Dark Jenny

THIRTY-FOUR

The group clustered around me in the tavern stared in disbelief. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood from the restoked fire, spilled ale, and sweaty bodies. Outside the wind futilely sought entrance, and no doubt blew snow over the coffin.

Finally Angelina said, speaking for them all, “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” I said.

“But… King Marcus died that day,” Emmett, the fur trader, said. “There was a civil war. The island is a wasteland now.”

“That’s true.”

“You mean Drake and Medraft didn’t die at each other’s hand, and Drake wasn’t carried off to a magical castle by his sister and all the other secret moon priestesses?” Callie blurted.

“Nope.”

She put her hands on her hips in outrage. “Then all Tony’s ballads about him are wrong?”

“They’re songs, sweetie, not news,” Liz gently pointed out.

“Then how did Drake die?” Minnow Shavers asked.

“You know the old saying ‘If it was a snake, it would’ve bit me’?” I said. “It was a snake. It did bite him.”

“He died of a snakebite?” Gary Bunson practically shouted in disbelief.

I nodded. “Walking through the grass to mount his horse and lead the Knights of the Double Tarn into battle. It happened right after I left. There was no antidote to the poison. So you can see why the minstrels might need to spice it up a little.”

I met Liz’s steady gaze and saw her slight smile. This was exactly the reaction I told her I’d get if I told the truth. People don’t want their heroes brought low by random, capricious fate. They want bold deaths, courageous sacrifices, bravery in the face of certain doom. They want the ballads and broadsheets.

I imagine the heroes wanted that as well.

Liz, of course, knew the true end of the story. Not that I’d lied about anything: what I told them is what really happened. But I left out a part that was too personal to narrate to a roomful of people. Only Liz had heard it, and she agreed that I could keep it to myself.

Gillian and Medraft were carried away for burial, and Megan Drake was dragged off to the dungeon. She met my gaze for a long moment as they took her out. I expected to see hatred, but there was only anguish. I guess “mother” came before “priestess” and “avenger.”

When Drake’s staff showed up to plan their attack, I slipped from the tent, exhausted and barely upright. Everywhere men in armor clattered to their tasks, and their sudden activity caused Medraft’s mercenaries to prepare for battle as well, even without their commander. I leaned on my wagon and put my head down on my arms, grateful for a chance to close my eyes. I seemed to be the only still thing within miles.

Until I felt a light hand on my shoulder and a familiar voice said, “Eddie? Is that you?”

I raised my head. Iris Gladstone, in her white coat and carrying her bag, smiled at me. “I can’t tell you,” she said, “how happy I am to see you in one piece.” She stepped toward me, lips already pursed for a welcoming kiss.

I put a hand out to stop her. “I’m too tired to slap you. But for the sake of this conversation, let’s pretend I did.”

She tossed her black bangs from her eyes and said, “What for, exactly?”

“Let’s see. There’s helping Megan Drake try to overthrow the kingdom to avenge her family honor, just because you and she share a religion. There’s keeping me occupied so Megan could get to Astolat first and warn her son about how things had changed.”

Iris looked down at the grass and chewed her lip thoughtfully. I could see she was deciding whether to confirm my accusations or try to deny them. She chose the honorable path, at least.

“It was more than just ‘keeping you occupied,’” she said. “A lot more. You know that.”

“Not enough more. But whatever. The real thing I’d like to slap you for is that you helped hide the murder of a young girl who did nothing but hold the wrong plate of apples at the wrong time.”

She looked at me unapologetically. “Then go ahead and slap me. In fact, use the hand I fixed for you.”

“Yes, you fixed my hand. By using moon-priestess magic at the same time you were calling it ‘superstitious hocus-pocus.’ A nice touch.”

“You call it magic. What if it’s just a science that you men just can’t comprehend?”

“Same difference to me. So how many of you are on this island?”

She smiled with no warmth. “You think I’d tell you?”

I shook my head. “I really don’t care, Iris. I’ve known a few moon priestesses, and none of them were as nutty as your bunch seems to be. Maybe it’s just because you were taking orders from a lunatic like Megan Drake. But it’s not my country, and not my problem. All I want to do is go somewhere else. Anywhere else.”

She stepped closer and spoke with the urgency of the converted. “There’s more at stake here than just Marcus Drake’s pride, Eddie. The moon goddess doesn’t insist on blind obedience. Megan Drake has her reasons, and I have mine. And if that girl had to be sacrificed so women all over this island can worship the moon goddess freely, then even though I regret it, I believe her death served a good cause.”

“Did anybody ask her?”

She lowered her head and said nothing.

“Did you get your hands dirty and actually kill her, or just look the other way?”

Still nothing.

“I have one last question for you, then. You knew I’d been asked to get Elliot Spears. Why didn’t you just kill me instead of stalling me so Megan could get out of Nodlon first?”

Iris peered up from beneath her bangs, and for an instant there was that jolt again, the one that said she and I were bound to connect. The memories of our night together rushed back with an urgency I didn’t anticipate and hope I hid. I wouldn’t count on it, though.

“Because I like you, Eddie. I couldn’t stand Agravaine, even though he had his uses, and I appreciated you for what you did, and why. I decided on my own that you were worth saving.” She bit her lip slightly. “You still have time to show me I made the right decision.”

I laughed. Not the funny kind of laughing.

“Laugh if you want,” she said. “In six months, this island could be a paradise where women are free to do as they please.”

“Baby, in six months this island will be ankle deep in blood.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby,’” she snapped. “I am a grown woman and a doctor.”

“Yeah, you’re also something else.” But before I could tell her what, Bob Kay came out of the tent and joined us.

To Iris he said, “I hate to bother you, but could you take a look at my neck? I don’t think it’s too serious, but I’m not a doctor.”

“Apparently neither am I,” Iris said to him, but looking at me.

He looked from one of us to the other. “Am I missing something?”

I couldn’t turn her in. She could’ve killed me and didn’t. I owed her. But just this once.

“No, you’re not missing anything, Bob,” I said. “She’ll fix you up.” The last glimpse I had of her was following Bob Kay into the tent. She did not look back.

I climbed onto the wagon’s seat, turned the horses toward the hill, and departed through the mercenary camp. The bustling swords-for-hire were too distracted by the Knights of the Double Tarn’s visible battle preparations below to pay me any mind. I rode straight to Lady Astamore and gave her my report on her husband. Then I took the first ship leaving port and never set foot on that damned island again.

I don’t know if including that bit would’ve made my listeners any happier, but they sure seemed cross with the ending they got. “That’s the worst story I’ve ever heard,” Sharky Shavers said. “And I work on the river, so I hear nothing but fish stories.”

“Hey, I didn’t want to tell it,” I said. “You guys insisted.”

“And he did buy a round of drinks,” Liz pointed out. “So be nice.”

“ I liked it, Mr. LaCrosse,” Callie said. “Except for the ending.”

“Thank you.” When I turned to put down my mug, I looked up at Angelina. “What did you think, Angie?”

She said nothing for a moment. Then, in a voice trembling with emotion, she said, “Ever since I heard about it, I always wanted to go to a place like Grand Bruan. I wanted to live under that kind of ruler, in that kind of kingdom. I wanted to believe there was a place where power was used for good to keep the weak safe.” Her eyes shone with tears she fought mightily to restrain. “Thanks for setting the record straight for me, Eddie. We’ll call it even on your tab. Callie, get your ass up here and pour some drinks.” Angelina turned and rushed into the kitchen.

We all fell silent, and no one looked at anyone else. Liz silently took my hand. Callie went behind the bar and began refilling mugs.

At last Gary Bunson said, “Not to be a critic, but you still haven’t told us who’s in the coffin.”

“Dark Jenny,” Emmet said.

“Marcus Drake?” Callie asked almost hopefully.

“Elliot Spears,” Minnow suggested.

“The real Queen Jennifer,” Mrs. Talbot said.

“Nope,” I said.

“Then who?” Gary demanded.

“Not who, ” I said. “What.”