Frank Tuttle - Brown River Queen

The last time I’d held a huldra-the real one-I’d nearly killed Evis and Mama both.

“Damn, boy, have you lost your mind?” Mama reached into her bag with both hands and pulled out dried, ragged bird-corpses by the handful. “You know that cursed thing will eat you alive!”

“I was told you destroyed it,” said Evis. “I was told it was gone forever.”

“It’s the only way, Mama.” I lowered the thing. Everyone on the floor had seen and all were listening. “Even it might not be enough by itself. But with this rig and Stitches’s help, I’m going to add Elf meat to my stew-pot by sunrise. Wait and see.”

Mama shook birds at me and muttered softly. Evis kept his rifle aimed at the floor, but I could almost see him trying to decide how quickly he could bring it to bear if I showed signs of being taken by the huldra.

Darla made a remarkable good show of trying to grab the thing. When I resisted, she pretended to weep, keeping her fists balled over her eyes so no one would notice the lack of tears.

“You’ve all got things to do,” I said. “What’s done is done. Let’s get back to work.”

I slipped the tortoise shell back into my pocket.

Well played, said Stitches in her secret whisper. I knew you would find a use for it.

I didn’t reply.

The last time I’d walked with the huldra, I’d become a giant, my eyes far above the rooftops and the spires and the smoke-belching stacks of the crematoriums and the foundries. As I’d walked, the huldra had whispered things to me, things I could only now recall as vague, dreamlike memories.

I’d been offered power. Been shown dark wonders. I’d been able to see into the spaces between shadow and light, and the secret things I’d seen within had allowed me to not just work magic, but bend it to my will.

As I let go of the fake huldra, a small greedy part of me wished for that power again, if only for an instant, and the hair on the back of my neck rose at the faint memory of having such a thing in my grasp.

Mama cussed and rose to her feet, her cleaver appearing in her hand.

Evis dropped his rifle.

I turned. Darla caught my elbow, real tears forming in her eyes.

Walking down the grand staircase, her movements jerky and halting, came Gertriss.

Her stare was vacant. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

Buttercup skipped along beside her, a doll in each hand, holding them up to Gertriss, waving them about her, trying to make her play.

Gertriss reached the bottom of the stairs and made for the rest of the dancers.

“Oh hell no,” said Mama, starting off after her. “Not my kin.”

There is nothing you can do for her, save keep working.

Evis charged after, unarmed.

Three halfdead responded to Evis and his orders to keep Gertriss from joining the dance. Two took an arm each. The third tried to wrap his arms around her knees and hold her still.

She dragged them all, one halting step at a time.

Darla put her head on my chest.

“Buttercup,” I called. Instantly, the tiny banshee appeared before me, her face somber, her dolls hanging still at her side.

I pushed Buttercup into Darla’s arms. “Tend the child,” I said. Darla looked up at me, hurt.

He must pretend to be falling under the huldra’s influence, said Stitches. It must seem real.

Darla pulled away.

I thought back to the times I’d actually held a huldra, to the power I’d felt rushing through my soul.

“I shall make me a manikin of this Elf’s skin and bones,” I said aloud. “I shall take a bite of his heart before it is stilled.”

Mama caught up to Gertriss and had no more luck than the vampires. Gertriss joined the expanding ring of dancers, spinning in slow circles to Lady Rondalee’s nameless song.

Angels above, bear me down this here river,

Bear me safe over snag and shoal,

Angels above, from heartache deliver,

Angels bear me safe and Angels spare my soul

Mama let go of Gertriss and screamed as she danced away.

It took five halfdead to wrestle Evis away from Gertriss.

One of them wound up with a broken arm. Evis had a swollen nose and a black right eye. I don’t think he felt either injury.

Mama wasn’t faring much better. She’d gone after the music box again, this time favoring a rifle she’d snatched from the floor. Mama had no idea how to fire it but she put the butt to good use, smashing away at the music box until the stock broke. She then proceeded to use the steel barrel as a club. Neither of the tiny mechanical dancers suffered in the least.

In the end, Mama exhausted herself and returned to her pile of herbs, where she burst into great hooting sobs of crying.

Buttercup dashed to her side, hugging her wordlessly, rocking with her until she fell silent. All the while, the banshee looked up at me expectantly.

I stirred the damned useless stew-pot and seethed.

The ranks of skeletons waiting for the barrier to fall now numbered eighteen deep. Evis absently ordered his men to cut them down. They did, this time with assistance from the rotating rapid-fire horrors that shot out through the shield earlier. Spent cartridges rolled across the casino floor. Bone-men fell. More rattled up to take their places.

“Sixty-two,” whispered Darla, not looking at me. “Dancers, that is.”

Fourteen dance in their locked rooms, added Stitches.

“That is not entirely helpful,” I noted. I rose. Huldra or no, Elf or no, I’d had enough sitting there stirring the world’s worst soup while my junior partner danced to a cursed trinket’s tune and my best friend died a second time from sheer grief.

Darla’s breath caught in her chest and she moved away from me. I looked around, saw Buttercup running, laying the rope I’d finally untangled out in a circle around us.

It was a game Mama had taught her when we first took Buttercup in. Run and lay string on the floor, in this door and out another. We’d reel it in, her screeching and giggling, until we caught her up in a hug.

Hey, it kept her from jumping through walls.

“Buttercup!” I bellowed. “Stop that.”

The banshee laughed and scampered on. I caught up the end of the rope and tugged, halting Buttercup long enough for Darla to scoop her up.

“Honey,” said Darla, her eyes wary as I gathered up the banshee-hair rope. “What are you planning to do?”

“I’m calling off the dance.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Stitches to try and get the Regent’s lady friend to help?”

“I’m tired of waiting for the Regent to pry himself away from his game of whist. I’m going to see if I can tie this rope around the music box and pull it close to the shadow. We’ll see how the bone-men like dancing. Evis, will you keep everyone back?”

He just nodded.

I stomped away while Darla had her hands full. Mama looked up as I passed.

“It ain’t a half-bad idea, boy,” she said. “You ought to let me do it, though. I’m protected from all manner of hex-craft.”

“Not this time, Mama, but thanks for the offer.”

The halfdead parted to let me through, and I zigged and zagged between sweat-soaked dancers. Gertriss saw me as she passed, and her eyes went instantly wide, though she could not bring herself to speak. The Lady Rondalee kept singing, her voice showing no signs of strain.

Gertriss spun away.

“If you’ve got any river magic to spare, I’m about to need it,” I shouted to the stage.

The Lady smiled and started a new song.

Mean ol’ love, she broke my heart,

though I was always true,

Mean ol’ love, she broke my heart,