Robert’s instinct was to awaken Julian to protect him from whatever vivid nightmare was plaguing him in that odd state of concentrated suspension. However, Robert knew that whatever was taking place between Julian and Mr. Punch—deep within their shared body—was of the utmost importance to their survival—all of their survival, but especially that of Julian and Mr. Punch.
Who would emerge from their tumultuous coma? Would Julian awaken and look at Robert with his wide, nervous eyes? Or would it be Mr. Punch with his air of wild excitement and sheer wonder? How would Mr. Punch survive their private, arduous journey? Would he survive? Robert thought of his dear Punch and realized how much he’d miss Julian’s other half if the erstwhile puppet didn’t reappear. How cruel it was, Robert thought. How cruel to have two men in one body, when only one should survive.
“Selfish though it is,” Robert whispered. “I want you both to return to me. I’ve gotten used to the way things are and I like them.”
He watched as Julian silently mouthed a series of words. Or was it Mr. Punch? Perhaps it was both of them speaking concurrently. Robert wished he could be in there with them—in their private, exclusive space. But, he knew he couldn’t be absorbed into them as much as he wished. Someone had to keep guard, no matter how painful it was.
At that very moment, deep inside of Julian’s body, Mr. Punch was protesting. He rose from the chair he occupied—the twin to the one in which Julian sat.
“Mr. Punch, please,” Julian said gently.
“I gotta stop this.” Mr. Punch moaned.
“No.” Julian smiled. “Let the panto continue.”
“I feel weak,” Punch said, looking to the phantom stage where the spectral “actors” had become frozen like some sort of strange projected painting fueled by light and energy.
“As do I.” Julian whispered, “but, together our weakness makes us strong. Do you see?”
Mr. Punch closed his eyes and shook his head. “I do.”
He sat down again, looking at the stage, he whispered, “Carry on.”
The figures before them sprung to “life,” and began to move again as if they were automata made of fire who had just been wound-up and activated.
The image of the Duchess—faceless, but still recognizable—began speaking again.
“I’ve grown weary of seeing this creature,” The duchess proclaimed to the figure of the Nanny. “Do take him away for awhile. I wish to have the Hall to myself while sir Colin is abroad.”
“I shall take him to London as instructed, Your Grace.” The nanny answered.
“It won’t do for you to travel alone,” The Duchess grinned.
“Shall I take one of the footmen?” The nanny asked.
Meanwhile, the tiny image of young Julian rose from where he’d crumpled to the ground. He stood shivering as far away from the two adults as possible while still remaining on the stage. He held his puppet close to his heart and hugged it as if by embracing it, he’d give it his own life.
“No.” The Duchess chortled. “I’ve hired a companion to look after you both. I’m sure you’ll find him most enjoyable. And, I’ve no doubt that he’ll mete out discipline on the boy as is needed.”
“What’s this man’s name?” The nanny asked.
“He has many names. You may call him, ‘the Professor.’” The Duchess answered. “You’ll find him most talented. And, I’m happy to say, quite skilled with a knife. You’re to do as he says without question.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” The figure of the nanny said clearly.
“As for you,” The Duchess turned toward the child. “Be careful with yourself. Remember, naughty little boys are eaten alive.”
“Help me, Mr. Punch,” The image of young Julian said softly into the “neck” of his puppet. “Help me, please.”
“I’ll help you, Master,” The “real” Mr. Punch began to cry from the audience of two. “I’ll help you. Oh, please, don’t go with them!”
“It’s too late, dear Punch,” Julian whispered to his other half. “We’ve already gone.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-185? If so, you can read them here.
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