Alex Bledsoe - Dark Jenny

I stood, still awed by the creation before me. “How long did this take?”

“It doesn’t really matter. At least I created my paradise somewhere, and people can see it and appreciate it.”

“Has Marcus ever been to see it?”

“No,” Kern almost spat. “He’s not interested in seeing more proof of his failure.”

“Most people consider Grand Bruan a stunning success.”

“Compared to an acorn, a sapling is a giant. But it’s nothing like a full grown oak.”

“You know, Mr. Kern,” I said diplomatically, “you keep dropping these hints and comments, so I feel I have to ask. What exactly did Marcus do that was so bad?”

Kern sagged, and his eyes grew wet. He closed them tight. “I can’t tell you, son. You’re right, I want to tell you, I want to tell everyone. Nothing, not rock or metal or the dirt of your grave, is as heavy as a genuine secret.” He wiped the lone tear that escaped his eyes and smiled. “I’d hoped you would figure it out for yourself, you know. You’re a smart one, I can tell. Maybe smarter than I was at your age. You know all the players and all the pieces.”

I scowled. I didn’t need a giggled-up old man criticizing my professional skills. “Maybe I’m not as smart as you think I am.”

“Do you play anything?” he asked out of the blue. “Any musical instrument, I mean.”

I was a worse musician than I was a horseman. “No.”

“Learn. Pick something, learn to play it. Best thing in the world for staying sharp. Your brain will thank you one day.” He had an idea and slapped my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll give you your first lesson.”

“No, that’s okay, really.” I held up my cast. “See?”

“Ah, come on, that’s nothing. I’ll have you playing ‘The Smiter and the Smote’ before dinner.”

I tried to change the subject. “Shouldn’t we check on Jenny and Amelia?”

He threw back his head and hollered, “Jenny and Amelia!”

The cry echoed until its response-a lilting “Wha-at?”-drowned it out.

“Just checking on you,” Kern bellowed.

“Fine as wine,” Amelia replied.

Kern turned to me. “There’s no way into the cave but this one, and I pity anyone who riles up Amelia.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Unless you want to join them? Amelia and I share everything. Everything, ” he repeated with a wink.

“That’s okay,” I said quickly, hoping the unwanted mental image would soon fade. With a forced smile I added, “You know, I’ve always wanted to play the lute.”

Back in the cottage, Kern relit his pipe and I again demurred a puff. He handed me one of the two lutes. “Okay, first get used to the weight.” His eyes narrowed. “Hey, you’ve held one before.”

“I’ve tried.” The knuckles on my good hand tingled in anticipation of the whacks I used to get from my music tutor.

He plucked a few notes. “Try that.”

I leaned against the wall; there was no way I could play trapped in those chair cushions. I imitated him, hitting the right notes but with no rhythm. It had nothing to do with the cast.

He winced. “Try again.”

I did.

“It sounds like a chicken caught between two millstones,” he said.

“I do have a bad hand.”

“Maybe your ear needs a cast, too.” With that he gave up on me and began plucking the strings. He sang in a surprisingly strong, youthful voice. Riding my steed, Giggling the weed, Shining knight, you better watch your quest. Bandits ahead, dragons behind, And you know that lady just crossed my mind…

With no warning the door burst open and Amelia and Jenny staggered inside. Both were damp, drunk, and cackling in delight at some joke. Amelia’s robe was open, and the towel around Jenny threatened to fall away at any moment. I wondered if she’d notice.

Amelia filled the room with her larger-than-life feminine presence. She held up the now empty wine bottle she’d claimed before and announced, “We’re dangerously close to sobering up. And nobody wants that.”

Kern grinned, his pipe clenched in his teeth. “Help yourself, ladies.”

Amelia bowed, her sizable, unrestrained bosom jiggling with the motion. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

Jenny was unsteady on her feet and heavy-lidded. She regarded me with a damp, measuring gaze that told me she’d left her inhibitions back in the cave. “Well, hello,” she said throatily. “You want to pick up where that kiss last night left off?”

“Ah- HA!” Amelia cried as she found the bottle she sought. She stood, wrenched the cork out with her teeth, and spit it into the fire. She turned up the bottle and took a long, sloppy swallow. The liquid spilled down the sides of her mouth, trailed down her neck, and dovetailed into her cleavage. She extended the bottle toward Jenny.

Jenny reached for it, then said suddenly, “I need to sit down.” The words were thick and heavy; evidently she wasn’t used to real drinking.

Amelia put her arm around the other woman’s bare shoulders and held her up. “We’re going to lie down,” Amelia said. “Anyone care to join us?” She looked directly, blatantly, at me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.

Amelia shrugged and turned to Kern. “What about you, Cammy?”

“You know I’m always up for adventure.”

“Just a minute,” I said. I took Jenny’s face in my hands. Her eyes were red and watery and her mouth hung slack. Her hangover would be vicious. “How drunk are you?”

“Not so drunk I need a babysitter,” she slurred.

“Do you want to go with them?” I pressed, nodding at the other two. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“Why not? Might be fun. Something I’d never do at Blithe Ward.” Her home castle’s name barely escaped her thickened tongue.

Amelia led her into the bedroom. The tall woman looked at me over the top of Jenny’s head and licked her lips as the door closed.

Kern stood and stretched. “Sure you won’t join us?” he asked, as casually as if inviting me to go fishing.

“She’s drunk. They’re both drunk.”

“Oh, don’t be such a square peg. You sound like that hypocrite Marcus. No one’s making anyone do anything.”

“That won’t make her feel better when she sobers up.”

“Join us, then, and make sure she has nothing to regret.” He winked, and I really wanted to punch him.

Kern went into the bedroom. Through the open door I glimpsed four bare female feet at the end of the bed, one set significantly larger than the other. Then the door closed.

I immediately went outside; I damn sure didn’t want to overhear anything. The horses raised their heads from the trough. They were still hitched to the wagon so I let them loose to graze in the clearing. I climbed onto the wagon’s seat. The sun was almost directly overhead, and I put on Jenny’s discarded hat against it.

Kern said I knew all the players and the pieces. So I sorted them in my mind. If Megan Drake was truly stage-managing things from off the island to avenge both her mother and her sisterhood, as well as take out the lover who once jilted her, she had to have agents in the king’s inner circle. Her son, Ted Medraft, was one, but he was nowhere near Nodlon when Sam Patrice died. Medraft pulled Agravaine’s strings, though, and Agravaine had been there. Yet how could he have done it? If he’d been around the apples, someone would have seen him. So if he did it, he’d have to use an agent as well. That was a lot of fingers pulling a lot of strings, and the puppets could easily get tangled.

This all assumed Marcus was the ultimate target, and that it wasn’t just a simple murder plot gone wrong.

And how did the absurdity of two identical Jennifers, one light and one dark, fit in? And what if this was all about the Jennifers and had nothing to do with Marcus?