The Curious Case of Simon Todd

By Vanessa C. Hawkins

Simon Todd is an everyday accountant, who after unceremoniously falling from his neighbor's roof, somehow finds himself dead and transformed into a ghost on a quest to find dragon treasure.
He is joined on his journey by the horrid scoundrel and gunslinger, Dick Dashing, the sweet and powerful necromancer Miss Baxter, and Jane -- not John -- Darcy (the dragon in disguise who doesn’t quite understand the nuances of gendered nomenclature).
While traversing across the country of Freland, the unlikely party discovers that their trek for gold is involved in a conspiracy with wizard mobsters. Mages begin appearing who attempt to collect Miss Baxter for ransom, and Simon (smitten by the young, undead-wielding wizardess) finds himself within the center of a revolt against the unscrupulous Chancellor Heironymous Grimguild, leader of the wizard mafia. To make matters worse, Simon is confronted by Hell Lords, the four horsemen of the apocalypse, and circus-crazed Reapers bent on sending the hapless accountant to hell! If he can’t get the hang of his ghostly powers, Simon Todd will be less a help but more a burden to his ragtag party of friends.
Meanwhile Jane, the proud purple diamond-backed dragon in disguise who had originally thought to devour the would-be treasure bandits, must decide which is more important: his wonderful hoard, or the increasingly endearing bundle of fools he has found himself amidst.
Can Simon help Miss Baxter evade the mafia of decorated wizards? Will he be able to bargain the Reapers for his life and procure for himself even a modicum of dragon treasure? Will humans prove too sweet for a gentleman dragon’s diet?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Aug 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780228603696

Vanessa C. Hawkins

A life-long lover of horror, Vanessa wrote her first story in the genre when she was only in grade five. It was titled Mutilated, and it warranted a trip to the school guidance counsellor. A lifetime later, she continues to write about anything scary and paranormal though she has since found herself enthralled in the world of fantasy steampunk and romance. A Child to Cry Over is her first attempt at realistic fiction. She’s had works published locally and abroad and has conducted numerous workshops throughout Atlantic Canada. Currently, she is partying it up in New Brunswick with her husband and daughter and a dog she really wants but hasn’t gotten yet.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A Steep Road Ahead

Simon Todd had only just perished, but the fact that he wasn’t sure if he could smell his afternoon tea was much more concerning at the moment.

It smells good, I think, Simon mused, sitting on his porch and looking up at the vast fields of Miss Baxter’s farm. The large, two story white house she lived in with her rather rotund father, Mr. Jeremy Baxter, sat on the top of a green hill like a dab of white cream on a green tea cupcake. Simon Todd, with the same nicely pressed trousers, collared shirt and overcoat he had worn on the day of his death three days ago, was trying to inhale the scent of the freshly warmed pie he baked that morning. He couldn’t tell if he could smell it, or if he was merely remembering its scent and his now ghostly nostrils were delivering remembered essences of its aroma to his brain in an attempt to satisfy his curiosity.

Bah! Simon huffed, reaching into his coat and drawing a kerchief from one pocket. It’s no use. He pressed the cloth to his rather thin nose, afraid the spores oozing from the apple tree blossoms and the fungal parasites clinging to its branches would infiltrate his still fully functioning — to his eternal dismay — allergies. Not everything was lost to him, it seemed. The pie at least gave him a chance to visit Miss Baxter and perhaps subtly invite himself to dinner. Simon Todd’s scowl softened at the thought, and straight up he stood, appearing larger than he actually was on the small porch of his humble home.

He looked towards his garden, admiring the early blooming dahlias bobbing their sunny heads in front of the cabbage patch. The whole lot was impeccably groomed with care, closest to the sun on the left side of his house. Simon boasted a rather green thumb when it came to horticulture. Though, he noted, the white fence in front of his house needed to be painted. It would then match better with the white shutters framing each front window and compliment the lovely floral curtains that brought the outside in. His house was a nice little gentleman bachelor’s home. Simon liked to keep it in good repair.

Distracted by a tickle of something crawling over his knuckles, Simon quickly flicked his hand away with a start, fearing it may be a spider. When he did so — and saw that nothing was there — Simon noticed a familiar individual walking up the road.

Mr. Dashing? Mr. Todd quickly tucked his stained kerchief into his pocket and began walking towards the fence. His face grew a little hot when he noticed the ever charming Miss Baxter, with plump cheeks and full lips, dressed in a white frock on the other gentleman’s arm. Her ivory crook in one hand spawned visions in his mind, and Simon Todd felt his embarrassment flare when the two began to look in his direction. It had been a sum of three days since he had taken the rather fatal tumble off the roof of Miss Baxter’s home. Simon had since been to town once to pick up wheat flour for the pie, and twice to return the wheat flour in exchange for pastry flour. Not one person recognized him as anything beyond a living man, but Simon Todd was more than a bit bashful at having fallen from the lovely Miss Baxter’s roof, in what they would assume was an explicit act of voyeurism, and so didn’t overtly ask if anyone noticed something amiss. If Miss Baxter herself knew — and Simon was certain she didn’t — surely she wouldn’t have told anyone. Especially that rogue Dick Dashing, he hoped.

Mr. Todd straightened, reaching the pinnacle of every inch his height could afford. Together, 5’4 and eleven stone didn’t seem very menacing, especially since he was a good head and shoulders shorter than Mr. Dashing and lacked a great deal more muscle. The scoundrel looked like a highwayman, Simon thought, opening his white gate and stepping onto the dirt road. Mr. Todd, alternatively, had a very uncanny resemblance to a skinny rectangle padded in nice attire.

Dick was wearing a brown leather duster and riding pants with a pistol strapped to each hip. The leather slapped against itself as he walked. The large blunderbuss holstered to his back moved from side to side as he regarded Miss Baxter beneath his large, bulbous nose. Simon Todd thought the man’s schnoz looked like a wedge you’d tuck under a doorframe, one you had kicked a few times to cause a large bump in the middle. The large moustache Mr. Dashing grew beneath it didn’t detract from it either. The facial hair grew down and framed his mouth and chin. He also had an impossibly square jawline.

Currently Mr. Dashing was regarding the young lady beside him. Mr. Todd made a mental note of how many times that scoundrel thieved a glance at the lady’s bosom. At least ten times, which was eight times too many to be regarded as curious. Poor Miss Baxter, with her honeyed hair and soft cheeks, was ignorant of Dick’s unhealthy fascination with her.

Why, hello Mr. Todd! Dashing waved a hand. He was wearing riding gloves, though Simon hadn’t seen him with a horse. The gravelled road crunched underfoot as they came near. Simon sucked in a breath through his nose out of forceful habit and not in an effort to breathe.

Dick. Dashing," he said. Simon Todd straightened his suit, feeling his nose begin to itch as the emerald grass swayed in the fields surrounding them. Mr. Dashing with his handlebar moustache tipped his hat in Simon’s direction. There was a cerulean peacock feather tucked into its brim, as well as an ornate set of riding goggles adorning it. An Arcane rune was set in the center of one lens.

Simon had met Mr. Dashing on several occasions, had seen him use the goggles only once and that was when he was drinking. He had shot a copper coin out of the air and hit Gerald Flincher in the back of the head. The poor fellow thought he’d been stung by a bee and had to pay a visit to the doctor on account that he was allergic. Dick Dashing had a good laugh. Simon thought it was of poor sport.

Regardless, Simon Todd smiled back and then took a moment to regard the blushing Miss Baxter. The young girl said his name, leaning forward in a polite curtsy. Simon found himself thinking the ivory choker around her neck looked quite fetching, especially the pendant that fell demurely down in the center.

Miss Baxter. It… is a pleasure. He stumbled over the first word. His eyes flitted to her face, the choker, her face then once more to her necklace in several quick successions before fleeing to Mr. Dashing’s face— how in the world young girls found him attractive Simon would never know.

Well met. Dashing smiled. Simon chewed on his tongue. I was hoping we could bother you for a visit. I have some important matters to discuss. Dick Dashing paused, his eyes roaming towards the porch. Unless you are tending to eat that pie by yourself?

Simon blinked, following Dick’s gaze before returning to first glance at Miss Baxter and then Dashing himself. Simon sniffed, stuttering again as he looked down at the road and fumbled for the kerchief in his pocket. Of course not. Simon turned halfway, gesturing for the couple to follow. Please, this way, he continued.

The sun was ripe in the sky, but beneath the porch the trio were shaded. Mr. Todd went inside to boil water for a pot of tea for the three of them and offer his guests the fine china for their dessert. By the time he returned, Dick had already lit a cigar, and Miss Baxter was fiddling with the lace adorning her bonnet. It matched perfectly with her white dress.

I hope these matters aren’t too severe, Simon said, placing the tray on the table and offering each of his guests a plate. He felt a pang of worry for the young lady on his porch, but as she smoothed down the fabric of her frock and smiled, Simon felt his anxiety quite assuaged.

No. Dick blew out a cloud of smoke.

As it covered his face, Simon snuffed it up in one big inhalation and felt his nose twitch threateningly. He pulled out his handkerchief as he sat down, just in case.

No, no, Mr. Dashing assured. Nothing severe. Simon frowned when Mr. Dashing flicked a large burning ember onto the porch and stepped on it. In fact, I was hoping to convince you of a treasure hunt. He smiled, pulling the pie forward and scooping a rather large bite into his mouth.

Treasure hunt? Simon watched as pastry stuck to the gentleman’s moustache.

Righto. Dick had a deep voice, full of confidence. Miss Baxter chuckled and pointed to the pie on Mr. Dashing’s face. Simon almost wished he had a beard too, but he was as clean shaven as a peach pit. He also possessed a quiet voice and soft skin with perpetual fuzz around a triangular face. Also, much like a peach.

I’m, Simon paused, not wanting to look the coward in front of Miss Baxter. I’m not sure why you would seek my… help. He was a good gardener, had studied a bit of horticulture back in the day. But at twenty six Mr. Todd made his living in town, bookkeeping for the bank. He never really handled the money mind you, but calculated the daily interest and withdrawals. He was quite good at math, but not much else. His father had wanted him to enlist in the army and fight mages, but Simon was a bit afraid of sorcery. He could never quite fathom why a good mannered young girl like Miss Baxter would study necromancy, of all things. He always assumed she had a fragile soul and so therefore could not bear to witness the death of her livestock.

Well Sir, we need a record keeper of course. A person that can read maps, carry the books. Mr. Dashing took another mouthful of pie and smiled.

Simon’s head perked up. Like a scholar? he inquired. No one had ever thought him smart enough to call him a scholar before.

No-o-o, no, no, no. The amount of no’s that came after seemed rather excessive. More like, he smacked his lips, someone to water the horses and pitch the tents and cook the food.

Simon frowned.

Mr. Dashing leant forward, stabbing the pie with the fork and saying with a mouthful of food, "You are good at cooking. You’d do nicely."

Thinning his lips and sitting straight and stiff as to conceal his distaste, Simon turned to the young lady. You aren’t planning on going with him now are you, Miss Baxter? He felt a sudden shock of worry grip his insides. The young lady smiled politely, twirling her shepherd’s crook in her lap.

I’ve never went treasure hunting before, Mr. Todd. I think it sounds rather fun.

Oh, Simon inwardly cried. What an innocent creature you are to think that!

Of course she will come! We need her magic to help us. Mr. Dashing’s boisterous voice shook Simon out of his thoughts. She may look soft, but her magic’s sharp as a stiletto. Simon watched the brass buttons on Mr. Dashing’s duster flicker as they caught the sunlight. Besides, she’ll be perfectly safe with me around.

Why, thank you, Mr. Dashing.

Simon ground his teeth together nervously. Mr. Dashing. I think I am a little confused. You want to go treasure hunting? Surely you don’t mean to wander aimlessly for a few measly trinkets. Dragging the poor young lady along after you?

Trinkets? No. Dick smiled smugly. I know exactly where the treasure is.

The confidence in his voice made Mr. Todd anxious. Do you? Simon asked.

Of course! He took another bite of pie. I have a map. I just need you to carry it.

Simon summoned all of his wit to gather the questions he needed to ask in an attempt to stifle Mr. Dashing’s insufferable confidence. Well, how do you know it will lead to treasure? Dashing wagged a finger, which Simon thought to be quite condescending.

Because it leads to a dragon’s hoard.

Dragon? Simon hoped his ghostly state would keep his face from turning as white as he envisioned himself to be. Moving a hand to his teacup, he brought it to his mouth and sipped slowly, trying to appear as though he were merely contemplating Mr. Dashing’s words when in fact he was keeping himself from shaking.

A… dragon you say? Dragons were not altogether rare, but they were certainly uncommon. Most of the older dragons were documented and cited on maps, given a wide berth in which to hunt. Mr. Todd could recall two in the world, but they were across the sea and much too far away. One inhabited an island to the west, the other a desert to the south. It was quite illegal to set foot within their borders. Dragons had to be respected, after all. They got awfully cranky when you tried to bother them, and they’d demand more tribute if you even dared to enter in their lands. Simon could only fathom what they’d do if you tried to steal their hoard.

Younger dragons however, were simply enigmatic. No one knew how many of them there were, and rumours had it they could turn themselves into humans. Some educated folk surmised they did this to prevent dragon slayers from finding and demanding their hoards. Others thought it was just easier for them to live amongst everyone else until their powers reached their highest potential. Either way, there were no rules about young dragons that didn’t apply to all the other sentient creatures of the world. So if a wayfarer or two stumbled upon a hoard in unowned land, Simon supposed it was fair game for anyone to take it.

In either case, Mr. Dashing had to be referring to a young dragon, lest he be labelled a delinquent.

How would you have a map? If there were treasure and a map, wouldn’t someone have moved or even taken the hoard by now? Mr. Dashing was his name, not Mr. Smarty Trousers, Simon surmised.

But Dick laughed. Well I made it myself, he said, digging into his coat to retrieve a rolled up piece of parchment. I stumbled upon this place a little while ago, but it was sealed up tight. I could practically taste the gold!

Sealed? Mr. Todd raised an eyebrow.

This time Miss Baxter responded. Mr. Dashing says magic prevented him from entering. That’s why he needs my help. He thinks I can break the spell.

Does he now?

Miss Baxter nodded, causing Mr. Todd to suddenly feel fraught with worry. She was such a delicate creature; surely she’d follow the jack-a-ninny right into the grave! Simon felt his face grow hot at the notion of Miss Baxter being eaten by an adolescent dragon. Mr. Dashing may tote around a few guns, but he wasn’t as smart as a clumsy shave in the morning.

Well, Simon looked down at his pie, willing it to suddenly gain sentience and tell them all what folly this journey was. When it didn’t, he continued with his questioning. Where is this dragon’s cave then?

Mr. Dashing, having expected to unfurl his map, did so with a flourish, pressing it to the porch table. It was a crudely drawn but comprehensible account of their country of Freland. Simon could easily pick out The Swells to the east, as well as Caper’s Creek and the Ebonguard. Their small town of Darlington was barely a spot on the western portion of the map. It sat inside the Great Plains like a pinhole in a square of parchment. Simon and Miss Baxter made their homes outside the town limits in the country, but further west they could see the Helvallyn Hills, emerald and spotted with trees. In fact, they were even now a shadow on the horizon if Simon wished to look hard enough.

Here. Mr. Dashing leant forward, pointing a be-gloved hand to a rather sparse place on the map. It was just north of Ebonguard: the largest city in the surrounding area, and inside of the Helvallyn Hills that curved to the south.

That seems an awfully long way away. Simon pulled the map towards him, studying the lines and hastily drawn markers and labels. It certainly hadn’t been drawn to scale, unless one tree in Birdwood was half the size of the Ebonguard Cinderstone Ziggurat.

It is, Dashing confirmed, scooping up the remainder of his pie to savor thoughtfully.

Simon rolled up the parchment. What I want to know is why you came all the way back here for recruiting. Surely there were other sorcerers close by that would have sufficed to break the spell. Why come here? Simon would have returned of course, if it had meant he could travel alone with the lovely Miss Baxter, but Dick Dashing was recruiting him as well.

A fair question. Dick’s unwavering confidence unsettled Mr. Todd. The truth is I don’t quite trust any other magicians to take their fair share of gold. I may be a good shot, but magic is magic. Miss Baxter’s more honest than a mercenary with a bag full of money. I can trust her to take her fair share and no more. She’s also recommended you. Dick took another puff of his cigar and tipped his chin upwards in an attempt to blow out smoke rings. Simon saw Miss Baxter smile when he did so successfully. So, he said again, looking back. Here we are.

It would be nice to have you come too, Mr. Todd. You’ve often told me how you’d like to travel again.

Again? You’ve travelled before have you? Dick asked.

Damnation, how was he supposed to think on the fact Miss Baxter had appointed him her travelling companion of choice, when this rapscallion was asking so many damned questions! Simon reared back from the young lady’s gaze like a horse stung by an electric fence, before realizing where in fact he had travelled before.

Oh. He looked down at the rolled up piece of map. Mr. Dashing had been halfway across the country and back again. The only place Mr. Todd had ever been to was…Piper’s Toss. He looked down, making sure the lapels on his attire were in place. Piper’s Toss was a small township a stone’s throw from Darlington. The stories held that a magical piper had visited Darlington to gather souls, and after luring its denizens away on a song, he stopped by the Wormtung River to toss the unwanteds away. It was a dive of a town, with brothels and dice houses, and a myriad of unsavory folk looking to milk the honest.

Dashing laughed, the end of his cigar ash falling on his knee. He slapped out the ember. What’s a banker doing in Piper’s Toss? he asked, raising an eyebrow. Simon felt the hot flush of embarrassment fill his face.

I’m more an accountant, Simon corrected.

Rather so. Dick let the question float.

Simon sighed.

If you must know—

I must.

How irritating Dick Dashing could be, Simon thought.

Instead of saying so, he continued. "If you must know, I was securing some funds for Mr. Hershal. He owns some of the property in Piper’s Toss. A business or two. He wanted me to check their books, make sure his other accountants were… of some repute."

Ha! I bet that’s all you were there for. Dick smiled.

It hadn’t been. Mr. Hershal owned the bank in Darlington. He was a rotund man of a jovial disposition, though perhaps a bit eclectic in his tastes. That he owned several businesses there was no doubt. That he owned a brothel in Piper’s Toss was a secret. Rumor was — and to Mr. Todd it was a much better known fact — Mr. Hershal’s daughter Fae had been gambling in one of the dens when she lost a rather hefty bet. A few of the owners decided to throw her into a brothel until she paid up. When Mr. Hershal found out, he was obviously scandalized. He bought the brothel and all the workers too, on the spot to eliminate larger calamity. Made them all swear to secrecy and offered each one a gold coin. Simon had been the one to inform him of his daughter’s ill luck, and Mr. Hershal offered him a big raise when he found out to what degree Simon had kept it secret.

What Mr. Hershal didn’t know was Simon had purchased Fae by accident. It was all rather embarrassing to say the least.

Noticing Dick stealing a glance at Miss Baxter’s ivory choker, Mr. Todd followed his gaze, but only because he had been prompted to. It doesn’t matter a lick to me what you were doing in Piper’s toss. Dashing stood, fiddling with his belt buckle before picking up the map on the table. But if you’re interested in our little trot away from home, you best be letting us know soon.

Simon stood as well, but only when Miss Baxter did. W-well, he said, noticing she had hardly touched her pie. Was it bad? Had the ingredients spoiled? When are you leaving?

Miss Baxter smiled. In two days, she said.

T-two? Dread fell over him like a lead sheet.

Yes. Mr. Dashing doesn’t want to wait too long.

Dick nodded. That’s right. What if some vagabond found the treasure before us?

Well they’d have to be able to cast magic, Simon thought impetuously.

Why, Dick continued, it would be all gone, spirited away before I had even the chance to spend it.

Well. Simon frowned. I assume you’d have to acquire it before you spend it, in most cases.

"In my dreams, Mr. Todd! I haven’t even been able to dream how I’d spend that much money!"

Simon almost snorted. And how would you? he asked.

Mr. Dashing smiled. I’ll figure that one out on the road with Miss Baxter, of course. He let out a jaunty laugh. They’ll be plenty of time to figure out how to spend a dragon’s hoard, together.

Miss Baxter smiled and gave a polite giggle as Mr. Dashing seized her by the middle and hugged her close. The gesture was, in all ways, much too familiar, but the poor girl had such a soft heart she couldn’t form the words to protest. Instead, Simon intervened, taking a step forward around the table, noticing a moment later how the ivory pendant on Miss Baxter’s choker was now hidden inside her bosom.

Two days. I’ll be ready in two days, Simon said, feeling his allergies beginning to act up again as he removed his handkerchief. His response seemed to calm Dick’s fervor for the moment, and almost abruptly the gunman let go of the young lady’s waist.

Splendid! he said, pitching forward on one foot to shake Mr. Todd’s hand, the one not currently holding the kerchief to his nose. It shall be grander an adventure than Piper’s Toss, I bet! Two days!

From behind him, Simon saw Miss Baxter smile. She was still holding her polished shepherd’s crook. The sight of her elation made him almost swoon before he realized Dick was actually grasping him by the hand.

For the three days since he perished, Simon Todd had been certain he was a ghost. He could go through things, sometimes had difficulty holding larger objects, but that someone could touch him, he supposed, meant perhaps he was more than just a wandering phantom forgotten by the Reaper. Perhaps he had a bit of body to him after all.

You and Miss Baxter can meet me in Darlington three hours after sunrise, Dashing continued with a grin. I’m staying at the Obsidian Briar. Opening his coat, Dick deposited the map inside a pocket on his left side.

Well I’ll make sure to have Salvador ready then. Miss Baxter clapped her hands together. It will be good to have him out again. He hasn’t been since he died.

Simon blinked, stepping out of his own thoughts as he remembered the old donkey Miss Baxter kept at her farm. It was a smelly thing, with half a tail and a depressed skullcap where a piece of the barn roof had fallen on top of him last summer.

All of a sudden the reality of the situation was staring him in the face, deadpan like the young lady’s old donkey. He didn’t want to go anywhere. He died only a few days ago. Could he leave? What if he was bound here by some unknown, ghostly rule? Most people hadn’t even realized he was dead. Of course, he seemed corporal, but he had noticed he could drift through certain things: walls, bridges. He had almost fallen through his bed last night while he was thinking of his current predicament. He hadn’t even been able to experiment with his ghostly form yet. Leaving his home was the last thing he wanted to do. It wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t smart.

Simon stammered. He didn’t really wish to go gallivanting around at all, but Miss Baxter, alone with Mr. Dashing: a vagabond… He had to be the gentleman and protect her! Besides, she had recommended him to be her champion in the first place.

Uh, yes, he stuttered in reply, his outer voice noticeably different than his inner resolve. Simon cleared his throat. I suppose I should pack a few things as well.

He had to pack! Pack what? Where was he even going? He had sat down for tea and now he was off somewhere, to do something about some treasure someone had left lying about for some… some vagabond and company?

Simon Todd didn’t know if he was going to enjoy his new life as a ghost, and as Miss Baxter began wandering towards her home across the way with Dick Dashing in tow, Simon finally let out the incredible sneeze he had been holding in for the last half hour, much to his surprise and chagrin.

Good blazes! he shrieked pitifully, skittering backwards and falling head over heels. Knocking the table and the rest of the pie over, Mr. Todd kicked fearfully as several hundred baby spiders spurted from both of his olfactory canals. He swatted at them, smushing them under his kerchief as they crawled over his limbs like living hairs, shouting all the while as his two new travelling companions departed — oblivious to his cries — to their homes and hotels down the way.

Simon Todd had an affliction that was most curious. Aside from the fact he was indeed dead, he also had a horrible allergic reaction to almost everything which caused him to sneeze spiders. This had only begun when he had taken a tumble from Miss. Baxter’s roof.

No. Simon was not sure he was going to like being a ghost. Not at all.

Chapter 2

Oolong Fall Down

Simon Todd was deathly afraid of spiders and this irrational fear persisted even after the young man expired. When he tumbled fatally from Miss Baxter’s roof, it had been the fault of a particularly nasty one. With a fat belly marking the nucleus of eight spindly legs, every time Mr. Todd saw anything like an arachnid he turned a grisly white.

Since many of the ghastly things enjoyed making a home in the rafters, climbing the ladder up to Miss Baxter’s rooftop had been a feat unto itself. It could be assumed that it was the fault of one of those horrid little things that made Simon tumble backwards onto the neighbor’s rock garden, perish, and turn into a ghost in the first place. However, some may say Simon had been served his just desserts.

Mr. Todd — despite his rather earnest plea that it was all a vast misunderstanding — probably should not have been teetering on that ladder in the first place. Poor Miss Baxter, enjoying a pleasant bath before bedtime, should also have had the presence of mind to close her shutters. Can it be entirely the fault of a lovesick young man led astray? What about the poor spiders? They need a home as well as any other. Mosquitos are fattest by the lit windowsills of young girls. It is a known truth, after all.

But whether it was the fault of the plump curvature of Miss Baxter’s physical anatomy, the spiders in the rafters, or perhaps Simon Todd himself for being upon the ladder before her window, the cause is up for debate. The fact that he did so perish and become a ghost is a matter of fact.

What is most uncanny however is that no one had seemed to notice Mr. Todd’s demise. Mr. Todd himself hadn’t even realized until tea time. Simon had been crestfallen to discover his daily tea was as bland as gulp of stale air, and so over the course of the three days he had kept himself hidden away, Mr. Todd ascertained that ghosts — of a certain variety, he supposed — could sometimes manipulate objects, but could never possibly taste things again. A phantom’s physical framework was all wrong when it came to experiencing soft tarts and jasmine tea with milk, it seemed.

Simon surmised perhaps this strange phenomenon was the result of Miss Baxter’s necromancy. Innocent as the young woman was, Miss Baxter and her father lived on the only farm that boasted undead livestock. After tumbling into her rock garden, Simon Todd fathomed some kind of magical spell had been activated, and so though his body had been carried off and devoured by zombified sheep (where else could his body have gotten off to?), Mr. Todd himself had kept his soul relatively intact, as well as a few handy motor skills which let him pass as an acceptably living man on most good days.

However despite this theory, and the several pies Simon baked over the course of a long weekend, Mr. Dashing’s two days, which may have seemed a long time to most individuals suddenly finding themselves going on holiday, was full of panic for Mr. Todd. He was certainly not leaving for a bit of sun and tan. This was an expedition extraordinaire, in that Mr. Todd really didn’t know what to expect. Should he pack an extra pair of socks? The nice green ones that matched his corded brown coat? Or the darker shade that went with a corduroy auburn tailcoat? What about the fact he couldn’t taste jellied doughnuts and sometimes found himself going through objects?

Simon also had to speak with Mr. Hershal at the bank about giving him some time off. How much did he need? Well Mr. Todd wasn’t sure, but the portly business man had agreed without much quarrel. Take the books and visit a few other of my business properties along the way, Hershal had said. Consider it a workman’s trip.

Simon had nodded as Mr. Hershal offered him a rather large ledger that had been gathering dust in the corner. The bank was not only a collection of the town’s money, but a library of old accounting books. Mr. Todd was quite certain there were more forgotten numbers in the ledgers of Mr. Hershal’s company than coins in all the banks of the world.

Simon sighed, slumping a bit at the weight of the old, leathery thing as he marched out from the bank. Dead and working on the road. Mr. Todd felt stressed about it already.

After departing the bank and gathering up a few odds and ends at the grocery, Simon didn’t need to eat, but he certainly wasn’t going to let the others know about that yet, the young gentleman wandered about the town for a bit. Darlington was nothing but a loose string woven into the colorful patchwork of the surrounding Great Plains. Despite that, the main street was littered with bright timber-framed homes set upon stone cellars, and neatly laid cobblestone roads that sometimes arched upwards over the several cozy brooks that meandered about the town. Narrow roads snuggled in between most of the buildings, breathing in the steam pouring out from crowding homesteads. Off the main road, several such streets wound about the town like small threads, stitching Darlington together at the seams and boasting a majority of the mercantile populace. Small shops selling soap, clothing and granary from the plains were jostled together in those roads. So though Main Street may have been the heart of Darlington, it wholly relied on the more solitary pedestrian paths to sustain itself.

I’m supposed to meet him at the Obsidian Brier, Simon mused, his head tipped up in an effort to read the many signs creaking overhead. It was a hearty morning. The sun poured out from among the clouds, warming the ladies and gentlemen already awake and attending to business. A fresh rain had spilt the day before and so the air was clean and fresh in his nose, meaning Mr. Todd was quite certain he could trust his allergies to behave today.

I can’t believe she went on ahead. Simon had been more than a little perplexed when he went to Miss Baxter’s farm that morning to realize she had already departed. Her round father had been milking the cows — the living ones — when Simon interrupted him to ask about her whereabouts.

She’s left already. Went to find Dick, I guess.

Simon had pursed his lip at the thought. Though Jeremy Baxter was an honest man, he had all the sense of a gambling poor man. To let his young daughter go away with two men? Mr. Todd thought it was all absurd. Nevertheless Simon thanked him, noticing a rather angry bruise about his neck as he did so, and vowed to keep his daughter safe at all costs before departing.

Miss Baxter! he called from the street, the sight of her jostling him from his recollections. The young lady was standing before the inn, tying her old donkey Salvador to one of the posts. She was wearing another of her gowns, though she had abandoned the white lace in favor of something a bit more plain and travel friendly.

Simon skipped ahead, holding his hat as he went to greet her properly.

I went to fetch you this morning, my dear. You’re an early riser.

The young lady nodded. Her sunny curls were tied back into a dark blue bonnet.

I wanted to make sure Salvador could walk alright, she said. It’s been awhile since he left the barn.

Simon smiled. I forgot. You must have missed him since you’ve been away.

Miss Baxter smiled, folding her hands before her. She made for a pretty picture, Simon thought.

I have, she admitted.

Simon could never really fathom why Miss Baxter had taken up the act of necromancy, other than her fragile heart and the passing of her late mother Rebecca two springs ago, but nevertheless he accepted it. When she had been made to attend a school council meeting at Grimguild University, Miss Baxter regrettably had to depart her farm for two weeks. Simon missed her greatly when she was gone, though often found himself visiting her bedroom window anyway, on the off chance she had returned early, and not because he wished to see her in a state of undress. Miss Baxter had only actually returned from her visit a week and four days before he took the rather nasty fall from her roof. He was glad, despite circumstances, that if she was going to leave again, this time he could at least accompany her.

Well. Simon looked towards the inn where the sign was in the shape of a briar, befitting its name, even though no words were visible on it. The building itself looked rather squashed between its neighbors, but it was taller than most with a slightly crooked roof and three small bronze colored chimneys. The door in front was framed by two square, segmented windows. Simon thought they were in need of a good wash.

Shall we go, then? he continued, offering her his arm. Miss Baxter, with her ivory crook and dark blue bonnet, nodded politely, allowing him to open the door before accepting his invitation inside. Here, away from the sun and fresh, dewy morning air, the inn was awash in a sooty darkness. Candles warmed the dim interior from shelves and cubbies stationed throughout the large chamber. Simon thought it was odd there were no lanterns in the Obsidian Briar. A large fireplace burned in one wall, its black gases filtering up and out the three chimneys, and six tables, the most that this small establishment could contain, were lined nicely against each other in two neat rows.

Dick Dashing, the scoundrel, was seated at the furthest table from the fire, a young girl on his knee. His moustache was oiled and glinted at the ends like metal hooks in the firelight. Next to him sat another gentleman reading a book. The gentleman had odd looking spectacles dangling from his nose. He looked rather bored, and didn’t look up when Mr. Todd began to walk towards them.

Mr. Dashing, the young Miss Baxter called before Simon had any chance to speak. Dashing had been regaling the young lady on his knee of the time when he had blown all the heads off a young hydra in one blow, killing it instantly. She might have been the proprietor of the Obsidian Brier, Simon wasn’t sure.

A gunslinger knows how to infuse each and every bullet with the chemical needed to slay a beast, he continued, his hand quite inappropriately resting in the curve of the young lady’s back. It’s all up here. He tapped his forehead. His hat, complete with cerulean feather and targeting goggles rested on the table.

At least he has some manners, Simon thought.

But everything I need to kill a monster is in my gun.

The girl smiled. Simon thought the bodice of her server’s dress was open much too much for decency’s sake. She wasn’t wearing a bonnet and so her mousy brown hair fell down around nude shoulders. When she was ignored, Miss Baxter sighed with a nod of her head, walking deeper into the inn.

Why with my gun I could shoot off a round of spitfire, frostfire, or even a jolt of electricity. Something to liven up those old devils. He ran his hand along her lap like a spider, eliciting a giggle from the young lady before turning his head aside to acknowledge the other before him.

Miss Baxter! he shouted, his eyebrows rising to the top of his forehead. Why, either you’re early or I forgot to wind my watch.

The young girl on his lap looked at everyone politely before removing herself from Mr. Dashing’s person and smoothing down her skirts. Sorry Miss, Sir. May I fetch you anything?

So she is the proprietor, Simon thought. How unprofessional.

Miss Baxter smiled anyway, nodding her thanks. Simon walked up to join his two companions, requesting a cup of jasmine with a sprig to stir the milk. Even if he couldn’t taste it he would still have his tea.

Would you also bring me another cup of wine? The gentleman sitting next to Dick spoke without bothering to look up from his book. The young lady nodded, turning towards the opposite wall where sat a large, clean countertop. Barrels were tied up behind it, situated on shelves. Beside them were blinking glass bottles and more wax candles. The scent of spiced stew was wafting from a little room beyond the counter. Simon pondered if he’d ever again have the luxury of tasting spiced stew and sighed.

In either case, it’s good to see you again. You too, Simon. Mr. Todd is more appropriate, Simon thought. We are hardly friends just yet. But instead he replied, You too.

I’d like to introduce to you our scholar for the trip. He’s quite a learned man. Studied at Grimguild, or so he’s told me.

Really? Miss Baxter glanced towards the young gentleman, who looked up to regard her. Simon noticed the round spectacles adorning his nose were tinged the color of saffron.

Yes, he said, picking himself up to stand straight. He was clean shaven, with yellow hair combed back along his scalp. He was wearing a black overcoat, a button down shirt with cravat and black trousers. Mr. Todd thought he looked quite the nobleman as he stepped up beside Miss Baxter to shake his hand.

Simon Todd, he introduced himself, obliged to meet his acquaintance.

Jane Darcy, the gentleman responded.

Simon tipped his head to the side, afraid he may have misheard the man. Did you say John? Simon asked, pleased by the man’s strong grip and polite manner.

Mr. Darcy furrowed his brow. Jane. Mr. Darcy looked somewhat perplexed at having to repeat himself.

Jane? Simon echoed.

The man nodded. Quite right, he said.

Mr. Todd, deciding for the moment to forget about the man’s odd first name, smiled nonetheless, the small bit of apprehension he felt invisible on his features.

I hear you’re the gifted sorceress? Jane inquired of Miss Baxter.

The young lady smiled, inclining her head. Mr. Dashing is too kind, she replied, casting her eyes downward.

Balderdash! Dick cried, giving her a good up and down. Miss Baxter’s the key to this whole venture. Don’t be modest, my dear.

Indeed, Mr. Darcy piped in. If you’re a graduate of Grimguild you must be formidable in your magical abilities. He seemed to consider this a moment. I look forward to getting to know a fellow alumnus.

Miss Baxter cocked her head to the side. What did you study? she asked.

Simon was also curious.

A great many books. Mr. Darcy looked to the side then down to the dusty tome he had been reading prior to their introductions. I studied at Grimguild, but never graduated. I left after I consumed the majority of their library.

Simon made a face. Miss Baxter looked confused.

Apologies if I mislead you. He looked towards Mr. Dashing. But I do know a great many things, so there is no doubt that I will be an asset to you.

Dick shrugged, turning slightly to grab his drink from the table. No qualms here. His moustache bobbed as he took a dram.

Simon was impressed by Jane’s honestly. I’m sure you’ll make the journey even more pleasant.

Mr. Darcy seemed pleased with the remark, and tipped his head forward in thanks. At least the man promised to be full of meaningful conversation. Simon also noticed he had not once