Tara Duncan and the Forbidden Book (31 page)

“Tara, can't you dial back your power a little, please?” moaned Cal. “Otherwise these looky-looks are gonna follow us to the ends of the earth.”

“Hey, this was your idea! And in any case, there's nothing I can do. I just gave you my power. It's not my fault the living stone did whatever she felt like. Personally, I prefer boys with dark hair.”

Robin glanced at his white locks and looked glum.

“Is that so? asked Cal, suddenly very interested.

“Nah, I'm just teasing you,” said Tara with a chuckle. “I don't have a preference.”

Robin sighed with relief.

Amused by Cal's glorious appearance, the castle arranged itself so that a ray of sunshine constantly illuminated him, and it created splendid landscapes to show his impressive physique off to all. He strode by hills lit by a glowing red sunset, with a gentle wind billowing his cape and ruffling his red lion's mane. It was spectacular.

Followed by their little troop of panting admirers, the friends went to the infirmary to see how Fabrice was doing. The centipede + shark demon was no longer there; Master Chem had probably returned it to Limbo. But neither was Fabrice.

They jumped when he suddenly spoke from behind them: “Ah, I was looking for you! I was told you were in the Council Chamber.”

Turning, they saw Fabrice looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with Barune at his side.

“Weren't you supposed to stay in bed?” asked Robin.

“That shaman!” grumbled Fabrice. “He scared me out of my wits talking about infections, gangrene, intoxications, and poisonings. Then, when he was sure I was good and terrified, he cured my wound just like that, poof!, I must have drunk a hundred gallons of that awful brew of his, and then he kicked me out of the infirmary!” He paused. “So, what's been happening while I was laid up?”

Fabrice suddenly noticed the presence of the extraordinary Cal.

“I don't think I know this gentleman,” he said.

“Stop kidding, Fabrice. It's me, Cal.”

“Cal? What in the world—”

“It's just something that didn't work quite the way we expected. Anyway, we have lots to tell you, and then we've got to get the heck out of here before they close in.”

Fabrice suddenly burst out laughing. “They? Oh, you mean that crowd of girls outside is after you? Man, oh man!”

“Tell me about it!”

The friends brought Fabrice up to date on the recent developments. When he learned that the king had sent two high wizards off with Fafnir, he whistled in surprise.

“Fafnir's got a pretty difficult personality,” he chuckled. “And when she's possessed, she must be a total drag. I wish the two wizards luck!”

“Speaking of that, she asked us to do some research on the Ravager, and we're heading for Omois. Want to come along?”

“Of course,” said Fabrice, rolling his shoulders. “Otherwise, who'd protect you from those nasty monsters, mam'zelle?”

Tara grinned at him, and Robin frowned.

Apparently, not having gorgeous Cal right under their eyes helped the female spellbinders and ladies-in-waiting come to their senses, because the hallway was empty when the friends stepped out, to Cal's great relief.

But they didn't get ten yards when seemingly from nowhere, a covey of giggling and blushing women, teenagers, and little girls emerged and again started following them.

Cal picked up the pace.

The crowd sped up.

Cal walked even faster.

So did they.

“Hey, why are we running?” asked Fabrice, who, with Barune, was having trouble keeping up.

“We're running,” muttered Cal through gritted teeth, “because I've become so handsome that all the women in the country have decided to pursue me.”

“Gee, I think that's kind of nice.”

“Well, I don't,” said Cal in a tone that was melodious, but final.

The Living Castle decided to lend its friend a hand and created a violent storm in the hallways, which slowed the pursuers. The female courtiers were plastered against the walls, but the spellbinders used magic to free themselves.

The group arrived at the Transfer Portal out of breath, and in Cal's case, disheveled—but still elegant!

Luckily for them, the Cyclops couldn't be bribed. He categorically refused to tell the gaggle of smitten spellbinders where the incredible apparition had transferred to. Then he sighed. That guy was too handsome to be real, he thought sadly. Why can't I have girl Cyclopes chasing after me like that?

The five friends, their familiars, and Manitou rematerialized at Tingapore in a palace that was completely black. The marble walls, the gold statues, the imperial guards' uniforms—everything was black. Lady Kali, the head of housekeeping, greeted them graciously, draped in a long dress that was . . . terribly black.

“Have you come for the Dilution?” she asked, wringing her six hands. “What a terrible misfortune! To break one's neck in the prime of life. There wasn't a thing our shamans could do. The ceremony is tomorrow afternoon. Damien will show you to your rooms. The empress warned us that you would be coming, and we've kept your suite available in spite of the crowds.”

Now the group was completely at a loss. Who had died? And how did the empress know they were coming? Also, Tara and Fabrice didn't have the slightest idea what a Dilution was.

Suddenly a figure they immediately recognized appeared in front of them. Prince Bandiou! The empress's uncle, whom Fafnir had destroyed.

Sparrow shape-shifted, and Tara activated her power, her hands glowing bright blue.

“Taxes are necessary to pay for public services,” Price Bandiou declaimed persuasively. “On Earth, our planet of origin, they pay for our civil servants, schools, hospitals and their expensive supplies, trains, roads, public buildings, garbage collection, and much more. Here on OtherWorld, the government needs taxes to pay civil servants, who are found on all planets”—the figure smiled sardonically—“but also our army, spells necessary for our defense, improvements in our lifestyle, and scientific and magical research. Citizens of Omois, remember that the greatness of our empire rests on your shoulders. Pay your taxes!”

The figure bowed and vanished.

Kali wiped away a tear.

“What a great man!” she exclaimed. “Each time the empress has one of his speeches projected I can't help but weep.”

Very discreetly, Sparrow drew in her fangs and claws, then shape-shifted back. Her robe groaned as it regained its normal proportions. Tara extinguished the blue glow from her hands. With an effort, the two girls managed to look angelic and contrite.

“Yes, indeed,” muttered Cal, his head bowed. “Such a tragic loss! Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Kali. What time will the Dilution take place?”

Catching sight of Cal's splendor, the head housekeeper's eyes widened imperceptibly.

“At three o'clock tomorrow afternoon,” she purred. “The empress has reserved seats for you next to her—a distinct honor. We will see each other again, which will give me great pleasure. In the meantime, I must ask you to check your weapons. You'll be given a receipt so you can pick them up when you leave.”

Robin sighed when he handed in his bow, which wasn't pleased in the least.

Though Cal's clothes fit him quite snugly, they hid an impressive number of knives and other sharp weapons, which he checked with regret. Tara strongly suspected that a fair number remained, but Kali didn't insist on a body search—though Tara felt she was dying to perform one.

“I don't believe I know you,” she meltingly murmured to Cal. “I'll need your name for . . . for . . . for tomorrow's ceremony.”

Cal, who loved Earth movies, didn't hesitate.

“Bond,” he said in his velvety voice, bending to kiss one of the young woman's many hands. “James Bond.”

Fabrice and Tara had to bite the inside of their cheeks so as not to burst out laughing.

Lady Kali flushed, and her smile widened. “Very well, er, Mister Bond. I hope to . . . see you soon.”

Catching Sparrow's mocking gaze, she pulled herself together. “Damien, please show our friends to their suite.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Fabrice and Tara were annoyed at Cal. Bursting out laughing in a palace that was in mourning was hardly recommended, and they had a hard time not doing it. A very hard time.

They had barely taken their first steps when Robin suddenly stopped, then carefully turned his back away from Damien. Lillandril's bow, with all its accessories, had just rematerialized in his hand. Since they didn't hear any shouts from the Transfer Portal, they concluded that the elf's private rearmament hadn't been noticed.

“Man, that thing of yours is really handy,” muttered Cal admiringly. “Still, make sure Damien doesn't see it.”

“Yes, Mister Bond,” Robin answered. This drew a glare from Tara, who was struggling to control her hysterics and couldn't repress a small chuckle.

Their trip through the palace calmed her down. The best way to describe the reigning atmosphere was morbid. The trees in the hallways had lost their leaves. The firebirds gazed sorrowfully at their black feathers. The big drago-tyrannosauruses were so depressed, they didn't even consider munching on Fabrice when the group crossed the black jungle. Pterodactyls soaring in the distance croaked anxiously, like birds of ill omen. The vrrrirs couldn't understand why their white fur had suddenly turned dark.

The filtered light from the bay windows was cold and gloomy, and a lugubrious moaning echoed throughout the palace.

“Brrr,” said Fabrice, who no longer felt any urge to laugh. “It's very . . .”

“Yeah, very . . .” agreed Cal. “Especially since they are mourning a guy who was crazy for power and killed lots of people. If people knew the truth, they'd toss him in a cesspool and have a party instead!”

Gallant, Sheeba, and Blondin stood out vividly against all the black. The courtiers, some of whom had darkened their skin in mourning, looked disapprovingly at the white pegasus, silver panther, and red lion.

The female courtiers certainly admired Cal, but because of mourning, they simply gazed at him in awe and walked off, whispering.

“I know that you are Her Imperial Majesty's guests,” began their guide Damien delicately, “but I think it might be appropriate if you changed your familiars' colors. We wouldn't want to offend the sensibility of our sovereign, who has been deeply affected by the loss of her uncle. Don't you agree?”

Tara smiled. The boy was very careful with them, since the previous visit.

“We'll take care of it,” she said kindly.

Damien seemed relieved. “Thank you, Miss.”

“But before we do, we need some information. Would it be possible to visit your Discussarium?”

Relieved that Tara had agreed to deal with the familiars, Damien was happy to oblige. “Of course. Follow me, please.”

There weren't many people in the vast wood-paneled hall dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. Though the walls were lined with manuscripts, books, journals, and travel logs, most spellbinders preferred to use the voice-activated Discussarium system.

Suddenly Fabrice stopped. Protruding from behind a table was a long, hairy, gray leg that ended in a very sharp claw.

“Good grief!” he hissed furiously, “there's an arachne here!”

Cal looked, then whispered, “Oh, that's Drrr! You know, the arachne who was being treated for her allergy problem. I got to know her when I was in jail. She's very nice.”

“Well, she can stay right where she is,” said Fabrice, as he searched for the table farthest from the spider.

Robin and Cal merely shrugged. To them, the arachne was just a citizen like any other.

They sat at Fabrice's chosen table, and Damien went back to the Transfer Portal to welcome other arriving guests.

A sphere of silence promptly isolated them.

“Voice!” cried Sparrow, who knew how the Discussarium worked.

“Princess Gloria?” answered Voice.

Sparrow grimaced. She was so accustomed to her nickname that it always sounded odd when someone used her true title.

“We're looking for information about an entity called the Ravager of Souls.”

“I'm very sorry,” Voice answered immediately, “but that information is classified. I can't give you access to it. Only the high wizards have the authorization. Can I do something else for you?”

“I am High Wizard Manitou Duncan,” said Tara's grandfather, “though I may not look it at the moment. Give us the information, please!”

“My apologies, High Wizard,” Voice responded, this time with a touch of asperity. “Authorization is only given to Omois high wizards.”

“Crap!” said Cal. “The one time that we aren't being crushed, boiled, or kidnapped to get information, it doesn't work.”

Thinking fast, Tara got an idea. “Voice?”

“Miss Duncan?”

“The empress has access to that information, doesn't she?”

This time Voice's tone was a bit scornful. “Yes, Miss, of course. As a member of the ruling family, the empress has access to all information.”

“Fine,” said Tara with a smile. “I just wanted to make sure that access didn't depend on the emperor.”

To her friends' surprise, Tara got up and signaled them to follow her out of the Discussarium.

“I know what we're going to do,” she announced when they were in the corridor.

“Oh man, I hate it when you talk that way,” groaned Fabrice. “It usually means we're in for big trouble, probably involving serious, if not crippling, injuries.”

“Actually, if my plan doesn't work, I don't think we'd be convicted of any crime more serious than lèse-majesté!”

Fabrice could hardly breathe.

“Treason against the sovereign?” he croaked. “What—”

“What are we going to do?” guessed Tara. “Oh, nothing special. We're just going to blackmail the Empress of Omois.”