The Necromancer's Faire Read online

The Necromancer’s Faire

  By

  Mortimer Jackson

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  Copyright 2011 The Morning Dread

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  The Necromancer’s Faire

  Chapter 1

  The Necromancer’s Renaissance

  Dear reader, to those among you who would claim that history never repeats itself, I would ask that you observe the annual Renaissance Festival, an olden tradition of even older times that occurs at least once every year.

  Sebastian Grimm was called upon by private investigator and partner John King, in order to assist in preventing an impending murder from taking place. For you see dear reader, even in this, history had repeated itself.

  Precisely one year ago from today, on the Renaissance Festival of the year before, a vicious murder had taken place just as it had the year before that. First, there was James McCow, a man who had frequented the event until he was stabbed in the heart. After him, Patrick Furlow, a staff of the festival who served as a vendor for the Food and Shoppe. He was killed by way of strangulation.

  Fearing that another death was on their hands, the supervisor of the festival paid private investigator John King in order to ensure that this trend would not continue. His job as such was to discover the identity of the killer, and put an end to what newspapers were calling the Renaissance murders, once and for all.

  This was not a typical job for the private investigator. And as such, there was only so much he knew to do. But the money was good, and the media attention even better for his career. And assuming that neither of this was enough, John King also had the support of a man who could speak to the dead. This, so that even if he failed to identify the killer in time, the victim would.

  “I don’t think that my being here is giving you the right intention,” the necromancer said.

  “What do you mean?” asked John King.

  “Assuring that you’ll be able to find the killer from his victim doesn’t really give you much incentive for preventing the murder itself.”

  The private investigator showed little sign of disagreement, which made the necromancer worry even more.

  “First,” cleared John King. “I was paid to stop a murder from happening. That’s my job and I’m sticking with it. Second, in the unfortunate event that it happens anyway, I can at least catch the killer, which I would argue is the next best thing.”

  “I don’t know how the word best can be used to describe a murder.”

  “It’s called looking on the bright side.”

  “It isn’t very bright.”

  “Just calm yourself.”

  Sebastian did, and lowered his shoulders. He looked down, and watched as his dress shoes wore with each and every step on the dirt path beneath. It dawned on him that he should have worn a pair of sneakers. An astute suggestion, and one that would have been wiser still if he had sneakers to begin with. As a man who spent most of his days inside his funeral home and little time outside, the variety in his attire had been naturally limited. However, he had to admit that with the re-arrival of Dina Malloy into his life, he had been going out more and more. They’d gone shopping together on several occasions, and even strolling about at nights, occasionally with purpose. She had helped him do and see more than he ever would on his own. And in fact they would have done and seen even more together were discretionary measures not required.

  The necromancer hadn’t told his partner in crime that he’d committed the crime of desecrating the wishes of the living for those of the dead. Dina’s coffin was empty. But to the detective and all those who had attended her closed-casket funeral, the presumption had been that Dina was dead. And technically speaking, she was.

  Sebastian dodged his way around the crowds of men and women dressed in olden clothing, uttering in shout words like Thou, Hither, and Yonder, in celebration of a time when such idioms were more widely used. The event smelled of nature and country food, and if the day was bright, then it was made even more so by the deluge of banners and costumes that beset the festival.

  “Dina would like this place,” thought the necromancer out loud.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  John King sighed.

  “Whatever. Enjoy yourself while you’re here and let me do my thing in peace. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

  “You mean if you fail.”

  “Precisely.”

  Sebastian parted ways from the detective, letting him off to his work while he enjoyed the amenities of his free ticket given to him by his contractor. And speaking of whom, there he was.

  Obese, short, and clad in feathers was Daniel Parsley, the supervisor himself.

  “You must be the detective’s assistant,” he said.

  “In a manner of speaking,” replied Sebastian.

  “Where is the man anyway?”

  “He’s busy looking for leads.”

  “Ah. Hard at work I see. Good. I hope we can avoid yet another incident this year.”

  “That’s the hope. Is there anything more you can tell us about who we might be looking for? Any possible suspects?”

  Daniel shook, “No. I’m afraid I haven’t the first idea. I can’t imagine who would want to bring harm to a festival so full of happiness and joy as this. It perplexes me to think of why someone would want to shut us down.”

  “Well, given that the only thing in common the first two victims had was that they died here, it definitely seems like an attempt at sabotage.”

  A theory not of the necromancer but the private detective.

  “You sure you don’t have any enemies or anything like that?”

  “Bah. Now you’re sounding like the police. If I knew I’d tell ya. And that’d be that. Hey you.”

  This was directed not at the necromancer, but to a boy off in the distance, passing out information posters to passerbys until he tripped and fell, causing the stacks of literature in his hands to litter the ground.

  “Yes sir?” he called as he scrambled to pick them up.

  “I’m not paying you to make a buffoon of yourself. You can do that on your own time.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Michael.”

  “Yes sir?”

  “Give this man a poster.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The boy, looking no older than 12 years, handed the necromancer a copy. It was folded on the side and carried specks of dirt, but it was legible. Sebastian didn’t complain.

  “Thank you,” he said, and studied the poster. Its contents were along the lines of the following.

  Spring Rain Renaissance Festival Presents

  “An Ode To A King”

  A Play Of Epic Proportions

  Witness the grand performance of a fable never-before-seen in theatre. Experience joy, tragedy, sword fights and romance. A battle between good and evil, noble white knights against the treacherous dark. Come, Be Amazed. And don’t Forget. Theatre is always best experienced with Concessions.

  Showing: 2:00 PM & 400 PM

  Admission: FREE

 

  “Shall I expect to see you there?” invited Daniel.

  “We’ll see,” said Sebastian. And for the sake of being diplomatic, added, “It sounds exciting.”

  “Well let us hope so. It was all the troupe’s idea. They’ve been haggling me to do an hour long play, and it’s been eating me money. They say they’ll make up for it with concession sales, but I don’t see how that’s going to make a lick of difference.”

  “The troupe?”

  “Yes. They’re actors you see. Like gypsies, they’d go about town to town looking for work until I hired them to staff the festival. This one,” he pointed to the boy Michae
l, who simply stood in silence. “He’s one of them. Heck, you ask me, all they’ve been is ungrateful for the opportunities I’ve given them. And speaking of which, what are you doing standing about? Get to work you imbecile. Don’t think that this act of incompetence isn’t going to show on your salary.”

  The boy, ashamed, nodded only once.

  “Yes sir,” and he left.

  “Now where were we?”

  “I was asking if you might have enemies.”

  Daniel Parsley scratched his grizzled chin.

  “No, I can’t imagine such a thing.”