The Adventures of Gravedigger (11 page)

“Takes one to know one.”

Maxwell glanced towards the door. “I’m getting
old… death is just around the corner, unless I can barter for more years. And
yes, I’m one of the Sons or Daughters of Malfeasance. My ancestors founded this
city and bathed its ground in the blood of virgins. We had hoped to gain
immortality but it didn’t come unconditionally. Our life spans were extended
but there were so many things we had to do in order to protect our youth… many
of my brothers or sisters failed. They died. Now I’m the only one of my
generation remaining! And the younglings think me addled… weak! But I’ll show
them. I’m going to reawaken our warrior and he’ll do the hard work for me.
He’ll make me young again.”

Gravedigger sighed, having had the matter settled
for her. She’d held out hope that there would be some rational explanation for
all this deceit. But it was simply another case of an insane megalomaniac
twisting others for their benefit.

“What’s going on in the next room?” Charity asked,
grateful that Maxwell couldn’t see what was going on behind her back. With deft
movements, Charity was busily freeing herself of the bonds that held her in
place. It was a skill that had been improved by the trace memories of past
Gravediggers but she had already been quite adept at small bits of escape artistry.
It came in handy during her days as a thief.

“It’s almost time for the reading of the will,”
Maxwell replied. His face and body were shifting again, reverting back into
Myrtle’s form. “I’ve performed the ritual to summon the Headless Horseman but
in order to bind him fully to my will, I have to sacrifice blood of my blood…
my relatives have to die!”

“And then?”

“Then there are things that the Horseman can do to
revive my youth, of course!” Myrtle bowed low. “I’m afraid I have to go, dear.
I need to be present when the Horseman arrives – otherwise, he’ll be free to
roam about on his own accord… and trust me, no one wants
that
.”

Gravedigger paused in her escape attempt, lest
Myrtle see her furtive movements. The gender-swapping villain merely smiled and
said, “And now it’s time to end your life, I’m afraid.” She stepped over to a
small vent and removed the small grating. Inside was a nozzle that she directed
into the room and activated by a twist of a dial. “Poisonous gas,” she
explained, chuckling. “You’ll be dead within minutes. Enjoy what’s left of your
life.”

Gravedigger watched Myrtle step from the room,
carefully locking the door behind her. Taking as quick a breath as she dared,
she went back to work, doing her best to slip one of her wrists free. By
spreading her arms as far and as hard as she could, she was able to get a bit
of laxness in the rope. Her hand slipped loose and within moments, she was free
from the chair. Her lungs were in agony now, desperate for more air, but she
knew that inhaling at this moment would be deadly.

With spots appearing before her eyes, she staggered
towards the dial. She slipped to her knees, fingers outstretched. In seconds,
she’d have to take a breath… but even with the dial being closed, would there
be enough of the deadly gas left in the air to finish her?

***

Li adjusted the hem of her skirt, well aware that
she was the object of several people’s glances. Cedric was seated at her side,
still playing the role of gallant defender. The way his eyes kept drifting over
her legs belied his noble intentions, however.

Koepp, his nose bandaged and swollen, sat as far
from her as possible. His gaze was full of promised menace, though he wisely
looked away whenever Cedric turned in his direction.

Marlowe, too, was watching her, though with far
less spite or sexual interest. He seemed to be uncertain what to make of her
and Li privately wondered if he wasn’t still holding out hope that she would be
revealed as a fraud so he could pocket more of the estate.

Myrtle and the lawyer were the only ones who
didn’t seem to share a fascination with Li. They were huddled together at a
large oak desk, going over papers. To Li’s eyes, Myrtle was merely going
through the motions, however. The older woman smiled and looked attentive
whenever the lawyer addressed her but the rest of the time, she was casting
furtive glances towards the room’s two doors. Was she expecting a late arrival?
Li wasn’t sure.

“How about you and I share a nightcap when all
this is over?” Cedric whispered. “I brought a bottle of wine with me to
celebrate… and I hate to drink alone.”

Li glanced down as Cedric patted her knee. “That’s
a very nice invitation,” she said. “But aren’t you counting your chickens a
little early? We haven’t even heard the will’s contents yet. Might be a
surprise.”

“I think we’re done with those,” Cedric replied.
“From this point forward, it’s just a matter of divvying up the loot.” He
laughed at his own words. “I sound like a gangster, don’t I?”

Before Li could answer, she heard a series of
heavy footsteps out in the hall. She craned her neck to look at the door,
beside which Koepp was sitting. He heard the noises, too, because he stood up,
lest the door hit him when it swung open.

The footsteps came to a stop just outside the room
and for a moment, everyone suddenly became tense. A steady drip of water could
be heard and then a small puddle began to flow beneath the door.

Cedric broke the silence, looking towards Myrtle.
“So you
were
expecting someone!”

Myrtle smiled, covering her lips with a pair of
bony fingers. “You’re very wise, aren’t you, my dear? Not quite wise enough,
though!”

“I’ve had enough of this!” Koepp declared. “I
don’t know what game you’re playing but it’s time for the will to be read, by
god!” Koepp reached out and yanked open the door, revealing a nightmarish
figure.

Dressed in battered, mud-stained clothing, it was
The Hessian, given hellish new life. There was no head upon his shoulders, just
an awful emptiness from which a terrible stench arose. He held a sword in his
gloved right hand and his left was clenched into a fist.

Before Koepp could move, The Headless Horseman had
swung his blade, driving it through his victim’s body with such force that
Koepp’s feet left the floor. The Horseman tossed the twitching corpse aside
without a care and advanced into the room. He raised his sword with both hands
and sliced downward, catching Marlowe in the meat of his shoulder. Yanking the
blade free, the undead killer then finished off his foe with a stab to the
throat.

Li was on her feet now, Cedrick’s hands
protectively wrapped around her arm. He was tugging her towards the second of
the room’s doors – the one that led to Gravedigger’s death trap. Allowing
herself to be pulled with him, Li asked, “Is that what I think it is?”

“If you mean it’s something out of a spook story,
then yes!” Cedric found his way barred by Myrtle, who seemed strangely unafraid
considering the circumstances.

“Get out of the way, you old bat!” Cedric shouted,
trying to push past Myrtle. To his surprise, she resisted with tremendous
strength.

“Now, now,” she cooed. “You don’t want to leave
before all the fun is to be had! You have to get your just desserts, after
all!”

Li pulled away from Cedric as something warm and
wet splattered across the back of her dress. She turned and saw that the lawyer
was dead, The Horseman having hacked him to pieces. The headless foeman was now
turning towards her and Cedric.

While Cedric grappled with the surprisingly strong
Myrtle, Li looked around and snatched up a letter opener that had been knocked
off the desk. She brandished it like a knife, stabbing at the air in hopes that
it would warn away the Horseman.

The Horseman batted away Li’s hand with the side
of his blade, causing her to cry out in pain. He then snatched her up by the
throat, lifting her high into the air. The young Asian American struggled,
kicking and scratching, but to no avail. Just before she blacked out, she saw
Cedric slam his shoulder into the Horseman’s side, causing Li to slip from the
killer’s grasp. She landed in a heap, grateful once again for Cedric’s
assistance.

The Headless Horseman slashed at Cedric, his sword
nipping the handsome man’s face. A jagged cut bled down the side of Cedric’s
cheek. He wiped at it with the back of his hand and then drove a fist against
the Horseman’s midsection. The blow, which looked to Li like it would have
rocked a prizefighter, appeared to have zero impact on the ghostly Hessian.

Myrtle was cackling now, her form shifting between
male and female. Li looked over at her and saw her clapping her hands above her
head. “Kill them all! Kill them all!” she chanted, madness gleaming in her
eyes.

And then salvation came, wearing a mask and
bearing a blade.

The door that Myrtle had been blocking opened
suddenly, revealing Gravedigger. Charity didn’t hesitate, driving the point of
her sword straight through Myrtle’s chest. The point of the blade protruded
out, pushing a large chunk of the old woman’s heart with it.

As Myrtle hit the floor, a look of stunned
amazement on her aged face, Gravedigger stepped over her body and taunted the
Horseman. “Headless! Why don’t you face someone more your speed?”

The Horseman turned from Cedric, allowing the
businessman the opportunity to snatch up Li and carry her from the room.
Charity was grateful for the man’s quick thinking – she didn’t want to worry
about her friend while battling this monster.

To her surprise, a deep voice rumbled forth from
The Horseman. He spoke with a thick German accent and his tone was cruel. “You
have slain the wizard who awakened me.”

Gravedigger crouched in a battle stance, holding
her sword above her head. “Does this mean you’re going to drop your weapon and
thank me?”

“Thank you?” the Hessian whispered. “Yes, for
that, I will give thanks. You have freed me.”

Remembering what Myrtle/Maxwell had said about the
Horseman being unleashed without anyone to control him, Charity felt a trickle
of fear run down her spine. Facing a talking swordsman who was bereft of a head
was strange enough but the quality of his voice was even more unnerving – it
was a dark sound, full of hate and fury.

With astonishing speed, the Horseman sprang
towards her, his weapon slicing through the air. Gravedigger caught his blow
with her own blade and the two of them remained fixed for a moment, each pushing
back with all their strength.

Gravedigger broke the tie by spinning away from
her foe, allowing his momentum to carry him forward. Now behind him,
Gravedigger stabbed her sword into his spine, giving an extra twist with her
wrists.

The Horseman, apparently immune to pain, twisted
and caught her on the side of the jaw with a gloved fist. The impact was enough
to stun Charity and she staggered away in confusion. She was only dimly aware
that he was advancing upon her once more but her instincts were such that she
raised her hand and fired her mini-crossbow without even realizing it. The bolt
caught his wrist as he began to raise it, pinning his limb against the wall.

As her foe yanked his wrist free, leaving behind a
trail of gristle, Gravedigger shook her head in hopes of clearing it. She
tossed aside her sword, choosing to instead draw two smaller knives. With a cry
of rage, she threw herself at the Horseman, wrapping her legs around his torso.
She raised both hands high and began slamming them down repeatedly into the
Horseman’s shoulders. Black, oil-like fluid oozed from the wounds and the
Horseman staggered under the assault, though he did not cry out as a normal man
would.

Jumping off of him, Gravedigger scrambled away.
She was panting now, the exertion of their battle belying how quickly all this
had occurred.

“Death, blood and deception,” The Headless
Horseman said. “Those were the words that best described my human existence.
But do you know what was worse than the pain of living? The despair of being resurrected
and controlled, like a puppet on strings! Again and again, I was brought back…
each time, sent to dispose of those who threatened my masters.”

“Did Samuel Hale threaten someone?” Gravedigger
asked, remembering the name of the man for whom Mortimer Quinn had been
searching.

“He was too smart for his own good,” The Horseman
warned. “When he was invited to take part in the activities of the Sons or
Daughters, he refused. Thus, he had to die. That was a bloody time in Sovereign
and I do remember it well.”

Sensing that she’d struck a nerve of some sort,
triggering some sort of memory that was giving The Horseman pause, she
continued to press. “What about Mortimer Quinn? You weren’t able to kill him,
were you? That means you can be beaten.”

The Horseman grew still, as if contemplating the
past. “Quinn,” he whispered. “How I hate that name.” He suddenly reached out
and grabbed Gravedigger by the arm. “Why do you taunt me so?” he demanded.

“What happened between the two of you?” she asked,
curious despite herself. Quinn’s book told of his travels and recounted the
legends, adding details that no one had ever heard before… but nowhere did he
claim to have personally met the monster.

The Horseman said nothing but a wave of anger rose
from him, washing over her like a tidal wave. In its wake, she saw images, she
heard snippets of conversation… and she
knew
.

Sovereign City, 1793

Mortimer had searched the school for clues,
feeling strangely ill at ease. The empty building had seemed so barren that it
had caused a pang of sadness to rise up in the investigator’s heart. He
attributed this to the gory nature of the crime Wilmer had described.

Wilmer walked him to the boarding house and said
farewell at the front door. They agreed to meet for dinner and to walk to the
Von Drake farm together.

Mrs. Hendricks had been a stout woman with a nose
that seemed altogether too small for her face. She had received Mortimer warmly
enough, though with that same distant feeling that Mortimer recognized from
others in the town. As she showed him to his room, she’d chattered on in a
rambling fashion about how her husband had died three years before, succumbing
to a fatal episode of gout.

Mortimer changed clothes before sitting at his
desk and writing out a list of what he had so far learned. He placed these
papers back into his bag, intending to eventually send it to the home office
when he had gotten more details.

He was considering taking a short nap before
dinner when a knocking came at the door. He rose and opened it, expecting to
see Mrs. Hendricks. Instead, he came face to face with a breathtaking young
woman. She was in the full bloom of her beauty, with peaches and cream
complexion and a figure that spoke of sensual pleasures. She wore clothing that
was a mixture of old-fashioned and modern styles, revealing enough décolletage
to draw Mortimer’s eyes to her bosom. She wore a solid gold chain around her
neck and another on her right wrist.

“Can I help you?” Mortimer asked, forcing his gaze
away from her breasts. It was not an easy task.

“I understand that you’ve been asking questions
about Samuel Hale. Is that true?”

Mortimer shifted, being all too familiar with how
quickly word traveled in a small town. He noted the concerned expression she
wore and something clicked within his mind. “You must be Katrina Von Drake.”

Surprise caused her full lips to part. “Yes!”

Mortimer took a step back. “Would you like to come
in? My name is Mortimer Quinn”

Katrina hesitated only a moment. She knew that
tongues would wag if word got out that she’d been alone in the stranger’s
quarters but she was not a woman wedded to tradition. This was 1793, after all,
and times were changing.

Katrina took the seat that Mortimer had been using
at the desk. She clasped her hands together and Mortimer allowed her a moment
to compose herself. “I apologize for disturbing you,” she said at last. Her
voice had a pleasingly lilting quality to it. “Samuel was one of my suitors. He
was a very sweet man, with a tremendous capacity for learning. I was very much
in awe of him in that regard.”

“Your husband was a rival of his,” Mortimer said.
It wasn’t a question but Katrina nodded as if it was.

“Brom used to play the most cruel jokes upon him.
I’m ashamed to say that I laughed at more than a few of them. I was attracted
to Brom’s physical nature but he was so rough compared to Samuel’s refined
qualities.”

“But you married him. You must have found him more
than just a handsome face.”

“After Samuel vanished, everyone became very
afraid of Brom. There were whispers and rumors that he had chased Samuel that
night. That they might have had words… or that he might have caused an
accident. Brom was the only man who would dare court me then. After awhile… I
gave in to his advances.” Katrina looked down, continuing to fumble with her
hands. “My wedding day was such a happy one. I woke the next day convinced that
things had worked out after all. But then I found… I found….”

Mortimer moved towards her, kneeling in front of
Katrina as she began to sob. He gallantly handed her a handkerchief from his
pocket and consoled her with various words of comfort.

“Why are you here, Katrina? What do you want of
me?”

“I want to know what’s going on,” she said,
looking at him with emerald eyes that shone with emotion. “At first I thought
that Brom might have hurt Samuel… but then after Brom’s death, I wondered if
the Headless Horseman might be real after all.”

“You don’t think Samuel could have killed Brom?
Maybe in revenge for whatever happened on the night he disappeared?”

For the first time, Katrina smiled and the
radiance she exuded was almost enough to knock Mortimer back on his heels. “Oh,
no! That’s quite impossible! Samuel abhorred violence and he was skinny as a
rail. Brom was easily three times his size and all muscle. Samuel couldn’t have
hurt Brom if he’d tried with all his might.”

“Surely you don’t think that some ghost did it.”

“I’ve heard stories about the Horseman my whole
life,” Katrina said earnestly. “But I always assumed that they were nothing
more than that – tales designed to scare little ones. But after Samuel vanished
and Brom was killed, I didn’t know what else to think.”

“In my experience, there’s always a rational
explanation for things like this. Though the townspeople may not want to hear
it, it seems to me that the most likely explanation is that you have a killer
amongst you, one who is using the legend of the Headless Horseman for his own
benefit.”

“I hope you’re right, Mr. Quinn, because if that’s
the case, then the man who did these things can be caught. I’m too young to be
a widow but… I am. I want to know what happened to the two men that I loved.”

***

“She knows we’re going to speak to her father?”

Mortimer walked alongside Wilmer, hands pushed
deep into the pockets of his slacks. After Katrina’s visit, Mortimer had
dispensed with the notion of a nap. Instead, he had paid a visit to the local
blacksmith, who had sold him a saber much like the one Mortimer had used during
his stint in the cavalry. He wore it now in a scabbard at his hip. He favored
edged weapons to guns, finding them far more worthy of trust. You rarely
stabbed someone by accident and as far as he knew, a sword had never jammed at
an inconvenient moment. If there was a killer loose in Sovereign City, then
Mortimer’s questions might drive them into action. It never hurt to be well
armed in those cases.

“I told her I planned to speak to all the
pertinent individuals in the case. Given that both Icahbod and Brom were at his
house that evening, I think I need to speak to him.”

Wilmer looked up into the twilight sky. Stars were
already in abundance and the sounds of crickets filled the air. He had changed
clothes since Mortimer had seen him last and he now wore an outlandish costume:
bright blue leggings, knee-high black boots, and a crimson shirt that was
fastened with gold buttons. He looked like someone’s caricature of a musketeer.
“If all your cases are like this, you should have gone into police work. It
would have been less dangerous.”

“Most of the time, it’s not this exciting,”
Mortimer admitted. He had shared dinner with Wilmer in the boarding house. The
roast mutton had been seasoned perfectly and he knew that rumors of Mrs.
Hendricks’ culinary skills were not overblown.

Wilmer pointed off at a covered bridge leading out
of town. It was in the opposite direction from the route that Mortimer had
taken upon his arrival. “That’s where poor Samuel was done in. All that was
found of him was his hat… though there were bits of broken pumpkin alongside
it.”

“Pumpkin? That’s odd.”

Wilmer shrugged. “It’s a strange thing, indeed.”

“On the way back, could you show me the cemetery
where the Horseman supposedly rests?”

“Are you putting more stock into our legends now?”

“Hardly. But if there’s a killer who fancies the
stories, he’s likely to haunt the area.” Wilmer laughed, leading Mortimer to
frown. “This is serious business. I mean to find out what happened to Samuel
Hale. Alive or dead, my employers need to know.”

“I admire your perseverance but I’m not certain
you’re going to like whatever answers you find.”

Mortimer reached out and touched Wilmer’s arm,
stopping in the street. Night was falling fast, giving everything a slightly
unnatural appearance. Wilmer’s pale skin now seemed to glow with a faint blue
tinge. “I appreciate the hospitality you’ve shown me but I begin to wonder why
you’re doing so.”

Wilmer paused and the humor left his face. “I’m
sorry, Mortimer. I don’t mean to tease you. I’ve always been an outsider here.
My parents moved to Sovereign when I was six years old. My mother and father
fell right into place, becoming one of them. But I was always different, always
getting into trouble, never finding the right things to say or do. Look at me –
do I look like someone Katrina Von Drake would associate with? Or those men in
the tavern?”

“You were with a group of them…?”

“Sometimes they buy me drinks when there are no
girls around.”

Mortimer looked away. “I see. And so you’re
helping me because I’m an outsider.”

“Yes. And the fact is, you interest me. I get the
feeling that you’d look into all this even if you weren’t being paid to do so.
You’re like some hero in a fairytale, come to right wrongs and free the people
of Sovereign City from the spell they’re under.”

“I’m no hero.”

“We’re going to have to disagree,” Wilmer prodded.
“Now, I’ll be your guide and your friend, but you’ll have to accept that
sometimes I’m a fool.”

Mortimer grinned. “Something else we’ll have to
disagree on, I think. You may be many things, Wilmer, but you’re never a fool,
I’d wager.”

The two men resumed their trek though their
conversation was less free than before. When they came within view of the Von
Drake estate, Mortimer put a hand to stop Wilmer.

The farm was ablaze, the main house and the
largest of the barns both sending thick plumes of smoke into the air. Mortimer
broke into a run, quickly leaving the slower Wilmer in his dust. He reached the
front door quickly, noting that it had been shattered. It lay half open now,
chunks of wood upon the ground. He pulled off his jacket and quickly tied it
around his head so that it hung over his nose and mouth.

Stepping inside was like moving into a lit oven.
Expensive curtains and tapestries were like kindling now and Mortimer
cautiously moved further inside, calling out Katrina’s name. A section of
ceiling collapsed to his right and Mortimer began to feel his lungs filling
with smoke. He wouldn’t be able to stay in this place for long but he also
didn’t want to leave with the Von Drakes possibly inside.

A figure emerged from the flames and for a moment
Mortimer thought it might be Katrina’s father, for the silhouette was
distinctly male, though something about it was not quite right.

Mortimer realized what was wrong with the image a
second before the figure came fully into view: the figure wore a Hessian
uniform, complete with heavy winter jacket, but it lacked a head. Where a skull
should have been was nothing but air, though a foul wound on the entity’s neck
left no doubt as to the authenticity of what Mortimer was seeing.

The Headless Horseman raised the sword he held in
his right hand and Mortimer quickly unsheathed his own, barely getting it out
in time to parry a thrust that would have decapitated him.

There, in the midst of the raging fires, Mortimer
did battle with a creature straight out of a nightmare. The smoke was clogging
his lungs but Mortimer pressed on, doing his best to not only stay alive but to
drive back his attacker. As another section of the ceiling collapsed, Mortimer
whirled about and jumped over a fallen beam. He ran to the door, knowing that if
the Horseman didn’t kill him first, then the smoke and fire surely would.

His feet were in the doorway when he felt a strong
hand grip him about the collar, yanking him back inside. He twisted his head
around to see the Horseman’s sword raised high. The edge of the blade gleamed
in the firelight and then it descended, leaving behind it nothing but pain and
darkness.

***

This is not a decision entered into lightly. It
is a tremendous gesture of faith that are you are about to receive.

The Voice had sounded impossibly loud, filling
every available space in Mortimer’s head. All around him was darkness, so
complete that he could see nothing of his surroundings.

You will have three years in which to redeem
your soul. Find those who are unfit for the world of mortals and destroy them:
man or demon, the enemy of the innocent is now your enemy. You will put them
into their graves and shovel upon them the dirt that symbolizes their eviction
from this plane of existence.

On this day in 1796, you will be called back to
this place and you will be judged for a final time. If your soul has been made
pure, you will find your reward. If your soul is still tainted black… Your
suffering will never know an end.

Do you accept these terms? Do you want to live?

Mortimer said nothing for a moment, his mind
struggling to conceive of what was being offered. He remembered facing The
Headless Horseman – and of the monster’s blade falling upon him. Had he died?
Was this the Afterlife?

A sense of desperation settled over him. There were
so many things he still wanted to do – so many places to go. This couldn’t be
the end!

Before he even knew it, he was screaming at the
top of his lungs, “Yes! I accept!”

So be it
, replied The Voice.