Roman a Clef
Part One: Meeting the Gray Wolf
By Anne B. Walsh
Author Notes:
As always, anything you recognize belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing in her magical world. Please don't eat me.
Have fun working out who's who!
The Black Dog and the Grey Wolf
Or, The Further Adventures of Samuel and Alison
By Valentina Jett
x X x X x
Part One: Meeting The Grey Wolf
The Lady Margaret Mellis sat at the window of her tall tower and gazed out over the countryside. But her thoughts were as far from the traditional thoughts of maidens in towers as could be imagined.
For Lady Margaret was no fainting damosel to be rescued by a knight in shining armor. She was no longer young, and had never considered herself beautiful. Her hair was black instead of gold, and she had honestly earned the shining threads of silver in it. She had lived most of her life here, at the castle of her uncle, Lord Albert Mellis, and it was likely that she would finish her days here.
But she was happy, for Lady Margaret and Lord Albert shared a passion for learning, and this occupied her days. Together, they taught most of the high-blooded children of Britain, and the brightest and best of the peasants’ children as well.
Of course, not everyone agreed with Lord Albert’s stand that peasants’ children deserved education as well, and there were always those who opposed him. But Lord Albert was one of the most influential men in Britain — he had the ear of King Linus — and so peasants’ children continued to enter the great Castle of Mellis to be taught.
Those who opposed Lord Albert often, mysteriously, came to grief through their own faults, Lady Margaret mused. And it was nothing of her uncle’s doing, either — it was simply that they had been foolish enough not to heed his advice.
Just a few years earlier, for instance, Lord Lucifer Devovi, one of the most highly regarded men in the land and one of her uncle’s most outspoken critics, had been arrested on the testimony of his wife, the Lady Delilah, that both he and she had committed horrific and unforgivable crimes. Lord Lucifer languished now in the prison of Kabaz, from which none returned. Lady Delilah had poisoned herself.
Polite society wondered in quiet tones of horror why Lady Delilah would do such a thing. But, as the proverb says, "He who knows most says least," and Lady Margaret was no exception. Lord Lucifer and Lady Delilah had sought power in evil ways, ways that had included drugs, torture, even killings. Probably, Lady Margaret thought, the woman’s heart had finally revolted at exposing her child to such filth.
For the pair had had a child. A boy, Daniel. Lord Daniel, now, if only he could be found. Lady Delilah, before she had died, had said she had provided for the child. It was widely feared that this meant she had killed him, and that the line of Devovi, one of the oldest in England, was ended.
Lady Margaret’s mind wandered away from this insoluble puzzle, back to Lord Lucifer, and his prison. It was, perhaps, untrue to say that none returned from the prison of Kabaz. One man had escaped from it. One whose name was feared through the land. It was spoken in whispers, where it was spoken at all.
Samuel Niger. The Black Dog.
He was the most dreaded pirate who sailed these waters. Nothing moved upon the sea without his knowledge, and no merchant ever watched a ship go out without wondering, in his heart, if the cargo would arrive at its destination. The Black Dog seemed able to appear from nowhere, take what he wanted, and vanish again.
But he was accounted a very gentlemanly man, who never killed unless in open battle or in self-defense, and who robbed only those who could afford some loss. Some tales called him a notorious rake, while others gave him a wife, the Lady Drazah, dark-skinned and statuesque, his equal in most ways and his better in some. Some tales even spoke of children aboard his nimble vessel, the Marauder — but no two tales were ever alike, for some spoke of one child and some of two or more, some of boys and some of girls, and Lady Margaret was inclined to dismiss these follies all together.
The Black Dog’s counterpart upon land was a gallant highwayman, known only as the Grey Wolf. He was best known, perhaps, for the polite way in which he robbed, and the fact that he took only what his victims told him themselves that they could spare — but woe to the man who tried to hold out, for the Grey Wolf, in his own way, could be merciless. He did not kill, but he was a master of making life miserable in a million small and untraceable ways.
His secret fortress in the hills was known as the Wolf’s Den. There, the Grey Wolf and his band of followers, the Wolf’s Pack, laired and lived, counting their spoils, eating and drinking, and waiting for the next carriage to rob. But the Grey Wolf did not reign supreme in his own Den — his wife, the Lady Morta, ruled him and all his Pack with him, and her tyranny was absolute.
Tales abounded from those who said they had been there, invited by the Grey Wolf to dine with him and Lady Morta, but again, those tales never matched. Some said the Grey Wolf had no children, while some claimed he had a scholarly daughter who resembled her mother, and some that he had a musical son who resembled neither parent. Others spoke of a dusky dancing girl, stolen no doubt from some noble household where she had been a servant, and one man would swear by anything you chose that he had seen Henry Lutum in the Wolf’s Den.
Lady Margaret sighed. Henry Lutum. One of the great puzzles of their time.
The Lutum family had been well-known to Lady Margaret and her uncle, for they were not only wealthy and well-born, but scholars as well. Lord Jonathan Lutum and his red-haired wife, Lady Violet, had studied under her uncle and herself for several years, and she had grown very fond of them.
Of course, Violet had not been Lady Violet then — she had been only Violet Thomas, the daughter of a peasant and his wife. She was proud of her blood and family, and determined to have nothing to do with the arrogant Lord Lutum, or his friends, Viscount Samuel Niger and Sir John Lobos. She would occasionally smile at the timid Paul Caudalis, Esquire, but that was as close as she would get to the four boys.
Violet did find a friend at the great Castle, though, in one of the girls who was studying with Lord Albert at the time. She was peasant-born like Violet, her name was Alison Bertad, and a lovelier lady, in face or in deeds, no one could imagine. The dark head and the red could be seen bent over one book, the dark face and the pale in one mirror, at almost any time of the day.
Jonathan Lutum had been determined to attract the attention of Violet Thomas, and Samuel Niger equally determined to make Alison Bertad notice him. Once both boys grew up a bit and lost some of their adolescent foolishness, both quests were successful, and Violet became Lady Violet Lutum not long after leaving the great Castle. Samuel and Alison served as best man and maid of honor, and Samuel was named godfather to the couple’s first child, a sturdy boy named Henry.
But times had grown dark. A band of murderers roamed the countryside, masked and cloaked, killing peasants and aristocracy alike, seemingly randomly and untraceably, but Lord Albert Mellis knew better. All those aristocrats killed had been peasant-born, or sympathetic to the peasants. The killers were interested in keeping the peasants in their place. Their leader was known as Lord Praecad, and he would not rest until he had power over all of England, peasants and aristocracy alike. From there, he planned to conquer the world.
And for some insane reason, he had decided that killing Lord and Lady Lutum, and their son, would serve him in this quest.
"Maggie," said a voice from behind her. She turned.
"Septimus," she acknowledged her dark-haired cousin, while biting back chagrin at the hated nickname. He was rather younger than she — the age of Jonathan Lutum and Samuel Niger, as it happened. They had been enemies while they studied together, and she rather thought Septimus had been pleased when Jonathan had died and Samuel been imprisoned.
"Uncle wishes to know if you are ready to leave."
"Give me one moment." Of course, the Court banquet — how could she have forgotten? Quickly, Margaret checked herself in the mirror, making sure that her hair remained in its usual tight coil on top of her head and that her face was, if not pretty, presentable. She had donned her best gown before she began her musing, so she needed only to take up her cloak from its place by the door. "Lead on, cousin."
Lord Albert awaited them in the courtyard, where the carriage was drawn up. "Niece," he greeted Margaret, his blue eyes twinkling. "Nephew. You both look quite fine this afternoon. I am glad. First impressions are so important."
"First impressions, Uncle?" Septimus asked sourly. "We have met the King on many occasions."
"Indeed, but there will be many present at the Court who have never met you."
Privately, Margaret doubted this. She had taught most of the present courtiers, and those whom she had not were her contemporaries, with whom she had attended classes herself. But good manners forbade her to contradict her uncle. Septimus, who had few manners, glowered but did not speak. He considered Court functions a waste of time better spent studying.
Lord Albert assisted Margaret into the carriage, then climbed in himself, quite nimbly for a man of his great age. Septimus entered behind them, the footman shut the door, and they were on their way.
Margaret idly watched the countryside pass by, and returned to her musing.
Lord and Lady Lutum had hidden themselves in a secret castle, to which only one man held the key. Jonathan’s best friend, Samuel, had been the logical choice.
But Samuel, unknown to anyone, had been a traitor. He had delivered the key to Lord Praecad, who had invaded the castle on his mission of death. But not all had gone as he planned.
Jonathan and Violet had indeed died by his hand — but their son had not. Henry, then a child barely over a year of age, had been found alive in his nursery, trying to wake his dead mother. There had been no sign of Lord Praecad, and he had not been seen since that night, now some twelve years distant.
Samuel Niger, as the man responsible for the deaths, had been taken prisoner and transported immediately to the prison of Kabaz, but not before killing Paul Caudalis and twelve innocent peasants. Henry had been sent to his mother’s sister, Daisy, a peasant like her parents, and mistrustful of aristocracy. And Alison Bertad and Sir John Lobos had mourned themselves into a decline.
Lady Margaret and Lord Albert had tried to help their students, but it all came to naught. The Lutums had died in the late fall — by the following spring, both John and Alison had vanished, abandoning all their worldly goods, and Margaret feared the worst. Either suicide, or murder, at the hand of Samuel Niger.
For Samuel Niger had done what no other man ever had. He had escaped from the prison of Kabaz. Henry Lutum had vanished from his aunt’s home soon after, and it was an accepted fact that Niger had taken the boy. And probably killed him, finishing what his master had started, Margaret thought sadly...
The carriage lurched to a halt. A babble of confused voices erupted outside.
"What the devil — " Septimus began, when the door of the carriage was pulled open.
"My lords," said the masked figure holding the handle. "My lady. If it would please you to step out."
Margaret stared. Brown hair streaked with gray, a gray cloth veiling the top half of his face except for the eyeholes, a polite manner, dressed as a well-to-do peasant might be — oh, she knew who this must be.
The Grey Wolf.
"It does not please me to step out," Septimus said in a mocking tone, leaning back in his seat.
The Grey Wolf moved so fast Margaret had no time even to gasp. One moment he was standing beside the carriage, and the next he was inside, kneeling on the seat beside Septimus, a dagger at her cousin’s throat. "Does it please you now?" he asked in the same pleasant voice.
Septimus stared up at the other man with hatred and did not reply.
"We will disembark," said Lord Albert as politely as the Wolf, "if you will allow it."
"Certainly, my lord." The Wolf sheathed his dagger and leapt lightly from the carriage, offering Margaret his hand. "My lady."
Margaret scorned his help, choosing instead to leap from the carriage as he had done. It was a trifle more difficult in her long skirts and heeled shoes, but she managed it. Lord Albert stepped to the ground behind her, and Septimus emerged last, looking as sulky as he ever had when Jonathan or Samuel had bested him in one of their endless status games.
"My lady, it grieves me, but that necklace you wear must come off," the Wolf said, extending his hand. "My lords, your watches as well, and any gold in your pockets."
Margaret fumbled for the catch of her necklace, glad she was wearing one she wasn’t particularly attached to. The Wolf accepted it and Septimus’ watch, but Lord Albert’s he returned after a glance at it. "Wise of you, sir, to carry a timepiece which only you can read," he said with a smile. "Tell me, have you anywhere urgent to be tonight, or can you spare the night to dine with me and a few friends?"
"I believe we can disappoint the King, this once," Lord Albert said with an answering smile. "Margaret, Septimus, what say you?"
"Uncle — you cannot be serious," Septimus said in amazement. "Us, dine with a highwayman?"
The Wolf held up his hand. "A highwayman and a pirate," he said lightly. "My friend the Black Dog joins us at table."
Margaret held her head up. He tries to intimidate us. But I will not be intimidated. "Will I be the only lady at table, sir?" she asked frostily.
"Oh, no indeed, madame. I would never place a lady in such a situation. My own wife dines with us, as well as Samuel Niger’s lady and several others."
So the Black Dog has a wife indeed, does he. "Uncle, I confess I am intrigued by this far more than by the prospect of another evening at Court," Margaret said frankly.
"I as well, Margaret, I as well. Septimus, I believe you are overruled." Lord Albert turned to the Grey Wolf. "Lead on, sir," he said. "We are at your service."
The Grey Wolf bowed. "And I at yours, sir. If you will instruct your coachman to follow me."