Content Harry Potter Miscellaneous
  • Previous
  • Next

The Black Dog and the Grey Wolf

Or, The Further Adventures of Samuel and Alison

By Valentina Jett

x X x X x

From Part One: Meeting The Grey Wolf:

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."

x X x X x

Part Three: The Wolf’s Den

At the mention of their coachman, Margaret suddenly wondered why the man had bothered to stop. The Grey Wolf carried no weapons that she could see other than his sword and dagger — certainly no guns, unless they were hidden in his coat...

She turned to look, and sighed at her own stupidity. The Wolf had not come alone. A young man — a very young man — a boy, in fact, no older than fifteen — held a pistol aimed at the coachman. He, like the Wolf, was masked in grey, but his hair was flaming red.

"Come, Margaret," said her uncle, and Margaret shook herself from her reverie and stepped into the carriage. Septimus was already there, and as the door closed behind her, she got a good look at his face. He hadn’t spoken since the Grey Wolf had mentioned that the Black Dog would join them for dinner. She realized why as she regarded him.

Septimus was absolutely furious.

Of course he was. He and Samuel Niger had been the bitterest of enemies in their school days. Placing them at the same dinner table would lead only to disaster. She took a breath to mention this to her uncle, before recalling that he knew it as well as she, and would take whatever steps were necessary to ensure that neither man killed the other in the course of the evening.

She rather hoped, though, that her detestable cousin would do something stupid, such as insulting the Black Dog’s wife, and that Niger would react appropriately. Septimus had been getting quite full of himself lately. It would be good for him to recall that he was neither the most intelligent nor the most important man in the world.

The carriage jerked into motion. Margaret peered out the window and got a glimpse of the Wolf’s young helper, riding alongside. The Wolf himself rode ahead on the road, on a handsome, jet-black mare.

Margaret felt a curious sense of unreality, as if the carriage were bumping its way into a dream. Five minutes before, they had been on their way to the royal palace, to have a banquet with King Linus, a small, pompous, sometimes deeply annoying man, and his Queen, Bylla, a wispy, fluttery woman who wore far too many scarves, and whom Margaret frankly could not stand. Now, they were on their way to have dinner with hunted outlaws, one of whom was an old enemy of her cousin’s...

"Uncle," Septimus said in a quiet voice, but one filled with rage. "How can you possibly agree to sit at table with the man who betrayed the Lutums, who murdered Paul Caudalis?"

Margaret paled. How had she not thought of that? Niger was a traitor, a killer, no matter what the stories said, or what she remembered of him...

"There are more things in heaven and on earth, Septimus, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," her uncle said placidly.

"Well quoted, sir," Septimus shot back, "and completely uninformative."

"Indeed. Would you like me to be more specific?"

"Yes. I would like that very much."

"Margaret?"

She nodded, feeling more than ever the dream-like nature of her situation. She would wake up any moment now, she was sure of it...

But she did not, and Lord Albert proceeded to tell them a story that left them both shocked and gasping. It seemed that in secret, Paul Caudalis, not Samuel Niger, had been entrusted with the key to the Lutums’ castle. Caudalis, not Niger, had been the traitor among the friends. And Caudalis, not Niger, had caused the carnage at the scene of Niger’s capture, falsifying his own death and escaping, leaving Niger to take the blame.

"And Caudalis has been in hiding all this time?" Margaret asked.

"So Samuel hopes. If Caudalis can be found, alive, Samuel’s name can be cleared, and he can return to a respectable life."

"Or whatever he calls respectable," muttered Septimus.

Margaret smiled. Clearly, Septimus would not be forgiving Samuel any time soon. For her own part, she was heartily glad of the news. She had always liked Samuel Niger, although he and Jonathan Lutum had plagued her life out many a time... they and John Lobos, he was almost always with them...

She looked out the window, seeing the figure of the boy in the dusky light. So young to be marauding along the highways, she pondered.

She turned to look out the other window, just for a bit of variety, and stifled a gasp. There, too, a young man rode — completely identical to the one on her own side. She looked back and forth, almost wildly, but could see no difference. Flaming red hair, grey masks, freckled cheeks, plain clothes, brown horses...

Magic. It must be magic. The Wolf must be a wizard...

"Margaret, what is it?" Lord Albert asked gently.

"Nothing, Uncle," she said automatically, forcing herself to calm. There is no such thing as magic. There must be another explanation...

Of course. She felt like a fool. Twins. Identical twins, on similar horses. That is all.

I am far too jumpy. I must be calm. Relaxed. A lady never shows signs of distress.

"My lady," said the Wolf’s voice.

She looked up with what she hoped was good grace. The Grey Wolf rode alongside their carriage, and he was smiling at her. "Do not be frightened. No harm will come to you this night unless you seek it out. Certainly none who are welcome within my walls would willingly harm you." He extended his hand through the window and laid it gently on her arm. "You will be an honored guest while you stay. And your stay shall be only as long as you wish it to be."

"Leave her alone," Septimus growled, leaning forward and shoving the Wolf’s hand away. "Filthy hedge-robber. She’ll have none of you."

"Protective, my lord?" The Wolf’s voice held a note of mockery on the honorific, if Margaret heard right. "Your cousin seems quite able to deal with me herself. And you misunderstand my intentions. I am a married man, after all."

"Yes, we’ve all heard the stories of your Lady Morta," Septimus said with a sneer. "An odd name for a woman, that."

"She has it by her own choice," the Wolf rejoined. "It was by that name that she was first introduced to me."

"So you say." Septimus leaned back in his seat, smirking. "Pardon me if I am skeptical that the Lady Morta we will be meeting tonight is the same Lady Morta you had when you began this career of yours, or the same one you will have in a year’s time."

"I fail to understand you, sir."

"Then let me put it more plainly. The female we will meet tonight at your side is not your wife, but your — in deference to my cousin, I call her your flunky. And you have had many such flunkies over the years. But you call them all by the name of Morta. Why? Of course, so that your reputation as the valiant and upright outlaw with his noble wife is unbesmirched, and perhaps because you are too lazy to bother learning a new name to call when you take a new woman to your..."

Septimus trailed off. Margaret didn’t blame him. The carriage had halted, and the Wolf was leaning on the sill of the carriage window, looking directly at him. Margaret could not see the Wolf’s eyes, but she knew what they would be like — the cold blue of steel, or of ice, oddly like her uncle’s when he was angered.

How can I know that? she wondered vaguely.

She glanced over at her uncle. He seemed quite amused by the interchange.

"When we reach the Den," the Wolf said coldly, "you shall meet my wife. And you may judge for yourself whether she is, or has ever been, my, as you say, flunky."

The Wolf’s young henchmen were both stifling laughter, Margaret noticed. Clearly, they knew something of this.

Septimus matched the Wolf’s stare for a few moments before he dropped his eyes. The Wolf withdrew from the window, and the carriage moved on.

x X x X x

It took only an hour to reach the stony, mostly untraveled road which apparently led to the Wolf’s Den. Full dark had fallen, and the two young henchmen both unveiled lanterns from their saddlebags and lit them, riding ahead so that the coachman could see where he was going.

After a few minutes on the bumpy road, the carriage halted. "Who goes there?" Margaret heard someone shout.

"Friends," the Wolf’s voice called back. "And guests for the night."

"Give the password."

The answer was a long, mournful howl that Margaret would have thought impossible for a human to make.

"Enter and welcome, sir," the first voice cried respectfully.

The carriage moved forward with a bone-rattling thump, went perhaps a hundred yards, then stopped in a brightly lit area. "My lady, my lords, we have arrived," the Wolf’s voice said. "Be welcome in this, my Den. If it will please you to step out."

This time, Margaret took the offered hand, and almost missed her step anyway, so busy she was staring about her.

She stood in the middle of a log palisade. There were several large wooden buildings scattered about, and poles with lanterns hanging from them dotted the place, lighting it almost as well as day. The gate they had entered through was even now being swung closed by the Wolf’s two young henchmen —

No, her eyes were deceiving her. There were three young men pushing that door closed. She had missed the third because he, too, had red hair.

"Lance," the Wolf called when the door was shut.

"Yes, sir," the new boy said respectfully, coming forward. Margaret sized him up. He appeared about seventeen and could easily have been the twins’ elder brother. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and a look of purpose, as if all in his world was right, and if it wasn’t, he would know the reason why.

"What’s the news? Has the caravan from Marauder been sighted?"

"Ten minutes behind you, sir. My lady mother Mary requests your presence in the kitchen when you have a moment."

"Tell her I’ll be in as soon as I possibly can. Where’s Carl? Carl!" he shouted as Lance hurried toward the largest of the buildings.

"Here, sir," said another red-haired young man, appearing around the side of another of the buildings. This one looked to be about twenty, and was fairly well-muscled.

"Two extra horses for you tonight, my friend. Think you can manage?"

"Oh, I’ll find time somehow," the young man said with a laugh. "With an extra pair of hands, should be no trouble."

He waved at the slim, young coachman on the seat of Margaret’s own carriage, whom Margaret had really not noticed as of yet.

How odd. I had thought I knew everyone in the household. But I do not know him...

"Come on, then," Carl called to the coachman, "let’s get them stabled." He began to lead the horses the Wolf and his two henchmen had ridden toward the building which was apparently the stable.

"That young man is in for a surprise," Lord Albert said as the carriage followed the stablehand.

"Oh? How so?" the Wolf asked.

"Has he ever spoken to you of the lady he left behind to come adventuring with you?"

"Only briefly."

"Has he mentioned her hobby?"

"Yes, he said she was fond of dressing—" The Wolf broke off, following the carriage around the corner with his eyes. "I see," he said speculatively. "So you’re telling me I shouldn’t be too surprised if I find the hayloft in use tonight, milord."

Lord Albert smiled. "It may not go that far, but I believe the lady will wish a change of garments before she comes to table."

"We’re well-supplied in that area, never fear."

"Disgusting," Septimus spat. "How dare you discuss that vile act in front of my cousin. Apologize at once."

"Which vile act would that be, my lord?" the Wolf asked mildly.

"I refer to your comment about the hayloft," Septimus said venomously. "But, if you insist on knowing—"

"Which I didn’t," the Wolf murmured.

"If you insist on knowing," Septimus repeated louder, "I also find the idea of a woman dressed as a man highly disturbing. And our coachman, no less. Uncle, how could you let that continue?"

"Young Lady Theodora was quite insistent that she must find the Wolf’s Pack," Lord Albert said reasonably. "And I was a trifle averse to letting any of our regular servants find out where I planned to spend this night. Servants do gossip terribly."

"Where you planned—" Septimus was goggling at his uncle. "This was planned?"

"Oh, of course it was planned," the Wolf said. "Allow me to return this to you, my lady." He reached into his pocket and retrieved Margaret’s necklace.

"No," she demurred. "You keep it. I’ve never liked it much."

"Are you certain?"

"Positive. You have more need of it than I do, I’m sure, with your Pack to feed and clothe."

"You speak only the truth," the Wolf sighed, returning the necklace to his pocket. Margaret noticed, with a certain mean thrill, that he did not offer to return Septimus’ watch. "Though, of course, you help us a great deal, milord," he said to Lord Albert.

"You help him?" Margaret wished she had a pin — she was certain that if she stuck it into Septimus at this moment, he would explode. "You help this — this—"

"Outlaw," the Wolf supplied helpfully. "And yes, he does."

"Show your face," Septimus demanded. "Stop hiding behind that damned mask. Show me your face and tell me who you are. If you’re going to haul me off here, you at least owe me that much."

"If you insist," the Wolf said lightly. He reached up and pulled the strip of cloth away from his face.

Margaret bit down on a laugh.

I should have known. I truly should have known.

Septimus was positively apoplectic. He looked as if he wanted to say a dozen things, but only one word emerged from his mouth.

"Lobos..."

Sir John Lobos bowed. "At your service, sir."

Septimus opened and shut his mouth, looking, Margaret thought, rather like a turtle. She stifled another laugh.

"Gideon," Lobos called. "Fabian."

The twins appeared, seemingly from nowhere. "Yes, sir," they said together.

"Take Lord Septimus indoors, will you? Give him a room where he will... feel at home."

The twins grinned identically. "Yes, sir," they said, still in chorus.

"And what does that mean?" Margaret asked Lobos as the twins each took one of Septimus’ arms and steered him away, Septimus apparently still too stunned to resist.

"Are not your charming cousin’s personal rooms in Mellis Castle in the dungeons?" Lobos asked affably.

This time Margaret did laugh.

"Of course, here we have no dungeons," Lobos said. "But a good stout cellar will serve well. Have no fear, Lady Margaret," he added, seeing the concern which she could not help feeling. "He will not be mistreated. But no more of him. Will you and Lord Albert pardon me for a moment? I must to the kitchens to keep my promise to Dame Mary — I am sure she wants to scold me for bringing home an extra gentleman, for you see, Lord Albert forgot to mention your cousin would be joining us tonight."

"So I did," her uncle said. "Leaving you no choice but to doom my poor nephew to a solitary night, for to allow him to join us at table would unbalance the ratio of gentlemen to ladies, and quite ruin Dame Mary’s seating arrangement."

"You understand perfectly, sir. I shall return in a moment." The Wolf betook himself to the building, and Margaret was finally free to ask her uncle the question that had been burning in her mind ever since Lobos had revealed that their meeting had not been by chance.

"Uncle."

"Yes, niece?"

"How long have you known of this?"

"Since the beginning, my dear. You recall, of course, the occasions over the past few years when I have been from home at the holidays?"

"I do."

"I have spent those occasions here, with the Wolf’s Pack and the crew of the Marauder. And in fact, I should not speak of those as separate entities, for they are truly all the same — the Marauder is merely the seaward extension of the Pack. Many of the young men you saw here have crewed the Marauder in the past, and the Black Dog’s current crew have ridden with the Grey Wolf many times."

Margaret laughed again. "What the King would say if he could hear you now — you, Lord Albert Mellis, admitting to easy companionship, friendship even, with a notorious highwayman and an even more notorious pirate!"

"Ah, I shall admit to far more scandalous things than that before this evening ends," Lord Albert said with a twinkle in his eye. "Even you, my unflappable Margaret, shall be surprised."

  • Previous
  • Next
Back to:: Harry Potter » Roman a Clef