The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (12 page)

He nodded sagely.  “Yes, of course, I should have remembered.  Unfortunately, I have nothing else to set before you.”

I quoted a line often heard from my father, when he was not off in some king’s court teaching fencing, “What cannot be changed must be endured.”

“What would happen,” Angelique asked me, “if you did drink the wine?”

Children are curious over the oddest things.  I shrugged.  “That is something I am not willing to discover.”  I thought of the pouch left in my room.  “Fortunately, I have water from Avalon to prolong life and strength.  It is said to possess remarkable restorative properties.”   

“Shall I have it fetched for you?” the Keeper asked.

“No!”  Angel answered, scooting her chair hastily back from the table.  “I will get it for you, Mama!”  She raced off, and I noticed the Keeper’s arched eyebrows.

“Mama?  How can the living mother the dead?” 

“That is my business,” I snapped back.

He looked more amused than offended by my tone.  More and more, I began to believe the man an impostor.  This could be the Gamesman, playing yet another game. 

Azrael swept into the room, taking a chair well away from me. 

I definitely needed to resolve matters with him.  Soon after, the first course arrived on silver platters. 
Needing a topic for conversation, I seized upon the many miracles we had seen within this house.  “The moving closet, the water-filled railings that glow, your statue servants; why are their wonders here that are no where else in the city?” I asked.

The Master of Gears took a sip of wine before answering.  “The things you speak of
—the technology that moves the city, and the crystal-powered gates that connect many worlds—are from my home-world.  My people deal in mysteries and secrets, bartering them.”

“What world is that?” Azrael asked.

“Atlan,” our host said.  “We are descendants of survivors of a great cataclysm long ago on Earth.”

“
Your people are survivors of Atlantis,” I asked, “the island continent that sank into the sea?”

Our host nodded.  “My
ancestors gated to a new world we might not have chosen if not for the press of time, and have built a wondrous civilization through the centuries.”

“Then
why would you come here to be the Gamesman’s servant?” Azrael asked.

“I have ... my reasons.”

The Master of Gears had reasons he was not going to share.  I wondered if he might be some banished criminal, forbidden to return under threat of execution, or some out-of-favor lord escaping political retribution.

Angelique returned with the water flask.  She filled my goblet and I drained it thirstily.  Whatever its virtue, the flavor was unremarkable.  Pity, I expected more.

My thoughts fragmented, scattered by a wild wind within my skull.  Waves of dizziness came and went.  I put my hand to my head, covering my eyes for a moment. 

“Celeste?”  The dark stranger’s whispery voice seemed impossibly far.  “Are you all rig
ht?”

Whoever Celeste was, she failed to answer.

I stood slowly and the room canted disagreeably.  My head felt so light, I had to touch it again to be sure it had not floated away.  The winds inside me were screaming now, a roaring in my ears.  I gasped, trying to breathe as the air turned thick as resin.  The candles blurred, throwing out winding bars of light as my balance fled.  I collapsed, sprawling into darkness.

6.
A ROSE IN THE GEARS

I awoke to aching muscles.  My eyes fluttered open.  A lamp on the nightstand cast a wan glow.  Much of my bedroom remained shadowed.  I felt a small puff of breath at the nape of my neck.  Someone’s arm was draped over my side, and a warm body snuggled up against my back.

Angelique murmured sleepily, “Sorry, Mama, I did not mean to be so bad.”

Instinctively, I soothed the child, “Mama loves you.  Dream only happy dreams, little bunny.”

She sighed, subsiding.

My thoughts turned to my own condition.  I noticed Silver Wolf’s mask pressed up against my stomach, under the sheet.  I could not imagine why it shared my bed, or who had put it there.  My mind drifted on to the larger mystery of what had happened to me.  I knew I ought to be able to
figure it out, but lacked energy.  The last thing I wanted was to come fully awake and shoulder burdens no one should have to carry.

This was bliss, a warm
bed, my head on the softest pillow, my body covered by clean fragrant sheets … and I smelled wonderful.  Weary travel and grime had been washed from every square inch of my body.  I wore the frilliest of nightgowns and nothing else.  The pleasure I garnered from this reminded me I was indeed a woman, though I would be back to playing warrior all too soon. 

Surely Angelique was not responsible for tending me so well?  She lacked the strength if not the willingness.  I thought of Azrael bathing my naked flesh lovingly, clothing me, carrying me to bed—a tingle of excitement swept through me along with a blush. 
Please, God, let me find out that the simulacra are responsible.
  I did not have to care about the opinions and observations of metal golems.

I sighed, very much awake after all. 

A dark patch of shadow thickened.  Azrael stepped into the light and cautiously approached the bed to check on me.  I wondered how long he had kept vigil, and how much of it had been spent in my room.  How long had I slept?  Did I really want to know?  The dark angel searched my face, breaking stride as he noticed my eyes were open, fixed on him.

The silence stretched out.  We had too much to say to each other and no easy place to
begin.

“Am I still alive?  Did I
… die?” I finally asked.

His eyes flared brighter at my question, then dimmed.  “No.  Not for lack of trying.”

“What happened?”

“You were poisoned.”

My eyes widened at his remark, and the thinly veiled anger I heard in his voice.  It was not what I had expected to hear.  “Really?  How did that happen?  No, do not tell me.” 

I remembered Angelique’s sleepy apology and the pieces of the puzzle fit themselves into place.  I needed to die to be her mother, and she knew I
could not drink anything but my own water, which she had fetched for me.  In my mind’s eye, I could see her yielding to temptation, pouring out my flask and refilling it.  Any passing simulacra would have been most willing to help her.

I should have been livid, but somehow, I could not bring myself to feel anything except sorrow for her.  “Did you scold her?”

“Certainly, I did.  She ran and hid under a harpsichord, and cried for a very long time.  She did not want to come back to this room, but I found her and made her do so.  She has made some small amends by supervising the servants tending you.”

Relief washed through me.  “Then you were not the one wh
o…”  My face warmed once more.

“No.”  There was laughter in his tone.  “I did nothing improper.  I was raised better than that.”

I smiled at the claim.  As if an angel could have childhood or parents.

He sat on the edge of the bed and I pushed the covers low enough to bring my arm out.  I offered him my hand in silent apology for being so much trouble.  His fingers were ice-cold, but I was getting used to that.  It no longer bothered me.  I decided to tease him.  “You are far out of character, my friend. 
I cannot help but feel that there is some great secret behind your attention to me.”  I paused a moment, before I spoke again.  “Do you think you will ever share it with me?”

“Soon,” he sighed,
“but not just yet.”

“Then tell me why the
poison
did not work.”

The dark mist of his lower face parted to show the flash of teeth.  “I can take the blame for that.  I whisked you here and placed the Wolf’s mask next to you.  The convulsions soon passed and you slipped into an exhausted sleep.”

Ah!  That explained the third presence under my covers—and the ache in my muscles.  “So the mask—”

“The mask carries Amberyn’s blessing.  If you had kept the pouch on you with the mask inside, you would not have been in danger of poisoning.  Do you remember what the elf said when he enspelled you?”

I protested weakly, “How could I?  He spoke Elvin.”

“No, before that, he said as long as you carry the mask, his blessing would accompany you.  He was being strictly literal, as you must be when invoking magic.”

“Trust me, from now on I will keep the mask with me wherever I go!”

“Speaking of departures…”  Azrael lifted my hand to his icy lips and kissed it before setting it down.  “I must attend to matters of importance elsewhere.  Keep shadows near in case you need me.  Call and I will come at once—no matter the cost.”

Wings of sadness brushed my heart.  “It sounds as if you will be gone a long time.”

Azrael stood and e
ased away from the bed.  My hand twitched.  I wanted to reach to him.  I needed his strength, his gentleness dependability, but I held back, understanding the demands of duty.

“
I do not wish to leave,” he said, “but I must.  Death summons me.”

“
You are going now?”  I felt deep sorrow,
as if he were already gone.  Even this small distance
between us hurt my heart. 

He turned back
to me with a savagely blazing stare.  “I must.  As it is, my reception will be cold and questioning, considering the delay I have already made.”

“I will miss you,” I said.

He sighed.  “I must confess the same.”

The shadows reached out and gathered him in a closing fist.  The
darkness thinned and he was gone.

I felt empty and lost, but didn’t permit myself to call out after him.  Still, a single tear rolled down my cheek.

              “Mama?”

“Angel, you are awake?”

“Yes Mama.  Is he going because of me?”

“No, Love.”  I groaned; stiff muscles complained with pain as I lifted myself to roll in place so I could lie face to face with my new daughter.  I planted a kiss on her forehead and enveloped her with accepting arms.  “It has nothing
to do with you, but I want your promise—you must not try to kill Mama again, all right?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

I awoke and realized I had slept.  Angelique was gone from my bed.  Since I was on the mend, she must have felt free to poke about this strange
complex of wonders.  I hoped she wasn’t getting into more trouble.  I threw back the covers, slid my feet to the carpet, and sat up carefully in case the room should decide to suddenly spin.  My body felt wrung out, but obeyed the simple commands I gave it.

I walked to the bath chamber in hope of finding a wash basin and chamber pot.  A basin fixed to the wall dispensed water at the twist of a knob.  Another knob brought it heated—s
uch a marvel!  I splashed my face, washed the sleep from my eyes, and used a hand towel to dry.  I experimented with other facilities and turned up a ceramic chamber pot bolted to the floor that flushed away waste with swirling water.  For these miracles alone I could forgive the Keeper much.

Back at my room’s vanity, I ran a brush through my hair and straightened a few snarls.  Reflected in the mirror, my likeness convinced me I would not be fighting a pitched duel in the immediate future—much as I needed to complete this quest.  My pouch lay at hand.  I tossed it to join the silver mask guarding
my empty bed.

A trip to the closet secured the White Rose attire, complete with thorn whip.  An unpleasant shock went through me as I saw an empty scabbard.  Nowhere did I see my precious sword.  My breath caught.  A sharp pang went threw me.  The blade
could not be replaced, a gift from Father the day I presented him with a grandson.

Had Angelique taken
my sword?

But of course she had!  What child can resist playing with a
weapon so beautiful?  The child sorely needed guidance and structure.  I would have to firmly acquaint her with my expectations. 

I took
the clothing to the bed so that I could sit and dress, and grumbled with irritation at my body’s sluggishness.  The whole business took far longer than it should have, but at last I finished.  I scooped up the mask and tucked it into the pouch.  My locket and the rose compass lay nestled inside, chains intertwined.  I placed them about my neck.

My cloak went on last.
  Strangely, the flower Gray had given me remained fresh and fragrant with no petal out of place.  I wondered if that was also part of the elf’s blessing.  Perhaps the answer had more to do with the angel who gave Gray the rose. Might the bloom have virtues still to be discovered?  I hoped so, needing every advantage I could lay my hands upon.

I felt nearly human
, and only wobbled slightly on the way to the door.  When I tried to turn the knob, I discovered it locked.  I gripped the knob harder, and wrenched at it as apprehension flooded my mind—Angelique’s disappearance had assumed sinister overtones.  I had to get out.  I had to find her.  Since she was dead, no lasting harm could befall her, but she could still be made to suffer in any number of ways.  I had to spare her that.  My angel carried too many scars on her heart as it was.

I lacked the strength to force the door, or even beat on it, not that it would do any good.  None of the simulacra were going to assist me in defiance of the Keeper’s orders.  They were his creatures after all,
subject to his whims.

I hated to inconvenience Azrael and get him into even more trouble, but I saw no alternative.  I stumbled toward a patch of shadow, and opened my mouth to scream his name.  My intention must have been obvious to some secret watcher because the room immediately filled with bright light
from all sides.  The wardrobe and bathroom doors closed with twin slams and I heard them lock.  All access to shadows had been ruthlessly denied me through the use of strange forces
and mechanisms I could not fathom.

As I shielded my eyes, I realized that this was no ordinary light accosting me.  It seemed to thin my thoughts, packing my head with cotton
as if I were drugged.  My balance became uncertain.  I found my self searching every corner of the room, unsure of what I was even looking for.  Enspelled by the light, I heard Phillippe’s voice as if from a distance, scolding me.