“Nowadays, he is one of the Peers on the Parliament of the Wise,” said the Princess.
“Which means?” asked Siggy, looking bored.
“It’s like being a Member of Parliament or an American senator,” replied Nastasia.
“He helps run the world,” laughed Rachel.
• • •
Downstairs, Scarlett MacDannan continued her search. She checked under the bench and along the edge of the room. Then she groaned and rested her forehead against the wall. Turning toward the others, she sighed, “Drat my absentmindedness! I left my staff upstairs.”
Glancing around, Rachel saw a fulgurator’s staff lying to one side among the straw.
Standish bowed. “I’ll go fetch it. I’m not needed to play the enchantments.”
As Agent Standish strode from the disenchanting chamber, Siggy sauntered away from the thinking glass. He leaned casually against the sill of the western window, whistling—as if he had been sitting there, minding his own business all along.
“See!” He waved his hand at Nastasia. “It was a good thing we were watching, or we would not know that he was coming.”
A tiny quirk of amusement flickered across the princess’s lips, as she gathered the chairs and put them back into her purse. “True, Mr. Smith. But if we were not doing anything wrong, we would not have needed prior notice of his arrival.”
Sigfried blinked, puzzled. He looked at Lucky and scratched his head.
Lucky shrugged. “Dunno either, Boss.”
Turning back toward Nastasia, Siggy spread his arms in puzzlement. “What is this ‘not doing anything wrong’ of which you speak?”
• • •
The bells in the six bell towers atop Roanoke Hall tolled six o’clock as Agent Standish jogged up the stairs. Reaching the belfry, he nodded to the three students, where they lounged by the southern window, attempting to look casual. Golden rays of late afternoon sun illuminated the chimes and the lantern with a fiery glow. As he crossed the straw-covered stone, and bent to retrieve the dropped staff, Rachel recalled the No Students Allowed sign at the bottom of the stairs.
Should she stay quiet? Or distract him with questions?
Staff in hand, he turned toward them and smiled. It was too late to hope they would be overlooked. Rachel’s heart rate sped up. Running forward, she tugged on the half-cape of his cloak like a little child. “Agent Standish. Did you know my grandfather?”
“General Griffin? Indeed I did. Indeed I did. He was…” The Agent pursed his dark lips as he searched for the right words. “Quite an impressive man.”
“Imposing?” Rachel offered with only the faintest hint of a smirk.
“Very imposing,” Agent Standish admitted, smiling down at her. “Also the most brilliant cryptomancer I have ever had the honor to meet.”
“What’s that?” Sigfried asked. “Magic from Krypton? Does it involve Krypto the Superdog? I think you can lick ’im, Lucky!”
Agent Standish chuckled, “Cryptomancy is a very difficult branch of magic. It involves casting spells in such a fashion that they can be recast by repeating a single masterword.”
“It’s almost like inventing one’s own private cantrip,” contributed Rachel. “Geases are usually cast using cryptomancy…so the caster can re-activate the geas merely by saying a word. We saw Dr. Mordeau do that to the kids in Drake—in the princess’s vision.”
She glanced cautiously at Agent Standish. Careful not to mention Mordeau again, she asked, “Do you know if anything happened to my grandfather during the Eighteen Eighties?”
“Eighteen Eighties?” The Agent’s eyebrows shot up. He shook his head slowly. “No. I do not believe I do. I know about his exploits in World War II—how he put an end to Hitler’s dreams of a German victory by black magic. He was a superb general. He lost fewer men than any other cadre of sorcerers.”
Despite her disappointment at his inability to resolve the mystery of her grandfather’s tragedy, Rachel grinned with pride, her head bobbing up and down with enthusiastic agreement.
Turning to Siggy and the princess, Standish said, “General Griffin was a most amazing man. Brilliant. An incredible sorcerer. But a more intimidating man I have never met. During my Agent training, General Griffin came to speak to us. I remember he said that a true man should be—” He dropped his voice and made it deeper and more gravelly. Rachel repeated the words along with him, bouncing up and down. “‘Fierce as a tiger. Calm as a lake in August. And cool as ice—when you are not as fiery as a furnace.’”
Standish ruffled her hair fondly. “I see you know that one.”
“Grandfather repeated it often,” replied Rachel.
As a little girl, Rachel had taken those words to heart. Fierce as a tiger and fiery as a furnace had been easy enough to master. But at the tender age of four, she had not been capable of calmness. Eager to please the irascible man who doted on her, she had substituted her mother’s art, learning to make herself appear calm to outside observers.
Cool as ice was still a work in progress.
With an expansive wave of his hand, Standish continued. “We had this fellow in our group who was a clown and a complainer. He started cracking jokes while General Griffin was speaking. The general turned on him—he had the most impressive set of eyebrows—and he glared. Just glared, until the poor fellow was literally shaking in his boots. Wasn’t just him either, to tell you the truth. I was doing a bit of shaking myself.
“General Griffin leaned toward the joker and said ‘Boo!’ Just like that. That fellow ran. Right out of the compound. I never saw him again.”
Rachel’s lips quirked. “You mean, like this?”
She reached out and touched the thinking glass. A picture appeared, but, oddly, the color of the glass did not change. The image remained tinted golden, as if they were glimpsing something antique and supremely precious. Amidst the glow, a slender feminine figure loomed, reaching forward, face wild and menacing.
The princess sniffed in disapproval. “Who is that undisciplined hellion?”
“My middle sister Laurel,” Rachel murmured, for once in complete agreement with Nastasia. “Age seven.”
The tormentor was an Asian girl, her hair flying free from her barrettes. Only it was a seven-year-old as seen from the point of view of a much smaller child, so she loomed huge and ominous.
From the thinking glass, little Laurel taunted, “I can so pull your hair! I can pull it anytime I want!” Reaching forward, she yanked. There was a screech, the sound of a little child in agony.
A deep voice interrupted her. “What’s all this, hmm?”
A man stepped into view. He was white-haired with thick sideburns, dressed in a scarlet smoking jacket and carrying a pipe. He towered over the seven-year-old, and scowled, his gaze fierce and flashing. Rachel’s tormentor quaked. Blaise Griffin, the Duke of Devon, drew himself up. His face grew stormy and wrathful. His bushy white eyebrows drew together like two advancing avalanches. Laurel quivered in terror and took two steps backward.
The duke leaned forward. “Boo!”
Screaming, her arms waving above her head, Laurel ran from the hallway.
The imposing duke turned and regarded something before him. Caught up in the memory, Rachel acted along with her tiny, three-year-old self. Her face scowled, imitating what his had just done. Her dove-wing eyebrows drew together. At the precise moment that the tiny voice sounded from the glass, Rachel shouted along with it.
“Boo!”
In the glass, her grandfather glared down at where Rachel’s tiny past self must have stood. Then, deep and glorious laughter boomed from his chest. He swooped forward and leaned down. The view then showed what was over his shoulder, a hallway with paintings and urns.
Lost in the memory, Rachel recalled the feeling of his arms closing around her, his rough bristly cheek against hers. She loved remembering this moment.
It was the first time she had ever felt important.
With a sudden crushing wav
e of longing, Rachel missed her grandfather. He would never have dismissed her, telling her to try to be an ordinary girl. He had required her to watch, to observe, to report. He had required her to be extraordinary. Without him, there was an empty place inside of her that she could not fill.
She had tried to fill it with her father, but Sandra was Father’s special person. She, Rachel, would always be second best. Now, she was trying to fill it with Gaius, but she had no idea if he was capable of fulfilling such a role, much less if he were worthy.
If only her grandfather had lived a few short years longer.
“Ah!” Standish stroked his beard, his dark eyes twinkling. “Another mystery explained.”
“What mystery?” Siggy asked.
“How a tiny thistle-puff of a girl, not yet even pint-sized—so small her mother had to wash her in a teacup—won the heart of the grim general of the Battle of Verhängnisburg. I have often wondered how they came to be so fond of each other.”
“After that, we were friends,” Rachel replied gravely.
“How old were you?” Standish asked.
“Three and a half.”
He clicked his heels and bowed again. “Thank you for sharing this memory with me, Rachel Griffin.”
She nodded seriously and then gave him a tiny smile.
Wishing them all a good day, Agent Standish turned and jogged down the stairs, Agent MacDannan’s fulgurator’s staff swinging in his hand. As he disappeared, Rachel’s smile grew.
He might not have been able to shed any light on the mystery of what Mordeau knew about her grandfather, but he had forgotten to ask them to leave.
• • •
“Quick!” Sigfried ran back to the thinking glass. “This is what’s going on downstairs.”
An image appeared. It was the proper color, not golden, like Rachel’s memory. A commotion had broken out by the door to the Watch Tower. Tiny Magdalene Chase, the only person at Roanoke Academy smaller than Rachel, stumbled into the foyer, her eyes bloodshot, her face ghastly pale. She clutched her China doll.
Rachel eyed the doll carefully. When Magdalene was unconscious, it had talked. Now, it showed no sign of life.
Nurses fluttered around Magdalene, insisting she return to the infirmary. The tiny girl shook her head fiercely. Leaves from when her doll had dragged her through the forest, trying to save her, flew from her hair. She ducked under the nurses’ arms and ran into the disenchanting chamber, where the Agents were interviewing another student.
“Please,” Magdalene cried imploringly, grabbing James Darling’s arm. “I heard you could remove the geas spell. Help me!”
“Certainly,” Agent Darling smiled kindly at the little girl. “Here you go.”
He cast the Word of Ending cantrip on her and then sent her to stand before Agent MacDannan. Magdalene’s eyes grew large when she noticed the cheetah prowling around the chamber, but she did not twitch a muscle. She waited motionlessly, clutching her dolly, while the ginger-haired Agent dismissed the other student and began to play for her.
Sparkles spun Magdalene into the air. She cried out in terror. When nothing bad happened, a look of tremendous joy came over her little face. She twirled her arms, until she and her doll spun in mid-air, amidst the twinkling lights. Rachel smiled. She wished she had thought of spinning in the sparkles. She felt glad that she and Gaius had been able to help the doll get her tiny mistress to safety.
Agent Standish entered the room and placed MacDannan’s staff beside the bench next to her hat. She nodded at him in thanks but did not pause in her playing.
When Magdalene eventually landed, Agent MacDannan asked, “What do you remember that you did not before?”
Magdalene blinked three times. Then she spoke in the flat monotone imposed by the Spell of True Recitation. “Dr. Mordeau came to our house with three other people. They spoke to my parents. My parents offered me for the ritual, but the man said my parents—who are really my aunt and uncle—didn’t care about me enough for the ritual to work.”
Rachel pressed her hand against her mouth in horror.
Magdelene’s family did not love her?
“What ritual, child?” Agent MacDannan pressed. “What did it do?”
“I don’t know.” Magdalene clutched her doll tighter. “The man said they should use Eunice, but our parents refused.”
“Do you know what your part would have been in the ritual?”
“The sacrifice,” the tiny girl said flatly. “They were going to kill me.”
Agent MacDannan nearly dropped her bagpipes. “Holy Zeus! Were your parents relieved—that you would be spared?”
“No. They were very angry with me. My mother shouted, ‘Why are we housing the ungrateful wretch, if she can’t help us with the spell?’”
Agent MacDannan pushed her owlish glasses up on her nose with a no-nonsense look, but her voice shook. “What happened next?”
“They locked me in my room for a week. Twice, they forgot to feed me all day. I was very confused because I could not remember, until just now, why they had put me there.”
Magdalene was trembling, her slim limbs shaking. James Darling leaned down and gently embraced her. She made no sound as he hugged her, but tears—still tinged pink from the residual blood that had run from her eyes when she fought to break the geas—stained her cheeks.
“Can you tell us anything else about the other three people with Dr. Mordeau?” Agent MacDannan asked with some reluctance. On her face, the need to know more warred with her desire to protect Magdalene.
“There was a British gentleman, a red-headed woman, and a man with a ponytail.”
Upstairs, Rachel whispered, “That last one is Mortimer Egg!”
Below, Agent MacDannan asked, “Do you remember their names?”
Magdalene shook her head. She looked up imploringly. “The geas? Is it gone now? It’s not going to make me kill anyone anymore?”
“It’s gone,” Darling assured her. “You are all right.”
Magdalene’s whole body sagged. She sobbed soundlessly against his chest. Darling lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the foyer, where he gently handed her to the worried-looking nurses.
Turning, Darling called out, “Eunice Chase. You’re next.”
• • •
Under the influence of the truth magic, Magdalene’s older sister, Eunice, described the visit of the same four people.
“My parents wanted them to kill Magdalene,” Eunice said flatly, “but Mr. Egg said the spell would not work. Next, he wanted them to kill me, but my parents refused. They love me. They were very angry that they had taken care of Magdalene all this time, even though she’s a sniveling weakling, and it wasn’t going to do them any good.”
“Do you know the names of the four visitors?” Agent MacDannan asked tensely.
“Dr. Mordeau, Mr. Egg, a woman I don’t know, and Mr. Browne.”
“What did this Mr. Browne look like?”
Eunice smiled, remembering. “Blond. Very handsome, very strong.”
The Agents exchanged horrified glances.
Agent MacDannan asked, her voice tight, “Not…Daniel Hanson Browne?”
“Mother called him Daniel. Yes.”
Agent MacDannan shooed Eunice Chase out of the disenchanting chamber and came back to join her two companions. Her face was pale. Darling’s hand shook slightly as he pulled out his calling card. “Agent Carlson, Agent Briars, encrypted message to follow.”
He performed a cantrip over the mirror and then said something that made no sense.
“What is he saying?” Siggy asked Nastasia.
“He said: ‘We have been infiltrated,’” the princess replied. “‘Agent Browne of Wisecraft, Scotland Yard is working for the enemy.’”
Rachel gasped and clutched her neck. She knew Agent Browne. He once showed her a trick where he hid an egg and pulled it out of Peter’s ear. He had taken Sandra under his wing when she started with the Wisecraft this summer. He and Sand
ra were friends.
“I don’t know Browne,” murmured Agent MacDannan.
“I do.” Darling’s voice cracked. “Served with him back when Griffin and I were partners—when I was posted to London. Good Agent in those days, Browne. Hard worker.”
“I know him well.” Standish’s face contorted with wrath. “We’ve worked together. I did not realize he was the kind of man who asks a family to kill their own children.”
An odd expression crossed Agent MacDannan’s face. She sat down and began rubbing her temples, her face screwed up in concentration.
Darling watched her carefully. “Scarlett, I know that look. You’re onto something?”
“There’s something familiar about all this, James. Families…mass deaths…” With a clap of her hands, she leapt to her feet, startling her rat who scuttled off, squeaking “Hunt’s list!”
“Who…what?” Standish asked, his voice still bearing a dangerous edge.
“The list of names Kenneth Hunt gave Kyle Iscariot the morning before he disappeared.”
Upstairs, Rachel grabbed Siggy’s arm. “They mean Valerie’s father. That’s the list Valerie said she asked her friend Wally, back home, to send to her! It was a list of names from the case her father—a police detective—was working on.”
Agent Darling looked at MacDannan without comprehension. Suddenly, he pulled out his card again. “People, we may be onto something big. Bring me the students whose families were on Hunt’s list.” He tilted his head back, as if thinking. “Sakura Suzuki and Misty Lark.”
Upstairs, Siggy perked up at Valerie’s name. He asked, “Who are these other people?”
“Freshmen like us.” Rachel’s voice was barely a whisper.
“What do they have in common?” asked Sigfried.
“Their entire families were murdered before their eyes.”
Chapter Nine:
A Farewell to Innocence
“I don’t get it.” Siggy took his hand off the mirror. “What does this have to do with Goldilocks’s father?”
The Raven, The Elf, and Rachel (A Book of Unexpected Enlightenment 2) Page 9
