15. The Rustling of the Trees

What worried Cordelia the most was the growing darkness: the further into the trees they journeyed, the denser the forest became. Not to mention the time; the sun would surely be setting soon.

To add to her dispair, she was now in charge of Marfleet’s pistol, and she could not fathom the reason. Holding it made her exceedingly nervous. She wondered if Blackburn’s intention was to shoot her captor; however, she was not sure if a flesh wound would make any difference to a being already dead.

She had yet to test such theories.

“Cordelia!” Here he finally was, her strange friend. Blackburn had that look about himself, which meant that Marfleet and Mrs. Bellingham had agreed to whatever insane plan he currently had in action.

“Will you free me already? This is a most absurd ordeal,” she said, struggling against the golem to make a point.

Blackburn strode just ahead of them, his eyes scanning the ground. He glanced back at her. “Just a moment more. I suspect it will stop soon.”

She huffed, covering her fear with exasperation.

Suddenly, Blackburn stopped. “Yes, yes. Ok, hand me the pistol.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Cordelia automatically said, her voice higher than she would have liked.

He stopped and scoffed in a bewildered manner. “I’m not going to shoot you. Dear heavens.”

Cordelia lowered her eyes and did what she could to hold out the gun. “Yes, I know.”

He took it carefully and said lowly, “Look at me, Cordelia. I will get you out of this mess. Promise.”

She wanted to trust those sincere turquoise eyes. She quietly convinced herself she could.

“Oh! He’s stopped!” Cordelia exclaimed, relieved.

“Perfect,” Blackburn said happily. A grin was spreading on his lips. “Just stand there a moment. There are a few things I need to do, and I can’t have our golem running off again.”

Cordelia’s nostrils flared, but she stayed still. At least, until the shot rang out. She near jumped out of her skin.

“What on earth?!”

Blackburn had shot straight upward, causing a flock of birds to quickly take flight.

“Oh. I should have warned you I suppose. Next time,” Blackburn said, busily fiddling with the pistol.

At that moment Cordelia realized where they had stopped: the conjuring circle. “Mr. Blackburn…?” Cordelia began to ask, but instead she looked around. Something wasn’t quite right with the trees.

The rustling of the birds taking off didn’t stop… but she didn’t see any birds. What was in those trees?

Blackburn had thrown his coat, hat, and cane aside, and seemed to be… lighting twigs on fire? “Mr. Blackburn,” she chastised, horrified. He would set the entire forest alight!

“Never mind me,” he said, clearly unconcerned about the flames. “Ask the nymphs if they killed Mr. Bellingham.”

“What nymphs?”

The rustling in the trees stopped for a moment. Was that what was moving about?

“Well? Did you?” asked Blackburn overly loud. He had three twigs burning, but strangely their flames did not spread.

The rustling resumed, but less of it, as if it was just one bird moving through the trees. Cordelia heard it circling them, high up in the trees. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

“No.” It was a strange voice. High-pitched and whispery. The trees seemed to sway with its answer.

Cordelia’s eyes widened, and she searched the branches above them for the nymph. She found nothing.

“Why has this creature been brought to us? It has a soul.” The trees shook, and a shower of leaves fell on the three of them.

“Great news, Cordelia. You have a soul!” Blackburn said. As he did, he held one of his burning twigs up, letting its flames lick the branches of a nearby tree.

“Stop!” the voice said, but it sounded like multiple whispers, all spoken at the same time. The sound sent a shiver down Cordelia’s spine.

The golem loosened his grip, its arms raising as if being pulled by strings.

“Now!” Blackburn ran forward, across the conjuring circle, and grabbed Cordelia’s hand, pulling her with him to the opposite side as the now-burning tree branch.

Nimbly, he reached down and stuck his still-burning twig into the ground.

The trees seemed to arch towards the circle, and the whispers became more and more high-pitched. “Stop the fire!” they hissed.

Cordelia gasped, letting go of Blackburn’s hand and touching her own arms as if to prove to herself that she was free. All the while, though, her eyes watched the tree across from them, as every second more of its branch was eaten by flames.

She barely had time to notice Blackburn run around the circle, pick up his discarded coat, and throw it over the branch. Unfortunately, what once was a nice frock coat soon became fire fuel. It began to smoke.

“Mr. Blackburn, leave it! We have to go!” Cordelia looked around, not knowing which way was out, only that the fire would spread quickly. However, she could not help but stare a moment at the conjuring circle and its five flames. The golem stood as if frozen in the center.

Five flames. Lit equidistant from one another.

Blinking, Cordelia burst into action. She hiked up her skirts and ran to Blackburn, careful to not enter the conjuring circle.

Her employer was coughing, stepping back from the burning tree.

“Come!” Cordelia insisted, pulling on his arm.

“No, no. They’ll take care of it,” he said, watching the treetops.

Cordelia looked up. And there: a quick movement, too quick to distinguish exactly what it was. The tree shook and fell, toppling in the direction of the conjuring circle. It came crashing down.

Afraid to breathe, Cordelia stared into the circle of stones in front of them. Blackburn’s five faux-candles shone brightly, and the tree’s flames stopped.

Just stopped. Not extinguished. It was the most peculiar thing Cordelia had ever seen. It was as if both the golem and the tree were frozen.

Blackburn retrieved his arm from Cordelia’s tight grip, for which she mumbled and apology, and gathered up his hat and cane.

“You… turned the circle back on. Time’s stopped on the inside?” Cordelia turned to Blackburn, inquiring.

“Ah. Moving at a different speed, remember,” he replied with a quirk of his mouth. He set his hat on his head. “Everything is going smoothly so far,” he said, tipped his head in thought. “Well, except for the coat.”

Folding her arms, Cordelia allowed herself to laugh. “Your poor coat.”

Blackburn looked down at her, letting out a short laugh as well. “There’s still a murderer to catch; who knows? Perhaps my hat is next.”

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