by Robin Trent
In the front corner of the room stood Titwell, hunched over and breathing hard. He was panting from running up the stairs to Elizabeth's room, not that anyone could have heard him over the screaming. Under his boot was the nightmare, squiggling and squirming to get away. "Not this time," Titwell hissed. He placed his hands around the slimy thing's throat and darted out the door while Elizabeth and her mother were preoccupied. Soon light came on in the bedroom, and Titwell breathed a sigh of relief that he had gotten there in time.
"Now to deal with you," Titwell said. He wasn't overly imposing, but the house brownie did have a few tricks up his sleeve, and he knew how to deal with nightmares. A nightmare was an evil spirit that rides on people's chests while they sleep, bringing on bad dreams. When Titwell had come into the room, that was precisely what he saw. The nightmare was a shadow with yellow eyes and claw-like hands. To a human, it would appear as a shadow and nothing more. Titwell, as a magical being, could grab the thing. Not only did he have a hold of it, but he wanted dearly to throttle it.
Titwell dragged the nightmare outside and off into the bushes, far enough away from the house where he wouldn't be disturbed and overheard. "What are you doing here, and why are you haunting my mistress?"
The nightmare hissed, popped, and cackled. Its voice sounded like bacon frying in a skillet, and it laughed and wheezed in Titwell's face. "There is more going on around you than you realize, hob." He gasped again as if he couldn't get air, but Titwell knew this was just the way a nightmare sounded. "There are those who want The Emissary dead. They know what your queen is doing. And they never want another one born, ever again. They are more powerful than you."
Titwell released the nightmare with disgust. "Go away and never come back."
The nightmare wheezed as it floated away. "I do my master's bidding, not yours."
Titwell knew it was time to start taking more drastic measures. Not everyone in the house was going to understand, but it had to be done to prevent the nightmare from returning. At this rate, Elizabeth was never going to get her rest and recover.
Following the archaeologist around wasn't going to be hard. Rhys only needed to be introduced and that was a little more tricky. Normally, he would join the battle and then leave. No fuss. But in this case, he needed a cover. The politicians had arrived, doing what politicians do. They were scheduled to meet with Nikolai in the morning and Rhys knew this could be his ticket in. He had Strakx and Hoznac hang around and find out where the politicians were sleeping and to determine which one was the leader of the group.
The leader, as it turned out, was an Englishman with an overblown sense of self-importance. Briggs Holland was a Minister of Parliament and a man keen on the military without any real knowledge of fighting. He was exactly the kind of man Rhys enjoyed killing the most. He was also the sort of human that was most susceptible to suggestion. Lucky for the minister, Rhys had other plans.
In the light of a single candle's flame, Rhys leaned over the sleeping politician to sprinkle memory dust over his eyes and face, for Rhys could create a memory as well as destroy one. He bent low to whisper in the politician's ear. "Know me, recognize me."
Titwell sat in the attic and listened for sounds of Helen going back to her room. He knew the nightmare wouldn't be back tonight. Not after being caught and forced to tell what was going on. Still, before he left, he wanted to make sure Elizabeth wouldn't be disturbed again.
He crept into Elizabeth's bedroom. The poor woman was finally quiet and sleeping. He found her shoes and placed them on the side of the bed with the toes pointing outward as this was known to stop nightmares from visiting. He went downstairs to the kitchen and found the salt. He scooped a portion of it into a jar and carried it upstairs where he put it on her window sills. That should keep the nightmare out of her room.
Titwell readied himself and left the house, making his way to the old oak tree in the woods under the light of the moon. He needed to see the queen. He would be remiss if he didn't tell her about the strange goings on around the Merkova house and what the nightmare had said. Stepping into the gateway, green fire sprouted up all around him turning yellow and then white, and he was gone.
The palace was deserted. Titwell stood alone in the Great Hall and it was silent as the grave. Of course, he didn't have an appointment. The queen wasn't here and it was quite possible she wasn't even in the palace. Titwell sighed.
"Sighing is a sign of a discontented heart," came a voice from nowhere.
He looked around the room, again seeing no one.
"Over here," the voice said.
Titwell turned about, examining the room more closely.
"No. Over here," the helpful voice repeated a little more loudly than before.
Titwell turned back to his original starting position facing the throne.
"Look down, please." The voice now sounded exasperated.
Titwell lowered his gaze. A small red salamander stood at the bottom of the dais. It took Titwell a moment before he registered the elemental. Elemental salamanders were creatures of fire. This particular elemental had yellow streaks running through its body that resembled hot lava.
"Oh, hello. I'm sorry, my name is Titwell and I am looking for the queen."
"I know who you are, Master Titwell. My name is Glo. I am the Keeper of the Flame for her Majesty's Court." Glo bowed.
Titwell looked like he wasn't sure what Glo was talking about. Must be a new position?
"I keep the brazier's lit. They have to be fed and maintained. They don't just stay lit all by themselves, you know." Glo sounded slightly miffed that Titwell couldn't catch on to the obvious.
"Of course." Titwell gave a slight sigh then corrected, afraid he might offend. "That is a very important job."
"Oh please. What do you want?" Glo's eyes were twin flames that danced as he spoke, changing height and width to give Glo actual facial expressions. For Titwell it was a little disconcerting as he was beginning to feel mesmerized by the flames.
"Yes. Well, I am here to see the queen." Titwell shook his head to clear his mind.
"You already said that." Glo was sounding annoyed.
"Do you know where she is?"
"Why yes, I do. The queen always tells the Keeper of the Flame her royal schedule."
"You don't have to get snippy," Titwell said. "I have important news which I think she will want to hear. If you can't help me, maybe you could tell me who would know?"
"Oh, all right. If it's that important, the queen went off to the human world to take a stroll. She goes there a lot. She has a special place she likes to roam in the woods."
"Well, that could be anywhere. I guess I will have to come back." Now Titwell sounded exasperated.
"Not necessarily." Glo indicated with a tilt of his head. "If you head that way exiting from this hall and enter the next hall over you will see a full-length mirror. Step through it. It is the queen's own personal gateway and it will take you exactly where you need to go."
"I will take my leave then," Titwell said as he bowed to show respect and then quickly departed.
The exit was behind the throne, through a doorway that led out into a hallway made of stone with flaming wall sconces on either side. In a few steps Titwell was at the entrance of another hall, this one much smaller than the Great Hall, but still quite roomy. It was obvious the queen used this to lounge in and take breaks from court business. There were chairs with plentiful pillows. Braziers and a fireplace kept the hall warm and well lit. It would make sense having the mirror here as it provided the queen with a quick escape if needed. However, Titwell was surprised that it wasn't being guarded. The queen really did take too many liberties with her person. She needed to have more care.
The mirror was large, oval, and very ornate. The frame was hand-carved walnut with lots of leaves and swirls in its design and it stood in a walnut stand to hold it upright. The mirror had a dreamy sort of focus as it showed a beautiful landscape beyond. Titwell imagined the landscape chang
ed as the seasons would change in the human world. Right now it showed a deeply green forest alight with fireflies and a pretty little brook bubbling near by.
Stepping through a mirror is much like stepping through a sheet of extremely cold water. It always took his breath away and it took him some time to recover from changing locations. It was Titwell's least favorite way to travel, which was probably why it affected him so. He didn't do it very often and he never got used to it. He stood in the forest, hands on knees, fighting nausea, then he straightened his posture and fought the vertigo as he took several deep breaths of cool night air.
Letting his eyes refocus, he looked at his surroundings. The forest was beautiful and peaceful. He could see why the queen liked to walk here. Not knowing which way to go, Titwell decided to go down a path to his right. As he got closer he could see that path ran down a fairly steep decline. Going down would be easy, walking back up would cause some exertion. The path went down into a valley where a lake took up most of the area.
Surrounded by trees, the moon cast a white streak across the lake's surface. Tree frogs croaked and crickets chirped and the night sounds seemed to grow louder with his presence. A warning system? Walking around the lake's edge was the queen, barefoot in flowing robes of white and silver. She looked like a wraith gracefully floating over the landscape. She turned and looked up at Titwell, showing surprise but then recovered and signaled for him to join her.
11
Bedtime in the desert climes meant fresh air that brought relief from the blistering sun of the daylight hours. Sand seemed to be in everything. Nikolai had dumped out the gritty accumulation in the bottom of his shoe and sent his clothes out to be washed and pressed. His bath had seemed a luxury after the day he had, and he sat in the water until his fingers were prunish as he churned over events in his mind. Once he was out and dressed in pajamas, Nikolai sat down at the desk in his room. With parchment in hand and an ink well and writing pen, he began to compose a letter to his wife.
Dearest Elizabeth,
I miss you, my darling, in the worst way. Oh, how I wish you were here. Egypt doesn't seem to be the same without you. Now when I walk down her dusty streets, I think of how we met here, and I see you sitting at the cafe drinking tea or looking at exotic fabrics in the bazaar. Dare I say that I am lonely?
I have my work, and Henry is here, but he is a poor substitute for a companion when I have you. How are our dear little ones? I am sure the girls are keeping you busy. I hope things are going well with your mother. It is suitable for her to be there with you, so you don't become lonely yourself.
Henry and I have been crating and cataloging artifacts and removing them by train to a safer place in Cairo. The locals are not too happy with us, and they tend to throw things at us and yell vulgarities. We are genuinely trying to preserve the artifacts for all of humanity, but they do not seem to recognize this and accuse us of thievery.
Tomorrow some ministers from Parliament will be here to check on our progress. They are also here to see how the war is progressing so they can take reports back to England themselves. I hate politics. I wish I could just do my work without such things, but it has become an unfortunate part of my job.
Kiss the girls for me. You are all in my prayers. I hope to see you soon.
Love, Nikki
No amount of words could convey how he truly felt, and he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of leaving his young family so soon. But this letter would have to do until he could compose something more interesting. He had received information today that the military would be helping in the movement of artifacts from Alexandria to Cairo. Nikolai was none too happy about this news. The military could never be trusted, and he was afraid some things might go missing between the two cities. It would not help the relations he was trying to build between his country and Egypt if artifacts disappeared, for then the complaints of the locals would seem to have merit.
Rebecca looked down at her creation with a critical eye. For this experiment to work, it had to be just perfect. The cake was small, round and buttery, and sitting on a china plate. It was dotted inside with Elderberries and drizzled with honey. The sweet cake was sure to be attractive to any fae and Rebecca felt confident this would do the trick. Also, there was nothing in it to hurt the children. That was more important than seeing if the changeling would appear for the cake. Rebecca felt a little nervous and excited all at the same time. If she could prove that it was a changeling then Helen would need to apologize to Elizabeth. Rebecca picked up the plate and went upstairs.
The morning sun was passing overhead and the nursery was shaded and pleasant. She placed the cake inside the crib and stood back. The only sound in the nursery was the wind tickling the leaves of the trees outside as the curtains floated gently with the breeze. Rebecca stood stock still holding her breath in anticipation. Finally she let out an exasperated breath as nothing happened. The baby just laid there looking up at the ceiling, completely ignoring the cake.
Ophelia started to fuss and Rebecca decided to check on her rather than stand around looking like a fool. She picked up Ophelia and started to coo at her. The baby had a wet nappy and Rebecca set about changing it. All the while she was taking care of Ophelia, she had her back turned to the crib. Rebecca gave Ophelia a kiss and was ready to take the dirty laundry downstairs.
She decided to retrieve the cake as well since it obviously wasn't working. Staring down into the crib, Rebecca felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The cake was gone and the plate was licked clean of every last drop of honey. She picked up the empty plate and stared at the baby in the crib. The baby was staring up at the ceiling again and not acknowledging her.
"I know what you are. You can't fool me anymore,” Rebecca whispered.
The changeling in the crib slowly moved its head to look directly at the housekeeper. Eyes glittering, its lips curled back showing razor sharp teeth. Rebecca nearly dropped the plate and fought down the urge to scream. She beat a hasty retreat for the door as fear trekked up her spine. She slammed the door behind her and whirled around to face Helen.
"What on earth is going on? Rebecca what are you doing?"
"I did it. I proved that ain't no baby in there, it's a changeling. He ate the cake, all of it. See?" She practically shoved the empty plate in Helen's face.
"All I see is an empty plate. Having a mid-morning snack are we? You will stop this foolishness right now. Elizabeth has always been lax with the staff and it shows."
Helen's demeanor did nothing to prevent the housekeeper from defending Elizabeth. "It's true. I'm not lying. I can prove it again. I'll make another cake and feed it to the changeling and then you'll see Elizabeth isn't crazy."
"You'll do no such thing. Rebecca, I don't want to dismiss you, but I will if you continue this ridiculous charade. It's bad enough Elizabeth is pretending, now you are going to encourage her? I have had enough! Go about your duties and if you want to keep your position, you will not mention it again." With her nose in the air, Helen entered her room and slammed the door.
Rebecca stood alone in the hallway, heart hammering in her chest. Ophelia was in the nursery with the changeling and now she was worried about the baby. There were things she remembered that her mother taught her, things she could do to help protect the child. Time to bring out the old folklore remedies.
The meeting with the members of Parliament went as expected with the dignitaries having opinions and not knowing the first thing about archaeology. It was tedious at best, but Nikolai and Henry made it through the morning, and when finished, everyone seemed satisfied. Briggs Holland was one of the ministers who had a keen interest in the war itself. He personally thought the whole effort to save artifacts a waste of time, but he knew it was a gesture that was supposed to appease the locals. However, he did see an opportunity since all artifacts were being moved from Alexandria to Cairo, and he was never one to miss something useful to his advantage. He hurried his pace and caught up with Nikolai as they were
all leaving the museum.
"Nikolai. Hold up. I have someone I want you to meet." As they were walking down a ramp, they passed a guard of military officers. Nikolai turned to greet the red-faced Briggs. "You seem to be a little winded there, Mr. Holland. No need to hurry. We will wait for you to catch up."
Briggs bent over at the waist and panted heavily. "It's this damn heat. No respectable Englishman belongs in it."
"Yes, it does take some getting used to." Nikolai hid his grin. Briggs had been hinting around all day that he had something to talk about, and Nikolai could guess what it was. The last thing he wanted was military involvement in the shipment of precious artifacts, so he took a small pleasure in Briggs's discomfort.
"Nikolai, I want to introduce you to Rhys Bryhana. He is one of our finest up and coming young officers, and he has an avid interest in antiquities as well."
"Really?" Nikolai practically snorted but tried to rein in his disdain. Worse than a politician who knows nothing about archaeology would be a military man who thinks he knows a little. He turned, ready to give this man the polite brush off, but when he locked eyes with Rhys, that became impossible. For some reason, the man held his attention and curiosity grew.
"Rhys Bryhana at your service, Sir Merkova." Rhys gave an elegant bow.
"Oh, nonsense." Nikolai felt extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I am not a sir, I have never been knighted, and no one has ever thought they needed to bow before me. If you are trying to flatter me, you are overdoing it."
