The Journal of Larkin Claydon

April 9th

My sister and I spent the week in excited anticipation of our return to the Mortal Masquerade and the task entrusted to us by our late Uncle George. When one has willingly placed one's neck in a noose it is harder than ever to summon enthusiasm for approved ladylike pursuits and the knowledge of Elbert Makabra and his diabolical accomplice even now making their plans against us left us eager for action.

Tomorrow we shall return to resume our contest with the pair of them. Today a package was delivered, addressed to the two of us with no information regarding the sender. Inside was a simple stuffed doll with a note attached, reading:

"I AM SIMON. TAKE ME WITH YOU."

The Journal of Adelia Claydon

April 10th

We arrived back at Morior Hall to be met by Uncle Morbid, who showed us to a side room where Elbert Makabra and Amethyst Annie were already waiting. I noticed they had a Simon doll just like ours, clearly this effigy had a role to play in the task to come.

Uncle Morbid welcomed us all back and gave us each a sealed envelope. This done he departed.

The room in which we sat was wood panelled with ornate decorations set around. On the walls were portraits of historical figures. I recognised the images of Anne Boleyn, Oliver Cromwell, Simon de Montfort, King Charles I, Jeanne D'Arc, Mary Queen of Scots and a few others.

The envelope we had been given contained a card printed with a riddle:

"How shall thee be remembered, who will decide
The manner ye lived or the manner ye died.
Think well on your actions lest ye lose the day
Henry's jailer shall tell ye the way."

I looked across to our opponents, who I could tell had just opened the same riddle. We briefly exchanged glances, then our respective duos withdrew to opposite ends of the room to discuss the conundrum before us.

Larkin Claydon

Let us recap the clues we had so far:

There was the strange doll, a simple stuffed toy shaped like a gingerbread man, whose name was apparently "Simon". There was the sinister riddle alluding to crime and punishment. And on the walls around us hung portraits of historical figures who might in some way be linked to the mystery before us. What did all these people have in common?

Anne Boleyn – most famous for being one of the wives of Henry the Eighth, before he had her beheaded. Oliver Cromwell, the Lord Protector, and Charles I, the King he deposed. Simon de Montfort, the Father of English Democracy. Mary Queen of Scots, executed by her sister Queen Elizabeth I. Politics seemed to be a recurring theme here, but surely not the whole story.

I got up to examine the portraits more closely. Beneath each was a small card naming the sitter, along with a brief, very specific caption. Some examples:

"Jeanne D'Arc: burned at the stake, Rouen 1431.
King Charles I: beheaded by axe, Whitehall 1649.
Oliver Cromwell: posthumously hanged and mutilated, Tyburn 1661."

In the context of the riddle, it was apparent that the common denominator was the violent execution of the people in the paintings. Once we understood this, it was Adelia that worked out the link between the riddle, the portraits and the doll.

"Henry's jailer is Simon de Montfort", she explained. "He was the general that put King Henry III in prison, it also explains why the doll's name is Simon. I'm not sure what we're supposed to do next, though."

I went to examine the card beneath Simon de Montfort's portrait. It read:

"Simon de Montfort: cut to pieces in battle, Evesham 1265".

We examined the doll more closely, compressing it, folding it this way and that. It was then that we realised there was a piece of paper sewn inside the stuffing. Adelia and I looked at each other.

"I think we need to operate," I said. "Do you have a pair of scissors about your person, by any chance?"

Adelia Claydon

We found a pair of nail scissors and set about eviscerating the effigy of poor Simon. His stuffing spilled out into my lap as we cut off his head and shoulders, tearing the little doll to pieces to get to the folded piece of paper inside. On this paper was written another riddle:

"There is nought more noble, or so it is told
Than courage and dignity upon the scaffold
Go from this room in manner most wary
To follow the footsteps of Charlie and Mary."

We gathered up the mess of stuffing from my lap and inhumed the messy remains of Simon in the waste paper basket. We placed the latest riddle with its counterpart in the envelope and made our way out into the hall, where the Mortal Masquerade was getting into full swing. There were masked attendees dancing, drinking and chatting, while over by the bar was a large notice board listing the events to take place that evening. They had lurid names like "Squashed Flat" and "Shredder". I knew from our introduction last week that this was no mere innuendo.

I noticed Larkin examining the stage. There was no performance in progress at this time, but there were properties set out for use later on. One in particular had caught her attention.

"Adelia, do you remember who was among those portraits in the room we left?"

"Mostly," I told her.

"'Charlie and Mary', that riddle said. Ring any bells?"

I followed her gaze on to the stage where a headsman's block was set up on a slightly raised platform. I became aware of the figure of an executioner standing still beside it, his axe resting on the floor at his feet.

This riddle was definitely clearer than the first.

Charlie and Mary were King Charles I and Mary Queen of Scots, both victims of execution by beheading. The first two lines made it quite clear where we were expected to go.

As we arrived at the steps leading up to the stage the music suddenly ceased. A spotlight appeared from nowhere, focused squarely upon the two of us. All eyes turned to watch as the executioner stood at the top of the stairs, his silent hooded countenance staring down like that of the pale rider himself. Larkin and I looked at each other and began to cautiously mount the scaffold.

When we reached the top of the stairs the headsman set aside his axe and produced a black velvet blindfold. It seemed that at least one of us would be expected to submit ourselves for summary execution.

Immediately Larkin stepped forward and accepted the velvet band.

"Very well," she said sternly. "If one of us is to lose our head, I beseech you take mine."

She handed me the blindfold and turned away, inviting me to tie it into place over her eyes. This done, she turned back towards me, grasped my hands and turned finally to face the block.

"I am ready," she said.

The headsman gently took her hand and led her towards the block, directing her to kneel as she reached it. Larkin put out her hands to find the block before her, bent forwards and rested her chin in the groove, her neck exposed across the wooden block.

The executioner took up his axe and gently rested the edge of the blade upon my sister's neck, lining up the blow. She tensed a little as she felt it touch, then composed herself and thrust her arms out and back like the wings of a bird, signalling her readiness.

I felt utterly helpless seeing my dear sister with her head on the block, being prepared for execution. I knew this had to be some kind of illusion, but not how far it would go. What if I were to actually see Larkin decapitated before me? Would it then be my turn to follow her fate?

The headsman lifted his dreadful axe high above his head and prepared to perform his grim duty. A drumroll began as the axe rose, as it reached its crescendo the axe fell.

I saw Larkin steel herself for the blow. I saw the headsman swing the axe down towards her, then curve the swing away from the block and out of the path of danger. Bringing it to rest back at his side, he gave me a silent nod, turned and carried his axe away down the stairs, leaving my sister and I alone on the platform.

I rushed forward to check on Larkin, who was still waiting on the block. I gave her a hug around her shoulders and removed the velvet band from around her eyes. She smiled at me, then turned her face back towards the basket beneath the headsman's block.

"Adelia, look at this," she said.

Larkin Claydon:

I did not imagine for a second that I might actually lose my head by this adventure, but today I looked death in the eye and found it exhilarating. Uncle Morbid had told us that death should be treated as final in these games, even though we knew that much of what took place was an illusion it is important in both the spirit and moral of the games that they be treated with all due respect and realism.

This one was clearly about courage and dignity. I had long ago read about the death of Anne Boleyn who, though executed for the most feeble and abhorrent of political excuses, died with strength, dignity and forgiveness for her executioners. This was the recurring lesson of history as represented by the portraits upon that drawing room wall: death comes for us all and is frequently unjust, when all is lost the manner with which we face the reaper is the only part we can control, and the one by which we decide our destiny and legacy.

So when summoned to the block, I faced the axeman with all the resolve and courage I could muster. As Adelia tied the blindfold around my eyes I wanted to reassure her, but we were both being tested here and for all I knew hers would be the next neck on the block after mine. I confess to a little trepidation as I was led to the block and gathered my skirts to kneel in place. As I stretched out my neck I felt every groove, every detail of the oak block against my throat. When the headsman laid his axe upon me I felt more alive than at any point in my life thus far. I heard the death rattle of the drumroll and felt the pressure on my neck briefly subside as the headsman raised his axe. When the drumroll stopped I heard the air move as the blade was swung and braced myself for the blow, but it never came. I felt my sister's hands upon my shoulders, when she removed my blindfold the view that came into focus was of the inside of the basket placed to collect fallen severed heads. Inside the basket, looking up at me was another Simon doll.

Adelia helped me to my feet, we collected the doll from the basket and withdrew to the bar to inspect our prize.

A few minutes later all eyes turned to the stage once more as the executioner returned, this time to be joined by a lady with long golden hair in a satin ivory dress with white corset and matching eye mask. She allowed herself to be blindfolded, knelt into position just as I had and signalled her readiness for the headsman to proceed. The drumroll sounded once more and the executioner raised and swung his axe, but this time there was no feint. The axe crashed into the block with a single blow, through the exposed neck of the condemned lady, her head toppling forward into the basket with a shower of blood. Even if there had been some kind of illusion at play, it was a terrifying sight to behold.

"This is the Mortal Masquerade, of course someone was going to lose their head," said a voice behind me.

I turned to face the speaker, who turned out to be the angel acting as bartender. She handed me a pair of scissors, larger and more suited to the job at hand than the nail scissors we'd used to dissect the first Simon doll. Adelia placed the new Simon on the bar, where we set about cutting him open.

This time there were two pieces of paper. The first read:

"A straw man in pieces might save thee from death
And deliver the worthy of life's precious breath.
In the labourer's castle shall ye find the last test
The hourglass points to the place ye must rest."

And the other:

"From earth did ye come and to earth ye shall go
By thine own deed might ye summon the flow
Be thee lying in wait, or lying in state,
Faith and obedience seals thy fate."

Adelia Claydon

These clues took us from the main house to one of the barns found outside, one of which was lit from inside with farming machinery parked against the walls. Any doubt that this was the 'Labourer's Castle' was abated by the discovery of Uncle Morbid awaiting our arrival alongside a small audience of ballgoers. Elbert Makabra and Amethyst Annie were there also, having apparently beaten us to this stage of the contest. I wondered if they'd followed the same series of challenges we had, or if they had found some way to skip ahead.

"Nice of you to join us finally," said Elbert mockingly. "Not losing your heads, I hope. In case you're wondering, our informants at the Masquerade let us know we should come straight here. But I'm sure you had fun taking the long way round."

In the centre of the barn were two large wooden crates placed side by side. Above each was a large metal hopper, the bottom of the funnel pointing into the crates. There was a small set of steps placed by the side of the crate on the side nearest us with a platform formed by straw bales on either side. On closer inspection we noticed a pair of mats rolled out along the bottom of each crate with pillows placed against the far end.

How thoughtful, they wanted us to be comfortable as we lay in the bottom part of the hourglass.

Uncle Morbid made no comment as he watched us examine the apparatus. It was perfectly clear what was expected of us.

We made our way to the bottom of the steps and helped each other into the crates. Elbert and Annie followed suit, going to the steps on the other crate. Elbert helped Annie up the steps and into the crate, then went to head back into the audience. Finally Uncle Morbid spoke up.

"You too, Mr. Makabra, if you please."

Elbert scowled, looked uneasily at his companion and reluctantly climbed into the crate to stand beside her. Annie looked across at us, took Elbert's hand and the two of them ducked down into the crate to lie side by side. Larkin and I smiled at our two adversaries, gathered up our skirts and prepared to do likewise, when Larkin stopped me.

"Wait," she said. "We're forgetting something."

She went to the straw bales at the side of the crate and drew out a long piece of straw, checking it against the light to see that it was clear all the way through the centre. She handed the straw to me, selected another similar for herself and returned to my side. Uncle Morbid nodded approvingly, just as Elbert poked his head up to see what was happening. Larkin stuck her tongue out at him, turned back to me and we settled down into the box.

"'The straw man in pieces', 'life's precious breath'," she quoted. "It has to be an airpipe."

We lay side by side, the pieces of straw held in our lips rising up to the side of the crate. Above us was the intimidating structure of the metal funnel, with a large lever just within grasp. Next to the lever was a printed sign:

"PULL THE LEVER TO RELEASE THE FLOW."

We held hands and looked at each other. So this was the fate we were to face together.

I readied myself, felt Larkin's hand squeezing my own and nodded that I was ready. She reached up with her free hand and grasped the lever. We both took deep breaths as she pulled it downwards, opening the hatch at the bottom of the funnel.

Fine black soil began to pour from the hopper over our laps, building into a mound which tumbled over our legs and torsos as the crate slowly filled. It buried our clutching hands, tumbled about our necks and hair and started building up around our faces. As I felt the soil upon my chin and forehead I closed my eyes and pursed my lips around the straw windpipe, waiting for our inevitable burial to be completed.

Soon we were buried entirely. I could still feel Larkin's hand in mine and knew she was living still. The straw pipes provided a barely sufficient flow of air as we waited for whatever consequence was to follow.

We seemed to be waiting a rather long time, so I went over every part of the task in my mind. We had followed all the instructions, surely there had been no mistake. The first riddle led us to the great hall, where Larkin had earned the second clue. That in turn had led us here, where we had fashioned the straw pipes and laid beneath the hourglass funnel as directed. And then we followed the last command, to pull the lever and willingly bury ourselves.

It was at that moment that I realised our fatal error.

Larkin:

We lay buried in the soil for some time, I know not precisely how long, when the meagre airflow from the breathing straw suddenly ceased, as if someone were pinching it shut. Thankfully the airflow returned before I succumbed to panic, then I felt a disturbance in the earth above and felt the weight slowly begin to lighten. We were being dug out.

It took a few minutes to release us from our internment. We blinked into the light to see faces peering over the side of the crate down at us. Uncle Morbid was there, as were Elbert Makabra and Amethyst Annie, who looked remarkably clean for people who were supposed to have been buried alongside us. They were laughing at us.

"You idiots!" said Annie. "You actually thought that burying yourself alive was the way to win this? Honestly, this is too easy."

I looked at Adelia, who nodded witheringly.

"It's true," she said. "I worked it out, but too late."

She explained it to me as we were helped up out of the box and brushed the soil from our hair and clothing. With the exception of the first riddle in the envelope, all the clues that had brought us to this point had been delivered to us in Simon dolls. Simon had told us where to go, what to do, how to prepare, and even warned us that faith and obedience would seal our fate. Then, as we lay together in the crate and saw the final command to bury ourselves alive, all we had to do was disobey the instruction and leave that lever alone.

Because Simon hadn't said.

"You did well right up until the end," said Uncle Morbid once we were outside the crates. "I must commend you on your knowledge of history, it's too bad you were tripped up by a children's game. And as for your courage on the scaffold, Larkin – exceptional. You were actually willing to place your neck on the block and be beheaded for the sake of your sister."

"Too bad they didn't go through with it," called Amethyst Annie, passing by. We chose to ignore her.

"So, we lost this round?" asked Adelia.

"I'm afraid so," Uncle Morbid confirmed. "But don't despair. All your opponents have accomplished is to level the score going into next week's round. The next round will take place out of doors and will involve a certain level of physical interaction, so please dress accordingly."

We left Morior Hall muddier than we arrived, but also a little wiser. The shenanigans of our adversaries had so far been passive to our own efforts, but I had a strong feeling we could expect more direct sabotage from them during our next encounter.