Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I (30 page)

My childhood had been spent upon an island that was barely more than rock and heavens. The Aerie Spirits continually orchestrated storms at Father’s behest. Hardly a day went by without the howling of winds and the crash of thunder, and I had reveled in every moment of it! That my brother Erasmus, who had known me nearly all my life, could believe I had asked for the flute because I desired to seize control of Father’s servants was mind-boggling.

What a shock returning to Milan had been for me. Perhaps my long life might have taken a different direction if my father had married a woman who showed any kindness to my young self. When we returned from the island, Father had expected me to wed Ferdinand and leave for Naples, so he had not considered my welfare when he chose his next bride. Hoping to consolidate his power in Milan and keep his brothers at bay, he chose a daughter from a powerful family. Isabella Medici was a gorgeous young woman with dark glancing eyes and clever calculating ways. She had no time for a lovely stepdaughter who knew nothing about society or womanly arts. Since I was content to mope about the castle, mourning silently, she ignored me.

Father’s counselor, the wise Gonzalo, who in prior years had warned my father against his brother’s treachery and who had helped him and my infant self escape, took a keen interest in me and sought to cheer me; however, he passed on a year or so after our return, leaving me friendless.

With time, I recovered my spirits and took my first trek to draw Water of Life from the Well at the World’s End. The well stands beside the place where the River of Stars plunges off the brink of the world, falling into the abyss of the Void in a cascade of silvery light, surrounded by a spray of stardust. The journey there and back takes a year and a day, during which I was gone from Father’s court. By the time I returned, my grief banished and my
spirits buoyed up by the wonders I had beheld, I had been forgotten. I was a living ghost, haunting the great stone edifice of my new home.

The night I had met Theo at the top of the Filarete tower, Isabella Medici had given a party in honor of my uncle Antonio. Everyone at the
castello
had been invited. Everyone, that was, except the duke’s awkward, savage daughter, who did not know how to eat or speak properly or how to behave like a civilized person. It was not that I would have been turned away— oddities were always diverting— but, rather, that no one bothered to rouse me from my private retreat, or to provide me with a suitable dress, or for that matter, to take any thought about me whatsoever.

My father treated me kindly, of course, but he was a busy man. In addition to his ducal responsibilities, which he left mainly in the hands of his wife and his brother Ludovico, he waged a war within the
Orbis Suleimani
. The details of this struggle were never made clear to me, but he was constantly drafting letters and sending Aerie Ones off with missives. Also, he was still drunk with the wonder of having fathered sons.

Nor did it seem to occur to my father that I might need attention. I had seen to my own entertainment on the island and had been perfectly content. He seemed to assume the same would be true in Milan. Only, on the island, I had Aerie Ones as companions, and, in my younger days, Caliban as my playmate. In Milan, the Aerie Ones were still with us, but Father, fearing that I might be slandered with charges of witchcraft, had forbidden me to speak with them when anyone else might see. And so, I did not.

I did go once and ask him what he thought I should be doing with my time. He asked why I did not help my stepmother, attend her parties, and whatnot.

“She does not seem to want me underfoot,” I had answered simply.

“Well, perhaps you should make yourself scarce, then,” Father had replied absently, as he turned the page of a highly illuminated tome. And so, I had done so.

Thus it was that I climbed so often to the top of Filarete Tower, even on cold nights, to talk with my airborne friends and play the old silver practice flute Father had given me.

Even today, the Aerie Ones remained my closest companions; they were the only ones with whom I could share my thoughts, my joys. I had never met another mortal who felt as I did, particularly about the sky. Everyone else in my family favored one type of weather over another. Even my dear Aerie Ones did not entirely understand. They were too much a part of the
natural world to savor its delight. When I played my flute, summoning up a storm or a perfect blue sky, I could feel my soul stirring as if I could escape the bonds of earthbound life and lose myself in eternity.

“
MA
’
AM
, we’re being followed!” Mab’s voice called from the stern.

“Motor or sail?”

“Sail.”

I laughed. “You have got to be kidding!”

I roused myself and headed down into the cabin to get my flute, nodding to Mephisto, who was belowdecks making up his bunk. My brother often suffered from seasickness, so he wanted to have his bed ready, in case he felt the desire to slink below.

As I climbed back up the ladder, I called, “Earplugs, Mab!”

Planting my feet on the undulating deck, I played a brisk tune. The music leapt and danced, lightening my spirits even as it mocked our adversary. Within moments, the offending sailboat was blown far off course. Every time the harried sailor tried to change his tack, the wind switched directions. Soon, his sailboat was but a tiny spot on the horizon.

Mab took out his earplugs. He carried a cola, drinking it through a straw. “Did you see the guy sailing that boat, the one with the moustache? He’s the same fella who’s been following us since the hotel last night. I’m sure of it.”

“Last night! You mean the hotel in D.C.?”

Mab nodded. “I think he’s one of those masons from the Monument. The one with the tattoo on his arm.”

“Maybe the masons overheard us talking about escaping from Hell, and it piqued their interest.” A disturbing thought occurred to me. “Do you think one of them is trailing Ferdinand? Maybe we should warn him.”

I climbed down into the hold and pulled out my cell phone. It read “out of range.” Seeing the phone reminded me I had forgotten to check in with Mustardseed to confirm that everything was on schedule. The Priority Accounts were too vital to risk; too many lives were at stake. We would have to head back to St. Thomas.

I climbed back up through the hatch, flute in hand. The sun beat down upon my face, but a cool sea breeze soothed my skin and ruffled my hair. I inhaled the salty air and beheld the cerulean sky reflected in the azure water. Sitting down on the polished bench beneath the railing of the cockpit, I said, “Oh, what the heck! Let’s just go. Surely, they can get along without me for a day.”

Mab sat down beside me and pulled out his notebook. Despite the warmth of the day, he still wore his trench coat and fedora.

“A lot of weird stuff been happening of late, Ma’am. Maybe we should review and make sure we’re not missing a clue. According to my notes,” he flipped open the notebook, found the page he wanted, and surveyed it, “some of these we’ve already answered, but the unexplained mysteries I’ve got listed include: what happened to your father, the incubus showing up while we were in the Great Hall, finding Mephisto by chance on the street, Di Napoli showing up while we were in Chicago, finding the Chameleon Cloak right outside your brother’s place, stumbling upon the crate with the gate to the nether realms. And now . . .” He paused to scribble something. “. . . this guy from D.C.”

“Let’s see.” I leaned back and considered his list. “We think we know where Father is, but not how he got there or what he was doing when he got into trouble. The incubus you explained: we let the wards down when we opened the door— and it was able to get through the outer wards because the demons have Father and thus Father’s blood. Finding Mephisto was my Lady’s doing. I prayed to Her, and She showed me the way. The crate?”

Mab said, “It was in the warehouse visited by the demon who stole your brother’s staff. I bet you, as we keep going, we’ll find out that crate is involved in this in some way.”

“You’re probably right. That leaves Ferdinand, the Chameleon Cloak, and the guy who was just chasing us as still suspicious.”

Mab crossed a few things out and made another note. “Right. So, tell me about this sister of yours, the sorceress with the
Staff of
. . .” Mab flipped through the pages. “Says here: ‘
Transmogrification.
’ Does she turn men into toads?”

“And pigs, and bears, and fish, and dogs, and ravens, and horses!” Mephisto emerged from below, carrying his pocketknife and a chunk of pale wood for whittling. He had put aside his winter garments and now sported shorts and a bright blue Hawaiian shirt.

“Logistilla has a selection of seven shapes my father built into the staff,” I continued. “But if she can catch a reflection in the green globe at the staff’s top, she can reproduce it.”

“Sort of a latter day Circe, eh? Sounds like an utter sweetheart.”

“Oh, she’s not so bad. She gave me my first pet unicorn.”

“What was it before she got ahold of it?” Mab murmured.

I could not help smiling. Mephisto chuckled too.

“Probably an old lover. She loves turning old lovers into things.” Mephisto pushed a coil of anchor rope aside and plopped himself down on the bench beside me. “I like her staff, but I liked mine better.” He pouted sadly, recalling his missing staff.

“Forgot to ask Di Napoli where he came out of Hell.” Mab paged through his notes some more. “Was it in Chicago? Or did he come out of a wooden packing crate? We’ve got to do something about that crate as soon as possible, Ma’am. I dispatched two Aerie Ones and a mundane to watch the warehouse and steal the crate; so we can ward it, like you suggested, but . . .”

I cut him off. “When we get back, Mab. Let’s warn my family first. There’ll be time enough to seal up a gate to Hell later . . . besides, if Father’s really down there, we might need it.”

Mab frowned thoughtfully. “What do you make of what Mr. Ferdinand said, Ma’am? About Mr. Prospero, I mean.”

I took my time answering, gazing into the dark waters of our wake. The blue-green sea stretched out around us like a thousand-faceted living jewel, undulating and shimmering.

“I don’t know what to think, Mab,” I said finally. “I’ve known Father much longer than I’ve known Ferdinand. It’s hard to believe . . .”

“So, do you miss him yet, Miranda?” Mephisto interrupted. “What a nice guy, that Ferdinand. I hope you marry him soon. Only, I still think you should marry the elf lord.”

“Elf lord? I’m dead against it, Ma’am,” Mab jumped in immediately. “Humans marrying elves is a bad business. I wouldn’t get involved with a misalliance like that, if I were you. What elf lord is this, anyway?”

“One of the Lords of the High Council!” chimed Mephisto.

Mab whistled, awed. “How did you meet one of them?”

Sighing, I took off my hat and leaned back against the railing, letting the cool breeze blow through my hair. The
Happy Gambit
skipped across the waves like a rock tossed by a child. Bits of spray escaped our airy shield, wetting my face and neck.

“It was in the mid-1600s,” I said, “during the reign of Charles I of England. We were on our way home from a party when we saw an entrance in the side of an old barrow where only earth and stone should have been. We came upon them by starlight, where they danced beneath the arching boughs, all lit by tiny floating sparks. They were tall and stately folk, and their music sounded of night noises, dew, and softly ringing harps.”

“Ma’am, that sounds suspiciously like Elfland. A dangerous place. I trust you turned tail and ran home,” Mab growled hopefully.

“Don’t worry. We neither ate, drank, nor accepted gifts. But we did dance, and dance, and dance, and dance.” How graceful those elves had been. No human partner had ever compared to that night. “When they left, Mephisto thought we should all of us, Father too, marry elves. He had one picked out for me, one of the high lords. I believe he had chosen the Queen of Elfland for himself.” I laughed at the memory.

“You didn’t accept any assignations, did you?” Mab asked accusingly.

“I never saw him again,” I replied primly.

I neglected to mention to Mab that the elf lord and I had agreed to a rendezvous. We were to meet seven years later by the banks of the Avon. I went on the appointed day, garbed in a gown I had convinced Logistilla to make for me. It was of the finest gossamer silk from Cathay, a forest green concoction with a bodice of gold, the split skirts revealing a silver petticoat embroidered with golden lilies.

The fickle elf lord never came.

Meanwhile, Mab was snorting at Mephisto, “Queen Maeve is hardly your type!”

The motion of the sea had already gotten to Mephisto, for he looked a pale sickly green. Clutching the rail and staring morosely into the sea, he did not rise to Mab’s jibe, but answered in a flat distracted tone: “I know.”

THE
sun sank beneath the waves. Above, the deep, shadowy, purple clouds were shot through with fiery rose. Below, the sea mirrored the glorious sky, differing from the original only where a stray island broke though the reflected clouds. I sat for a long time at my favorite perch atop the bowsprit, watching the beauty of color, light, and water until the first stars appeared in the twilight fields of the sky.