More Magical Adventures
Nov. 21st, 2007 10:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sandtreeSorry these are slightly late... I got distracted, and my internet's going wonky because it's raining.
Chapters One and Two
Chapters Three and Four
Chapters Five and Six
Chapters Seven and Eight
Chapters Nine and Ten
Chapter Eleven – Mr. Blackstone versus Pierre Noir: The Epic Battle
Secretly, the footman was pleased that the entire royal family was now either dead, or away from the royal palace. They really were a tiresome lot, and it was difficult to navigate the place, when one of them could knock you unconscious with her sheer beauty if you happened to accidentally come within a hundred metres of her.
The footman had to admit to himself that he hoped that none of them came back. He hoped against hope that Cornelia and Pompeia and their children were all dead somewhere out in the country, and that Bamber and Calpurnia would be killed on this mad quest they were heading off on. If they were dead, Abby would probably be left to his own devices in the wilderness, and either die of exposure, or be adopted by a kindly pack of wolves; either way, he would not be returning to plague the footman.
Then he would have the royal palace all to himself. He could wake up when he liked, get drunk when he liked, and sing loudly with no one to hear him and insult his pitch. Of course, this dream would only manifest into reality if the Brights were killed as well.
The footman sighed, knowing that he was not brave enough to simply kill them all himself. Instead, he would sit back and wait for them to go rushing off to their almost certain deaths, as every member of each family seemed especially eager to do today.
He hadn’t wanted to be a footman. He first love was barrels, and as a child, he had often begged his mother to apprentice him to a cooper. His mother had held off, worried that the work would be too back breaking and soul destroying for her delicate son. And then, of course, Finnegan O’Fear had come along, and no one had trusted coopers since then.
So if he hated anyone, really, the footman hated Finnegan O’Fear. All he wanted was to have nice, simple home, and to make barrels when ever he pleased, but Finnegan O’Fear had taken all of that from him – yes, Finnegan O’Fear was the cause of all of his misfortune and misery. Finnegan O’Fear was the reason he was here now, sitting alone in the dark, waiting for a talented blind man, and indulging in a lengthy internal monologue!
The footman took a large bottle of brandy from his coat pocket, and began to drink away his sorrows. Eventually he fell asleep in the middle of the courtyard, and was awakened hours later when the sun was setting, to the sound of hurried footsteps.
“Guh,” he said, forcing himself into a sitting position and squinting at the two figures who had just stopped in front of him. He shielded his eyes. One of them was a young black haired man, and one of them was Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France.
“Is one of you a very talented blind man?” the footman asked.
“Yes, I am,” said Adam, surprised. “You were informed of our arrival?”
The footman nodded, then winced. “You’re looking for Miss Bright, I presume. Her brother and Sir Rupert and his valet, and some man calling himself Mr. Sevenson came by earlier looking for her as well. I’ll tell you what I told them: she left with Prince Bamber and Princess Calpurnia to rescue Prince Abby – I mean to say, King Macalby – they went after her.”
“And where was it that they went?” Adam said quickly.
“To a secret location in the north of Valmell.” The footman groaned, putting his head in his hands. “You wouldn’t happen to have some brandy, would you?”
But Adam and Napoleon Bonaparte were already gone.
~
The orange glare of the setting sun made it hard to see, especially from a hot air balloon suspended several hundred feet in the air.
“Can you see anything?” Frederick inquired anxiously.
“Yes,” said Mr. Sevenson, shielding his eyes and squinting intently, “I can just make it out up ahead – yes, that’s definitely the right tree!” He pulled on the string, and the hot air balloon began its downward descent.
“Do you see my sister anywhere?” Frederick demanded, leaning so far over the side of the basket that Mr. Sevenson had to take a fistful of his shirt and tug him back to prevent him from falling over the edge.
“Of course I don’t see her anywhere,” Mr. Sevenson replied, “they are probably all inside the tree.”
“Yes, of course,” said Frederick, but spent the next five minutes pacing the small distance around the basket, much to the annoyance of Sir Rupert and his valet, until the balloon finally touched down.
Almost before it had reached the ground, Frederick was vaulting himself over the side of the basket, and running toward the tree.
“Frederick, wait!” Mr. Sevenson shouted, running after him. “We can’t just go rushing in there like idiots, we have to have a plan!”
But Frederick was not listening. In his wild zeal to rescue his sister from the clutches of the Clandestine Council, any caution he might have once had had disappeared. He kicked through the trunk of the tree, rather than knocking out the password, and descended into its dark interior.
“Well,” said Sir Rupert, “I suppose we will have to follow him.”
“There is nothing else for it,” his valet agreed.
All three men followed Frederick into the tree, and down the winding staircase. It was strangely quiet. Mr. Sevenson was not sure what he had expected, but it had certainly not been utter silence. Did this mean that the Clandestine Council had been victorious, and that Mr. Blackstone, Pierre Noir, the young King Macalby, Prince Bamber, Princess Calpurnia, Frederick’s sister, and his own sister, Katie, who he had left lying unconscious in the tree some days before, were dead? He shuddered to think.
The passageway that the stairs were in was nearly pitch black, and Mr. Sevenson realised that he had lost sight of Frederick. A sense of dread settled over him, and the silence continued, unbroken but for the creaking of the stairs and the sound of their shoes as they continued downward.
“Frederick?” he called, straining to hear. The silence was crushing against his ears.
There was no answer.
“I don’t like this,” Sir Rupert said. “I don’t like this at all.”
“What the deuce has he got himself into?” Mr. Sevenson said fretfully. Frederick was always one to go rushing off into things, and it rarely turned out well. He had fallen down a mineshaft in Prussia once, and it had taken three days to extricate him; and in Denmark, he had nearly been eaten alive by Vikings. Frederick and his sister were the last remaining true heirs to the throne of Valmell, and Mr. Sevenson wished that they would take better care to refrain from putting themselves in mortal peril.
They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Sevenson’s sense of dread had thickened, and his chest felt tight. The door to the parlour was open a crack, and a thin beam of light fell across the floor before it.
“Frederick?” Mr. Sevenson called out again. Again, there was no answer.
“Well,” he said, steeling himself, “we must go in. Gentlemen, prepare yourselves – who knows what we may find.”
Trying not to imagine what gruesome sights lay before him, Mr. Sevenson opened the door, only to be swept up immediately in a howling whirlwind. Light and sound exploded around him, and he could see the bewildered Sir Rupert and Mr. Stratford being tossed about in the gale as well. He tried to shout at them, but all of his breath was sucked out of his lungs.
Then, suddenly, he hit the ground with such force that he was too bewildered to move. He did manage to observe that it was not a wooden floor that he had landed on, but rather grass. Slowly, he realised that the sun was shining, birds were chirping, and people were shouting.
He rose unsteadily to his feet, wincing at the pain now spreading through his entire body, and then nearly shouted out in surprise at what he saw. They were in the middle of what seemed to be a large Roman amphitheatre, looking north toward the ocean. The entire Clandestine Council was seated on the tiers surrounding the patch of ground which served as the stage, watching Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir duel.
“What on earth is this?” said Sir Rupert, stunned.
“I’d like to know that myself,” said Frederick, who was standing about two feet away from where Mr. Sevenson had fallen. He still had a dazed look about him.
Mr. Sevenson simply shook his head. If the Clandestine Council had noticed their arrival, they made no sign. They sat still as statues, their attention fixed on the epic battle taking place before them. He could not see Miss Bright or the royal family anywhere, and wondered if the Clandestine Council had already disposed of them.
“Where is Miss Bright? Where are the Macalbys?” he called up to them, and tried to make his voice sound braver than he felt.
There was no reply from the Clandestine Council. He furrowed his brow, and turned to watch the duelists again. Almost as soon has he had focused his attention on them, Mr. Blackstone produced his pistol, and shot Pierre Noir straight through the head.
Mr. Sevenson and the other three gentlemen cheered, but Pierre Noir did not appear to be hurt, although the bullet had passed directly through his skull. He pulled out his own pistol, and shot Mr. Blackstone in the gut.
Mr. Blackstone stumbled backwards, looking slightly uncomfortable, but recovered quickly. He advanced toward the frenchman with his rapier drawn, and brought the blade down on Pierre Noir’s head, severing him in half.
“Good God!” shouted Sir Rupert. “That is not very sporting!”
But the two halves of Pierre Noir immediately stitched themselves back together, and he went on fighting his adversary, to the shock of the gentlemen watching.
“This must be the Clandestine Council’s doing,” said Mr. Stratford, as they watched Pierre Noir pick up a large rock and hurl it straight at Mr. Blackstone. The impact ought to have broken his skull, but in no time the Englishman was on the attack again, plunging his rapier into Pierre Noir’s chest. Pierre Noir took hold of the blade and pulled it out, slashing away at Mr. Blackstone’s face with it.
“They are locked in an epic battle,” said a mysterious voice from behind them, “and they will be for eternity.”
The gentlemen were so startled by this sudden voice, that they cried out in alarm, and Sir Rupert and his valet crashed into each other and fell to the ground. The person who had addressed them was a member of the Clandestine Council, who had appeared so silently behind them that they had not sensed his arrival until too late.
“Where is Miss Bright, and the royal family?” Mr. Sevenson asked breathlessly. “And for that matter, where is my sister?”
“Sister?” said the member of the Clandestine Council, looking confused – or he would have, anyway, had he not been cloaked and hooded. “Tall girl, red hair, left lying unconscious inside of the tree?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Sevenson, fear rising up in him, making it difficult to speak. “What have you done with Katie?”
“Unfortunately, we had to kill her,” the member of the Clandestine Council said, with a wave of his hand. “She would have got in the way, and we were rather in a rush, you see.”
Mr. Sevenson roared in fury, and lunged at the member of the Clandestine Council, meaning to tackle him to the ground; but before he could make contact, the robed figure had raised his hand, and stopped Mr. Sevenson in mid-air. Mr. Sevenson hung there, immobile, unable to free himself from his invisible restraints.
“Let him go, you evil man!” Frederick exclaimed, but was not stupid enough to run at him as Mr. Sevenson had done.
The member of the Clandestine Council simply laughed, and shook his head in mock pity. “You gentlemen are really pathetic,” he said, and sighed. “I had expected better, especially from Finnegan O’Fear’s son. But now I see that you are really just little boys, annoyances, who will have to be disposed of...”
“What have you done to Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir?” Mr. Sevenson shouted, from where he hung suspended in the air. “Why can they not kill each other? Are they truly going to duel for all eternity?”
“Yes, they are,” said the hooded man, sounding quite pleased with himself. “They wanted to fight so badly, so we have simply given them what they wished for. We all thought it was a rather good joke. I suppose when we grow tired of them, we will kill them both. Neither of them would be very useful to us, though Pierre Noir has some skill, as he demonstrated when he stole Napoleon Bonaparte’s eyebrows from off his forehead.”
Mr. Sevenson was at a complete loss. He had no idea what to do. He was stuck floating in midair, and try as he might, he could not break free from the spell. His sister was dead, and from his own doing. He had criticised his father for accidentally killing his first six sons, but was he really any better? He had as good as killed his own sister. He looked down at Frederick, who looked as hopeless as he felt, and at Sir Rupert and Mr. Stratford, too stunned to move.
Feeling defeated, he thought that before he died, he should at least learn the truth about Martha and the royal family. What had become of them? He could not allow Frederick to die not knowing what had become of his only sister. Therefore, he asked the member from the Clandestine Council again, what had become of Miss Bright and the royal family.
“They never arrived,” the member of the Clandestine Council replied at last, examining his fingernails. “As for Prince Abby – I’m sorry, King Macalby – we threw him over that cliff over there, into the ocean, and he is almost certainly drowned by now. We killed Cornelia and Pompeia and their families hours ago in the countryside. They were really very useless people, and I do not comprehend why you should look so upset now, Mr. O’Fear.”
“I prefer Mr. Sevenson,” Mr. Sevenson said, through gritted teeth.
The cloaked man laughed mildly. “Oh, yes, of course, how could I forget? One would think that you would be proud to be the only son and heir of a man as powerful as your father, but I must admit, the impression I get is that you are a rather stupid man.”
“Joss is not stupid at all!” Frederick shouted, enraged at the conduct of this man. “Joss is far smarter than I am, and even more clever than you, I should imagine!”
The member of the Clandestine Council turned to Frederick with a smile. “Is that so, Mr. Bright? Well then tell me, if your friend is so much more intelligent than I am, why can he not extricate himself from his current predicament?”
There was a chorus of laughter behind them; apparently the rest of the Clandestine Council had noticed their conversation, and turned their attention from the dueling pair to the other four gentlemen.
“Well then, if you are determined to kill us, let it be so,” said Frederick, despair claiming him at last. “Kill us now, and stop toying with us, for God’s sake. Just do it already!”
“Frederick, no!” Mr. Sevenson shouted down at him. “Think about what you are saying! Your sister is very likely on her way here now as we speak, and if we are dead when she gets here, she will have to face the Clandestine Council on her own!”
“Oh, yes,” said Frederick, looking thoughtful, “I had not thought of that. But Joss, we are surrounded by the Clandestine Council. Surely we have no chance at all against them. They are far too powerful for us to fight and win.”
“That’s the spirit,” said the member of the Clandestine Council, who was keeping Mr. Sevenson trapped in mid-air. “Your friend is quite right, Mr. O’Fear – forgive me, Mr. Sevenson,” he said, mockery obvious in his voice. “You stand absolutely no chance against us.”
“You know that Finnegan O’Fear is planning to destroy you all, do you not?” Sir Rupert spoke up, stepping forward bravely. “He is using you to his own ends, and very soon, when he deems his use for you run out, he will kill you all himself.”
“That is utter nonsense,” the cloaked man scoffed, but his countenance changed. He looked stiff, concerned, uncertain. Sir Rupert’s words had had their desired effect. With the member of the Clandestine Council suddenly lost in thought, Mr. Sevenson managed to finally gain the upper hand, and swing his leg out, kicking the hooded man directly in his head.
The member of the Clandestine Council fell to the ground, dazed, and the spell on Mr. Sevenson was broken. He dropped to the ground as well, rolled away from his adversary, and then jumped to his feet, assuming a defensive position.
“Mr. Sevenson, let me congratulate you on your truly inspired escape,” said Sir Rupert.
“Thank you, Sir Rupert,” said Mr. Sevenson, but the time for pleasantries was long passed. The rest of the Clandestine Council was descending the steps of the amphitheatre toward them, and they had no plan of action in place for such an assault.
“What do we do now?” Mr. Stratford wondered.
“Run?” Sir Rupert offered.
“They would catch us in seconds,” Mr. Sevenson said, shaking his head. “There is only one thing for it; we must stand and fight.”
“But how?” said Frederick. “You said it yourself, Joss, we stand no chance against them!”
“Well, perhaps I should have been more optimistic,” said Mr. Sevenson, but his voice sounded weak. “Truth to be told, I have no idea what to do, Frederick. The only thing I can think of is to hold off until your sister gets here, but what she can do to help, even if she can perform magic...” he trailed off, watching the Clandestine Council advance toward them.
“Wait... my sister...” said Frederick, sounding as though he were on the brink of an epiphany. “My sister is travelling here with Princess Calpurnia!”
“Yes, so what?” said Mr. Stratford. “That only means more people for the Clandestine Council to kill!”
“No,” said Frederick, grinning widely, “no, I don’t think it does.”
“Frederick, what the hell are you on about?” Mr. Sevenson demanded, in no mood for riddles.
“Look!” Sir Rupert exclaimed. “There is a steamboat coming up the coast toward us!”
Even the Clandestine Council was distracted by this. They all stopped and stared as the boat made its way into the small harbour, and docked at the warf. Three people disembarked and began running toward them, but they were still too far away to make out.
“Do you think that could be...?” Mr. Sevenson asked, not daring to finish his sentence.
“Yes, I think it must be!” Frederick exclaimed jubilantly. “It is them! It is – “
Frederick was not able to finish his exclamation of glee, because he was knocked unconscious. Mr. Sevenson was knocked unconscious. Sir Rupert and his trusted valet were knocked unconscious. The entire Clandestine Council was knocked unconscious, and even the supposedly eternally duelling Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir dropped to the ground in an instant, out cold.
“Oh, dear,” said Calpurnia, as they reached the bottom of the amphitheatre, and stood in the midst of the comatose men. “This always happens.”
“Calpurnia, don’t you see? This is excellent! Now all we have to do is get my brother, Mr. Sevenson, Sir Rupert and his valet, and Mr. Blackstone into the steamboat, and we can escape the Clandestine Council unscathed!”
“Yes, but where is Abby?” Calpurnia fretted. “We came here to find our nephew, remember?”
“Oh, yes,” said Martha, pausing, and glancing around at the inert men. “Look, one of them has a note in his hand!” She hurried over, knelt down beside the cloaked figure, and took the rolled up bit of paper from his fist. She straightened up, and her eyes swept over the paper.
“What does it say?” Bamber asked anxiously.
“Er,” said Martha.
“Is is that bad?” Calpurnia asked, her voice wavering.
Martha cleared her throat. “I’m afraid so,” she admitted. “The note says, “To whom it may concern: King Macalby is dead, we threw him over the cliff into the ocean, so unless he can breathe underwater, or was rescued by local fisherman, or something equally outrageous, you will never see your beloved nephew again. Terribly sorry, yours etc., The Clandestine Council.”
Princess Calpurnia dissolved into tears, and could not be consoled. Bamber stood by, looking utterly useless. Martha was at a loss, and more frustrated than she had been in nearly half an hour. She was not afraid of the Clandestine Council, because they would not wake up until Calpurnia was a safe distance from them, but what were they to do about the other gentlemen? Could they manage to carry them all to the boat and escape? She knew that every minute brought Finnegan O’Fear closer to them, and that they could not afford to wait around.
“Calpurnia, this is tragic news indeed, but you must pull yourself together. We have to think of a plan, or else Finnegan O’Fear will find us here, and we will all be dead along with poor Abby,” Martha said, putting her hand on her shoulder and attempting to speak in soft tones.
But Calpurnia would have nothing of it. She merely cried harder, and assumed a fetal position on the ground, oblivious to everything around her. Martha sighed angrily, and turned to Bamber.
“What do you make of all this?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Bamber said.
“I thought as much.” Martha sighed. “Well, whatever we are to do, we must devise the plan quickly, or else we will likely all die.”
Bamber was not given the chance to respond. Their attention was drawn by the darkening of the sky. Thunder sounded in the distance. The wind whistled and carried with it the mournful sound of a lone fiddle. And then, like a demon out of hell, or Ireland, Finnegan O’Fear swooped down upon them, cackling evilly.
When he was about one hundred metres from the earth, his cackling ceased abruptly, and he plummetted out of the sky, straight into the ground, leaving a large crater. Martha and Bamber walked to the site of the impact, and peered over the edge. Finnegan O’Fear lay motionless there, struck unconscious by Calpurnia’s indescribable beauty.
“Well,” said Bamber, “that solves the problem of Finnegan O’Fear.”
“Indeed,” said Martha, and then was suddenly struck by a brilliant idea. “Bamber!” she exclaimed, “I do believe I have just been struck by a brilliant idea!” Bamber looked astonished, and so she continued. “I am sure that Finnegan O’Fear has come here to destroy the Clandestine Council, so all we have to do is get the other gentlemen away, and then bring away Calpurnia. We will hide somewhere in the woods, and give the rest of them a chance to wake up, and destroy each other!”
Bamber thought through this for a moment, and when at last he understood, he seemed to take to the idea. “I like it,” he said, “certainly I can think of no better plan. But how are we supposed to transport all the men into the woods with us?”
“We will make several trips,” said Martha, “and we will simply wait to remove Calpurnia until the last possible minute.”
“It’s genius!” Bamber said, clearly delighted, and Martha was pleased that he was finally showing some sense.
And so, one by one, they began to drag the unconscious gentlemen into the woods, positioning them behind trees so that they would not be visible from the amphitheatre, where they left the Clandestine Council, Pierre Noir, and Finnegan O’Fear.
When Martha and Prince Bamber had finally managed to drag their allies up out of the amphitheatre and into the surrounding woods, and had managed to convinced Calpurnia to accompany them (no easy task, as she was still very distraught), they collapsed behind the trees, limbs aching, and strained their necks to see what was happening back on the open stage of the amphitheatre.
Almost immediately after Calpurnia had disappeared into the woods, a safe hundred metres away, the men in the amphitheatre had began to come out of their unconscious state. At first they seemed confused. The Clandestine Council were brushing off their robes and murmuring in stunned voices to one another, and Pierre Noir was cursing in French. It was only when Finnegan O’Fear pulled himself out of the crater he had made when he had plunged into the ground, that they jumped into action.
Pierre Noir, being cowardly, and having nothing to do with Finnegan O’Fear, immediately made a run for the forest while the Clandestine Council was distracted. As he passed Martha and Bamber, they sprang out and jumped on him, forcing his hands behind his back, and tying them in place with a convenient piece of twine. Martha then produced her handkerchief, and stuffed it into his mouth to serve as a gag. Just to be safe, they tied him securely to a tree with a long length of rope.
The Frenchman was outraged, and strained furiously against his bonds, but there was nothing he could do. Probably because he was supposed to be unconscious. Martha brushed off her hands, looking pleased, and then turned to Bamber. “Good work,” she said.
Bamber nearly swelled with pride. She raised her eyebrows, and turned away from him again, focusing on what was happening the the middle of the amphitheatre below.
A great deal was happening, it seemed. They could not hear much of what was going on, but Finnegan O’Fear was standing before the Clandestine Council, and seemed to be making some sort of speech. Martha closed her eyes, and hoped desperately that she had not been wrong, and that Finnegan O’Fear was about to destroy the Clandestine Council once and for all.
“Oh, good God! Look at that! Have you ever seen anything like it!” Bamber exclaimed, his voice ringing through the still forest. Several birds took off in fright.
“Bamber, shut up, you dolt!” Martha cried out in alarm. “Keep your voice down, or they will all hear us! What on earth are you yelling for, anyway?”
But then she saw it. Finnegan O’Fear was growing, expanding, rising into the air. He was eight feet, ten feet, twelve feet high, with no sign that he would stop soon. The Clandestine Council looked on in horror and he grew to enormous proportions, and then finally, when his head was nearly engulfed in the clouds, stomped on them all.
Martha winced. It had only taken one stomp. When he removed his foot to see the damage, the entire Clandestine Council lay flattened before him. He pumped his fist into the air in victory, causing a freak thunderstorm. Lightning struck his outstretched arm. “Ouch,” he said, shaking his hand, annoyed.
Finnegan O’Fear began to shrink back to his normal size, and within a minute, he was his normal height and girth again. He observed the now destroyed Clandestine Council, and laughed gleefully.
“He did it,” Martha whispered to Bamber, “I was right! He has destroyed him, and now I only have to destroy him, and we will be free of his maniacal ways!”
“Yes, but Martha, how do you propose to destroy him?” Bamber whispered back.
Martha had not considered this, and did not have time to. Finnegan O’Fear was staring intently into the forest, just where they were situated. Her breath caught in her throat. Had he seen them? Had he heard their idiotic yelling? Had he simply sensed, using his evil powers, that they were there? Whatever the case was, he was walking deliberately toward them, and Martha began to panic.
“He’s coming toward us!” Bamber said, his voice breaking.
“Yes, I can see that, thank you,” Martha shot back, looking around for inspiration.
“We have to make a run for it!” Bamber exclaimed.
“We can’t just take off, what about the others?” Martha reminded him.
He shrugged, his eyes wide with fear. “Let them fend for themselves.”
“Bamber, I’m surprised at you! I thought you were more noble than that,” Martha reprimanded him. “No, I will not leave my brother and the other gentlemen to the whim of Finnegan O’Fear. You can run, if you please, but I am staying here.”
“Suit yourself,” said Bamber, and took off running, with his younger sister in tow.
“Well I’ll see you in hell!” Martha shouted after him, enraged. How could he leave now, just when she needed all the help she could get? She expected something like this from Calpurnia, but not from Bamber, however stupid he was.
Finnegan O’Fear was climbing the hill toward her now, and she realised that she still did not have a plan. Desperately, she grabbed a large stick from the ground, and brandished it at him.
He flicked his hand lazily, and the stick flew out of her grasp, hitting Mr. Sevenson in the head.
“Ouch,” said Mr. Sevenson, coming out of his stupor, and sitting up. Sir Rupert, Mr. Stratford, Frederick, and Pierre Noir woke up as well, now that Calpurnia had run away.
“What happened?” said Frederick, dazed.
“Calpurnia,” Martha explained, “but she has run off now, and we have no time to speak. Finnegan O’Fear is five feet away from us!”
And before she had finished her sentence, Finnegen O’Fear was in their midst. She recoiled, waiting for the inevitable blow, but it never came. Instead, Finnegan O’Fear bowed politely and said, “Gentlemen – lady – how do you do?”
Mr. Sevenson stepped forward to challenge his father. “You have destroyed the Clandestine Council, Father,” he noted, catching sight of the crushed cloaks in the amphitheatre. “This surely must satisfy you for now. Please, leave us be.”
Finnegan O’Fear laughed, very amused by this idea. “Leave you be? Oh, you stupid boy. Honestly, sometimes I cannot believe that you are my son, but there you have it. No, I certainly will not leave you be. Especially not that awful fellow who tried to drown me. You, Joseph, I will spare, because you are my only son and heir, after all. But the rest, I shall take great delight in killing.”
“But Miss Bright,” Mr. Sevenson said desperately, “surely you cannot kill her. Father, surely you must not murder a young lady.”
Finnegan O’Fear waggled his eyebrows, seeming much diverted. “And why must I not? Joseph, Joseph, need I remind you that this young lady is heir to the throne of Valmell if her brother dies? If I spare her, the Brights would maintain their claim! No, certainly not. She must die. It will not be much loss, in any case, for she is a rather ugly girl.”
Mr. Sevenson seemed more insulted by this than Martha was. “You are insane,” he said. “Insane!”
“Yes,” said Finnegan O’Fear, “but there is a very good reason for that. It all began on a fine summer day in – “
His speech was cut short by Mr. Sevenson punching him in the nose. He stumbled backwards, putting his hand to his face, and wiping away the blood that was spurting out of his nostrils. He looked surprised.
Mr. Sevenson was breathing heavily. “I won’t let you do this,” he said, with some conviction. “I don’t know how precisely I am going to stop you, Father, but stop you I will.”
“I admire your determination,” Finnegan O’Fear replied, cracking his nose back into place, and using magic to stem to flow of blood. “But I really must kill them all. There is nothing for it. Although, now that I think of it, if you really desired Miss Bright here to live...” he trailed off, turning to contemplate Martha.
Martha shifted, uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze. “What?” she said at last, unable to take the pressure. “What are you looking at me for?”
“Actually, I think you are a stunning young lady, Miss Bright,” said Finnegan O’Fear, smiling in a dreadful manner. “I retract my earlier thoughtless statement. How would you like to marry my son?”
There was a confused silence.
“Wait, what?” said Mr. Sevenson.
“Well, you seem so eager to preserve her existence, I just thought you might like to marry her.” Finnegan O’Fear shrugged. “Then any child you produce will be my heir, an O’Fear, and the O’Fears will rule Valmell. It is really a win-win situation, and I do not know why I didn’t think of it before. What do you say, Joseph? It is really the only way to save her from her certain death.”
Mr. Sevenson looked flabbergasted.
“Joss, for God’s sake, marry my sister!” Frederick exclaimed.
“Um,” said Mr. Sevenson.
“This is ridiculous!” Martha said, growing angry. “Frederick, listen to yourself speak – all this time we have been plotting to kill Finnegan O’Fear, and now you want me to make a deal with him? Have you lost your mind?”
“Well, no,” said Frederick, chastised, “but I do think you and Joss would make a lovely couple.”
Mr. Sevenson turned bright red, but was saved from further embarrassment by the sudden arrival of two more gentlemen to their group. Adam Haley and Napoleon Bonaparte sprinted into the clearing, and collapsed near Frederick, quite out of breath.
“Adam! Your Majesty!” Martha exclaimed, delighted. “Oh, but watch out – we are currently at the mercy of Finnegan O’Fear!”
“Are we indeed?” said Napoleon Bonaparte.
“This chapter has gone on far too long,” said Adam. “It is ending now.”
Chapter Twelve – The Most Beautiful Girl in the Room
“Enough of this inanity,” Finnegan O’Fear said, growing impatient. “Miss Bright, I will give you a minute or two to think about my son’s offer.”
“But I didn’t – “ Mr. Sevenson started.
Finnegan O’Fear cut him off. “As for the rest of you, I am pleased to say that you are all about to die. I think I will start with Sir Rupert and his wretched valet, they always annoyed me to no end – but where have they gone?!”
Everyone looked around in surprise, to find that in the confusion, Sir Rupert and his valet had indeed disappeared. They all cried out in jubilation, except for Finnegan O’Fear, who shouted in rage.
“So, Father, how does it feel to be outwitted at last?” Mr. Sevenson said with a smirk.
In response, his father hit him upside the head. Mr. Sevenson recoiled sharply. Frederick had seen enough, and launched himself at Finnegan O’Fear, meaing to strangle him with his bare hands, but Finnegan O’Fear was too quick, stepping to the side, and letting Frederick go hurtling head first into a large tree. He hit it with a resounding ‘clunk’ and slumped to the ground.
“Frederick!” Martha cried out, running toward him, but Finnegan O’Fear reached out with his mind and tripped her. She sprawled on the forest floor, the wind knocked out of her, and groaned in pain.
“You grow tiresome,” Finnegan O’Fear said, sounding bored. Martha was not sure whether he was talking to her, someone else, or the group as a whole. “I think it is time to end this little charade.”
Martha closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable attack, but it never came. When she dared to open her eyes again, she saw everyone staring up at the sky. A hot air balloon was descending toward them. She squinted.
“Who is that?” Mr. Sevenson wondered.
Then, one by one, each of the gentlemen slumped to the ground, unconscious.
“Well, that explains it,” Martha said, sighing to herself. The hot air balloon touched down in the clearing; it was occupied by Bamber and Calpurnia.
“What is the meaning of this?” Martha asked, gesturing at the balloon.
“We didn’t run away after all!” Bamber said, looking very pleased with himself. “We went to fetch the hot air balloon, and we have come to carry Finnegan O’Fear away. We will dump him into the ocean, and hopefully be rid of him forever.”
“I doubt forever,” Martha said, not optimistic, “but it is the best plan we have at present.”
She helped her friends hoist Finnegan O’Fear's inert body into the basket. Once he was inside, Martha noticed Calpurnia looking confused.
“What is it?” Martha inquired.
“That man,” said Calpurnia, nodding to something behind Martha, “why hasn’t he passed out as well?”
Martha turned around to find Adam standing there, looking confused. “Oh, of course,” she said. She had not noticed him before, but it made perfect sense. “He is blind, so clearly your beauty does not affect him like the others.”
“Blind?” said Calpurnia, eyes widening. “Is that so?” She looked as though she had just been hit by a cart full of exploding delight.
“Oh, no,” said Martha.
“What is your name?” Calpurnia called, as the balloon lifted off the ground, carrying herself, her brother, and the unconscious Finnegan O’Fear over the tops of the trees. “I must know your name!”
“It’s Adam Haley,” Adam answered, still confused.
“Adam Haley,” sighed Calpurnia, and soon the balloon was out of ear shot.
“What was that all about?” Adam asked, turning to Martha.
“That was Princess Calpurnia,” Martha explained, “the most beautiful girl in the world. Her beauty is so severe, that it causes any man within a hundred metres of her person to faint dead away, unless they are blood related, or, it seems, blind. I am sure you are the only man she has ever seen, who wasn’t a relation, who didn’t collapse at the sight of her.”
“Ah,” said Adam, as the other gentlemen began to wake up again, “poor girl.”
“Yes,” said Martha, “and now she is certainly head over heels in love with you, so take care, Adam.”
“In love?” said Adam, startled. “But she has only just met me. We hardly spoke. How could such a thing be possible? Martha, you are carried away by your imagination.”
“No, I am not,” Martha protested. “As I said, you are the only man able to withstand her charms, other than her family. Naturally, she will be completely infatuated with you.”
Adam coloured, and said no more on the subject. The other gentlemen had now completely regained consciousness, and were discussing what ought to be done next.
“You promised me that I would be allowed to have my revenge on Pierre Noir,” Bonaparte reminded Adam, advancing toward him.
“What?” said Adam, still distracted. “Oh, yes, revenge, of course. Do what you like with him.”
“Now wait just a minute!” Mr. Blackstone exclaimed, stepping between Bonaparte and Pierre Noir. “This man happens to be my sworn mortal enemy, and I should think that if anyone has the right to finish him off, it is I!”
“Need I remind you, sir, that Pierre Noir is a dastardly thief, who stole my eyebrows?”
“Your Majesty, forgive me for saying so, but the loss of your eyebrows pales in comparison to the loss of dignity and honour I will experience, if I am not allowed to finally defeat the man who I have hated from the very moment of my birth.”
“I see there is no pleasing you,” said Napoleon Bonaparte, looking displeased. “Very well, then. I am not an unreasonable man. You may finish him off, Mr. Blackstone, on the condition that you then present me with my eyebrows, which I believe you will find fastened to a chain worn around his neck.”
The two men shook hands, and Mr. Blackstone turned back to face his mortal enemy, only to find him gone. While they two men had argued, Pierre Noir had loosened his bonds, and fled through the woods, coming to the edge of the cliff, and jumping off it into the ocean.
“Damn it all!” Mr. Blackstone swore, kicking a pinecone in rage. “Why didn’t you people try to stop him?!”
“You had just got finished saying that you wanted him for yourself!” Frederick reminded him. “We could not very well pounce on him, you seemed likely to dismember anyone who so much as glanced at him the wrong way.”
“Fine,” said Mr. Sevenson, tired of their bickering, “just, fine. Now listen, everyone, we really must figure out what we are going to do next!”
Everyone paused, unsure of what their next move would be. Finnegan O’Fear and Pierre Noir were somewhere in the ocean; Calpurnia and Bamber were drifting somewhere in the hot air balloon; and no one had any clue where Sir Rupert and Mr. Stratford had gone.
“I’ll bet I know where Sir Rupert and Mr. Stratford have gone,” said Mr. Sevenson.
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
“I will bet that they have gone to find the Crown of Righteousness.”
“The Crown of Righteousness? That is the crown that allows one to rule all of Valmell, is it not?” said Napoleon, looking interested.
“Yes,” said Frederick, raising his eyebrows, “but it also burns the unworthy to a crisp if they try to claim it as their own.”
“Ah,” said Bonaparte.
“I was about to suggest that we try to meet up with Prince Bamber and Princess Calpurnia,” said Martha, “but that would really not agree with anyone here except for Adam and me.”
“Still, I should like to know how their disposal of Finnegan O’Fear went,” Frederick mused. “Martha, why don’t you and Adam run down to the coast and see if you can make contact with Bamber and Calpurnia. The rest of us will go back to Bogbury, to the royal palace. If you manage to find them, meet us there – if you can’t find them, meet us there anyway.”
“And then what?” said Adam.
“Then,” said Mr. Sevenson, “we devise our plan of attack. We figure out how we are going to rid the world once and for all of Finnegan O’Fear!”
“And Pierre Noir,” Mr. Blackstone reminded him.
“And Pierre Noir,” he added. “Are we agreed?”
This seemed an agreeable plan to everyone, and so it was put into action immediately. Martha and Adam went off toward the coast, leaving the rest of the gentlemen to organise themselves and journey on south to Bogbury.
“Is this safe, do you think?” said Adam, as he and Martha picked their way downhill, avoiding the large cliff. “Pierre Noir jumped off that cliff into the ocean, after all. He could have waded back in to shore, and be waiting for us behind a rock or something.”
Martha shook her head. “His goal was to escape. He is probably half way to England by now. I would be more worried about Finnegan O’Fear. If Calpurnia and Bamber managed to throw him into the ocean, has has very likely awoken by now, and if he was sufficiently close to shore...” She trailed off, shuddering to think of Finnegan O’Fear stepping out from behind a piece of driftwood to challenge them.
It was then that they caught side of a dot coming toward them in the air over the ocean. As it drew closer, it took on a distinctly balloon shaped appearance.
“That must be Bamber and Calpurnia,” she noted, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun. “They seem to have had some luck. Don’t worry, Adam, I won’t let Calpurnia throw herself at you.”
Adam coloured, and did not dignify her comment with a response. The balloon continued to drift slowly toward them, and finally, after about a half an hour, touched down on the sandy beach.
Calpurnia and Bamber leapt over the side, grinning ear to ear.
“We did it, Martha!” Bamber exclaimed. “We threw him over the side of the balloon somewhere near the Isle of Man. The wind was in our favour. He will have a job to swim all the way back here, and by the time he arrives, we will all have left. But where are the others?”
Martha explained quickly that her brother, Mr. Sevenson, Mr. Blackstone, and Napoleon Bonaparte were on their way back to Bogbury to devise a plan to defeat Finnegan O’Fear.
“They want us to meet up with them there, at the royal palace,” said Martha. “They thought it best if they went on ahead, because obviously Adam and I are the only ones who can withstand Calpurnia.”
“Hello again,” said Calpurnia to Adam, going rather pink.
“Hello,” said Adam awkwardly.
“All right, well, shall we all get into the balloon again?” said Martha, looking between the two with some trepidation. She could tell that this was going to be an annoying balloon trip, what with Bamber being Bamber, and Calpurnia sighing over Adam the whole way south. Perhaps she could distract them somehow, but she could not think of a way, short of throwing one of them over the side of the balloon.
The all clambered up into the basket, and before long, the balloon was soaring high above the ground once again. It floated high over the hills, away from the beach. Just before the shoreline slipped out of eyesight, they saw a small black figure emerge from the ocean, and begin running toward the forest.
Martha gasped. Calpurnia grasped the side of the basket in terror.
“What is it?” said Bamber, confused.
“Don’t worry,” said Adam, “he cannot reach us up here.”
“Who do you think it is, though?” asked Martha, feeling her heart flutter in her chest.
“Who knows?” said Adam darkly. “It could be Pierre Noir – it could be Finnegan O’Fear. Either way, we are quite safe at present.”
“Not if it’s Finnegan O’Fear,” said Martha, shaking her head. “Did you see him grow two hundred feet and stomp out the Clandestine Council?”
“And if that is Finnegan O’Fear,” said Calpurnia, “he managed to swim from the Isle of Man to the north coast of Valmell in fifteen minutes.”
They all considered this in silence. The shore faded out of sight, and whoever the figure was, they were lost amongst the trees of the forest, which soon vanished in the growing dark of the evening as well.
To set Calpurnia’s nerves at ease, Bamber pulled the string, and the balloon rose further into the air, and was concealed in a thick layer of clouds. It was cold and damp, and Martha was quite fed up, feeling that Calpurnia was far more trouble than she was worth.
“So, Mr. Haley,” said Calpurnia after an hour or so, and Martha cringed, waiting for the inevitable. “What is your favourite colour?”
“Calpurnia, you blockhead, he’s blind – he doesn’t have a favourite colour,” Martha pointed out, exasperated.
“Oh, of course,” said Calpurnia, quite unconcerned.
“I, er, like the idea of blue,” said Adam.
“So do I.” Calpurnia smiled.
Martha gave Bamber a despairing look, which he returned. Martha thought the inquistion might stop here, but unfortunately, the questioning continued.
“How old are you?” Calpurnia wanted to know now.
“Calpurnia, really, you are being very impolite,” Bamber chastised her.
“I am twenty one,” Adam replied, shooting Martha an uncomfortable look.
“I’m seventeen,” said Calpurnia. “Is it true that you defeated Napoleon Bonaparte in a fight for Austria?”
“Yes,” said Adam, “but I gave it back in the end.”
“That was very nice of you,” Calpurnia said, with a sigh and a smile. Martha contemplated jumping out of the balloon herself.
“I thought Napoleon Bonaparte looked very ill without his eyebrows, didn’t you?” Martha said, desperately trying to take Calpurnia’s attention off of Adam. “I can only imagine what he means to do to Pierre Noir when he gets his hands on him at last.”
“Oh, yes!” said Calpurnia. “I shudder to think! But poor Bonaparte, it really is shocking that he should have had his eyebrows so callously removed. Of course, lack of eyebrows is not nearly so much of an impediment as lack of eyesight must be. Does it impede you terribly to be blind, Mr. Haley?”
Martha put her head in her hands and groaned.
Check back tomorrow for: zombies.
Chapters One and Two
Chapters Three and Four
Chapters Five and Six
Chapters Seven and Eight
Chapters Nine and Ten
Secretly, the footman was pleased that the entire royal family was now either dead, or away from the royal palace. They really were a tiresome lot, and it was difficult to navigate the place, when one of them could knock you unconscious with her sheer beauty if you happened to accidentally come within a hundred metres of her.
The footman had to admit to himself that he hoped that none of them came back. He hoped against hope that Cornelia and Pompeia and their children were all dead somewhere out in the country, and that Bamber and Calpurnia would be killed on this mad quest they were heading off on. If they were dead, Abby would probably be left to his own devices in the wilderness, and either die of exposure, or be adopted by a kindly pack of wolves; either way, he would not be returning to plague the footman.
Then he would have the royal palace all to himself. He could wake up when he liked, get drunk when he liked, and sing loudly with no one to hear him and insult his pitch. Of course, this dream would only manifest into reality if the Brights were killed as well.
The footman sighed, knowing that he was not brave enough to simply kill them all himself. Instead, he would sit back and wait for them to go rushing off to their almost certain deaths, as every member of each family seemed especially eager to do today.
He hadn’t wanted to be a footman. He first love was barrels, and as a child, he had often begged his mother to apprentice him to a cooper. His mother had held off, worried that the work would be too back breaking and soul destroying for her delicate son. And then, of course, Finnegan O’Fear had come along, and no one had trusted coopers since then.
So if he hated anyone, really, the footman hated Finnegan O’Fear. All he wanted was to have nice, simple home, and to make barrels when ever he pleased, but Finnegan O’Fear had taken all of that from him – yes, Finnegan O’Fear was the cause of all of his misfortune and misery. Finnegan O’Fear was the reason he was here now, sitting alone in the dark, waiting for a talented blind man, and indulging in a lengthy internal monologue!
The footman took a large bottle of brandy from his coat pocket, and began to drink away his sorrows. Eventually he fell asleep in the middle of the courtyard, and was awakened hours later when the sun was setting, to the sound of hurried footsteps.
“Guh,” he said, forcing himself into a sitting position and squinting at the two figures who had just stopped in front of him. He shielded his eyes. One of them was a young black haired man, and one of them was Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France.
“Is one of you a very talented blind man?” the footman asked.
“Yes, I am,” said Adam, surprised. “You were informed of our arrival?”
The footman nodded, then winced. “You’re looking for Miss Bright, I presume. Her brother and Sir Rupert and his valet, and some man calling himself Mr. Sevenson came by earlier looking for her as well. I’ll tell you what I told them: she left with Prince Bamber and Princess Calpurnia to rescue Prince Abby – I mean to say, King Macalby – they went after her.”
“And where was it that they went?” Adam said quickly.
“To a secret location in the north of Valmell.” The footman groaned, putting his head in his hands. “You wouldn’t happen to have some brandy, would you?”
But Adam and Napoleon Bonaparte were already gone.
~
The orange glare of the setting sun made it hard to see, especially from a hot air balloon suspended several hundred feet in the air.
“Can you see anything?” Frederick inquired anxiously.
“Yes,” said Mr. Sevenson, shielding his eyes and squinting intently, “I can just make it out up ahead – yes, that’s definitely the right tree!” He pulled on the string, and the hot air balloon began its downward descent.
“Do you see my sister anywhere?” Frederick demanded, leaning so far over the side of the basket that Mr. Sevenson had to take a fistful of his shirt and tug him back to prevent him from falling over the edge.
“Of course I don’t see her anywhere,” Mr. Sevenson replied, “they are probably all inside the tree.”
“Yes, of course,” said Frederick, but spent the next five minutes pacing the small distance around the basket, much to the annoyance of Sir Rupert and his valet, until the balloon finally touched down.
Almost before it had reached the ground, Frederick was vaulting himself over the side of the basket, and running toward the tree.
“Frederick, wait!” Mr. Sevenson shouted, running after him. “We can’t just go rushing in there like idiots, we have to have a plan!”
But Frederick was not listening. In his wild zeal to rescue his sister from the clutches of the Clandestine Council, any caution he might have once had had disappeared. He kicked through the trunk of the tree, rather than knocking out the password, and descended into its dark interior.
“Well,” said Sir Rupert, “I suppose we will have to follow him.”
“There is nothing else for it,” his valet agreed.
All three men followed Frederick into the tree, and down the winding staircase. It was strangely quiet. Mr. Sevenson was not sure what he had expected, but it had certainly not been utter silence. Did this mean that the Clandestine Council had been victorious, and that Mr. Blackstone, Pierre Noir, the young King Macalby, Prince Bamber, Princess Calpurnia, Frederick’s sister, and his own sister, Katie, who he had left lying unconscious in the tree some days before, were dead? He shuddered to think.
The passageway that the stairs were in was nearly pitch black, and Mr. Sevenson realised that he had lost sight of Frederick. A sense of dread settled over him, and the silence continued, unbroken but for the creaking of the stairs and the sound of their shoes as they continued downward.
“Frederick?” he called, straining to hear. The silence was crushing against his ears.
There was no answer.
“I don’t like this,” Sir Rupert said. “I don’t like this at all.”
“What the deuce has he got himself into?” Mr. Sevenson said fretfully. Frederick was always one to go rushing off into things, and it rarely turned out well. He had fallen down a mineshaft in Prussia once, and it had taken three days to extricate him; and in Denmark, he had nearly been eaten alive by Vikings. Frederick and his sister were the last remaining true heirs to the throne of Valmell, and Mr. Sevenson wished that they would take better care to refrain from putting themselves in mortal peril.
They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Sevenson’s sense of dread had thickened, and his chest felt tight. The door to the parlour was open a crack, and a thin beam of light fell across the floor before it.
“Frederick?” Mr. Sevenson called out again. Again, there was no answer.
“Well,” he said, steeling himself, “we must go in. Gentlemen, prepare yourselves – who knows what we may find.”
Trying not to imagine what gruesome sights lay before him, Mr. Sevenson opened the door, only to be swept up immediately in a howling whirlwind. Light and sound exploded around him, and he could see the bewildered Sir Rupert and Mr. Stratford being tossed about in the gale as well. He tried to shout at them, but all of his breath was sucked out of his lungs.
Then, suddenly, he hit the ground with such force that he was too bewildered to move. He did manage to observe that it was not a wooden floor that he had landed on, but rather grass. Slowly, he realised that the sun was shining, birds were chirping, and people were shouting.
He rose unsteadily to his feet, wincing at the pain now spreading through his entire body, and then nearly shouted out in surprise at what he saw. They were in the middle of what seemed to be a large Roman amphitheatre, looking north toward the ocean. The entire Clandestine Council was seated on the tiers surrounding the patch of ground which served as the stage, watching Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir duel.
“What on earth is this?” said Sir Rupert, stunned.
“I’d like to know that myself,” said Frederick, who was standing about two feet away from where Mr. Sevenson had fallen. He still had a dazed look about him.
Mr. Sevenson simply shook his head. If the Clandestine Council had noticed their arrival, they made no sign. They sat still as statues, their attention fixed on the epic battle taking place before them. He could not see Miss Bright or the royal family anywhere, and wondered if the Clandestine Council had already disposed of them.
“Where is Miss Bright? Where are the Macalbys?” he called up to them, and tried to make his voice sound braver than he felt.
There was no reply from the Clandestine Council. He furrowed his brow, and turned to watch the duelists again. Almost as soon has he had focused his attention on them, Mr. Blackstone produced his pistol, and shot Pierre Noir straight through the head.
Mr. Sevenson and the other three gentlemen cheered, but Pierre Noir did not appear to be hurt, although the bullet had passed directly through his skull. He pulled out his own pistol, and shot Mr. Blackstone in the gut.
Mr. Blackstone stumbled backwards, looking slightly uncomfortable, but recovered quickly. He advanced toward the frenchman with his rapier drawn, and brought the blade down on Pierre Noir’s head, severing him in half.
“Good God!” shouted Sir Rupert. “That is not very sporting!”
But the two halves of Pierre Noir immediately stitched themselves back together, and he went on fighting his adversary, to the shock of the gentlemen watching.
“This must be the Clandestine Council’s doing,” said Mr. Stratford, as they watched Pierre Noir pick up a large rock and hurl it straight at Mr. Blackstone. The impact ought to have broken his skull, but in no time the Englishman was on the attack again, plunging his rapier into Pierre Noir’s chest. Pierre Noir took hold of the blade and pulled it out, slashing away at Mr. Blackstone’s face with it.
“They are locked in an epic battle,” said a mysterious voice from behind them, “and they will be for eternity.”
The gentlemen were so startled by this sudden voice, that they cried out in alarm, and Sir Rupert and his valet crashed into each other and fell to the ground. The person who had addressed them was a member of the Clandestine Council, who had appeared so silently behind them that they had not sensed his arrival until too late.
“Where is Miss Bright, and the royal family?” Mr. Sevenson asked breathlessly. “And for that matter, where is my sister?”
“Sister?” said the member of the Clandestine Council, looking confused – or he would have, anyway, had he not been cloaked and hooded. “Tall girl, red hair, left lying unconscious inside of the tree?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Sevenson, fear rising up in him, making it difficult to speak. “What have you done with Katie?”
“Unfortunately, we had to kill her,” the member of the Clandestine Council said, with a wave of his hand. “She would have got in the way, and we were rather in a rush, you see.”
Mr. Sevenson roared in fury, and lunged at the member of the Clandestine Council, meaning to tackle him to the ground; but before he could make contact, the robed figure had raised his hand, and stopped Mr. Sevenson in mid-air. Mr. Sevenson hung there, immobile, unable to free himself from his invisible restraints.
“Let him go, you evil man!” Frederick exclaimed, but was not stupid enough to run at him as Mr. Sevenson had done.
The member of the Clandestine Council simply laughed, and shook his head in mock pity. “You gentlemen are really pathetic,” he said, and sighed. “I had expected better, especially from Finnegan O’Fear’s son. But now I see that you are really just little boys, annoyances, who will have to be disposed of...”
“What have you done to Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir?” Mr. Sevenson shouted, from where he hung suspended in the air. “Why can they not kill each other? Are they truly going to duel for all eternity?”
“Yes, they are,” said the hooded man, sounding quite pleased with himself. “They wanted to fight so badly, so we have simply given them what they wished for. We all thought it was a rather good joke. I suppose when we grow tired of them, we will kill them both. Neither of them would be very useful to us, though Pierre Noir has some skill, as he demonstrated when he stole Napoleon Bonaparte’s eyebrows from off his forehead.”
Mr. Sevenson was at a complete loss. He had no idea what to do. He was stuck floating in midair, and try as he might, he could not break free from the spell. His sister was dead, and from his own doing. He had criticised his father for accidentally killing his first six sons, but was he really any better? He had as good as killed his own sister. He looked down at Frederick, who looked as hopeless as he felt, and at Sir Rupert and Mr. Stratford, too stunned to move.
Feeling defeated, he thought that before he died, he should at least learn the truth about Martha and the royal family. What had become of them? He could not allow Frederick to die not knowing what had become of his only sister. Therefore, he asked the member from the Clandestine Council again, what had become of Miss Bright and the royal family.
“They never arrived,” the member of the Clandestine Council replied at last, examining his fingernails. “As for Prince Abby – I’m sorry, King Macalby – we threw him over that cliff over there, into the ocean, and he is almost certainly drowned by now. We killed Cornelia and Pompeia and their families hours ago in the countryside. They were really very useless people, and I do not comprehend why you should look so upset now, Mr. O’Fear.”
“I prefer Mr. Sevenson,” Mr. Sevenson said, through gritted teeth.
The cloaked man laughed mildly. “Oh, yes, of course, how could I forget? One would think that you would be proud to be the only son and heir of a man as powerful as your father, but I must admit, the impression I get is that you are a rather stupid man.”
“Joss is not stupid at all!” Frederick shouted, enraged at the conduct of this man. “Joss is far smarter than I am, and even more clever than you, I should imagine!”
The member of the Clandestine Council turned to Frederick with a smile. “Is that so, Mr. Bright? Well then tell me, if your friend is so much more intelligent than I am, why can he not extricate himself from his current predicament?”
There was a chorus of laughter behind them; apparently the rest of the Clandestine Council had noticed their conversation, and turned their attention from the dueling pair to the other four gentlemen.
“Well then, if you are determined to kill us, let it be so,” said Frederick, despair claiming him at last. “Kill us now, and stop toying with us, for God’s sake. Just do it already!”
“Frederick, no!” Mr. Sevenson shouted down at him. “Think about what you are saying! Your sister is very likely on her way here now as we speak, and if we are dead when she gets here, she will have to face the Clandestine Council on her own!”
“Oh, yes,” said Frederick, looking thoughtful, “I had not thought of that. But Joss, we are surrounded by the Clandestine Council. Surely we have no chance at all against them. They are far too powerful for us to fight and win.”
“That’s the spirit,” said the member of the Clandestine Council, who was keeping Mr. Sevenson trapped in mid-air. “Your friend is quite right, Mr. O’Fear – forgive me, Mr. Sevenson,” he said, mockery obvious in his voice. “You stand absolutely no chance against us.”
“You know that Finnegan O’Fear is planning to destroy you all, do you not?” Sir Rupert spoke up, stepping forward bravely. “He is using you to his own ends, and very soon, when he deems his use for you run out, he will kill you all himself.”
“That is utter nonsense,” the cloaked man scoffed, but his countenance changed. He looked stiff, concerned, uncertain. Sir Rupert’s words had had their desired effect. With the member of the Clandestine Council suddenly lost in thought, Mr. Sevenson managed to finally gain the upper hand, and swing his leg out, kicking the hooded man directly in his head.
The member of the Clandestine Council fell to the ground, dazed, and the spell on Mr. Sevenson was broken. He dropped to the ground as well, rolled away from his adversary, and then jumped to his feet, assuming a defensive position.
“Mr. Sevenson, let me congratulate you on your truly inspired escape,” said Sir Rupert.
“Thank you, Sir Rupert,” said Mr. Sevenson, but the time for pleasantries was long passed. The rest of the Clandestine Council was descending the steps of the amphitheatre toward them, and they had no plan of action in place for such an assault.
“What do we do now?” Mr. Stratford wondered.
“Run?” Sir Rupert offered.
“They would catch us in seconds,” Mr. Sevenson said, shaking his head. “There is only one thing for it; we must stand and fight.”
“But how?” said Frederick. “You said it yourself, Joss, we stand no chance against them!”
“Well, perhaps I should have been more optimistic,” said Mr. Sevenson, but his voice sounded weak. “Truth to be told, I have no idea what to do, Frederick. The only thing I can think of is to hold off until your sister gets here, but what she can do to help, even if she can perform magic...” he trailed off, watching the Clandestine Council advance toward them.
“Wait... my sister...” said Frederick, sounding as though he were on the brink of an epiphany. “My sister is travelling here with Princess Calpurnia!”
“Yes, so what?” said Mr. Stratford. “That only means more people for the Clandestine Council to kill!”
“No,” said Frederick, grinning widely, “no, I don’t think it does.”
“Frederick, what the hell are you on about?” Mr. Sevenson demanded, in no mood for riddles.
“Look!” Sir Rupert exclaimed. “There is a steamboat coming up the coast toward us!”
Even the Clandestine Council was distracted by this. They all stopped and stared as the boat made its way into the small harbour, and docked at the warf. Three people disembarked and began running toward them, but they were still too far away to make out.
“Do you think that could be...?” Mr. Sevenson asked, not daring to finish his sentence.
“Yes, I think it must be!” Frederick exclaimed jubilantly. “It is them! It is – “
Frederick was not able to finish his exclamation of glee, because he was knocked unconscious. Mr. Sevenson was knocked unconscious. Sir Rupert and his trusted valet were knocked unconscious. The entire Clandestine Council was knocked unconscious, and even the supposedly eternally duelling Mr. Blackstone and Pierre Noir dropped to the ground in an instant, out cold.
“Oh, dear,” said Calpurnia, as they reached the bottom of the amphitheatre, and stood in the midst of the comatose men. “This always happens.”
“Calpurnia, don’t you see? This is excellent! Now all we have to do is get my brother, Mr. Sevenson, Sir Rupert and his valet, and Mr. Blackstone into the steamboat, and we can escape the Clandestine Council unscathed!”
“Yes, but where is Abby?” Calpurnia fretted. “We came here to find our nephew, remember?”
“Oh, yes,” said Martha, pausing, and glancing around at the inert men. “Look, one of them has a note in his hand!” She hurried over, knelt down beside the cloaked figure, and took the rolled up bit of paper from his fist. She straightened up, and her eyes swept over the paper.
“What does it say?” Bamber asked anxiously.
“Er,” said Martha.
“Is is that bad?” Calpurnia asked, her voice wavering.
Martha cleared her throat. “I’m afraid so,” she admitted. “The note says, “To whom it may concern: King Macalby is dead, we threw him over the cliff into the ocean, so unless he can breathe underwater, or was rescued by local fisherman, or something equally outrageous, you will never see your beloved nephew again. Terribly sorry, yours etc., The Clandestine Council.”
Princess Calpurnia dissolved into tears, and could not be consoled. Bamber stood by, looking utterly useless. Martha was at a loss, and more frustrated than she had been in nearly half an hour. She was not afraid of the Clandestine Council, because they would not wake up until Calpurnia was a safe distance from them, but what were they to do about the other gentlemen? Could they manage to carry them all to the boat and escape? She knew that every minute brought Finnegan O’Fear closer to them, and that they could not afford to wait around.
“Calpurnia, this is tragic news indeed, but you must pull yourself together. We have to think of a plan, or else Finnegan O’Fear will find us here, and we will all be dead along with poor Abby,” Martha said, putting her hand on her shoulder and attempting to speak in soft tones.
But Calpurnia would have nothing of it. She merely cried harder, and assumed a fetal position on the ground, oblivious to everything around her. Martha sighed angrily, and turned to Bamber.
“What do you make of all this?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Bamber said.
“I thought as much.” Martha sighed. “Well, whatever we are to do, we must devise the plan quickly, or else we will likely all die.”
Bamber was not given the chance to respond. Their attention was drawn by the darkening of the sky. Thunder sounded in the distance. The wind whistled and carried with it the mournful sound of a lone fiddle. And then, like a demon out of hell, or Ireland, Finnegan O’Fear swooped down upon them, cackling evilly.
When he was about one hundred metres from the earth, his cackling ceased abruptly, and he plummetted out of the sky, straight into the ground, leaving a large crater. Martha and Bamber walked to the site of the impact, and peered over the edge. Finnegan O’Fear lay motionless there, struck unconscious by Calpurnia’s indescribable beauty.
“Well,” said Bamber, “that solves the problem of Finnegan O’Fear.”
“Indeed,” said Martha, and then was suddenly struck by a brilliant idea. “Bamber!” she exclaimed, “I do believe I have just been struck by a brilliant idea!” Bamber looked astonished, and so she continued. “I am sure that Finnegan O’Fear has come here to destroy the Clandestine Council, so all we have to do is get the other gentlemen away, and then bring away Calpurnia. We will hide somewhere in the woods, and give the rest of them a chance to wake up, and destroy each other!”
Bamber thought through this for a moment, and when at last he understood, he seemed to take to the idea. “I like it,” he said, “certainly I can think of no better plan. But how are we supposed to transport all the men into the woods with us?”
“We will make several trips,” said Martha, “and we will simply wait to remove Calpurnia until the last possible minute.”
“It’s genius!” Bamber said, clearly delighted, and Martha was pleased that he was finally showing some sense.
And so, one by one, they began to drag the unconscious gentlemen into the woods, positioning them behind trees so that they would not be visible from the amphitheatre, where they left the Clandestine Council, Pierre Noir, and Finnegan O’Fear.
When Martha and Prince Bamber had finally managed to drag their allies up out of the amphitheatre and into the surrounding woods, and had managed to convinced Calpurnia to accompany them (no easy task, as she was still very distraught), they collapsed behind the trees, limbs aching, and strained their necks to see what was happening back on the open stage of the amphitheatre.
Almost immediately after Calpurnia had disappeared into the woods, a safe hundred metres away, the men in the amphitheatre had began to come out of their unconscious state. At first they seemed confused. The Clandestine Council were brushing off their robes and murmuring in stunned voices to one another, and Pierre Noir was cursing in French. It was only when Finnegan O’Fear pulled himself out of the crater he had made when he had plunged into the ground, that they jumped into action.
Pierre Noir, being cowardly, and having nothing to do with Finnegan O’Fear, immediately made a run for the forest while the Clandestine Council was distracted. As he passed Martha and Bamber, they sprang out and jumped on him, forcing his hands behind his back, and tying them in place with a convenient piece of twine. Martha then produced her handkerchief, and stuffed it into his mouth to serve as a gag. Just to be safe, they tied him securely to a tree with a long length of rope.
The Frenchman was outraged, and strained furiously against his bonds, but there was nothing he could do. Probably because he was supposed to be unconscious. Martha brushed off her hands, looking pleased, and then turned to Bamber. “Good work,” she said.
Bamber nearly swelled with pride. She raised her eyebrows, and turned away from him again, focusing on what was happening the the middle of the amphitheatre below.
A great deal was happening, it seemed. They could not hear much of what was going on, but Finnegan O’Fear was standing before the Clandestine Council, and seemed to be making some sort of speech. Martha closed her eyes, and hoped desperately that she had not been wrong, and that Finnegan O’Fear was about to destroy the Clandestine Council once and for all.
“Oh, good God! Look at that! Have you ever seen anything like it!” Bamber exclaimed, his voice ringing through the still forest. Several birds took off in fright.
“Bamber, shut up, you dolt!” Martha cried out in alarm. “Keep your voice down, or they will all hear us! What on earth are you yelling for, anyway?”
But then she saw it. Finnegan O’Fear was growing, expanding, rising into the air. He was eight feet, ten feet, twelve feet high, with no sign that he would stop soon. The Clandestine Council looked on in horror and he grew to enormous proportions, and then finally, when his head was nearly engulfed in the clouds, stomped on them all.
Martha winced. It had only taken one stomp. When he removed his foot to see the damage, the entire Clandestine Council lay flattened before him. He pumped his fist into the air in victory, causing a freak thunderstorm. Lightning struck his outstretched arm. “Ouch,” he said, shaking his hand, annoyed.
Finnegan O’Fear began to shrink back to his normal size, and within a minute, he was his normal height and girth again. He observed the now destroyed Clandestine Council, and laughed gleefully.
“He did it,” Martha whispered to Bamber, “I was right! He has destroyed him, and now I only have to destroy him, and we will be free of his maniacal ways!”
“Yes, but Martha, how do you propose to destroy him?” Bamber whispered back.
Martha had not considered this, and did not have time to. Finnegan O’Fear was staring intently into the forest, just where they were situated. Her breath caught in her throat. Had he seen them? Had he heard their idiotic yelling? Had he simply sensed, using his evil powers, that they were there? Whatever the case was, he was walking deliberately toward them, and Martha began to panic.
“He’s coming toward us!” Bamber said, his voice breaking.
“Yes, I can see that, thank you,” Martha shot back, looking around for inspiration.
“We have to make a run for it!” Bamber exclaimed.
“We can’t just take off, what about the others?” Martha reminded him.
He shrugged, his eyes wide with fear. “Let them fend for themselves.”
“Bamber, I’m surprised at you! I thought you were more noble than that,” Martha reprimanded him. “No, I will not leave my brother and the other gentlemen to the whim of Finnegan O’Fear. You can run, if you please, but I am staying here.”
“Suit yourself,” said Bamber, and took off running, with his younger sister in tow.
“Well I’ll see you in hell!” Martha shouted after him, enraged. How could he leave now, just when she needed all the help she could get? She expected something like this from Calpurnia, but not from Bamber, however stupid he was.
Finnegan O’Fear was climbing the hill toward her now, and she realised that she still did not have a plan. Desperately, she grabbed a large stick from the ground, and brandished it at him.
He flicked his hand lazily, and the stick flew out of her grasp, hitting Mr. Sevenson in the head.
“Ouch,” said Mr. Sevenson, coming out of his stupor, and sitting up. Sir Rupert, Mr. Stratford, Frederick, and Pierre Noir woke up as well, now that Calpurnia had run away.
“What happened?” said Frederick, dazed.
“Calpurnia,” Martha explained, “but she has run off now, and we have no time to speak. Finnegan O’Fear is five feet away from us!”
And before she had finished her sentence, Finnegen O’Fear was in their midst. She recoiled, waiting for the inevitable blow, but it never came. Instead, Finnegan O’Fear bowed politely and said, “Gentlemen – lady – how do you do?”
Mr. Sevenson stepped forward to challenge his father. “You have destroyed the Clandestine Council, Father,” he noted, catching sight of the crushed cloaks in the amphitheatre. “This surely must satisfy you for now. Please, leave us be.”
Finnegan O’Fear laughed, very amused by this idea. “Leave you be? Oh, you stupid boy. Honestly, sometimes I cannot believe that you are my son, but there you have it. No, I certainly will not leave you be. Especially not that awful fellow who tried to drown me. You, Joseph, I will spare, because you are my only son and heir, after all. But the rest, I shall take great delight in killing.”
“But Miss Bright,” Mr. Sevenson said desperately, “surely you cannot kill her. Father, surely you must not murder a young lady.”
Finnegan O’Fear waggled his eyebrows, seeming much diverted. “And why must I not? Joseph, Joseph, need I remind you that this young lady is heir to the throne of Valmell if her brother dies? If I spare her, the Brights would maintain their claim! No, certainly not. She must die. It will not be much loss, in any case, for she is a rather ugly girl.”
Mr. Sevenson seemed more insulted by this than Martha was. “You are insane,” he said. “Insane!”
“Yes,” said Finnegan O’Fear, “but there is a very good reason for that. It all began on a fine summer day in – “
His speech was cut short by Mr. Sevenson punching him in the nose. He stumbled backwards, putting his hand to his face, and wiping away the blood that was spurting out of his nostrils. He looked surprised.
Mr. Sevenson was breathing heavily. “I won’t let you do this,” he said, with some conviction. “I don’t know how precisely I am going to stop you, Father, but stop you I will.”
“I admire your determination,” Finnegan O’Fear replied, cracking his nose back into place, and using magic to stem to flow of blood. “But I really must kill them all. There is nothing for it. Although, now that I think of it, if you really desired Miss Bright here to live...” he trailed off, turning to contemplate Martha.
Martha shifted, uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze. “What?” she said at last, unable to take the pressure. “What are you looking at me for?”
“Actually, I think you are a stunning young lady, Miss Bright,” said Finnegan O’Fear, smiling in a dreadful manner. “I retract my earlier thoughtless statement. How would you like to marry my son?”
There was a confused silence.
“Wait, what?” said Mr. Sevenson.
“Well, you seem so eager to preserve her existence, I just thought you might like to marry her.” Finnegan O’Fear shrugged. “Then any child you produce will be my heir, an O’Fear, and the O’Fears will rule Valmell. It is really a win-win situation, and I do not know why I didn’t think of it before. What do you say, Joseph? It is really the only way to save her from her certain death.”
Mr. Sevenson looked flabbergasted.
“Joss, for God’s sake, marry my sister!” Frederick exclaimed.
“Um,” said Mr. Sevenson.
“This is ridiculous!” Martha said, growing angry. “Frederick, listen to yourself speak – all this time we have been plotting to kill Finnegan O’Fear, and now you want me to make a deal with him? Have you lost your mind?”
“Well, no,” said Frederick, chastised, “but I do think you and Joss would make a lovely couple.”
Mr. Sevenson turned bright red, but was saved from further embarrassment by the sudden arrival of two more gentlemen to their group. Adam Haley and Napoleon Bonaparte sprinted into the clearing, and collapsed near Frederick, quite out of breath.
“Adam! Your Majesty!” Martha exclaimed, delighted. “Oh, but watch out – we are currently at the mercy of Finnegan O’Fear!”
“Are we indeed?” said Napoleon Bonaparte.
“This chapter has gone on far too long,” said Adam. “It is ending now.”
“Enough of this inanity,” Finnegan O’Fear said, growing impatient. “Miss Bright, I will give you a minute or two to think about my son’s offer.”
“But I didn’t – “ Mr. Sevenson started.
Finnegan O’Fear cut him off. “As for the rest of you, I am pleased to say that you are all about to die. I think I will start with Sir Rupert and his wretched valet, they always annoyed me to no end – but where have they gone?!”
Everyone looked around in surprise, to find that in the confusion, Sir Rupert and his valet had indeed disappeared. They all cried out in jubilation, except for Finnegan O’Fear, who shouted in rage.
“So, Father, how does it feel to be outwitted at last?” Mr. Sevenson said with a smirk.
In response, his father hit him upside the head. Mr. Sevenson recoiled sharply. Frederick had seen enough, and launched himself at Finnegan O’Fear, meaing to strangle him with his bare hands, but Finnegan O’Fear was too quick, stepping to the side, and letting Frederick go hurtling head first into a large tree. He hit it with a resounding ‘clunk’ and slumped to the ground.
“Frederick!” Martha cried out, running toward him, but Finnegan O’Fear reached out with his mind and tripped her. She sprawled on the forest floor, the wind knocked out of her, and groaned in pain.
“You grow tiresome,” Finnegan O’Fear said, sounding bored. Martha was not sure whether he was talking to her, someone else, or the group as a whole. “I think it is time to end this little charade.”
Martha closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable attack, but it never came. When she dared to open her eyes again, she saw everyone staring up at the sky. A hot air balloon was descending toward them. She squinted.
“Who is that?” Mr. Sevenson wondered.
Then, one by one, each of the gentlemen slumped to the ground, unconscious.
“Well, that explains it,” Martha said, sighing to herself. The hot air balloon touched down in the clearing; it was occupied by Bamber and Calpurnia.
“What is the meaning of this?” Martha asked, gesturing at the balloon.
“We didn’t run away after all!” Bamber said, looking very pleased with himself. “We went to fetch the hot air balloon, and we have come to carry Finnegan O’Fear away. We will dump him into the ocean, and hopefully be rid of him forever.”
“I doubt forever,” Martha said, not optimistic, “but it is the best plan we have at present.”
She helped her friends hoist Finnegan O’Fear's inert body into the basket. Once he was inside, Martha noticed Calpurnia looking confused.
“What is it?” Martha inquired.
“That man,” said Calpurnia, nodding to something behind Martha, “why hasn’t he passed out as well?”
Martha turned around to find Adam standing there, looking confused. “Oh, of course,” she said. She had not noticed him before, but it made perfect sense. “He is blind, so clearly your beauty does not affect him like the others.”
“Blind?” said Calpurnia, eyes widening. “Is that so?” She looked as though she had just been hit by a cart full of exploding delight.
“Oh, no,” said Martha.
“What is your name?” Calpurnia called, as the balloon lifted off the ground, carrying herself, her brother, and the unconscious Finnegan O’Fear over the tops of the trees. “I must know your name!”
“It’s Adam Haley,” Adam answered, still confused.
“Adam Haley,” sighed Calpurnia, and soon the balloon was out of ear shot.
“What was that all about?” Adam asked, turning to Martha.
“That was Princess Calpurnia,” Martha explained, “the most beautiful girl in the world. Her beauty is so severe, that it causes any man within a hundred metres of her person to faint dead away, unless they are blood related, or, it seems, blind. I am sure you are the only man she has ever seen, who wasn’t a relation, who didn’t collapse at the sight of her.”
“Ah,” said Adam, as the other gentlemen began to wake up again, “poor girl.”
“Yes,” said Martha, “and now she is certainly head over heels in love with you, so take care, Adam.”
“In love?” said Adam, startled. “But she has only just met me. We hardly spoke. How could such a thing be possible? Martha, you are carried away by your imagination.”
“No, I am not,” Martha protested. “As I said, you are the only man able to withstand her charms, other than her family. Naturally, she will be completely infatuated with you.”
Adam coloured, and said no more on the subject. The other gentlemen had now completely regained consciousness, and were discussing what ought to be done next.
“You promised me that I would be allowed to have my revenge on Pierre Noir,” Bonaparte reminded Adam, advancing toward him.
“What?” said Adam, still distracted. “Oh, yes, revenge, of course. Do what you like with him.”
“Now wait just a minute!” Mr. Blackstone exclaimed, stepping between Bonaparte and Pierre Noir. “This man happens to be my sworn mortal enemy, and I should think that if anyone has the right to finish him off, it is I!”
“Need I remind you, sir, that Pierre Noir is a dastardly thief, who stole my eyebrows?”
“Your Majesty, forgive me for saying so, but the loss of your eyebrows pales in comparison to the loss of dignity and honour I will experience, if I am not allowed to finally defeat the man who I have hated from the very moment of my birth.”
“I see there is no pleasing you,” said Napoleon Bonaparte, looking displeased. “Very well, then. I am not an unreasonable man. You may finish him off, Mr. Blackstone, on the condition that you then present me with my eyebrows, which I believe you will find fastened to a chain worn around his neck.”
The two men shook hands, and Mr. Blackstone turned back to face his mortal enemy, only to find him gone. While they two men had argued, Pierre Noir had loosened his bonds, and fled through the woods, coming to the edge of the cliff, and jumping off it into the ocean.
“Damn it all!” Mr. Blackstone swore, kicking a pinecone in rage. “Why didn’t you people try to stop him?!”
“You had just got finished saying that you wanted him for yourself!” Frederick reminded him. “We could not very well pounce on him, you seemed likely to dismember anyone who so much as glanced at him the wrong way.”
“Fine,” said Mr. Sevenson, tired of their bickering, “just, fine. Now listen, everyone, we really must figure out what we are going to do next!”
Everyone paused, unsure of what their next move would be. Finnegan O’Fear and Pierre Noir were somewhere in the ocean; Calpurnia and Bamber were drifting somewhere in the hot air balloon; and no one had any clue where Sir Rupert and Mr. Stratford had gone.
“I’ll bet I know where Sir Rupert and Mr. Stratford have gone,” said Mr. Sevenson.
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
“I will bet that they have gone to find the Crown of Righteousness.”
“The Crown of Righteousness? That is the crown that allows one to rule all of Valmell, is it not?” said Napoleon, looking interested.
“Yes,” said Frederick, raising his eyebrows, “but it also burns the unworthy to a crisp if they try to claim it as their own.”
“Ah,” said Bonaparte.
“I was about to suggest that we try to meet up with Prince Bamber and Princess Calpurnia,” said Martha, “but that would really not agree with anyone here except for Adam and me.”
“Still, I should like to know how their disposal of Finnegan O’Fear went,” Frederick mused. “Martha, why don’t you and Adam run down to the coast and see if you can make contact with Bamber and Calpurnia. The rest of us will go back to Bogbury, to the royal palace. If you manage to find them, meet us there – if you can’t find them, meet us there anyway.”
“And then what?” said Adam.
“Then,” said Mr. Sevenson, “we devise our plan of attack. We figure out how we are going to rid the world once and for all of Finnegan O’Fear!”
“And Pierre Noir,” Mr. Blackstone reminded him.
“And Pierre Noir,” he added. “Are we agreed?”
This seemed an agreeable plan to everyone, and so it was put into action immediately. Martha and Adam went off toward the coast, leaving the rest of the gentlemen to organise themselves and journey on south to Bogbury.
“Is this safe, do you think?” said Adam, as he and Martha picked their way downhill, avoiding the large cliff. “Pierre Noir jumped off that cliff into the ocean, after all. He could have waded back in to shore, and be waiting for us behind a rock or something.”
Martha shook her head. “His goal was to escape. He is probably half way to England by now. I would be more worried about Finnegan O’Fear. If Calpurnia and Bamber managed to throw him into the ocean, has has very likely awoken by now, and if he was sufficiently close to shore...” She trailed off, shuddering to think of Finnegan O’Fear stepping out from behind a piece of driftwood to challenge them.
It was then that they caught side of a dot coming toward them in the air over the ocean. As it drew closer, it took on a distinctly balloon shaped appearance.
“That must be Bamber and Calpurnia,” she noted, shielding her eyes against the glare of the sun. “They seem to have had some luck. Don’t worry, Adam, I won’t let Calpurnia throw herself at you.”
Adam coloured, and did not dignify her comment with a response. The balloon continued to drift slowly toward them, and finally, after about a half an hour, touched down on the sandy beach.
Calpurnia and Bamber leapt over the side, grinning ear to ear.
“We did it, Martha!” Bamber exclaimed. “We threw him over the side of the balloon somewhere near the Isle of Man. The wind was in our favour. He will have a job to swim all the way back here, and by the time he arrives, we will all have left. But where are the others?”
Martha explained quickly that her brother, Mr. Sevenson, Mr. Blackstone, and Napoleon Bonaparte were on their way back to Bogbury to devise a plan to defeat Finnegan O’Fear.
“They want us to meet up with them there, at the royal palace,” said Martha. “They thought it best if they went on ahead, because obviously Adam and I are the only ones who can withstand Calpurnia.”
“Hello again,” said Calpurnia to Adam, going rather pink.
“Hello,” said Adam awkwardly.
“All right, well, shall we all get into the balloon again?” said Martha, looking between the two with some trepidation. She could tell that this was going to be an annoying balloon trip, what with Bamber being Bamber, and Calpurnia sighing over Adam the whole way south. Perhaps she could distract them somehow, but she could not think of a way, short of throwing one of them over the side of the balloon.
The all clambered up into the basket, and before long, the balloon was soaring high above the ground once again. It floated high over the hills, away from the beach. Just before the shoreline slipped out of eyesight, they saw a small black figure emerge from the ocean, and begin running toward the forest.
Martha gasped. Calpurnia grasped the side of the basket in terror.
“What is it?” said Bamber, confused.
“Don’t worry,” said Adam, “he cannot reach us up here.”
“Who do you think it is, though?” asked Martha, feeling her heart flutter in her chest.
“Who knows?” said Adam darkly. “It could be Pierre Noir – it could be Finnegan O’Fear. Either way, we are quite safe at present.”
“Not if it’s Finnegan O’Fear,” said Martha, shaking her head. “Did you see him grow two hundred feet and stomp out the Clandestine Council?”
“And if that is Finnegan O’Fear,” said Calpurnia, “he managed to swim from the Isle of Man to the north coast of Valmell in fifteen minutes.”
They all considered this in silence. The shore faded out of sight, and whoever the figure was, they were lost amongst the trees of the forest, which soon vanished in the growing dark of the evening as well.
To set Calpurnia’s nerves at ease, Bamber pulled the string, and the balloon rose further into the air, and was concealed in a thick layer of clouds. It was cold and damp, and Martha was quite fed up, feeling that Calpurnia was far more trouble than she was worth.
“So, Mr. Haley,” said Calpurnia after an hour or so, and Martha cringed, waiting for the inevitable. “What is your favourite colour?”
“Calpurnia, you blockhead, he’s blind – he doesn’t have a favourite colour,” Martha pointed out, exasperated.
“Oh, of course,” said Calpurnia, quite unconcerned.
“I, er, like the idea of blue,” said Adam.
“So do I.” Calpurnia smiled.
Martha gave Bamber a despairing look, which he returned. Martha thought the inquistion might stop here, but unfortunately, the questioning continued.
“How old are you?” Calpurnia wanted to know now.
“Calpurnia, really, you are being very impolite,” Bamber chastised her.
“I am twenty one,” Adam replied, shooting Martha an uncomfortable look.
“I’m seventeen,” said Calpurnia. “Is it true that you defeated Napoleon Bonaparte in a fight for Austria?”
“Yes,” said Adam, “but I gave it back in the end.”
“That was very nice of you,” Calpurnia said, with a sigh and a smile. Martha contemplated jumping out of the balloon herself.
“I thought Napoleon Bonaparte looked very ill without his eyebrows, didn’t you?” Martha said, desperately trying to take Calpurnia’s attention off of Adam. “I can only imagine what he means to do to Pierre Noir when he gets his hands on him at last.”
“Oh, yes!” said Calpurnia. “I shudder to think! But poor Bonaparte, it really is shocking that he should have had his eyebrows so callously removed. Of course, lack of eyebrows is not nearly so much of an impediment as lack of eyesight must be. Does it impede you terribly to be blind, Mr. Haley?”
Martha put her head in her hands and groaned.
Check back tomorrow for: zombies.
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Date: 2007-11-22 08:39 am (UTC)