The Twelfth Enchantment: A Novel (52 page)

“And what do we do?” asked Lucy.

Mr. Morrison adjusted the bag upon his shoulder and took hold of the coach lantern. “We go and have a look.”

The dog, as he predicted, was no danger. They walked past it, and the creature offered nothing more than a ghostly bark or two, and then they were inside the cold and cryptlike entrance to the abbey.

“Have you a sense of where the pages are?” Mr. Morrison asked, keeping his voice low.

Lucy closed her eyes and reached out, as she had done before. Immediately she gasped and staggered backwards. There was something there, blocking her. It was dark and ugly and forbidding—alive. It was like the creature she had seen surrounding Byron when they first met, a creature of void and vastness, featureless and yet grotesque in its features.

“What is it?” Mr. Morrison asked, taking her arm.

“There is something there, in my path. It is … terrible.”

“It is well we are terrible too,” said Mr. Morrison.

Lucy looked at him. “Mr. Morrison, you appear extraordinarily cheerful under the circumstances. Do you know some advantage offered to us with which I am unfamiliar?”

“Let us say that I have confidence in the both of us.”

Lucy would have responded, no doubt saying something cautious and uncertain, but the words never left her lips because that was when Mr. Morrison was struck down by a tortoise.

Newstead Abbey offered many dangers, but among the things Lucy feared most were the animals that Byron, in his lordly indulgence, allowed to roam the grounds. Most frightening among these were the wolf, which they had already once faced, and the bear, which might have been only local myth. That Lord Byron included a tortoise in his menagerie was well known, but it had never occurred to Lucy to fear it. She had been shortsighted in this regard.

It came down the hallway at a gallop, as fast as any horse, and then leapt into the air, its thick and stunted front legs stretched out, clublike. Mr. Morrison attempted to push Lucy out of the way, but it was intent on her, and appeared to change its direction in mid leap. It was as large
as a pig, and almost as broad as it was long. And its shell made it heavy, so heavy it ought not to have been able to leap at all, but then it opened its mouth and snapped at him with its birdlike beak, and saliva flew from its jaws.

Lucy was on the ground, landing so hard that for a moment she could not breathe. Both of her hands pushed on the bottom of the tortoise’s shell while it stretched around its thick, leathery neck, trying to bite her, and though its teeth were small and blunt, its power and rage made the creature ferocious. Gaining no ground in its efforts to reach her neck, it attempted to peck at Lucy’s eyes with its pointed beak. She heard it snort, felt its hot reptilian breath upon her face, clogging her nostrils with its thick mustiness. She turned her head aside, but not in time to avoid the creature entirely, and she felt the heat of tearing flesh across her cheek, dripping salty blood into her eye. Smelling this blood, the tortoise hissed and wheezed, then tasted the air with its tongue, and jabbed at Lucy’s face once more.

All of this happened in a matter of seconds. From behind the tortoise, Mr. Morrison grabbed the creature’s head, clamping its jaws together in his hands. Lucy watched in amazement as he pulled the animal’s head backwards until it began to bend toward him. The creature could not open its mouth, but it made a mewling sound between its clamped jaws and let out a series of rapid snorts from its flaring nostrils. With a sharp jerk, he pulled outward and upward, and ripped the tortoise’s head from its body. Lucy managed to roll away in time to avoid a spray of blood as the beast collapsed. Mr. Morrison dropped the head near the body and took a step backwards.

Lucy crabbed her way backwards and then scrambled to her feet. She panted hard as she wiped at the blood on her face, and then dusted herself off as though wishing to remove any taint of indignity that comes with having been assaulted by a great turtle.

Mr. Morrison took her chin in one hand and dabbed at her cut with his handkerchief with the other. “Not so bad,” he said. “I’ve seen worse results from a turtle attack.”

“It is my own fault. I neglected to bring my turtle bane,” Lucy said.
She did not know how necessary were Mr. Morrison’s ministrations, but she was in no hurry for them to end.

Mr. Morrison smiled. “Lesson learned, eh, Miss Derrick? Do you need a moment?”

“She needs no time,” said Mrs. Emmett. “The beast is dead. We must move forward.”

“Keeping us upon our toes?” Mr. Morrison let go of Lucy, put away his handkerchief, and gestured down the corridor. “I suggest we make our way back to the drawing room. It is, in its barbaric way, the most habitable portion of the estate.”

Mr. Morrison took hold of the lantern once more, and they ascended the stairs that would take them to the dining room. Lucy felt her breaths come short and gasping. Behind her, the flickering light flashed on Mrs. Emmett’s pacific expression. They made their way along the darkened abbey, hearing the vague and distant sounds of movement, but seeing nothing. Then, past the dining hall, they climbed the brief stairway and entered the drawing room, where they had encountered Byron during their previous visit.

At the center of the room she saw a dark figure, alone and unmoving. Mr. Morrison walked closer, moving slowly, and she saw that it was someone in a chair. Another few steps and they saw the person’s back was toward them and that his hands were tied behind his back. He wore no hat, but it was upon the ground near the chair. There was a string of cloth tied across the back of his head, and Lucy realized the man was gagged.

Lucy started to move forward, but Mr. Morrison held her back. “No,” he said softly. “We go slowly.”

At a great distance they circled around him, not wishing to approach until they saw everything that lay between them and him. When they reached the far side of the circumference, and believed the approach unhindered, they took a few steps forward. Mr. Morrison held the lantern out as far before him as he could manage. In the dim light of the room they saw that sitting in the chair in the center of the great hall, bound and gagged, was the owner of the estate, Byron. And upon his lap
were two sheets of paper that, even at this great distance, Lucy recognized as the final two pages of the
Mutus Liber
.

This would have struck her as good news had the whole thing not been so very convenient, and had not Byron’s eyes been so wide with terror.

L
UCY MOVED FORWARD, BUT MR. MORRISON, ONCE MORE, STOPPED
her by putting a hand on her shoulder. His touch was gentle and hesitant, and even in these terrible circumstances, it had a tentative shyness that thrilled her.

“Wait,” he said. “Let us not do anything hastily.”

“We can’t leave him bound like that,” Lucy said.

“Can you explain why not?” Mr. Morrison asked.

It seemed a good question. Lucy had no wish to set Byron free, not after the way he had treated her, but letting him suffer because he was a scoundrel hardly seemed right. “Because as vile a man as Lord Byron is, he is not our enemy right now, and I should very much like to know who put him there and set out those pages for us.”

“Hold the lantern,” Mr. Morrison said, thrusting it out to Mrs. Emmett. “I want to make certain there is not some trap upon the pages. Then we shall see to Byron.”

While Mrs. Emmett held the lantern aloft, Mr. Morrison carefully approached the baron. Byron’s eyes were wide and wet. He rocked back and forth in his chair, and he mumbled under the gag. Perhaps he feared Mr. Morrison would harm him, but somehow Lucy did not think that would happen. Mr. Morrison had been tempted before and resisted, and he was not the sort of man who would take pleasure in revenge against so helpless an enemy. It was possible that Byron would not recognize that, being the sort of man who would take revenge against a helpless enemy.

Mr. Morrison approached, examined with his eyes the pages upon Byron’s lap as best he could, and then snatched them up in a rapid gesture. Nothing happened. No monsters attacked and no trapdoor opened. He walked back to Lucy and handed her the pages. She did not even need to look at them to know that they were real. She felt their harmony with the ones in her bag, and she put them in to join their brothers. She saw the familiar images now, which she associated with Mr. Blake—the men at work, struggling against bonds or busy at their labors. One man, nearly naked, held a great boulder upon his back. A woman lay upon her side, suckling wolves. A divine arm extended from the heavens, giving something to the people below, or perhaps unleashing punishment.

As she held them, she felt an energy course through her, but their message was harder to understand than that of the other pages—not because it was less significant, but because it was more complex. Deciphering these pages, let alone the entire book once assembled, would not be the work of hours, but days or weeks. She knew that at once, but she did not know if she would have such time.

“I am going to untie him,” Lucy said.

“For what reason?”

“So we know how he got there. Do you not think it important?”

“No,” said Mr. Morrison. “We have the pages. We should go.”

She shook her head. “I cannot believe it will be that easy, that we will be permitted simply to walk away. Someone has orchestrated this for their benefit, and I would know who.”

“Then for God’s sake ungag him, but do not let him go.”

Lucy walked over to Byron and grabbed the gag from behind his head. He grunted as she tried to pull it off. Clearly it hurt him, but Lucy could see no alternative.

She found the slack and pulled it off. Byron gasped and spat and swallowed and then gulped down the air. He breathed hard, but grinned wildly. “Thank you, Lucy. I knew I could depend upon your goodness.”

“I have very little goodness left for you. How did you get here? Who tied you thus?”

“Oh, I cannot recall,” he said. “Perhaps my memory will return when you free me.”

“Perhaps if I cut off his nose he will recall,” Mr. Morrison said drily.

Lucy went to her bag and retrieved a knife. “If I cut him free and he refuses to help us, you may cut off as many pieces of him as you like. For now I will depend upon his humanity.”

“That is a poor prospect,” Mr. Morrison said.

Lucy cut free his hands and then his feet. Byron rubbed his hands together and raised and lowered his legs as he attempted to restore circulation.

“Ah,” he said. “That is the most gratifying thing you have ever done for me, Lucy. There is some hope for you yet.”

“Shut your mouth,” Mr. Morrison snapped. “Tell us what we want to know. How did you get in this state?”

“ ‘Shut your mouth’?” Byron repeated. “ ‘Tell us what we want to know’? Once again, Morrison, you are an intruder in my house, and it seems to me you have no business ordering me to do anything.”

“Lord Byron, please,” said Lucy. “I know you have done terrible things, and there must be a reckoning, but I have also seen you be brave and selfless. Set aside what you feel for one moment, and do what is right. Tell us.”

He sighed. “Only because you are so much kinder than this dullard. Alas, I can tell you almost nothing. I do not know who brought me here. I came from London in search of some personal effects. Once I left, I was upon the road and then abducted. A bag was placed over my head, and
I saw nothing of my attackers. They brought me here and kept themselves hidden from me. I have been waiting in that chair since this morning, and, if I may be so bold, I must piss at once or I shall die. Will you excuse me?”

“The quality of this meeting, much to my surprise, continues to deteriorate,” said Mr. Morrison. “And that is keeping in mind how basely it began. Let us go, Lucy.”

Then came the voice from behind them. “I packaged him for you like a present, and you let him go. I am disappointed, Jonas.”

They turned to see Mary Crawford.