Punch's Cousin, Chapter 117

Naasir squinted in the dim light of the dusty room into which Mala had led him.


“You’re to wait here.” Mala croaked.

“Of course,” Naasir nodded.

“Miss Iolanthe says I should make sure you’re comfortable. That’s what she says. Says I should give you whatever you want to eat. What you want?”

“I don’t care for anything, thank you.” Naasir said softly.

“No,” Mala shook her head, “you gotta have somethin’. Them’s my orders.”

“I don’t care for anything, thank you.” Naasir repeated.

“Gotta eat somethin’. Miss Iolanthe said.” Mala barked. “I’ll bring ya some chicken. Nice, fine chicken. You’ll like that.”

“If you insist.”

“You like the whisky?” Mala asked.

“No.” Naasir shook his head.

“You’re gonna have some.” Mala answered sharply. She paused and looked sympathetically at Naasir. “Listen, honey, it ain’t gonna be too bad. It’ll be over before you know it. Then, you’ll be free.”

“I’m already free.” Naasir replied quietly.

“You’re an odd one.” Mala grumbled. “Tried to be nice…” She scratched her hip, and walked away, locking the door behind her.

Naasir stood stiffly in the room and looked around. Even in the dim light, he knew where he was. It was the very same room—the dusty chamber with the low, wicked altar—that he’d been locked in before. This time, a long casket leaned against the farthest wall.

“My resting place…” Naasir sighed. “As it is written.”

He dropped to his knees and looked to the ceiling. “I do this for you, Great Man of the Rocks. I do this so that you may triumph. It is my destiny. I am not afraid.”

Meanwhile, two floors above him—atop the muffled laughter and hideous groans of the other inhabitants of the house, Iolanthe sat on her bed next to the limp body of The Duchess of Fallbridge. She sat cross-legged with a bowl of deep red liquid in her lap.

Grinning at the Duchess’ slack face, she cooed, “You’re gonna get your strength back. Just think of this as your atonement. Can’t spill blood without spillin’ a little of your own. I know. I don’t want you thinkin’ I don’t.”

Mala knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a response.

“I got him.” Mala said plainly. “Just as you said.”

“Did he struggle?”

“No.” Mala shook her head. “Came along like we was goin’ for an evenin’ stroll.”

“I’ll say this for the man,” Iolanthe laughed, “he’s cooperative.”

“Miss Iolanthe, ain’t my place, but do it quick.”

“It ain’t your place.” Iolanhe frowned. “Get out.”

“Yes, Miss.” Mala nodded.

“Feed the priest, as I instructed.”

“Already workin’ in it.” Mala replied curtly, scratching herself again as she walked out.

Once Mala had exited, Iolanthe grimaced and looked toward the Duchess. “She’s right. I should do it quick. Not for the sake of kindness—that ain’t my business—but because I know your lunatic son and his companions will be knockin’ soon enough.” She laughed, “Speakin’ of your offspring, I wonder how your sweet daughter has enjoyed her first day of work. Maybe she’d like a little rest. Yes, a nice little rest by the fire.”

At that very moment, Ulrika Rittenhouse met Arthur at a seedy tavern in the French Quarter. She wore a veil over her face, but the thin material wasn’t enough to mask her anger. “What’s taken you so long?”

“Don’t know my way,” Arthur responded blankly, still dazed from the St. Dymphna’s Root.

“Where are they?” Ulrika hissed.

“They’re leavin’. Goin’ out. Had their cloaks on an’ all. I had to leave less they saw me.”

“Where are they goin’?” Ulrika’s eyes widened.

“Don’t know.” Arthur shrugged. “Where’s Barbara?”

“Never you mind about Barbara!” Ulrika snapped. “You’re mine now. Barbara’s not your concern. I am!” She wrung her hands together, “You fool! You should have followed them.”

“You told me to come to you. I obeyed.” Arthur answered flatly.

“Must I do everything myself?” Ulrika grumbled. “Where could they be going?”

At the house on Royal Street, Adrienne grabbed her husband’s arm. “Cecil, mon cher,j'aime pas cela. C'est trop dangereux. Pourquoi ne pas envoyer l'un des serviteurs? Si vous allez à la chambre de Iolanthe, il y a aucune façon, vous aurez jamais revenir à moi. Pensez à votre bébé!”

“Adrienne, n'ont aucune crainte. Je vais retourner comme M. Punch et Robert. Iolanthe n'est pas de menace à tous les trois d'entre nous. Nous ne pouvons pas très bien laisser Naasir souffrir sa colère. Je le promets. Je reviendrai à vous et à nos enfant. Peut-être, je vais revenir triomphant.” Cecil responded reassuringly.

“Adrienne has a point,” Robert said. “Perhaps it is too dangerous.”

“Dangerous or not,” Mr. Punch said quickly. “We can’t let her hurt Naasir. We can’t! The man’s been nothin’ but loyal to all of us. This’ll be the third time she’s tried to hurt him.”

“We don’t even know that Iolanthe’s got him.” Adrienne cried.

“Where else could he be?” Mr. Punch said gently. “The other men saw him talking to an ugly girl and he went with her. They knew the girl, they did. They knew she was that little goblin what works for Iolanthe. The ogress has got the notion that our Naasir is some kind of threat to her. Course she wants to destroy him! And, in doin’ so, she thinks it makes getting’ to us all the easier. We gotta help him, we do.”

Adrienne sobbed. “It’s a trap. She wants to ensare the three of you, and then, she’ll come for me and Fuller. She’ll sell Fuller just as she did Barbara’s child. And, she’ll finally get revenge for my leaving and for Cecil…”

“My dear, we’ll be careful.” Cecil said, hugging his wife. “Now, honestly, don’t you trust us to return to you safely?”

“I trust you, my dear.” Adrienne said. “I trust all of you. It’s Iolanthe I don’t trust. Listen to me, she’s already gotten to the Duchess. Didn’t we all imagine that Her Grace was indomitable? Yet, we could tell by the way she spoke that she’d been with Iolanthe. Three good hearts are much easier to break than one wicked heart.”

“Or could it be that three good hearts got more power than what’s in one wicked one?” Mr. Punch smiled. “And, besides, we got a fourth…Naasir. Together, we’ll beat the devil.”

“I don’t know.” Adrienne wiped her eyes. “I wish…oh, I don’t know. We should have gone to England. All of us. We should have packed everything up and left here.”

“What’s it that Naasir’s always sayin’? Talkin’ ‘bout destiny an’ such. Well, it seems that this is our destiny. I don’t think we could do nothin’ to change it even if we tried. If we ran away, it would only follow us. So, isn’t it better to face it head on?” Mr. Punch said gently.

“I simply don’t know.” Adrienne began to cry again.

“My dear,” Cecil began, “the longer we wait, the more dangerous it becomes. Now, you go get Fuller and keep Marjani and Columbia company. She’ll be a comfort to you. And, you to her.”

Adrienne kissed her husband. “I love you.”

“And, I love you, darling.” Adrienne smiled.

“And, the two of you…” Adrienne began nervously. “You two are my brothers—more so than my own ever were. You will not deprive your nephew the pleasure of growing up without the influence of two such fine men. You will not. I don’t care if we have to beg and starve on the streets, we’ll be together. I demand it.”

“We’ll return.” Robert nodded.

“With Naasir.” Mr. Punch added.

“Go on, then.” Adrienne said. “Before I change my mind.” With that, she hurried off—sobbing—down the corridor.

“We’d best hurry,” Cecil said quickly.

Mr. Punch paused and looked around the house.

“Are you well, Mr. Punch?” Robert asked.

“I’m just lookin’.” Punch nodded. “So, I can remember this as it was—before it all changes.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-116? If so, you can read them here.