The Hound of Duville and Other Stories: Beaumont and Beasley, #4

By Kyle Robert Shultz

Tales from across the Afterlands.

 

In the 19th century Ever After, a dragon hunts an insane alchemist.

 

In an ordinary house, a very extraordinary governess guards a little boy from a terrifying monster.

 

A young gentleman persecuted by fairies engages the services of a highly-unusual butler.

 

An insidious monster seizes control of an asylum for magical creatures.

 

And finally, in the city of Talesend, a bizarre and contagious curse leads to a tragic confrontation for Nick Beasley and Lady Cordelia Beaumont.

 

In these five stories from the world of Beaumont and Beasley, you will discover untold secrets from the past…and encounter a future enemy waiting in the wings.

 

The end is about to begin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kyle Robert Shultz
• Release date: Jun 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9798215475751

Book preview

The Hound of Duville and Other Stories

THE HOUND OF DUVILLE AND OTHER STORIES

Beaumont and Beasley, Book 4

KYLE ROBERT SHULTZ

Kyle Robert Shultz

Copyright © 2019 by Kyle Robert Shultz

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Edited by Deborah O’Carroll

www.deborahocarroll.com

Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

The Janus Elixir

Prologue

1. Who’s Afraid of the Lord of Death?

2. Two-Faced

3. They Don’t Make Bodies Like They Used To

4. The Doctor And The Monster

5. Yo-Ho-Ho And A Bottle Of Poison

6. Dying Is Forbidden

7. The Psychopath Will See You Now

8. The End…Or Not

9. Home Sweet Cavern

10. I Love Beekeeping

11. Keep Out Or Be Embalmed

12. Cerberus To The Rescue

13. You’re Welcome

14. I Am Fearless, And Therefore Powerful

15. Jekyll And Hyde

16. Goodbye

17. Melody

18. Hello

19. Questions

Epilogue

A Spoonful of Aether

My Man Beasley

One Flew Over The Gryphon's Nest

The Hound of Duville

Prologue

1. Don’t Pant in Public

2. Rooftops Make Me Introspective

3. The Canine Crisis

4. The Lady Vanishes

5. Let Slip the Dogs of Warrengate

6. The Curse of the Duck Fairy

7. Wrong Button

8. Nice Kitty

9. Oops

10. Trouble Spots

11. More Monsters, of Course

12. Another Oops

13. We’re All Mad Here

14. A Parting of the Ways

Epilogues

One

Two

Get Free Stories

Book 5: The Geppetto Codex

Also Available: Crockett and Crane

About the Author

AUTHOR’S NOTE

All the stories in this collection are set after the events of Beaumont and Beasley Book 3, The Stroke of Eleven. I strongly recommend you read the first three books of the Beaumont and Beasley series before progressing on to this one. You’ll enjoy the following stories a lot more that way.

The Janus Elixir and The Hound of Duville were originally published separately in 2018. A Spoonful of Aether was released exclusively to my email subscribers in 2018, and My Man Beasley and One Flew Over the Gryphon’s Nest were provided as rewards to my Patreon supporters during 2018 and 2019.

Thanks for reading!

Kyle Robert Shultz

THE JANUS ELIXIR

To my brother, Mark Eric Shultz

PROLOGUE

Not every story ends in happily ever after. In fact, most stories never end at all.

Blah-blah-blah stories have consequences, blah-blah-blah magic’s not dead, blah-blah-blah Afterlands. Shorter version: once upon a time, a detective who thought magic and monsters were fake got turned into a monster by magic. Very ironic, the whole thing.

Now that we’ve got that over with, let’s skip on to the dragons, shall we?

You may or may not have heard that unfortunate detective’s story. But either way, it isn’t important. This isn’t his story. It’s mine.

My name is Malcolm Blackfire, and I am a dragon. I’m also an archaeologist, but I think you’ll agree that’s not nearly as exciting. Dragons do make excellent archaeologists, though.

Long before that detective teamed up with a rather eccentric young enchantress and started investigating magical phenomena—long before either of them were born, actually—I was the one people turned to when magic went awry in Talesend. I wasn’t a detective, of course. But considering how many magical artifacts from the days of fairy tales tend to turn up in the modern era, an archaeologist is often just what the situation calls for.

Not to mention the part about being a dragon. That’s quite useful as well. Dragons also make excellent problem-solvers.

In the early nineteenth century, I dealt with troublesome magical relics alongside my…assistant, Melody Nightingale. She’s…I mean, she was…a jewel thief I met under unusual circumstances. It’s a long story that I shall have to relate elsewhere.

This is the story of the Janus Elixir, and how Melody and I first encountered the man who created it.

It’s a story of secrets and shadows that would stretch far into the future, threatening the whole of the Afterlands.

And it’s a story which may not yet be over.

CHAPTER 1

WHO’S AFRAID OF THE LORD OF DEATH?

The United Kingdom of Camelot

Thanatos Abbey

1816 E.A.

I t’s not as bad as it sounds, I said, as the tall iron gate of Thanatos Abbey swung open of its own accord. I tugged at the lapels of my crimson leather greatcoat—my favorite one, with an appropriately scaly texture to the material—and a bitter wind from within the Abbey’s walls disarranged my red hair. Or as bad as it looks, I added, as I peered through the gate at the forbidden cemetery inside.

Melody Nightingale hugged herself and shivered. Naturally, because she never listened to me, she hadn’t selected the right outfit for this sort of outing. Challenging fashion norms as usual, she wore a coatdress with a divided skirt over trousers and long boots, but she didn’t have a cloak, or even a scarf.

Well, she said, brushing back a stray lock of her dark hair, "it sounds like we’re about to meet the god of death, and it looks as if we might be requiring his services ere long, so I look forward to seeing you explain how that’s not scary." Her Northern-counties drawl gave her words an additional layer of sarcasm. Though not as much as my crisp Caledonian burr did for mine. Besides, dragons invented sarcasm.

I shrugged. "Yes, well, when you put it that way. Would you rather wait outside?"

Of course not. Melody marched through the gate. Try to keep up, dragon-man.

I’m not a dragon-man, I retorted as I followed her. I’m a dragon, full stop. Ancient and terrible. Don’t let the dashingly-handsome-twenty-eight-year-old-human disguise mislead you.

Sure, whatever. She beckoned me. Come on, then, Mr. Ancient-and-Terrible.

There was a striking difference between the world outside the Abbey’s walls and the realm within. The graveyard and accompanying cathedral were on the edge of the city of Talesend, so the neighborhood was far from cheerful. The buildings were all from bygone ages, which meant they were now crumbling and sad-looking. But as we entered the cemetery, the air became colder and the shadows grew longer. The sense of abandonment and sadness gave way to a chilling fear. Plus, the ravens flying about and croaking nevermore in sinister tones did little to improve the ambience.

You’re cold, I said, watching Melody shiver. I wonder what that feels like.

I’m glad you find it interesting, Melody grumbled.

I do. Humans fascinate me sometimes. Only sometimes, though; mostly they’re quite tedious.

A gentleman would be offering me his coat right now. Particularly a gentleman who doesn’t need his coat because he’s a dragon and can regulate his own body temperature at will.

Ah, there’s an idea. Sorry, didn’t think of it. I pulled off my coat and threw it around her shoulders. Want any more of my clothes? You can have them all if you like. I only wear them to fit in; I don’t really need them.

Yes, said Melody hastily, you do. Particularly when we’re this close to a church.

It’s not a church, as such. Just looks like one as a cover for the god-cemetery. I glanced down at my ridiculous waistcoat and breeches. I’ll leave them on, but I do hope that your species’ conventions of fashion improve sometime within the next two hundred years or so, or I’ll be forced to violate the Treaty of Borogove and return to my dragon shape permanently. Either that, or stay human and go nude.

I’m not sure which one of those would make more of a stir, said Melody, pulling my coat tighter around herself. Where are we supposed to meet...him, again?

By the grave of Balder. You can’t miss it; the thing’s festooned with padlocks. Ah, there it is. I motioned to one of the mausoleums, the door of which was liberally supplied with at least eight locks.

Melody looked nervous. "Those are only to stop people getting in, right?"

I shook my head. Not just that, no.

Of course. Should have guessed. As we came to a halt next to the mausoleum, Melody turned to me. So, go on.

My brow wrinkled in confusion. Go on and what?

Explain to me why a cemetery full of dead gods isn’t scary. She took in the gnarled, leafless trees all around us and the dozens of cracked, listing headstones. And, for that matter, why the god of death isn’t scary, since he’s apparently still alive despite the contradiction in terms.

I paused a moment, mulling over how best to make her understand. I’m not saying he’s harmless, exactly. Or that this place isn’t dangerous. But what you need to realize is that these beings aren’t actually gods. At least, not in the spiritual, biblical sense. We use the word because it fits them best, but in this context, it means something very different from the uppercase-G God. He’s another matter entirely, beyond all of this.

Melody nodded. With you so far. What are these gods, then?

To cut a long story short—

Yes, please do.

—they used to be human. Back at the beginning of time, when nearly all sentient creatures were human. Then magic was unleashed by Pandora, the Mother of Humanity, when she disobeyed the First Command and opened the Book of Knowledge. On that day, her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren and so on were touched by the raw forces of magic, and then—

Wait, wait, back up, said Melody. ‘On that day’…how was she still alive, after all those generations?

Humans lived a lot longer back then, I said impatiently. Let’s not get caught up in side issues. You’re the one who wanted this to be short, remember?

Fine, whatever. Continue.

The humans affected by wild magic gained incredible, almost unlimited power. There were no runes or laws to control magic in those days, so things became rather chaotic. The magic-powered humans set themselves up as the rulers of those who hadn’t been altered. They began to build an empire that threatened to cover the whole world.

So what happened? asked Melody.

Something—someone—intervened.

Uppercase God?

I declined to answer the question. One day, just as they were working on getting their empire started, most of the non-godly humans—except for a small group that became your ancestors—were transformed into other creatures. The magical races that exist today: minotaurs, dryads, centaurs, and so on. Not only that, but their languages were mixed up, which meant that the worldwide empire idea was pretty much finished. They all scattered and formed different nations, and the gods—who no longer had a nice, united gathering of human subjects—went their separate ways as well. A while later, the Fae—one of the species born from the Sundering—created the runic alphabet and bound magic under precise laws so that the gods’ powers were weakened even further.

Melody blinked. Right. I see.

I half-smiled. And that, Miss Nightingale, is the pre-history of the world according to Malcolm Blackfire. I left out the parts about the Deluge and the Blood Charm; we’ll go over all that some other day.

What about dragons, though?

What about them?

Were they once human too?

Certainly not! I thundered. The very idea. Dragons were always dragons. In fact, we used to rule this entire world before... I broke off. Never mind. That’s something else that should probably wait for another time.

I agree, said a deep, sonorous voice from behind us, causing both of us to jump in surprise and spin around. I asked you here to help with a problem, Malchazor. Not to run tours and give history lectures.

Ah, I said, quickly regaining my composure. I smiled up at the figure towering over us. Melody, allow me to introduce you to Hades, the god of death. Well, one of them, anyway.

Melody gulped. Ah. I thought you’d be...you know. More dead-ish.

I knew what she meant. Hades hardly matched the popular image of a withered, pale, corpse-like man or a walking skeleton. He was well over six feet in height and broad across the shoulders. His muscular frame was clad in a dark robe, and his obsidian skin blended with the shadows. His hair and beard were cropped close, and his eyes glowed with a bright golden light.

He’s scary, but he doesn’t look evil, said Melody. Not exactly. He’s just...

Indomitable, I supplied. That’s death for you.

He’s also standing right here, said Hades, in a gruff Talesend accent. Are you gonna quit gawking at me and do your jobs any time soon?

Melody’s face turned bright red. Yes. Of course. Sorry.

The god’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. Where’d you find her, then? he asked me.

That’s a very long story, I said. Fascinating, though. And strictly speaking, I didn’t find her, she found me. The odd look in Hades’ glowing eyes worried me. Why do you ask?

Before Hades could reply, a huge form shoved past him, nearly knocking him off his feet, and leapt on me. I fell back with a surprised Oof! as something big and dark and slobbery began licking my face with more tongues than any creature ought to have.

Cerberus! Over the happy barking and slurping, I heard a chain rattle, and the enormous three-headed dog finally withdrew. Come on, boy, said Hades. Let ‘im up.

Sorry! said a bright, cheery female voice that I knew well. I can’t quite hold him when he gets excited. The newcomer had the appearance of a woman in her thirties, though she was far more ancient than that. Light shone from her skin and her white robes. Her golden hair fell down past her shoulders, and she wore a tiara crafted from golden leaves. Her radiance seemed to permeate even the darkest corners of this place as she gave us a welcoming smile.

I grabbed Melody’s arm and used the sleeve of the coat she’d borrowed from me to wipe monster-dog saliva off my face.

She grimaced. Eugh.

What? It’s my coat. I motioned to the beautiful woman standing before us. Melody, I said, this is Persephone, Queen of the Underworld and of Springtime.

Those don’t exactly go together, Melody murmured.

Hush, I warned.

Malcolm! Persephone held out her hand, and I kissed it tenderly. So nice to see you again. She bowed to Melody. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss—

Nightingale. Melody Nightingale. Melody clasped the queen’s hand warmly.

What a pretty name, said Persephone.

I have a feeling it’s not her real one, I said.

No, murmured Hades, as he frowned at Melody. It isn’t. He studied her for a moment, then abruptly snapped out of his ominous mood and directed his attention back to me. Want to examine the scene of the crime, then?

Excellent. I clapped my hands. Come along, Melody.

Hades raised an eyebrow. Do we really need her? Perhaps she could stay with Persephone while we—

You do need me, actually, said Melody. You’ve asked Malcolm here to investigate a theft. I happen to be an expert on that subject.

You’re a policewoman? asked Persephone, as she stroked each of Cerberus’ heads in turn, careful not to neglect any of them.

The opposite, said Melody, without hesitation. I’m a thief. She glanced at me. Or rather, I was, before a recent change in career.

Hades rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Malcolm? I thought you were my friend, and you’ve got the gall to bring a thief here, of all places?"

I assure you, Melody huffed, I was never involved in stealing the sort of things you keep here. I don’t rob tombs; it’s against my principles. No matter how old the tombs in question might be.

Well, said Hades, she’s better than you in that respect, isn’t she, Malcolm?

I’m an archaeologist! Taking things from tombs is my job. And it’s not as if the occupants complain. Usually. I cast an accusing glance at Melody. Besides, don’t act as if you’re standing on the moral high ground. The only reason why you don’t rob tombs is because you’re squeamish about death. No offense, Hades.

None taken, he replied. Just because I’m the god of death doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Persephone patted his arm sympathetically, and he clasped her hand. A wealth of unspoken words seemed to pass between them as their eyes met.

I want to know their story, Melody whispered.

Some other time. I cleared my throat and addressed Hades again. So what exactly is going on? Your message was frustratingly vague. What’s been stolen?

A brain, said Hades.

Melody made a face. Seriously?

My jaw fell. Wait a minute. You mean…

Yes, said Hades, with a solemn nod. Somebody has taken the brain of a god.

CHAPTER 2

TWO-FACED

W hy would anyone steal a god’s brain? said Melody, as we followed Hades across the graveyard to a small mausoleum near the edge.

You should already know the answer to that, I replied. You’re aware of how alchemy works.

Yes. Potion-magic. But that’s done with blood and hair and things from magical creatures.

And vital organs, I added. If the potion-maker is cooking up something particularly dark.

Melody shuddered. "Right. But still, we’re talking about creatures."

Indeed, we are. And if things extracted from magical creatures can be used to make potions, imagine what one could do with pieces carved out of gods.

Melody’s mouth made an o. You think that’s what’s going on here? Somebody’s trying to create a…super-potion?

Possibly, for lack of a better term. I rubbed my chin. At this point, I have more than one theory. Let’s examine the clues before we decide which path to follow.

Once we reached the mausoleum, Hades pressed his hand against the door. Locks clicked and whirred, and runes hovered in the air around the door before flickering and fading away. Then the stone panel slid aside to reveal the pitch-dark interior of the tomb. I snapped my fingers, and an orb of fire blazed to life near the ceiling.

Watch your step, said Hades. Bit of a mess in here.

The floor was covered with stone fragments. Mentally piecing a few of them together, I realized that they had once formed a rectangular slab of stone—one that should have been covering the sarcophagus in the center of the room. The walls were adorned with frescoes of a variety of scenes, from ancient history all the way to some time in the fifteenth century, if my guess was right. Most of them were fairly mundane: scholars studying, couples kissing, children playing. But each of them featured the same figure. A man with two faces, one in the front and one in the back.

Which made sense, given that the skeletal corpse in the sarcophagus had two faces on its skull. The top of the skull, however, was missing, and the cranium was empty.

I noticed that Melody’s face had gone pale. You all right? I asked.

She took a deep breath. I’m fine. Not to worry. This isn’t my first dead body, and it’s been dead longer than most of the ones I’ve seen in the past. Her expression turned from nausea to curiosity. First one I’ve seen that had two faces, though. She looked around at the frescoes. "What was he the god of, exactly?"

A number of things, I said. Beginnings, gates, transitions, time, doorways, passages, endings. Basically, he was the god of dualities. Two in one. Hence the faces. Rather a minor deity in the big scheme of things.

So how did the two-faces thing work? When he was alive, I mean? One of him was always going backwards; that can’t have been pleasant. Was half of him always dizzy?

I never asked, said Hades. He lived a pretty good life, though, from what I could tell. Quite a few good lives, in fact. He motioned to the paintings. As you can see, he was a family man. Had to watch wives and children grow old and pass on without him more than once, but he kept marrying again. He said that the joy of being a husband and father outweighed the pain.

I wonder. The words crept out before I could stop them. I briefly hoped Melody hadn’t heard me, but from the look on her face, I knew she had. She was clearly waiting for me to explain further. I didn’t.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Melody gave up and turned back to Hades. How did he die?

Can’t tell you that, said Hades sternly. The records of the dead, past, present, and future, are sealed and kept in the Vault of Anubis.

Different god of death, I explained.

No one can access them, said Hades. Not even me. That’s the law. But I can tell you that his death’s got nothing to do with this theft.

Melody frowned. Are you quite sure?

Very sure. It happened hundreds of years ago.

Fine, I said. So this isn’t about his death. It’s about what happened afterward.

Precisely. Last night, someone sneaked inside the Abbey walls and broke into this mausoleum. Made a right mess of it, and quite a racket as well. He gestured to the corpse. The brain was the only thing he took.

He? Melody echoed. You’re sure it was a he?

The god shrugged. Pretty sure. Didn’t get a very good look at him.

But if Janus has been dead for hundreds of years, said Melody, how was his brain even still there? Shouldn’t it have been turned to dust a long time ago?

The vital organs of gods decay a lot more slowly than those of ordinary creatures, said Hades. Their brains and hearts can remain more or less pristine for centuries.

Hold on. I held up my hand. You’re saying that this thief got past the magical defenses of the Abbey, the god of death, his wife, and his three-headed dog? Coming and going?

Hades nodded. That’s about the size of it. I heard him break in, of course, and we all tried to stop him, but he was too strong.

Too strong how? I pressed. Physically, or magically?

"Both, I’d say. He knocked me and Cerberus down without much effort. Then Persephone tried to take him out with her magic, but he blasted it