Alex Bledsoe - Dark Jenny

Left alone in the swanky lounge, I suddenly realized just how badly my hand hurt. My fingers would barely flex at all, and the swelling reached the second knuckles. I must’ve been really angry to throw such a clumsy punch. And the damn manacles hadn’t helped.

To distract myself while I waited for my room, I looked over some of the other tapestries. One especially held my attention. It showed Marcus Drake as a teenage boy, pulling Belacrux from the tree where it had been embedded awaiting the island’s true king. Behind him stood a younger but still recognizable Bob Kay, and watching over all this was a tall, husky man with a wide-brimmed hat. This would be Cameron Kern, who’d guided Drake’s career from birth. His powers were so legendary as to be ludicrous: he could tell the future, turn the tide of battle, fly through the air, and transform into any animal he wished. He’d once magically caused an entire fleet of invading ships to burst into flame.

If he could’ve really done those things, of course, then he would’ve seen it coming when the king dismissed him and sent him packing. The rumors surrounding the reason were just as outlandish.

Another tapestry showed the Drakes’ wedding ceremony, suitably exaggerated to include thousands of well-wishers outside the castle. Both king and queen looked young and idealistic, and again I spotted someone I recognized: Thomas Gillian, in armor and cape, waiting his turn to be knighted.

A pair of secondary figures caught my eye. They were depicted inside the castle, which gave them status, but far to the back of the witnesses. One was a small, dark-haired woman with enormous blue eyes, in an elaborate black gown that looked funereal. Beside her was a boy of about five, also black-clad and somehow more disturbing.

I held a lamp closer to these two. Their woven shapes were barely six inches tall, but the detail was extraordinary, so that the faces had the individuality of real life. Something about the boy seemed familiar to me, even though I’d never been to this island before. I couldn’t place it, though, before a firm knock preceded the opening of the door.

Thomas Gillian entered. He carefully closed the door behind him, then locked it. He put his back against it, stood at ease, and said, “Sir Robert has put you in my charge.”

“What precisely does that entail?”

“Where you go, I go. I protect you and, if you get out of line, restrain you. Up to, and including, execution.” He said all this with absolutely no emotion.

“I guess I better behave, then.”

“It would be in your best interest. Sir Robert has sent for the doctor to tend your hand, and she should arrive shortly.”

The thought of seeing the dark-haired doctor again improved my mood. “Well, that’s something. Kay opened a bottle; would you like a drink?”

He shook his head. “Given that someone has already tried to poison me once today, I think I’ll stick to my own sources of refreshment for a bit.”

Someone knocked softly at the door. Gillian unlocked it and stepped back.

Iris Gladstone entered. The dead room suddenly jumped to life. Or maybe it was just me. She said, “Hello, Tom. I’m here to check on Mr. LaCrosse’s hand.”

“Hi,” I said.

She pulled off her coat, revealing a sleeveless tunic and skirt. To hide what those clothes revealed beneath a shapeless white coat seemed criminal.

Gillian relocked the door and assumed the exact same position. His eyes grew glassy, as if he were a million miles away. I knew better; he saw and heard everything. To Iris I said, “Working late?”

“Boy, nothing gets past you, does it?” She yawned and stretched, displaying far too many curves for a man in my weakened condition to endure. She ran her hands through her hair. “I had to examine several of the honored guests for various maladies brought on by the stress of their confinement. Alas, they’ll all live.”

“Survival is a courtier’s main skill,” I said. Watching her spread the contents of her bag on a side table was more enjoyable than it should’ve been.

She looked up and smiled. Having recently been dazzled by Queen Jennifer, I felt qualified to say that the royal grin paled next to this one, at least for me. She said, “I should probably offer to stitch your head back on since I bit it off before. Mary told me how you stuck up for her.”

“Don’t mention it.” I gestured dismissively with my injured hand. The movement made it throb anew, and despite my best efforts it showed. It also rattled the chain between the manacles.

Iris turned to Gillian. “Tom, can you undo these?”

Gillian shook his head. “Sir Robert was explicit.”

Iris’s eyes narrowed. “Tom, I’m a doctor, and I’m here to treat this man’s injury, which I can’t do if it’s halfway covered by these shackles. You can lock him up again as soon as I’m done, but for right now, I’m telling you, take them off.”

Her voice grew firmer and louder as she spoke, so that by the end she was almost yelling. Gillian showed no reaction, but after a moment he picked up a padded barstool and crossed the room. He gestured for me to sit. When I did, he unlocked the manacle around my right wrist, then relocked it to his own. He stood right beside me, again as still and quiet as a statue.

Iris shook her head, laughed, and held out her hand. “Okay, let me see that broken battering ram of yours.”

She turned my hand palm-up. “Wiggle your fingers for me.” I did, though the movement was minimal. “Okay, I don’t think you broke anything, but they’re jammed up awfully good. Did no one ever show you how to throw a punch?”

“I’m self-taught. And impulsive.”

“Be careful who you admit that to.” She met my eyes, and the playfulness left her. “I need to straighten them out, and it’s going to hurt. Do you want something for the pain?”

“No. I need to keep my wits about me.”

She grinned with one side of her mouth; it was adorable. “Well, at least they shouldn’t take up much room.”

She turned her back to me and put my free arm under hers. I could smell whatever lavender concoction she used on her black, silky hair. She held my wrist with her left hand, and my index finger with her right. “All right, here’s one.”

If someone had driven a metal rod from my fingertip straight up my arm, it would’ve hurt less. The crack sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a rotted board. “That wasn’t so bad,” I squeaked. Sweat stung my eyes.

“Now two,” she said without a pause. The pain was less intense, if only because I wasn’t over the first one yet.

“Can I ask you something?” I croaked.

She wasn’t one to be distracted. “Sure. Now three.”

I was basically on fire from my right shoulder on down and gasped, “Do you know anything about poisons?”

“They’re bad for you, as a rule. Last one. And this little piggy went… snap.”

And, boy, did it. “Oh, we’re done?” I said casually. I wasn’t sure it was audible outside my own head.

“Wipe your eyes,” she said as she released my arm.

After a couple of deep breaths, I realized my hand actually hurt a little less and I could move my fingers a lot more freely. I slumped on the stool and said, “What about specific ones?”

“Specific eyes?” She poured me a drink from the decanter Kay had opened earlier.

“Specific poisons.”

She test-moved my fingers and seemed satisfied with the results. “You’re a sword jockey, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Do you disapprove?”

“Everyone has to do something. Right, Tom?”

Gillian raised one eyebrow. For him it was the equivalent of a burst of laughter.

Iris asked me, “So what poisons were you interested in?”