landed without a sound in front of him. Mr. Blackstone swung out with his leg and kicked the pistol out of Pierre Noir’s grip – it flew into the trees of the dark forest.
“Drive on!” Mr. Blackstone shouted to them, and the carriage began to speed off down the road.
Martha craned her neck to see Pierre Noir pull two long knives out of his pockets, and hurl them at Mr. Blackstone. Mr. Blackstone jumped into the air, and did a backwards somersault, landing on top of Pierre Noir’s head. This infuriated the frenchman, who began slashing away wildly at Mr. Blackstone’s legs. The carriage turned a corner, and the two duelling men were out of sight. All Martha could do was hope against hope that Mr. Blackstone would be victorious.
“Why was Mr. Blackstone so intent on fighting Pierre Noir?” Martha wanted to know, as soon as she had regained her composure. The sun was starting to peak over the edges of the horizon, and they were rapidly approaching Hillfort. No one had told her if they were going to make a stop there or not.
“Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir are mortal enemies,” Frederick explained.
“They were born at the same exact moment, and they have loathed each other since that moment of their birth. Pierre Noir hates Mr. Blackstone even more than he hates your family, Martha, and the feeling is decidedly mutual,” Mr. Sevenson elaborated.
MEANWHILE, IN ENGLAND. . .
“Sir, wake up,” said the ambassador.
“What? Get out,” said the man.
“Sir, it’s very urgent,” the ambassador pressed.
“Do you have any idea what time it is, you inbred idiot?”
“Sir, the entire royal family is dead.”
“What’s that you say?”
“Sir, everyone in England is dead.”
“This can’t be true!” the man exclaimed, jumping out of bed immediately. “You mean to tell me that every single person in England is dead? Quite dead?”
“Quite dead, sir – and everyone in Wales and Scotland as well. The Isle of Man remained mysteriously unscathed.”
“How did this happen?” The man demanded. “How did this happen?!”
“We aren’t certain of anything yet, sir,” said the ambassador, “but we believe it is no coincidence that everyone in Ireland is perfectly fine, and that Finnegan O’Fear was heard laughing maniacally to himself at a quarter past midnight.”
Chapter Six – Hopefully Longer Than Chapter Five Was
They arrived at the secret location close to noon. Martha was exhausted. They disembarked from the carriage, and stood in front of a large tree.
“This is it?” Martha said disbelievingly. “A tree? How are we going to live in a tree?”
“Birds do it,” said Frederick reasonably.
Mr. Sevenson ignored him, and knocked in a complicated pattern on the trunk of the tree. Immediately, a door appeared, and swung open for them, revealing a long flight of winding, twisting stairs. Martha could not see where they led to.
“Not a tree, then,” she observed.
“No,” said Mr. Sevenson. “Well, shall we?”
They all descended the stairs, which were thankfully lit by lanterns. The sun was bright outside, but inside the tree it was dark. Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs, and found themselves in a large, comfortable looking parlour. A young woman was sitting on a sofa, staring at a newspaper. She leapt up immediately when the door closed behind them.
“Oh, Joss!” she exclaimed, running to him and giving him a violent hug which took Martha very much by surprise. “I have been so worried! What took you so long? I am so glad you’ve arrived at last, I’ve been out of my mind since I last heard from you!”
“Calm down, Katie,” he implored her. “We were met by Pierre Noir on our way here – don’t look so shocked – Mr. Blackstone engaged him outside of Hillfort, and we drove on, as he asked that we do. If Mr. Blackstone was victorious, he will likely arrive here some time today. If he was not, we can only hope that Pierre Noir does not discover us.”
Katie’s lip trembled, and she looked so concerned, that Martha could not help but feel sorry for her, even though she still had no idea who she was.
“Miss Bright, I would like to introduce you to my sister, Katherine O’Fear,” said Mr. Sevenson, answering her unspoken question. Katie curtseyed.
Martha paused. “Is O’Fear a common name in Ireland, or am I missing something quite crucial?”
“You haven’t told her?” Katie said incredulously, turning to her brother with an accusing look.
Mr. Sevenson looked very uncomfortable. “Er,” he said, “I meant to. That is, it never came up – the time wasn’t – well, how it one supposed to eloquently admit that one is the son of the most evil magician the world has ever seen?”
Martha nearly fell over in shock, and had to grasp the back of a chair for support. “You?” she said, staring at him. “You are the son of Finnegan O’Fear? The Finnegan O’Fear?”
“It is not a fact I am proud of, I assure you,” said Mr. Sevenson stiffly.
“But – but – why do you call yourself Mr. Sevenson?”
“Martha, really,” her brother cut in, “if you were the son of Finnegan O’Fear, would you go around displaying that fact to the public? No indeed. He calls himself Mr. Sevenson because he is the seventh son of Finnegan O’Fear, do you see?”
Now Martha understood perfectly, understood why Mr. Sevenson had been so unwilling to talk about his past or his family.
“I ran away from home when I was twelve, and Katie followed soon after,” Mr. Sevenson explained, as she was still trying to wrap her mind around this new information. “My father has been hunting me ever since, because only his sons can do magic, so you see, I am quite invaluable to him, or would be, if I chose to co-operate, or if he could force me to.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Martha admitted, wringing her hands. “Why does he care so much to find you? You are his seventh son, are you not? Why doesn’t he just make use of the six others?”
Katie cleared her throat, and Mr. Sevenson nodded. “I am his only remaining son,” he explained. “He killed the first six accidentally.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Um,” said Katie, “you will never guess what I’ve just finished reading in the newspaper.”
“What is that?” Mr. Sevenson asked. He seemed relieved for a change in subject.
“Everyone in England, Scotland, and Wales is dead,” Katie stated. Her companions cried out in shock and disbelief. “It is true,” she said. “They believe that Finnegan O’Fear is behind it.”
“Our father has gone too far this time!” Mr. Sevenson exclaimed, colour rising to his face.
“We always knew that he would try to pull a stunt like this,” Katie said, sitting down again with a sigh, and shaking her head. “I don’t know what we are to do.”
“Maybe he has made a deal with Bonaparte,” Frederick suggested. “Maybe Finnegan O’Fear promised Napoleon Bonaparte that he would give him England, in return for his loyalty, or co-operation, or something.”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Sevenson said hesitantly, “Bonaparte is not a man who is likely to yield to another man’s will, even if that other man is Finnegan O’Fear. No, I think that my father has overcome England for his own diabolical purposes, whatever those may be.”
“I had friends in England,” Martha said, sitting down shakily, as the reality of the situation began to sink in. “I was there, not three weeks ago. And now they are all very likely dead.”
“I am very sorry, Miss Bright,” said Mr. Sevenson, and he sounded like he meant it.
“It’s not your fault,” Martha said, waving her hand, and staring at the floor. “You can’t help it if you have a deranged and evil father.”
“What do you think his next move will be?” Frederick asked.
“Who knows?” said Mr. Sevenson. “He is by no means a reasonable man. He could very well move to kill everyone in Valmell next.”
“Oh, no!” Katie gasped.
“He would never do such a thing,” Frederick assured her.
“How do you know?” said Martha, who could not be so confident as her older brother. “If he had no qualms about killing everyone in Britain, what could there be to stop him from killing everyone in Valmell as well?”
“The Clandestine Council for one thing,” Mr. Sevenson spoke up.
“Oh, yes,” said Katie, who seemed a bit relieved now, “the Clandestine Council, of course.”
“Of course,” said Frederick, “that all depends on whether the Clandestine Council is still more powerful than Finnegan O’Fear – or rather, whether he is willing to allow them to still believe they are. In short, whether or not he still has use for them.”
There was a prolonged silence as they all considered this.
“Then there is only one thing for it,” said Mr. Sevenson, rising and looking determined. “We must find Finnegan O’Fear, and we must stop him immediately, and at any cost.”
“All right,” said Frederick, “but I think we all ought to get some sleep before we run off to thwart his evil plans.”
This was immediately agreed to, and all retired to separate chambers to rest. Martha was positive that she would be able to get no sleep at all, but as soon as she was in bed, and the candles blown out, the room dark, she fell straight away to sleep, so exhausted was she from the perils she had faced in the past twenty four hours.
Martha did not awake until somebody knocked at her door. She had no idea what time it was, or even the general time of the day or night, being completely underground, and had no idea how long she had been asleep.
“Ugh,” she said, sitting up, and squinting against the dark. The person knocked again. “Who is it?” she called.
“It’s Frederick,” the muffled voice of her brother answered. “Get up and get dressed, and hurry, if you please – we are going to eat supper, and we have plans to make.”
Supper – she had slept for the entire day, then. She felt rather embarrassed at this, and hoped that she had not been the only one to have a lengthy lie in.
She dressed hurriedly, and joined the others in the dining room within fifteen minutes. They had hardly sat down and began to eat, much less discuss their plans to thwart Finnegan O’Fear when there was loud banging on the dining room door.
Katie and Martha screamed. The gentlemen leapt up immediately. Martha was sure that it was Pierre Noir. Oh please, please, please let it only be Mr. Blackstone! she prayed silently.
As it turned out, it was neither. Mr. Sevenson opened the door to reveal a very harried looking Adam Haley.
“Adam!” Martha cried out in relief and surprise. “What on earth are you doing here? Is everyone back in Bogbury all right?”
“Everyone in Bogbury is fine, I assure you,” said Adam, walking into the room, and collapsing into a seat beside her. “I had to rush to get here. Mr. Blackstone has disappeared, and so has Pierre Noir.”
“Then Pierre Noir was victorious! He is coming to kill us!” Martha exclaimed, despair claiming her again.
“Not quite,” said Adam. “I don’t believe that they ever got to finish their duel. They were stopped by someone entirely different than themselves. God only knows where they have been taken.”
“A moment, if you please,” said Frederick, trying to make sense of this statement. “You are saying that someone interrupted Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir when they were fighting, and that this person has kidnapped them both?”
“That is just it,” said Adam.
“I see,” said Frederick.
“Well, we don’t have time to figure out what happened to Mr. Blackstone and his French opponent,” Mr. Sevenson said, voice ringing with impatience. “Unless either of them is planning to kill off entire populations and take over the world, I really think we ought to concentrate on the more pressing issue, which is at this time Finnegan O’Fear.”
“Of course, yes,” they all mumbled.
“So,” said Mr. Sevenson, “who’s got an idea?”
“You mean to tell me that you don’t have any ideas at all?!” Martha exclaimed incredulously.
“Well I did have plenty of ideas,” Mr. Sevenson said, turning and grimacing at her, “but unfortunately that was before my father decided to kill off the entire population of England, Scotland, and Wales, for who knows what purpose!”
“Obviously it was so that he could take over Britain completely unopposed,” Katie pointed out.
“Yes,” said Frederick, “but why would he want to rule a kingdom with no people left in it to rule?”
Mr. Sevenson shrugged. “Knowing my father, he probably plans to use the British Isles as training grounds for an army of slave magicians, or something equally absurd.”
“Well, we can’t let him get away with that,” said Martha.
“Obviously not,” said her brother.
SOME HOURS EARLIER...
“You knew this day would come, Noir,” said Mr. Blackstone, breathing heavily as the fighting paused for an instant. Pierre Noir had managed to nick him on the cheek with one of his long knives, and now he stopped to wipe away the blood with the sleeve of his coat; it smeared across his face.
Pierre Noir said nothing in return, but stepped backward, putting himself in a better position. He aimed his blade again at Mr. Blackstone, inviting him to continue the battle.
Mr. Blackstone laughed, and flexed his fingers. He had no weapon of his own, but that did not matter. They were more than evenly matched. The fight had been close so far, but Mr. Blackstone was enjoying it. He always looked forward to an opportunity to come to fisticuffs with his mortal enemy Pierre Noir, and harboured a hope that this time would be the last time that they would ever come up against one another. Of course, Mr. Blackstone hoped that he would be the one to come out victorious in the fight, for his own sake as well as that of his friends.
Pierre Noir lunged at him, meaning to plunge the blade deep into his stomach and finish him off, but Mr. Blackstone was too fast. Mr. Blackstone twirled to the side, and ended up behind the frenchman. He swung out with his fist, meaning to give Noir a solid blow to the back of the head, but Pierre Noir threw himself down on the road, and then rolled forward, out of Mr. Blackstone’s reach.
“Get up, you French coward!” Mr. Blackstone shouted. If he had known at that instant that he was very likely the only Englishman left alive in the world, he might have been a little more careful to preserve his own existence. Instead, he taunted his opponent, challenging him to resume the fight.
Pierre Noir accepted his invitation eagerly, collecting his scattered blades in one hand, and in a split second throwing them all straight at Mr. Blackstone, who barely had time to see them coming.
Mr. Blackstone had to use all of his skill and experience to avoid being skewered then. Two of the knives he caught by their hilts, one he caught in his teeth by the blade, one he caught between his feet, and the other two under his armpits. After all was said and done, there was nary a scratch on him.
Pierre Noir let forth a string of French swear words that Mr. Blackstone could only guess at the meaning of. He laughed triumphantly, having disarmed his opponent so completely.
“Your time is up, Noir,” he said, and threw his knives back at him, aiming for the neck, chest, and gut.
This should have been the end of Pierre Noir. The French spy was too weak by now to avoid all of the knives, and should have been cut straight through with at least two or three of them; but as it was, all the knives halted in mid air as though frozen, and then disintegrated. All that was left of them was a pile of shiny, silvery dust on the road.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Mr. Blackstone roared, furious that his victory had been thwarted. He knew that Pierre Noir had not done this bit of magic, because the frenchman looked just as shocked as he was.
And then a shadowy, robed figure stepped out of the woods to stand in between them. “Apologies,” said the figure, as the two combatants seethed with rage. “That was necessary, in order to prevent something very unfortunate from happening.”
“Unfortunate?” said Mr. Blackstone incredulously. “Unfortunate? You fool! Do you know who that is? That’s Pierre Noir, the most notorious spy in the world! This is the man who stole Napoleon Bonaparte’s eyebrows from straight off his forehead!”
“Yes, Mr. Blackstone, we know who he is, and we know who you are, too,” said the figure with a long suffering sigh. “Now, would you be so kind as to stop yelling? It is most impolite. I am a representative of the Clandestine Council.”
“And how is this the Clandestine Council’s business?” Mr. Blackstone demanded, his anger overtaking his sense.
The black robed figure tut tutted. “Come now, Mr. Blackstone, one would think that you would show a little more respect. You wouldn’t want to put your life at risk, now, would you?”
Mr. Blackstone laughed wildly. “What do I care? Kill me now, if you like. It matters not to me, if I am to be denied the honour of finishing off my most hated enemy.”
The representative from the Clandestine Council made a noise of disapproval. “Perhaps this will change your mind, Mr. Blackstone: you are the only Englishman left alive in the world. Now are you so eager to die?”
Mr. Blackstone was so flabbergasted that he could not speak.
“I thought as much,” said the representative. “I am ever so sorry to break up this little tête-à-tête, but I am afraid that you and M. Noir are going to be coming with me now.”
“Oh, really?” said Mr. Blackstone, regaining his voice. “And where is it that you are taking us, if you please?”
“That,” said the representative, with what Mr. Blackstone fancied would have been a smirk had his face been visible, “is none of your business at present, Mr. Blackstone. Come along.”
There was nothing that Mr. Blackstone or Pierre Noir could do against the Clandestine Council. They followed the robed man into the woods.
BACK IN ... THE TREE ...
“All right,” said Mr. Sevenson at last, looking around at them all. “All right. There is no need for this to be so complicated. This is what we have to do – “
“What do we have to do?” said Frederick.
Mr. Sevenson glared at him, then cleared his throat. “First of all, we need to stop thinking about what has become of Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir. We can’t help that right now, and the much more pressing matter is what is to be done about Finnegan O’Fear.”
“That makes sense,” said Martha. “Adam, what is your opinion on all of this?”
Adam had been observing silently for the past few minutes, but upon being asked his opinion, he answered: “I think we all ought to listen to Mr. Sevenson and act as he thinks we ought, and his sister as well. After all, who would know Finnegan O’Fear better than his own children?”
“Well said,” said Mr. Sevenson. “So the first matter of business is actually locating him. As you all know, he is extremely difficult to find. Luckily, we have an advantage on that point.”
“Er, do we?” said Martha. “Enlighten us, if you please.”
“Certainly.” Mr. Sevenson produced a short blade from somewhere within his coat. Martha eyed the weapon warily, wondering what exactly he meant to do with it. He shrugged off his coat, and began to unbutton his shirt.
“I don’t want to ruin my best shirt,” he explained, when he caught sight of them all staring.
“Joss, really, there are ladies present!” Frederick said disapprovingly.
Mr. Sevenson looked annoyed. “One of them is my sister,” he reasoned.
“And one of them isn’t,” Frederick pointed out.
“Frederick, with all due respect,” said Mr. Sevenson, gesturing at him with the blade, “we are in something of a hurry, and now is not the time to get hung up on propriety.”
“But – “
“I’ll close my eyes,” Martha offered, embarrassed.
“That really isn’t necessary, Miss Bright, I think you will find that my chest is very inoffensive – “
“Joss, please!” Frederick exclaimed.
Martha pressed her hand over her eyes, but could not help but laugh. She heard the material of the shirt slide off to the ground, and after a second or two, heard Frederick shout in alarm.
“What is it?” she exclaimed, forgetting herself and uncovering her eyes. What she saw made her cry out in shock. Mr. Sevenson had taken the blade to his own arm, and had made a long cut which was now bleeding profusely onto the table top.
“What on earth are you doing?!” she shouted.
“Martha, calm down,” said Adam, “he knows what he’s doing.”
Martha watched in horrified silence as Mr. Sevenson allowed a copious amount of blood to drain from his arm onto the table top. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he said, “Katie, if you will?”
Katie moved quickly, placing the palms of her hands along the cut on his arm. He winced, and moments later when she took her hands away, the cut had healed completely, not even leaving a scar for its ever having been there.
“But how!” Martha gasped.
“One of the many benefits of being siblings,” Mr. Sevenson explained. Then he turned to the table top, which was glistening with his own blood. “It’s all about blood,” he said.
“I can see that,” said Martha, moving forward, but feeling slightly ill.
“Finnegan O’Fear, unfortunately being my father, shares the same blood as me. Therefore, I can use my own blood to find out his location.”
“That’s possible?” said Frederick.
“If you can do magic, it is,” said Mr. Sevenson. “And now, let us watch.”
They all stared intently at the puddle of blood on the table. Black shapes began to take form in it, twisting and becoming clearer, until finally they could make out the tops of buildings, and then streets, and people walking.
“This really does not help,” Frederick grumbled.
“Yes, it does,” Katie contradicted him. “There are plenty of people walking about wherever he is, so obviously he isn’t in England, Scotland, or Wales.”
“Good thinking, Miss O’Fear,” said Frederick admiringly. Katie blushed.
“But where is he?” said Adam. “Not in England, Scotland, or Wales does not narrow it down very far. For all we know, he could be anywhere.”
“It looks European,” Mr. Sevenson observed. He squinted. “I am trying to get a more detailed picture...”
“Oh, Good God,” said Frederick.
“What is it?” said Adam.
“It looks terribly exquisite!” Katie exclaimed.
“It’s Versailles,” said Mr. Sevenson. “Versailles, if you please! The devil’s in France. Well, then, that answers it.” He straightened, and looked around at them all. “We are going to France.”
“What could he possibly be doing there?” Katie wondered.
“We can only guess,” Mr. Sevenson answered his sister, “though I am sure it is nothing good. In any case, I think we really ought to meet with Napoleon Bonaparte.”
In the next two chapters, we meet with the ambassador and his trusted valet again, the occupants of the tree get a surprise visit, and Napoleon Bonaparte has marital problems.
Chapters 1 and 2
Chapters 3 and 4
Note: Concerning the chapter titles, most of them are quotes from something that amused me, or a song, so they don't generally make a lot of sense. The ones that do make sense are rather self-explanatory.
The ambassador in this chapter actually switches roles with the man he was waking up when they appear again. It's confusing, but such are the hazards of NaNoWriMo. Further evidence that trying to write 50,000 words in one month leads to insanity.
They were half way to Hillfort, when Mr. Sevenson ordered the carriage to stop. Martha peered anxiously out the window into the black night. Frederick glanced warily at Mr. Sevenson, who nodded stiffly.
“What’s going on?” Martha asked nervously. “Why has the carriage stopped? Is something wrong?”
“I have a bad feeling,” said Mr. Sevenson, not taking his eyes off the road outside, “and my bad feelings usually prove correct.”
Martha shivered. “And what do you have a bad feeling about?” She was not entirely sure that she wanted to know, now that it came to it.
“I have a bad feeling about the man hunched in the tree top there,” Mr. Sevenson replied, nodding toward the black form, which was sure enough hunched in a high branch of an oak, staring intently at them.
Martha gasped. He was pointing a pistol straight at the carriage. “Not again!” she cried. “He’s going to kill us! Why on earth have we stopped?!”
“Because,” said Mr. Blackstone, “it is better to take care of him now than to have him follow us to our hidden location. That would be disastrous indeed. Yes, Miss Bright, I have good reason to believe that the man hunched up in that tree, aiming a pistol at us, is none other than the notorious French spy, Pierre Noir. The very name is disgusting to my lips.”
“What are we going to do?” Martha whispered.
“You three continue on,” said Mr. Blackstone. “I am going to face Pierre Noir. One of us will be victorious. If I arrive at our secret location tomorrow, it means that I have defeated Pierre Noir once and for all. If Pierre Noir arrives at our secret location, it means that he has destroyed me. Till then.”
Mr. Blackstone climbed down from the carriage, and as soon as he was standing in the road, Pierre Noir sprang down from the tree and landed without a sound in front of him. Mr. Blackstone swung out with his leg and kicked the pistol out of Pierre Noir’s grip – it flew into the trees of the dark forest.
“Drive on!” Mr. Blackstone shouted to them, and the carriage began to speed off down the road.
Martha craned her neck to see Pierre Noir pull two long knives out of his pockets, and hurl them at Mr. Blackstone. Mr. Blackstone jumped into the air, and did a backwards somersault, landing on top of Pierre Noir’s head. This infuriated the frenchman, who began slashing away wildly at Mr. Blackstone’s legs. The carriage turned a corner, and the two duelling men were out of sight. All Martha could do was hope against hope that Mr. Blackstone would be victorious.
“Why was Mr. Blackstone so intent on fighting Pierre Noir?” Martha wanted to know, as soon as she had regained her composure. The sun was starting to peak over the edges of the horizon, and they were rapidly approaching Hillfort. No one had told her if they were going to make a stop there or not.
“Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir are mortal enemies,” Frederick explained.
“They were born at the same exact moment, and they have loathed each other since that moment of their birth. Pierre Noir hates Mr. Blackstone even more than he hates your family, Martha, and the feeling is decidedly mutual,” Mr. Sevenson elaborated.
MEANWHILE, IN ENGLAND. . .
“Sir, wake up,” said the ambassador.
“What? Get out,” said the man.
“Sir, it’s very urgent,” the ambassador pressed.
“Do you have any idea what time it is, you inbred idiot?”
“Sir, the entire royal family is dead.”
“What’s that you say?”
“Sir, everyone in England is dead.”
“This can’t be true!” the man exclaimed, jumping out of bed immediately. “You mean to tell me that every single person in England is dead? Quite dead?”
“Quite dead, sir – and everyone in Wales and Scotland as well. The Isle of Man remained mysteriously unscathed.”
“How did this happen?” The man demanded. “How did this happen?!”
“We aren’t certain of anything yet, sir,” said the ambassador, “but we believe it is no coincidence that everyone in Ireland is perfectly fine, and that Finnegan O’Fear was heard laughing maniacally to himself at a quarter past midnight.”
They arrived at the secret location close to noon. Martha was exhausted. They disembarked from the carriage, and stood in front of a large tree.
“This is it?” Martha said disbelievingly. “A tree? How are we going to live in a tree?”
“Birds do it,” said Frederick reasonably.
Mr. Sevenson ignored him, and knocked in a complicated pattern on the trunk of the tree. Immediately, a door appeared, and swung open for them, revealing a long flight of winding, twisting stairs. Martha could not see where they led to.
“Not a tree, then,” she observed.
“No,” said Mr. Sevenson. “Well, shall we?”
They all descended the stairs, which were thankfully lit by lanterns. The sun was bright outside, but inside the tree it was dark. Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs, and found themselves in a large, comfortable looking parlour. A young woman was sitting on a sofa, staring at a newspaper. She leapt up immediately when the door closed behind them.
“Oh, Joss!” she exclaimed, running to him and giving him a violent hug which took Martha very much by surprise. “I have been so worried! What took you so long? I am so glad you’ve arrived at last, I’ve been out of my mind since I last heard from you!”
“Calm down, Katie,” he implored her. “We were met by Pierre Noir on our way here – don’t look so shocked – Mr. Blackstone engaged him outside of Hillfort, and we drove on, as he asked that we do. If Mr. Blackstone was victorious, he will likely arrive here some time today. If he was not, we can only hope that Pierre Noir does not discover us.”
Katie’s lip trembled, and she looked so concerned, that Martha could not help but feel sorry for her, even though she still had no idea who she was.
“Miss Bright, I would like to introduce you to my sister, Katherine O’Fear,” said Mr. Sevenson, answering her unspoken question. Katie curtseyed.
Martha paused. “Is O’Fear a common name in Ireland, or am I missing something quite crucial?”
“You haven’t told her?” Katie said incredulously, turning to her brother with an accusing look.
Mr. Sevenson looked very uncomfortable. “Er,” he said, “I meant to. That is, it never came up – the time wasn’t – well, how it one supposed to eloquently admit that one is the son of the most evil magician the world has ever seen?”
Martha nearly fell over in shock, and had to grasp the back of a chair for support. “You?” she said, staring at him. “You are the son of Finnegan O’Fear? The Finnegan O’Fear?”
“It is not a fact I am proud of, I assure you,” said Mr. Sevenson stiffly.
“But – but – why do you call yourself Mr. Sevenson?”
“Martha, really,” her brother cut in, “if you were the son of Finnegan O’Fear, would you go around displaying that fact to the public? No indeed. He calls himself Mr. Sevenson because he is the seventh son of Finnegan O’Fear, do you see?”
Now Martha understood perfectly, understood why Mr. Sevenson had been so unwilling to talk about his past or his family.
“I ran away from home when I was twelve, and Katie followed soon after,” Mr. Sevenson explained, as she was still trying to wrap her mind around this new information. “My father has been hunting me ever since, because only his sons can do magic, so you see, I am quite invaluable to him, or would be, if I chose to co-operate, or if he could force me to.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Martha admitted, wringing her hands. “Why does he care so much to find you? You are his seventh son, are you not? Why doesn’t he just make use of the six others?”
Katie cleared her throat, and Mr. Sevenson nodded. “I am his only remaining son,” he explained. “He killed the first six accidentally.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Um,” said Katie, “you will never guess what I’ve just finished reading in the newspaper.”
“What is that?” Mr. Sevenson asked. He seemed relieved for a change in subject.
“Everyone in England, Scotland, and Wales is dead,” Katie stated. Her companions cried out in shock and disbelief. “It is true,” she said. “They believe that Finnegan O’Fear is behind it.”
“Our father has gone too far this time!” Mr. Sevenson exclaimed, colour rising to his face.
“We always knew that he would try to pull a stunt like this,” Katie said, sitting down again with a sigh, and shaking her head. “I don’t know what we are to do.”
“Maybe he has made a deal with Bonaparte,” Frederick suggested. “Maybe Finnegan O’Fear promised Napoleon Bonaparte that he would give him England, in return for his loyalty, or co-operation, or something.”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Sevenson said hesitantly, “Bonaparte is not a man who is likely to yield to another man’s will, even if that other man is Finnegan O’Fear. No, I think that my father has overcome England for his own diabolical purposes, whatever those may be.”
“I had friends in England,” Martha said, sitting down shakily, as the reality of the situation began to sink in. “I was there, not three weeks ago. And now they are all very likely dead.”
“I am very sorry, Miss Bright,” said Mr. Sevenson, and he sounded like he meant it.
“It’s not your fault,” Martha said, waving her hand, and staring at the floor. “You can’t help it if you have a deranged and evil father.”
“What do you think his next move will be?” Frederick asked.
“Who knows?” said Mr. Sevenson. “He is by no means a reasonable man. He could very well move to kill everyone in Valmell next.”
“Oh, no!” Katie gasped.
“He would never do such a thing,” Frederick assured her.
“How do you know?” said Martha, who could not be so confident as her older brother. “If he had no qualms about killing everyone in Britain, what could there be to stop him from killing everyone in Valmell as well?”
“The Clandestine Council for one thing,” Mr. Sevenson spoke up.
“Oh, yes,” said Katie, who seemed a bit relieved now, “the Clandestine Council, of course.”
“Of course,” said Frederick, “that all depends on whether the Clandestine Council is still more powerful than Finnegan O’Fear – or rather, whether he is willing to allow them to still believe they are. In short, whether or not he still has use for them.”
There was a prolonged silence as they all considered this.
“Then there is only one thing for it,” said Mr. Sevenson, rising and looking determined. “We must find Finnegan O’Fear, and we must stop him immediately, and at any cost.”
“All right,” said Frederick, “but I think we all ought to get some sleep before we run off to thwart his evil plans.”
This was immediately agreed to, and all retired to separate chambers to rest. Martha was positive that she would be able to get no sleep at all, but as soon as she was in bed, and the candles blown out, the room dark, she fell straight away to sleep, so exhausted was she from the perils she had faced in the past twenty four hours.
Martha did not awake until somebody knocked at her door. She had no idea what time it was, or even the general time of the day or night, being completely underground, and had no idea how long she had been asleep.
“Ugh,” she said, sitting up, and squinting against the dark. The person knocked again. “Who is it?” she called.
“It’s Frederick,” the muffled voice of her brother answered. “Get up and get dressed, and hurry, if you please – we are going to eat supper, and we have plans to make.”
Supper – she had slept for the entire day, then. She felt rather embarrassed at this, and hoped that she had not been the only one to have a lengthy lie in.
She dressed hurriedly, and joined the others in the dining room within fifteen minutes. They had hardly sat down and began to eat, much less discuss their plans to thwart Finnegan O’Fear when there was loud banging on the dining room door.
Katie and Martha screamed. The gentlemen leapt up immediately. Martha was sure that it was Pierre Noir. Oh please, please, please let it only be Mr. Blackstone! she prayed silently.
As it turned out, it was neither. Mr. Sevenson opened the door to reveal a very harried looking Adam Haley.
“Adam!” Martha cried out in relief and surprise. “What on earth are you doing here? Is everyone back in Bogbury all right?”
“Everyone in Bogbury is fine, I assure you,” said Adam, walking into the room, and collapsing into a seat beside her. “I had to rush to get here. Mr. Blackstone has disappeared, and so has Pierre Noir.”
“Then Pierre Noir was victorious! He is coming to kill us!” Martha exclaimed, despair claiming her again.
“Not quite,” said Adam. “I don’t believe that they ever got to finish their duel. They were stopped by someone entirely different than themselves. God only knows where they have been taken.”
“A moment, if you please,” said Frederick, trying to make sense of this statement. “You are saying that someone interrupted Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir when they were fighting, and that this person has kidnapped them both?”
“That is just it,” said Adam.
“I see,” said Frederick.
“Well, we don’t have time to figure out what happened to Mr. Blackstone and his French opponent,” Mr. Sevenson said, voice ringing with impatience. “Unless either of them is planning to kill off entire populations and take over the world, I really think we ought to concentrate on the more pressing issue, which is at this time Finnegan O’Fear.”
“Of course, yes,” they all mumbled.
“So,” said Mr. Sevenson, “who’s got an idea?”
“You mean to tell me that you don’t have any ideas at all?!” Martha exclaimed incredulously.
“Well I did have plenty of ideas,” Mr. Sevenson said, turning and grimacing at her, “but unfortunately that was before my father decided to kill off the entire population of England, Scotland, and Wales, for who knows what purpose!”
“Obviously it was so that he could take over Britain completely unopposed,” Katie pointed out.
“Yes,” said Frederick, “but why would he want to rule a kingdom with no people left in it to rule?”
Mr. Sevenson shrugged. “Knowing my father, he probably plans to use the British Isles as training grounds for an army of slave magicians, or something equally absurd.”
“Well, we can’t let him get away with that,” said Martha.
“Obviously not,” said her brother.
SOME HOURS EARLIER...
“You knew this day would come, Noir,” said Mr. Blackstone, breathing heavily as the fighting paused for an instant. Pierre Noir had managed to nick him on the cheek with one of his long knives, and now he stopped to wipe away the blood with the sleeve of his coat; it smeared across his face.
Pierre Noir said nothing in return, but stepped backward, putting himself in a better position. He aimed his blade again at Mr. Blackstone, inviting him to continue the battle.
Mr. Blackstone laughed, and flexed his fingers. He had no weapon of his own, but that did not matter. They were more than evenly matched. The fight had been close so far, but Mr. Blackstone was enjoying it. He always looked forward to an opportunity to come to fisticuffs with his mortal enemy Pierre Noir, and harboured a hope that this time would be the last time that they would ever come up against one another. Of course, Mr. Blackstone hoped that he would be the one to come out victorious in the fight, for his own sake as well as that of his friends.
Pierre Noir lunged at him, meaning to plunge the blade deep into his stomach and finish him off, but Mr. Blackstone was too fast. Mr. Blackstone twirled to the side, and ended up behind the frenchman. He swung out with his fist, meaning to give Noir a solid blow to the back of the head, but Pierre Noir threw himself down on the road, and then rolled forward, out of Mr. Blackstone’s reach.
“Get up, you French coward!” Mr. Blackstone shouted. If he had known at that instant that he was very likely the only Englishman left alive in the world, he might have been a little more careful to preserve his own existence. Instead, he taunted his opponent, challenging him to resume the fight.
Pierre Noir accepted his invitation eagerly, collecting his scattered blades in one hand, and in a split second throwing them all straight at Mr. Blackstone, who barely had time to see them coming.
Mr. Blackstone had to use all of his skill and experience to avoid being skewered then. Two of the knives he caught by their hilts, one he caught in his teeth by the blade, one he caught between his feet, and the other two under his armpits. After all was said and done, there was nary a scratch on him.
Pierre Noir let forth a string of French swear words that Mr. Blackstone could only guess at the meaning of. He laughed triumphantly, having disarmed his opponent so completely.
“Your time is up, Noir,” he said, and threw his knives back at him, aiming for the neck, chest, and gut.
This should have been the end of Pierre Noir. The French spy was too weak by now to avoid all of the knives, and should have been cut straight through with at least two or three of them; but as it was, all the knives halted in mid air as though frozen, and then disintegrated. All that was left of them was a pile of shiny, silvery dust on the road.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Mr. Blackstone roared, furious that his victory had been thwarted. He knew that Pierre Noir had not done this bit of magic, because the frenchman looked just as shocked as he was.
And then a shadowy, robed figure stepped out of the woods to stand in between them. “Apologies,” said the figure, as the two combatants seethed with rage. “That was necessary, in order to prevent something very unfortunate from happening.”
“Unfortunate?” said Mr. Blackstone incredulously. “Unfortunate? You fool! Do you know who that is? That’s Pierre Noir, the most notorious spy in the world! This is the man who stole Napoleon Bonaparte’s eyebrows from straight off his forehead!”
“Yes, Mr. Blackstone, we know who he is, and we know who you are, too,” said the figure with a long suffering sigh. “Now, would you be so kind as to stop yelling? It is most impolite. I am a representative of the Clandestine Council.”
“And how is this the Clandestine Council’s business?” Mr. Blackstone demanded, his anger overtaking his sense.
The black robed figure tut tutted. “Come now, Mr. Blackstone, one would think that you would show a little more respect. You wouldn’t want to put your life at risk, now, would you?”
Mr. Blackstone laughed wildly. “What do I care? Kill me now, if you like. It matters not to me, if I am to be denied the honour of finishing off my most hated enemy.”
The representative from the Clandestine Council made a noise of disapproval. “Perhaps this will change your mind, Mr. Blackstone: you are the only Englishman left alive in the world. Now are you so eager to die?”
Mr. Blackstone was so flabbergasted that he could not speak.
“I thought as much,” said the representative. “I am ever so sorry to break up this little tête-à-tête, but I am afraid that you and M. Noir are going to be coming with me now.”
“Oh, really?” said Mr. Blackstone, regaining his voice. “And where is it that you are taking us, if you please?”
“That,” said the representative, with what Mr. Blackstone fancied would have been a smirk had his face been visible, “is none of your business at present, Mr. Blackstone. Come along.”
There was nothing that Mr. Blackstone or Pierre Noir could do against the Clandestine Council. They followed the robed man into the woods.
BACK IN ... THE TREE ...
“All right,” said Mr. Sevenson at last, looking around at them all. “All right. There is no need for this to be so complicated. This is what we have to do – “
“What do we have to do?” said Frederick.
Mr. Sevenson glared at him, then cleared his throat. “First of all, we need to stop thinking about what has become of Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir. We can’t help that right now, and the much more pressing matter is what is to be done about Finnegan O’Fear.”
“That makes sense,” said Martha. “Adam, what is your opinion on all of this?”
Adam had been observing silently for the past few minutes, but upon being asked his opinion, he answered: “I think we all ought to listen to Mr. Sevenson and act as he thinks we ought, and his sister as well. After all, who would know Finnegan O’Fear better than his own children?”
“Well said,” said Mr. Sevenson. “So the first matter of business is actually locating him. As you all know, he is extremely difficult to find. Luckily, we have an advantage on that point.”
“Er, do we?” said Martha. “Enlighten us, if you please.”
“Certainly.” Mr. Sevenson produced a short blade from somewhere within his coat. Martha eyed the weapon warily, wondering what exactly he meant to do with it. He shrugged off his coat, and began to unbutton his shirt.
“I don’t want to ruin my best shirt,” he explained, when he caught sight of them all staring.
“Joss, really, there are ladies present!” Frederick said disapprovingly.
Mr. Sevenson looked annoyed. “One of them is my sister,” he reasoned.
“And one of them isn’t,” Frederick pointed out.
“Frederick, with all due respect,” said Mr. Sevenson, gesturing at him with the blade, “we are in something of a hurry, and now is not the time to get hung up on propriety.”
“But – “
“I’ll close my eyes,” Martha offered, embarrassed.
“That really isn’t necessary, Miss Bright, I think you will find that my chest is very inoffensive – “
“Joss, please!” Frederick exclaimed.
Martha pressed her hand over her eyes, but could not help but laugh. She heard the material of the shirt slide off to the ground, and after a second or two, heard Frederick shout in alarm.
“What is it?” she exclaimed, forgetting herself and uncovering her eyes. What she saw made her cry out in shock. Mr. Sevenson had taken the blade to his own arm, and had made a long cut which was now bleeding profusely onto the table top.
“What on earth are you doing?!” she shouted.
“Martha, calm down,” said Adam, “he knows what he’s doing.”
Martha watched in horrified silence as Mr. Sevenson allowed a copious amount of blood to drain from his arm onto the table top. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he said, “Katie, if you will?”
Katie moved quickly, placing the palms of her hands along the cut on his arm. He winced, and moments later when she took her hands away, the cut had healed completely, not even leaving a scar for its ever having been there.
“But how!” Martha gasped.
“One of the many benefits of being siblings,” Mr. Sevenson explained. Then he turned to the table top, which was glistening with his own blood. “It’s all about blood,” he said.
“I can see that,” said Martha, moving forward, but feeling slightly ill.
“Finnegan O’Fear, unfortunately being my father, shares the same blood as me. Therefore, I can use my own blood to find out his location.”
“That’s possible?” said Frederick.
“If you can do magic, it is,” said Mr. Sevenson. “And now, let us watch.”
They all stared intently at the puddle of blood on the table. Black shapes began to take form in it, twisting and becoming clearer, until finally they could make out the tops of buildings, and then streets, and people walking.
“This really does not help,” Frederick grumbled.
“Yes, it does,” Katie contradicted him. “There are plenty of people walking about wherever he is, so obviously he isn’t in England, Scotland, or Wales.”
“Good thinking, Miss O’Fear,” said Frederick admiringly. Katie blushed.
“But where is he?” said Adam. “Not in England, Scotland, or Wales does not narrow it down very far. For all we know, he could be anywhere.”
“It looks European,” Mr. Sevenson observed. He squinted. “I am trying to get a more detailed picture...”
“Oh, Good God,” said Frederick.
“What is it?” said Adam.
“It looks terribly exquisite!” Katie exclaimed.
“It’s Versailles,” said Mr. Sevenson. “Versailles, if you please! The devil’s in France. Well, then, that answers it.” He straightened, and looked around at them all. “We are going to France.”
“What could he possibly be doing there?” Katie wondered.
“We can only guess,” Mr. Sevenson answered his sister, “though I am sure it is nothing good. In any case, I think we really ought to meet with Napoleon Bonaparte.”
In the next two chapters, we meet with the ambassador and his trusted valet again, the occupants of the tree get a surprise visit, and Napoleon Bonaparte has marital problems.
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“Birds do it,” said Frederick reasonably.
I am loving this so much. :D
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P.S. you shouldn't need to say sorry to people who are annoyed by these posts, they should be saying sorry to you for not reading them XD
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This is so brilliant, and I quite agree with what timkloske said - you don't need to apologize for posting this, people who aren't reading it should be apologizing to you!
I eagerly await the introduction of M. Bonaparte. X3