Prospero in Hell (37 page)

Mab and I spent the morning in the orchid garden, discussing in hushed voices what we had learned from Schrödinger.

“So, let me get this straight,” Mab said, his stubby pencil moving quickly across the pages of his notebook. “Mephisto swore a dire oath to the Elf Queen, who is secretly the Queen of Demons. This oath impelled him to hunt the Holy Unicorn or become the slave of the Queen of Air and Darkness. Lord Astreus gives Mephisto water from the River Lethe, which wipes out Mephisto’s memory. This lets him escape the consequences of his oath, but it also drives him mad.” Mab scratched his chin and jotted something else down in his notebook.

“No wonder Mephisto’s crazy!” I said.

“No wonder he freaked when Lord Astreus offered him a drink!”

“And what is Astreus’s part in all this?” I wondered. The memory of our ride through the stars grew more vivid with each passing day, as if the elf lord were becoming more and more of a presence in my thoughts. Until yesterday, it had been easy to dismiss him; for between an inhuman elf and a flesh-and-blood man, the choice was simple. With Ferdinand nonexistent, however, I now had nothing to shield me from the lure of stardew and wonder. Silently cursing the elf for the marvels he had shown me, I wished anew that I had listened to Mab and skipped the Christmas feast.

Meanwhile, Mab was saying, “Good question, Ma’am. Was he trying to help Mephisto? Or was damaging Mephisto’s mind part of the Queen’s plan, and Lord Astreus just her agent? Did Lord Astreus put Mephisto up to trying to summon the Elf Queen in the first place?”

Remembering something Caurus told me, I asked suddenly, “Mab, is Astreus actually your father?”

Mab stared at me expressionlessly, and then snorted. “Who told you
that, Old Northwesty? Caurus is overly poetic, Ma’am—too many sips out of Kvasir’s cauldron.”

“Ah. Okay. At least, we can now discount your theory about Mephisto having been tithed. That party the Elf Queen threw because Lord Astreus freed the elves from the tithe to Hell for one sevenyear apparently had nothing to do with Mephisto.” As I spoke, I recalled the haunted look in Astreus’s eyes as he explained that the price of that free sevenyear had been too high. A shiver ran up my spine.

“Don’t know, Ma’am, but…” Mab frowned, troubled. “I hate to say anything bad about Lord Astreus, after all the good he’s done for me and mine, but if he is in with the Queen—if he’s hunting the Unicorn, too—perhaps he brought you the
Book of the Sibyl
hoping you would lead him to your Lady.”

Learning that Mephisto had been damaged by water from the Lethe, rather than tithed to Hell, had renewed my faith in Astreus. Now, that faith took another tumble. I sighed, closing my eyes, tired of the emotional roller coaster I had been riding lately.

I loved my flute. Then, I feared the effect its demon might be having upon my soul. Now, there was no demon, but I feared my Lady may be angry with me for keeping her consort trapped these many years.

I adored my father. Then, I feared he had harmed Ferdinand. Now, I knew him innocent of that crime, but discovered that he may have lied to me about my mother and perhaps even had me under a spell.

I was overjoyed when Astreus gave me the
Book of the Sibyl.
Then, I feared he had tithed my brother to Hell. Now, I knew he was innocent of that charge but was troubled that he may have even more sinister designs.

This cycle of fears and suspicions was exhausting. And yet, had I been more suspicious of Ferdinand, I might have saved my family a good deal of suffering. What is more, a suspicion like this might go a long way toward keeping the specter of the elf lord from haunting my thoughts.

Except, I recalled how Astreus had stood up to the Elf Queen during the Christmas Feast, ten days ago, when he had insisted upon sitting next to me, and how harshly Queen Maeve had regarded him. What was it he had said?

For no elf, be she maid or queen, would fail to honor the Handmaiden of Divine Eurynome, who is adored by all
TRUE
elves.

Astreus had been mocking Lilith!

Before the entire court, he had called Queen Maeve a false elf and
berated her for her enmity against Eurynome, though only he and she must have understood his meaning. Taunting one’s queen to her face hardly seemed like the action of a loyal henchman. Good for him, I thought, obscurely pleased by his defiance.

However, my earlier conjecture that the “M.” in Father’s journal might stand for “Maeve” now took a sinister turn. Schrödinger claimed Father knew nothing of Mephisto’s plight. Perhaps so, but that did not rule out the possibility that Father had conspired with the Elf Queen in other matters, such as to bring my uncle Antonio, the King of Naples, and his eminently marriageable son, Prince Ferdinand, to the shores of our island prison so long ago. I searched for another candidate but there were none that made sense. The more I contemplated it, the more certain I became that Father’s “fair queen” must be the Elf Queen. But, did Father know that Maeve was Lilith in disguise?

Eventually, Mab and I reached a point where we were merely repeating our previous questions. Realizing that while the sun shone brightly here, it was the wee hours of the morning back home in Oregon, I left Mab to his own devices and retired to my old room to sleep.

I woke to the call of storm petrels and realized it was nearly dinnertime. Upon rising, I reached for my cell phone to check in with Prospero, Inc., but of course it was back at Erasmus’s and would not have worked here anyway. It troubled me to be out of touch. The turn of the year was a tricky time in the world of spirits; at least one of our Priority Contracts—the bargains between supernatural beings which we enforced and maintained, so that the Earth did not quake, oceans and rivers did not flood, and oil continued to burn evenly in engines—always went awry. As I was stuck here, incommunicado, until we retrieved Ulysses’ staff, there was nothing I could do except pray that Mustardseed and my other company officers proved up to any challenges that arose.

I had removed my Worth gown and slept in my linen chemise. Now, I donned the gown again, for I had nothing else to wear. After brushing out my silvery hair and deciding to leave it down, I set off for the dining room.

It was strange to walk down the old store halls again. Everywhere I went, I encountered the ghost of my father. Not a real ghost, of course, but such a clear memory that I constantly felt as if, were I to turn quickly enough, I might catch sight of him.

I pictured him as he had been in my youth: tall, imposing, and kindly,
garbed in robes, with salt-and pepper-hair and a full beard. In the corridors, I thought to see him strolling along deep in thought, his brows furrowed, his hands clasped behind his back. As I passed the Astronomy Chamber, he seemed to recline on his specially designed chair as he peered at the stars through the crystal dome (spyglasses not having been invented yet). In the library, I could have sworn that he sat at his desk, turning the pages of some gigantic tome, perhaps researching spells for summoning oreads and gnomes to move the earth and stone for a new wing. In the solarium, I thought I caught sight of him drawing sketches of objects he desired the airy servants to fetch from afar. (There was no way to instruct them to buy as opposed to steal, but he always had them leave more gold than the object he desired was worth.) And I would have sworn I caught a glimpse of him in the parlor, sitting before his chessboard, waiting for me to join him for a game.

Suddenly, I missed him terribly. All my long life, he had been the strong presence to which I turned in times of distress or tribulation, always calm, always wise, always offering a practical answer. I, in return, had been his stalwart helper and companion. Now he was a prisoner under torture, in pain, and I could do nothing to help him. I loved him so dearly and missed him tremendously—despite all my suspicions. Without him for me to stand by, I was not even sure quite who I was.

I sat down on a bench in the solarium, before the wide, sunny window that looked out on the sea far below (another open space enchanted with a protective air cushion) and put my face in my hands, weeping. I wept for my father, whom I loved and for whose life I feared. I wept for the death of Ferdinand, slain by my wicked uncle, whom I had never properly mourned, and I wept for the loss of this more recent Ferdinand and for the false vision of future happiness the infernal incubus had raised in my heart.

Apple Blossom’s soft call of “Supper, Milady,” brought me back to myself. I sent her for a basin of water and rinsed the tears from my face. After examining myself in the shiny surface of a helmet and deciding I looked presentable, I set out to dinner again.

I came upon Theo sitting slumped against a wall with his head in his hands. The sight shocked me, for I thought, for a moment, that it was Father. Seeing my brother, alive and whole, did much to raise my spirits. Stooping beside him, I touched his shoulder and asked, “Are you well?”

He raised his head, and his eyes met mine. There was a fierce intensity to his gaze that I recalled from ages gone by, but which I had not seen in
some decades, almost as if the ghost of his younger self were possessing his old man body. I found it eerie and yet encouraging.

“Gregor’s not dead,” he said. “Never has been.”

I nodded.

“I’ve been such an idiot!” he announced candidly.

I nodded again, smiling.

He reached out a hand, and I helped him to his feet. Instead of releasing my hand, he used it to pull me against his chest and gave me a fierce hug. I returned the embrace, laughing.

“I missed you,” he said when he released me.

“I missed you, too,” I replied.

He offered me his arm, and together, we went in to dinner.

Dinner consisted of fish from the sea caught by the airy servants, wild edible greens, and wine from Father’s cellar. It was served in the great dining hall, which was smaller than I had remembered. But, then I was a mere child when I lived in this house. Many things I recalled from those years had proven false.

When the dishes had been removed and only wineglasses remained, Erasmus sat back in his chair, smiling through his lank black locks. Reaching into his pocket, he held up a tiny, spherical, crystal vial about the size of a plum. Unstopping it, he lifted the stopper to his nose and sniffed it as one might a wine cork. The air about the tables rustled with the sudden motion of Aerie Ones. Mab sniffed, alert. At the opposite side of the table, Cornelius broke off his conversation with Titus and flared his nostrils to catch the marvelous scent as it spread through the dining room.

“It is New Year’s Day, you know,” Erasmus said, holding the tiny vial up for all to see.

I had forgotten the family practice of taking their yearly drop of Water of Life on New Year’s Day. No wonder everyone attended Erasmus’s New Year’s parties. It offered them a reminder and an opportunity to maintain their immortality together. Having access to the Water whenever I wanted made such rituals less important to me. Yet, this time, I was glad to be among my siblings when they renewed their immortality for another year.

Cornelius felt his pockets. “You will have to drink without me, Brother. I fear I left mine back at your mansion.”

“I suspect many of us did,” Erasmus replied smoothly. “But, perhaps Miranda would be so kind as to provide for those who have not.”

“I would be delighted,” I said.

I took my pear-shaped vial from a little reticule made of the same violet cloth as my vintage gown. In it, I had placed belongings from in my pockets: my spare vial, a comb, and the dried bits of moly leaf from my trip to the Wintergarden. I wanted to carry the enchanted, razor-edged fighting fan as well, but the reticule was too small.

Walking around the table, I stopped beside each place to let a single drop of the sweet smelling pearly liquid fall into the dark red wine. Mab shook his head and covered his glass with his hand when I came to his place, muttering, “Can’t afford to be tipsy while on the job.” Mephisto, after offering his own cup, held up Calvin’s, saying, “Daddy gave me a supply for him, but it’s not here, so can you do his, too?”

“Father gave you a supply of Water for your Bully Boy!” I asked, taken aback.

The dining room was suddenly very quiet. Erasmus and Titus gazed at Mephisto with particular intensity. Erasmus’s face had gone an odd shade of green.

“Yeah… so?” Mephisto asked cheerfully. His staff was still handcuffed to his left arm and stuck up beside him, jerking about whenever he gestured or cut his food.

“Why did he give extra Water to you for your manservant, but none to me for my… to Titus for his children?” Erasmus asked, pronouncing each word with careful precision.

But I had glanced over at Calvin. Earlier in the meal, he had slouched over his dish and shoveled food into his mouth, until Mephisto had elbowed him. Then, he had straightened up and used proper manners. But there was something about that slouch, the shape of his shoulders, the way he had practically inhaled his food, that seemed to fit in this dining hall. My stomach clenched, and a strange dizziness took hold of me. The room seemed to swim and spin. Calvin saw me watching him and gave me a sweet hopeful smile, like a dog who knew he was about to be whipped, wagging his tail before his master.

I knew that look. The clothes were wrong, and the smooth, clean-shaven skin, but the expression had not changed. I remembered racing the wind along the beaches of this island, the apron of my skirt filled with clams, with my best friend dogging my footsteps, that same expression on his hopeful face—the same “best friend” who later attacked me so vilely.