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NOCTURNE
By
Elaine Corvidae
© copyright January 2007, Elaine Corvidae
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, © copyright January 2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Anne winced as the coach jolted into yet another pothole. After five days of having her teeth rattled and her bones jarred, she was heartily sick of travel, to the point where she wished for the journey to end. At the very least, she longed to reach the next hostel, where she could get a few hours of sleep on a stationary surface.
As if reading her mind, her cousin Edward said, "I'm beginning to think that there aren't any inns in this God-forsaken wasteland." He leaned over and peered out the window, perhaps hoping to catch a glimpse of lights in the darkness that had fallen over the countryside some hours before. But a fog had blown in from the sea, shrouding the wild, rough coast in a thick miasma that that coach's lamps did little to penetrate.
"I'm sorry that my future home is not more convenient," she remarked acidly.
Edward blinked, and his round face flushed sharply. "I'm sorry, Annie. I'm sure that Greymuir is a perfectly lovely place."
Aside from the damp, and the wind, and the fog, and the fact that we haven't seen a tree in hours, she thought, but didn't say. After all, it wasn't Edward's fault that she was being banished to the far corner of the kingdom, to wed a man she had never met.
Pain sliced through her at the thought, sharp as a knife in the heart, so that she had to catch her breath. Robert ....
But King Robert had found a new love, a new mistress. And this was her reward--a good marriage to a perfectly respectable baron, one whose father had been highly favored by King Matthew, before death had claimed them both. The match overjoyed her family, for it was said that all sorts of wealth had been showered on the previous baron. His son, no doubt, was quite well off.
And after all, my family members aren't the ones who have to live in this "wasteland." Why shouldn't they be happy?
"Oh--I think I see lights!" Edward exclaimed, in an attempt at cheeriness. And indeed, a moment later, the carriage began to slow. "Are we at the inn?"
"Nay, m'lord," the driver called down. "Just the toll gate."
"Curse it," Edward muttered and began to rummage in his bag for their travel papers. A moment later, the shadowy shape of the tollgate's wall loomed up out of the fog. Lanterns hung to either side of the imposing arch, casting a ruddy glow on the dark stone and making the shadows of the guards leap and dance.
As the coach rattled to a halt, a man emerged from the gatehouse, which stood close by the road, no doubt so that the occupants could remain sheltered from inclement weather while still keeping watch on the road. He opened the carriage door and peered inside. Although a heavy cloak swathed him against the damp air, Anne could see that he wore the uniform of a Knight of the Order of Virtue. "Names and papers," he said, sounding bored.
Anne frowned slightly at his tone. The Order of Virtue was charged with keeping the kingdom safe and peaceful. Such a slipshod manner was surely at odds with such an important task.
"Lady Anne Greensward," she said frostily, as he gave their papers only a desultory glance.
"Greensward, eh?" The knight glanced at her with sudden interest, his eyes glittering from beneath the shadow of his hat. They lingered on her face and breasts, and she drew farther back into the carriage, wondering what he had heard about her.
A sudden scream split the air. "Help me! Whoever you are, please…."
The sound of a blow cut off the desperate plea. Shocked, Anne glanced at the knight, expecting him to do something. But he seemed uninterested.
"I say, what's that about?" Edward asked worriedly. "Is it coming from the gatehouse?"
The look on the knight's face turned hard. "That's none of your concern."
Anne narrowed her eyes. Clearly, someone was in distress, and if this so-called knight did not intend to intervene, it was up to others. "I'll be the judge of that," she said and pushed her way past before he could stop her.
The rocky ground bit through the delicate shoes she wore, but she ignored the discomfort as she strode toward the gatehouse. The screams had turned into desperate sobs, and when she reached the open door, she saw that their source was a young peasant woman. The bodice of her simple dress had been ripped open, so that it sagged to her waist. Two knights held her arms, while a third was busy pushing up her skirt.
Anne put her hand to her mouth in horror. "What--what is this?" At her shocked question, the knights' hold loosened on the maiden, who seized the opportunity to run.
She didn't get far. A step sounded behind Anne, and the maiden froze, whimpering. Turning, Anne saw the first knight approach from the direction of the carriage. The flickering lantern-light revealed an ugly look on his face.
"Well, boys, this is a night," he said with a nasty grin. "We've got ourselves quite a prize. This is none other than Anne Greensward. The King's Whore herself."
Anne stiffened, feeling blood rush to her face. "I am on my way to wed Baron Greymuir," she said, hoping that she sounded more confident than she felt. "I would advise you to watch your tongue, and let us go on our way."
Shadow and light played over the knight's face, showing a flash of teeth. "Oh, no. I don't think so. Not until you've paid the toll."
"I say!" Edward finally clambered out of the carriage. "What is this, then?"
"Nothing you need to interfere with," said the knight, turning toward the distraction.
Anne seized her chance. She ran at the knight, shoving him hard to get him out of the way. Her ploy didn't work, though. He was heavier than she had anticipated, and a gloved hand closed hard around her wrist, yanking her almost off her feet. Pain shot up her arm, and she kicked at the knight, but her heavy skirts fouled the blow.
"Oh no," he snarled and tightened his grip on her until she whimpered. "You aren't going yet, lassie."
Edward let out a bellow not unlike an enraged boar. "Let her go, cur! I demand…."
The sound of a hammer being cocked cut him off. Edward paled, staring fixedly at the pistol that had appeared as if by magic in the knight's free hand. "You don't make the demands here," the man said menacingly. "Now, get back in that coach and wait until we're done with the whore."
No, this can't be. This isn't happening.
"Forgive me, gentlemen," said a new voice. "But I don't think that either lady wishes to receive your attentions."
He stood atop the stone wall, a dark figure with a voluminous cloak blowing about his shoulders. From head to foot, he was clad in black: boots, trousers, shirt, and vest. Sheathed daggers had been strapped across his chest, and a sword and brace of pistols hung from his belt. A heavy scarf wound around his neck, and the brim of a broad hat threw impenetrable shadows over his face.
The knight holding Anne's wrist let go, as if he had forgotten she existed. "Nocturne," he whispered, and fear edged the word. The pistol in his hand swung around, pointing at the stranger rather than Edward.
"Nocturne," murmured the maiden, who cowered against the wall. But when she said the word, it sounded like a benediction.
The stranger seemed unconcerned by the pistol now pointing at his heart. "Knights of Virtue--or so they call you. Do you think that you can compensate for your lack by taking the virtue of these ladies? I don't believe it works that way."
The pistol roared, the sound deafening at such close range. The rank smell of burned powder enveloped Anne, and she staggered away, thinking only that they couldn't waste the chance for escape the stranger had given them. She grabbed the arm of the other woman, supporting her, but before they could so much as take a step toward the coach, one of the knights let out a cry of horror.
The stranger still stood, as if no shot had ever been fired. The knight missed, Anne thought, feeling a surge of relief. But how? He would have to be a terrible shot to miss at such a range.
"It's true--Nocturne is impenetrable to bullets," one of the knights cried fearfully.
"Ridiculous!" shouted their commander, although he sounded equally afraid. "Shoot him, you fools! Shoot him!"
More pistols barked. The stranger--Nocturne--laughed, a sound that made the hair on Anne's neck stand up. In a single, fluid motion, he leapt down from the wall and drew his sword.
Their shot spent, the knights cast aside their pistols and charged him. Four on one was hardly honorable, but Nocturne seemed unconcerned. Sword in one hand, dagger in the other, he met their rush with one of his own.
Everything that happened next seemed to occur in a blur. Nocturne kicked the legs out from under one knight and then parried the saber thrust of another. Somehow, his knife found its way into the throat of a third, who fell gurgling and thrashing. His cloak swirled, blocking Anne's view. When it fell back, another knight lay on the ground, blood seeping from his chest.
The fourth knight ran, vanishing into the fog. Silence fell, broken only by the soft moans of the one who had been knocked down. Apparently, his knee had been shattered by the kick.
Nocturne bent and cleaned his blades on the cloak of one of the dead knights and then sheathed them. As he turned toward Anne, the lantern light made its way beneath the shadows of his hat.
He has no face, Anne thought, feeling oddly detached. Reaction was setting in, and she realized that all her limbs had begun to shake. The other woman clutched her hands hard, and Anne could feel her trembling as well. As for Edward, she didn't have to look at him to know that he was paralyzed with shock.
It's up to me, then. She forced herself to stand straight, staring at the void beneath the hat. No--not a void, she realized. There was a reflection there, of the lantern, of her own face in miniature. It's a mask of some sort. But black, dark as the very heart of night, and with no apparent holes for either vision or breath.
"I trust you ladies are well," the stranger said, touching one gloved finger to the brim of his hat. His voice was deep and gravelly, like the sliding of rocks in a stream.
"Y-Yes." Anne swallowed hard, trying not to look at the bodies. "I suppose I must thank you, Mister ...?"
He chuckled. "You may call me Nocturne. As I see you are a stranger to this place, let me warn you--it is not safe to wander abroad at night. Nor during the day, if one is approaching the Knights of Virtue."
His sardonic tone broke through some of her shock. "These were not true knights. I shall report their conduct…."
Nocturne laughed, cutting her off. "Their conduct is well known and understood in high circles," he said harshly.
"That isn't so. When the Ministers are made aware of this incident…."
"I fear, my lady, that I do not have the time this evening to debate with you, especially as it seems you are either ignorant or evil," he said, so sharply that she shrank back from him. "So I shall bid you all good night."
Before she could react, he tossed what appeared to be a small, black ball in her direction. There came a bright flash, accompanied by a loud bang. A moment later, a cloud of choking smoke enveloped her, thicker than the fog. She jumped back with a gasp, inadvertently drawing the smoke into her lungs.
A strange lassitude gripped her instantly. Somehow, her knees were touching the cold ground, although she couldn't remember how she had gotten there. There came a faint tugging on the necklace about her throat, but the sensations seemed far away and unimportant....
"Anne? Annie, are you all right?"
Anne blinked and found herself staring into her cousin's anxious face. The smoke was gone--as was the mysterious stranger. "What ... what happened?" she asked. Her tongue felt thick, and her thoughts came only with great effort.
Edward's lips pressed together angrily. "I don't know. That ... that person threw something at us, and the next thing I knew, he was gone and we had all been robbed blind!"
Anne's fingers flew automatically to her throat but found nothing there but skin. Her necklace ... her rings ... all gone.
A token of my love, Robert had said when he had fastened the necklace about her throat. His lips had been warm against the skin of her neck, making her shiver. Promise me that you shall think of me every time you wear it.
Unexpected tears welled up in her eyes, and she found herself blinking them back. "I don't understand--why did that man save us--then steal from us?" she asked, desperate to focus on something other than the loss of her last remaining tie to the man she loved.
"They say he's a highwayman, m'lady," the young woman said timidly. Her pale hair was drawn back under a plain scarf, and the hand that held closed her ruined bodice was roughened from hard work.
"Aye, that he is," Edward huffed, apparently forgetting any gratitude he might have felt toward their rescuer. "And more--that bit of smoke and sleeping powder was caused by nothing natural. The man must be a rogue chymist!"
Edward's right. What sort of place is Greymuir? First the knights, blighting the good name of their order, and now this. Chymistry. It seems that our highwayman has no qualms about all sorts of law-breaking.
"It's a disgrace," Edward muttered. "The baron has let things slip. Perhaps the theft of the dowry will teach him a lesson or two!"
The young woman perked up at that. "Dowry? You're to be wed, m'lady?"
Anne nodded tiredly. "Yes. To the Baron Greymuir." The less said on that topic, the better. "What's your name?"
"Molly, m'lady." She reached out and touched Anne's hand lightly. "Thank you for stopping. I had gone to market to sell some eggs, and I was on my way home, when...," she trailed off and shuddered.
"Of course," Anne said and managed a kind smile. "Be assured that, as soon as I am settled in Greymuir, I will report this incident in full to Minister Gammon." Even though she could never again write to Robert, even though she would never return to court, she felt confident that she still had enough influence that her letter would make it to the Minister of War and Safety. "He'll be horrified to learn about these ruffians."
Molly didn't seem as certain about that, but she nodded anyway. The poor girl. I don't know how these scoundrels managed to become knights, but she probably believes that all are as corrupt as they were.
One of the horses let out a snort. The feeble lantern light showed the driver walking toward them, glancing about nervously as he did so. "M'lord? M'lady? We'd best be on our way."
Anne glanced briefly at one of the corpses. The sight sent a shiver through her and brought bile to her throat. "Yes. Have you much farther to go, Molly?"
"Aye, m'lady. I'm from the village outside Greymuir manor."
"Well, then, you might as well ride with us the rest of the way. Too bad none of us have any money left to pay for an inn tonight."
Molly hesitated and then gave her a half-smile. "Thank you, m'lady. And I still have my money from selling the eggs, though I don't know if it would be enough. Nocturne--they say he claims never to knowingly rob the poor. Begging your pardon, ma'am, sir."
Edward said nothing, but scowled furiously, as if he felt that the highwayman had given him a grave insult. As for Anne, once they were back in the carriage, she stared out the window into the night and considered the strange brigand.
Nocturne had saved them--or had he? Had he truly acted out of kindness, or had he defended them from the knights only because it would allow him to rob them?
He's a rogue chymist. And therefore terribly dangerous. Although she knew nothing of the mysterious workings of chymistry, she did know that chymists possessed power beyond that of ordinary people. All were required to submit to the authority of the Minister of Chymistry, for otherwise how could ordinary people be protected from their sorcery?
Probably, the man had no conscience. Probably, he had done everything entirely for selfish reasons.
But he didn't rob Molly.
Anne shook her head. Edward was right--this Nocturne was a menace to public safety. Perhaps the baron would be willing to do something about him, especially since her dowry was now in the thief's pockets.
But the thought did not sit easily with her, and her dreams that night, when they finally stopped alongside the road and slept within the carriage, were troubled.
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