PROSPERO LOST
TOR BOOKS BY
L. JAGI LAMPLIGHTER
Prospero Lost
Prospero in Hell (forthcoming)
PROSPERO
LOST
____________________________
L. Jagi Lamplighter
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
PROSPERO LOST
Copyright © 2009 by L. Jagi Lamplighter
All rights reserved.
Edited by James Frenkel
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lamplighter, L. Jagi.
Prospero lost / L. Jagi Lamplighter.—1st ed.
p. cm.—(Prospero’s daughter ; bk. 1)
ISBN 978-0-7653-1929-6
1. Sisters Fiction. 2. Magicians—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3612.A547435P76 2009
813'.6—dc22
2009016708
First Edition: September 2009
Printed in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To William Shakespeare and John C. Wright
who, between them,
invented nearly every character in this story
except for Mab Boreal, Astreus, and Caurus
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to:
Mark Whipple, Dave Eckstein, and Catherine Rockwood, without whose insistence this novel would have been abandoned in its infancy.
To Von Long, Erin Furby, Kirsten Edwards, Bill Burns, Dave Coffman, Elizabeth Livingston, Jeff Lyman, Melanie Florence, Jessie Harris, Donna Royston, Robin Buehler, Jane Thornley, Don Schank, and Diana Hardy for their support and advice, and to Danielle Ackley-McPhail and the Yesterday’s Dreamers for all their useful ideas concerning the craft of writing.
To my editor, Jim Frenkel, for not giving up on me! And to my agent, Richard Curtis, the Knight in Shining Armor who gives me hope!
To Milton, whose title, I hope, this book honors rather than mocks.
And, most important, to my mother, Jane Lamplighter, without whose selfless devotion to her grandchildren this book literally could not have been written.
CONTENTS
ONE: Miranda
TWO: The Great Hall
THREE: Mephistopheles
FOUR: Secrets from the Past
FIVE: The Chameleon Cloak
SIX: Theophrastus
SEVEN: Our Father Which Art in Hell
EIGHT: The Circle of Solomon
NINE: The Gate in the Crate
TEN: An Unexpected Encounter
ELEVEN: Of Tall Dark Men
TWELVE: Dances With Elves
THIRTEEN: Never Traffic With Spirits, Ma’am
FOURTEEN: Logistilla
FIFTEEN: Raiding the Treasures of the Popes of Rome
SIXTEEN: The Three Shadowed Ones
SEVENTEEN: Prospero, Inc.
EIGHTEEN: The Secret Known Only to Cats
NINETEEN: The Prince of Naples
TWENTY: The Chapel of the Unicorn
TWENTY-ONE: A Cold and Bumpy Ride
TWENTY-TWO: The Mansion of Father Christmas
TWENTY-THREE: The Scrying Pool of Naughty and Nice
TWENTY-FOUR: The Feast of Christmas
TWENTY-FIVE: And Should You Grant My Heart’s Desire . . .
PROSPERO LOST
CHAPTER
ONE
Miranda
It was after midnight when I discovered Father’s last message.
After a long day of work, I had been relaxing in the lesser hall of Prospero’s Mansion in Oregon, flipping through one of my father’s old journals, when I came across a blank page. An intuition from my Lady prompted me to hold the book up to the phoenix lamp.
With a loud crackle, red-gold sparks leapt from the burning phoenix feather housed in a glass lantern beside the hearth and crawled across the journal, scorching words into the parchment. A strong odor of burnt paper and cinnamon filled the air. I nearly dropped the book.
I had seen secrets revealed by the phoenix lamp before. Father had a habit of scribbling notes in the margins that could only be read in this way. Normally, the letters appeared slowly. This smoldering script was something new.
The blazing letters read:
My Child:
I have unwittingly unleashed powers best kept bound. If I fail to constrain them, they will destroy me and all I have wrought. If you have not seen me since the writing of this message, assume the worst and warn the family. Counsel my children to keep close the gifts I have bestowed. Beware the Three Shadowed Ones!
Prospero,
Magus
I turned the page, but the rest of the journal was blank, even by phoenix lamp.
Was Father in trouble, or was this another of his pranks? Our family had many supernatural enemies. We had bound many malevolent creatures throughout our long lives, any number of which could have broken free of their restraints. On the other hand, in the last century or so, Father seemed to handle every difficulty that came his way with ease. This letter was most likely one of Father’s many jests, set up years ago to startle any youngster unlawfully searching his books. Finding no further evidence that this message had been written recently—and not knowing any method by which he could have sent it into the book from a distance—I dismissed it and continued reading.
That night, letters of flame troubled my dreams.
The next morning, I sent one of the invisible spirits of the air who serve our family to Prospero’s Island. (Father refused to keep any kind of phone. He claimed the “constant caterwauling of that new-fangled contraption” disturbed his concentration.) If Peaseblossom found him at home, she was to tell him of the laugh he might have at my expense.
Only, he was not there.
It took Peaseblossom six days to circumnavigate the globe, reach my father’s island retreat, and return to Oregon. Upon returning, she reported that the Aerie Ones on Prospero’s Island were agitated. Great Prospero had not returned from his most recent voyage, even though he had been expected several months ago. Nor could his servants find him anyplace upon the earth.
This news disturbed me. Never in my long life could I recall a time when the Aerie Ones had been unable to find Father. It was time to act. I sent for Mab.
I DECIDED to meet with Mab in the Everblooming Gardens, as I seldom could afford to take time from my busy workday to enjoy them. This botanical wonderland, which one reached by leaving the house through a back door, was always in bloom, no matter the season. It lay between Prospero’s Mansion and a tall stone wall, beyond which stood an enclosed forest of aspens and virgin pines. At the garden’s center, in the midst of the flower beds, a fountain leapt, the water rushing and gurgling.
I sat at a wrought-iron table next to the fountain, stirring my tea. My hair, so pale as to appear silver, was piled atop my head in a Grecian style that had gone out of vogue more than a century ago. My garment, a tea gown with a high lacy collar—the enchanted satin of which matched the emerald of my eyes—was also of a bygone age. Fashions change so quickly. Long ago, I had stopped bothering to keep up.
As I reached for another sugar cube, Mab, our company’s head gumshoe, came slouching down the path, his hands stuck in
the pockets of his gray trench coat. He was the granite-faced, hard-boiled type. Too many years of chasing supernatural perpetrators had given him an intense dislike of all things arcane. He might have passed for human himself, had he not looked so precisely like a detective from a 1940s movie.
Coming up beside me, Mab respectfully removed his fedora and gave me a nod. Mab and I had worked together on numerous occasions, though I never called on him personally unless the matter was one of particular importance. Lesser matters I left to his men.
“You wanted to see me, Ma’am?” he asked, in his Bronx accent. There was a sardonic quality to everything Mab said; even his terms of polite address, such as “Ma’am” sounded defiant.
“Mab, are you familiar with the Three Shadowed Ones? The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place them.”
“Don’t know, Ma’am, but they sound like bad customers. If you want my opinion, you’ll turn down whatever they’re offering and stick to legitimate mundane business.”
“This has nothing to do with me . . .” I began.
“Glad to hear it, Ma’am,” Mab picked up his hat and turned to leave.
I frowned severely to express my disapproval. Secretly, I was amused. I appreciated his concern for my safety but would have preferred if his methods had bordered less upon insubordination. Still, he was a superb detective and as loyal to Prospero, Inc. as an old hound dog.
“It’s about my father. I have reason to believe he may be in danger.”
Mab froze in the act of returning his fedora to his head. “From these ‘Three Shadowy Ones’?”
“Shadowed. It’s Three Shadowed Ones.”
“Sounds supernatural.”
“They are.”
“Too bad. Rather liked the old man.”
“I didn’t say he was dead!”
“Playing with fire gets you burned, Ma’am,” Mab said. “Playing with the supernatural gets you dead. You gotta take my word on this. I destroyed my share of meddling humans in my youth. I know how the game is played. I told your old man he’d run afoul of one of us someday, if he kept putting his nose where it didn’t belong. And the nose of a human never belongs sniffing about in the arcane.”
Mab had been one of the blustery winds before he agreed to inhabit a fleshly body, and he was blustery still. When dealing with Aerie Ones, it was often quicker to let them say their piece and then nip any further impertinence in the bud rather than to try to restrain them.
Because of this, I was in the habit of allowing Mab to rattle on, but this did not mean that I allowed his doom-and-gloom speeches to ruffle me; gales may blow, but a queenly peak remains undisturbed.
Besides, what use was asking a detective for advice if one did not listen to what he advised?
“We’re not here to discuss Father,” I clarified in my calm and business like fashion, “although I want you to have your men begin searching for him. We’re here because my father left a note saying that these Three Shadowed Ones might be a threat to my siblings and me. He asked that I warn the family, and so, I shall do so. However, it has been years since I’ve spoken with most of my brothers. I want you to help me find them.”
“Your personal safety comes first, Ma’am. I suggest you rid yourself of all supernatural devices. It’s a matter of security, Ma’am. When you stink of magic, it draws them like a beacon. If you rid yourself of magic, no supernatural being will be able to sniff you out.” Mab tossed his hat onto the table and counted off his points on his fingers. “Quench the phoenix feather. Burn the magical tomes in the library. Empty the Vault. Unravel your enchanted gown. Dismantle the wind-slicing fan. Destroy the orrery. Pour out the Water of Life. Free us Aerie Spirits who are in service to you. Oh, and break that accursed flute. That should do it. You’ll be safe then.”
I smiled behind my teacup. It always came down to the flute. Not that I blamed him. If a flute controlled my free will, I would plot its destruction, too. Ignoring the rest, I limited my reprimand to his mistake of fact.
“The orrery is mechanical, Mab. It is made of clockwork.”
Mab frowned. “It looks arcane. I’d destroy it to be on the safe side.”
“Mab . . .” I began sternly.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“My brothers. I want you to help me find my brothers.”
“You won’t be expecting me to find the dead one, too, will you?” he growled.
“Could you?” I inquired, taken aback.
Mab crossed his arms. “Hrumph! Wouldn’t if I could. Same as I told your father.”
A chill ran down my spine. I felt relieved not to have been privy to that conversation!
“Let’s stick to my six living brothers . . . oh, and my sister.”
“I don’t know your brothers, Ma’am, excepting Mr. Mephistopheles and Mr. Ulysses. However, if the others are anything like them, I don’t think I’d care to meet them, thank you. Might be better if you left well enough alone.”
I inclined my head regally. “Ordinarily, Mab, I would quite agree with you, but as Father has specifically asked . . .” I paused and asked curiously, “When did you meet Ulysses?” I knew he had met Mephisto on one of the many occasions when my brother came by to borrow money.
“It was back when Mr. Prospero was still living here. He had a blue crystal called the Warden that he kept in the Vault. Some gizmo given to him by a two-bit gypsy.”
“Oh, yes. I recall. It warned its owner if something was about to be stolen. Worked for quite some time, too.”
“Catch was, if the Warden itself was the target of the theft, it didn’t work. Ulysses stole the Warden, and then the jewels.” Mab shook his head. “I warned him and warned him; it never does to put too much store in magic. Mr. Prospero didn’t listen. You take after him a bit, Ma’am.”
“Why, thank you, Mab!” I replied, flattered. Mab scowled. “We got the stolen goods back, if I remember, thanks to your good work.”
“Bah,” Mab spat. “How is any self-respecting detective supposed to track a teleporting thief? He let us have them back is more like it. Even then, two of the pieces we recovered turned out to be fakes.”
Mab’s point regarding my brothers was well taken. With the exception of Theophrastus, they had become a sorry lot nowadays. Theo . . . well, I would face that hurdle when I came to it. Normally, I would not have even considered squandering the time and resources necessary to search for them, but Father had asked it of me, and Father’s requests could not be ignored, even if I disagreed with them.
“Mab . . . I want to find my brothers.” I remained firm. “How would you suggest we begin?”
Mab rubbed his jaw. Like every tough guy since Bogart’s Philip Marlow, he showed half a day’s growth of beard. Only, bodies inhabited by Aerie Ones do not change, so it must have been put there deliberately. “I’d start by finding out what we already know, Ma’am. Do we know where any of them are?”
“We will ask.” I whistled for the butler.
As we waited, I sipped my tea, savoring the strong minty flavor of the pennyroyal. A soft breeze blew through the enclosed forest that lay beyond the stone wall surrounding the gardens, causing the pine needles to whisper and the aspen leaves to make their peculiar clapping sound. I listened to the chatter of three magpies and enjoyed the soft caress of the balmy air as it mingled the delicate scents of lilac and hyacinths with the heady perfume of honeysuckle and roses, as well as the faint odor of pine.
Breathing the fragrant air, I had a hard time believing that if I were to leave the mansion by the front door, or even walk through the archway into the enclosed forest behind me, I would step into the sharp chill of early winter. Prospero’s Mansion was situated in Oregon’s Cascade Mountains, where December meant cold winds and near-freezing rains.
Taking a last sip of tea, I emptied the tea ball into the remaining liquid and swirled the cup. The tea leaves settled into the patterns for tall dark man and long voyage. Shrugging, I pushed the cup aside. Standard tea-leaf rhetoric, cou
ld mean anything.
Meanwhile, Mab stood beside me, frowning and fidgeting with his hat.
From somewhere in the vicinity of my shoulder, my invisible butler spoke. His voice was soft and lilting, as like a flute giving tongue to words.
“All hail, Great Mistress! Vestal Lady, hail! I come to answer your best pleasure; be it to fly, to swim, to dive into the fire, to ride on the curled clouds; to your strong bidding, require of your servant what you will.”
I smiled ruefully. The butler had learned English during the reign of King Henry VIII and still spoke much as had the men of that age.
“Ariel, I must contact my brothers. What is our latest information about their whereabouts?”
“Mortals must sow to reap, even so Master Cornelius. Twice yearly, tidings of the yields from his stocks in your father’s great company are sent to him in braille at his post box in faraway New York City,” Ariel’s voice sang.
“I’ll send him a letter,” I said. “What of the others?”
“The Sun in Scorpio shone when Master Mephistopheles last came weeping to your gates. He had lost that wand, curiously carved and steeped with strong enchantments, which Prospero had bestowed upon him. He claimed to have lost it during a tryst with a damsel of dubious nature; but what became of it, whether lost at sea, or upon the mountains of Tibet, or in remote Hyperborea, he knew not, nor could his addled wits recall. Pity touched even my airy heart to see him, who was once so keen of mind and so skilled of sword, so piteously reduced. Empty-headed and empty-handed he came, and empty-handed went away. You refused him audience.”
I shrugged. “He was drunk.”
“The cold and adverse wind, which escorted Lord Mephistopheles from the property, reported to me the words he muttered beneath his breath. He sought your noble sister, the Lady Logistilla, in some isolated isle of the Western Indies.”
Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I Page 1
