“A measly gathering to oppose the might of the Four Horsemen,” taunted the figure in the crown. “A few magicians, half a dozen paladins, a handful of Saracen knights, one ogre and…Oh, and a spattering of gypsies. All alone. Without their king. What’s the matter? Was he too afraid to face us?”
“He will be here!” shouted one of the mounted Romani. To Rachel’s delight, this man rode a piebald Gypsy Vanner—one of the three breeds of horses her family bred at Gryphon Park. The enormous black and white horse pranced, tossing its long mane and lifting its feathered feet.
“We do not need the likes of the Beggar King!” called a tall, bareheaded knight, who looked to be Arabian. His armor was a shiny peacock blue. His surcoat and shield were quartered blue and silver. “Our might is more than enough to defeat you.”
“That’s the Swan King to you!” the gypsy shouted back.
The crowned figure laughed disdainfully. “No mortal can defeat the power of the Septentrion Crown. Kneel before me.”
The picture in the thinking glass froze.
“This is what I saw when I first arrived,” the princess said.
Valerie’s flash lit the mirror again. Then, she turned it off and took two shots without it. “I hope at least one of these will come out. Taking pictures of mirrors is always tricky.”
“Look how strong that knight carrying the anvil is, and how fast the ruby-colored one moves! Like the Flash or something.” Sigfried watched the thinking glass intently. He grinned a huge, eager grin. “These guys are amazing! They’re like medieval superheroes.”
“That enchantress in red.” Rachel leaned forward and tapped the glass. “Doesn’t she rather look like Wanda Zukov?”
“Who? Jerk-what?” Sigfried moved his head back and forth, squinting at the picture.
“Wanda Zukov,” Rachel repeated. “A fellow freshmen. She was my sparring partner at the Knights of Walpurgis meeting last night. She looks like that woman, only younger.”
Joy pointed with great excitement at the knight with the golden helmet. “Oh! He looks familiar, doesn’t he, Rachel!”
Rachel peered closer. The knight’s blue armor shone like sapphires. Over it, he wore a long white surcoat. A red lower-case ‘t’ ran the length of the garment, with the horizontal line crossing his chest. His white shield bore the same device. He was a handsome man with blue-black hair and very blue eyes. Rachel gasped.
It was Mr. Chanson, the gym teacher.
“It’s my boss!” she cried. “What’s he doing there?”
“I wonder if more people from the school are here somewhere?” Valerie scrutinized the scene. “People we just haven’t met yet.”
“Where’s Dread?” Siggy asked, peering at the scene.
Rachel searched the gathered company of knights and magicians. “He’s not there.”
“How could you tell?” Valerie asked, amused, snapping yet another picture of the mirror. “Some of them have their face plates down.”
Rachel could not say how she knew, yet she was absolutely certain.
“Maybe he looked different,” Sigfried offered. “Maybe he’s one of those horsemen. The skeleton? Who knows what it would look like if it had skin.”
Nastasia turned her attention back to the mirror. “This is what happened next.”
A shadow appeared before the rag-tag gypsies and congealed, forming a tall figure in black armor that shone like a dark mirror. His faceplate was of the same polished black as the rest of his armor. Had he not been moving, he might have been taken for a marble statue. A huge cloak of sable swan feathers billowed from his shoulders. A sword with a serpent for a hilt hung at his hip. Atop his winged helmet, he wore a crown of stars.
The gypsies cheered.
The black armored figure spread his arms and raised them, palms upward. All around, mounds formed in the hillside. They broke open to reveal automatons of stone, like statues of men at arms, that rose from the earth and stood at attention, increasing the defenders against the Four Horsemen by a hundred-fold.
A strange shiver, both wonderful and terrible, spread through Rachel. It was a sensation she had felt once before—on the commons, after the evil scarab brooch had been destroyed—the first time her gaze had met that of the prince of Bavaria.
Her mouth went dry. “That’s him.”
“We don’t know that,” the princess replied firmly. “Anything could be in that suit. And Miss Hunt is correct. The faces of quite a few of these people were obscured.”
“Could be him,” Valerie shrugged, beginning to turn the crank on the back of her camera. “The late queen of Bavaria was a gypsy. Dread’s mother, I mean.
“Can you hold it here a moment?” she added. “I am out of film.” Valerie rolled her eyes. “I feel like a character in an historical. Who runs out of film nowadays? Who even uses film?” She opened the back of the camera and held up the spent roll. “Do you know how much these babies cost to develop? Boy, do I miss my digital Canon.”
Sigfried patted her hand sympathetically. “There, there.”
Joy giggled, “Maybe Dread’s the big green ogre.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Valerie quipped. “He is big and hulking.”
“Nah, the ogre’s not Dread. Dread is cool!” Siggy insisted. “He is the epitome of cool! You should have seen him destroy that jewelry thing that tried to kill you! When you and he are married, Nastasia, I hope you invite me by for royal skeet shooting, or whatever he does for fun.”
“I do not plan to marry him, Mr. Smith,” Nastasia replied, “unless it is my family’s will.”
Joy giggled again. “You’re perfect for each other! All dignified and absolutely stunning.”
“I would prefer not to marry a man who knowingly forced me to disobey my father.” Nastasia said coldly. “I care not how ‘cool’ he is in other areas.”
Rachel stared at the Swan King, with crown of stars and his billowing cloak of black swan feathers. “That’s him.”
“We can’t know that,” scoffed the princess. Her voice faltered. “Now, here’s…where things became…uncomfortable.”
At first Rachel thought that the scene was still frozen. Then she noticed that, while everyone else was immobile, the Four Horsemen still moved. The hooded figure on the pale horse trotted forward, gazing directly toward them. He came right up, until he seemed to be looking out of the mirror.
The view pivoted, as if the princess had glanced over her shoulder to see what the skeleton was looking at. Rachel gasped again. Farther down the hill was most beautiful building she had ever seen. It was only visible for an instant, but Rachel froze it in her memory and examined it in detail.
It was built of granite, but it was not square and solid, like most stone buildings. Instead, a wonder of arches, buttresses and spires spread behind twin towers that rose into the sky. There was not merely one statue of human forms with bird wings—like the one she had found in the forest; the one that had been wingless when she visited it the second time, with no evidence that its wings had ever existed—but dozens of such statues adorned the walls, along with gargoyles and men with bare heads and belted robes. And the windows! Were they made of gems? They shone with brilliant color—blues, reds, greens—sparkling in the noonday sun.
A tingle ran the length of Rachel’s entire body. She could not explain the feeling the sight evoked in her. It was like catching a glimpse of the sky through an opening in heavy clouds, only to discover that, instead of an empty expanse of blue, a city hung there—a celestial city more glorious than any upon the face of the earth. Such a city would have buildings like this.
The skeleton stared out from the mirror. “What have we here?” asked the creaky voice that spoke from the tongueless skull. “A child. An interloper. A Wayfarer, perhaps? Let us discover what she knows.”
The princess raised her hand. The golden hue returned to the thinking glass.
“What happened?” Valerie cried, her camera pointed at the mirror.
“He probed
my mind,” stated the princess. “It was…quite disturbing. I could feel his cold presence inside my head. My childhood, moments by the river with the koalas when I was a toddler; meals with my family, including one I had forgotten where my father had us all make crowns from tinfoil and kiwis—the fruit, not the bird—and wear them at the table; the many classes in dance, music, comportment; the recent events here at the school. He looked at it all.”
“That’s horrid!” Rachel’s breath caught. The notion of someone rifling through her memory left her feeling nauseous. It would be like telling everything to her father and the Agents and being told nothing in return—only a thousand times worse. “He learned all our secrets!”
“By which you mean: he knows nothing of worth,” the princess stated flatly.
“But…of course, we know important things!” cried Rachel. “We know about that horrid Raven who robs Lucky of speech. We know that people here come from different worlds. We know that Egg is actually from Outside. We know…” she waved her hands, “a great deal of things!”
The princess shrugged. “That is of little consequence. Death—that was how he thought of himself. I sensed a few of his thoughts while he was examining mine—came to the conclusion that the figures in that particular place where I was were dream figments of people who had already left, and he destroyed them. But I suppose he was right, since the real Mr. Von Dread, Miss Zukov, and Mr. Chanson are here.”
“Destroyed them?” Valerie’s brow drew together. “I don’t understand.”
“There is no point in trying,” the princess said glumly, “nothing makes sense.”
“But—” The idea of not striving to make sense of things, not constantly searching for a pattern among the scattered pieces, shocked Rachel.
She could not think of anything else to say.
Rachel turned and stared through the darkened window. Outside, beyond the reflecting lake, the silhouette of the many bell towers and spires of Roanoke Hall rose against the nearly black sky. She could make out figures moving that seemed taller than they should have been.
The night lit up. A starburst, a phoenix, a winged horse, and a bird-of-paradise, each composed of thousands of shining, gold-white flecks, hovered in mid-air like fireworks. These shapes, along with the street-lamps that normally lit the campus, made the lawns bright.
Rachel ducked her head around the chimes and leaned out the open window, her lips parted in delight. Charmed as she was, the phenomenon was familiar to her. Her parents used will-o-wisps sculptures to illuminate evening parties and entertain at Yule. To Siggy and Valerie, however, this display was entirely unexpected. They stared slack-jawed out the window.
The figures on the commons were now visible. Rachel recognized the dean, a few tutors, and Maverick Badger, the head of campus security, along with some adults she did not know. To one side, a group of older girls and boys stood gawking at something beyond her line of sight.
The bell on the door rang. Salome Iscariot glided into the building, her hips swaying provocatively. She threw a spunky grin over her shoulder at three older boys, who had turned away from the crowd to ogle her instead. Letting the door swing shut, she crossed the infirmary to check on her best friend Valerie.
“Salome, what’s going on over there?” Joy pointed at the crowd of students outside.
“Parents are arriving,” Salome drawled, as she sauntered forward, hips swaying, “to check on their precious wittle ones after the big fighty-poo.”
“Since when are parents gawk-worthy?” Valerie asked. “Most kids avoid adults the way perps avoid cops.” She and Sigfried gave each other a knowing look.
Stopping beside Siggy, Salome leaned forward, eager to impart her juicy news. “There’s one couple out there you have to see to believe! He’s tall and gorgeous and ever-so-refined—looks a little like Merlin Thunderhawk from the James Darling, Agent comics. You know, the guy who appears and vanishes like Batman? And she’s even cuter…tiny as a butterfly, but oh, so well-endowed—she makes me look positively flat!” Salome looked down at her own generous endowments, as if astonished that such a thing could be. “I’ve seen giant slaloms that are less curvy!”
Rachel sprinted toward the door, swinging her broom as she ran.
“Where are you going?” Joy cried.
Over her shoulder, Rachel shouted back, “Those are my parents!”
• • •
The Duke and Duchess of Devon stood on the grass talking with Laurel and Peter. Ambrose Griffin was an extraordinarily handsome, extremely tall man with dark hair and steady hazel eyes. Implacable and calm, he did not seem the least bit disturbed by the gawking young co-eds who had gathered to admire the famous Agent, but then, Rachel had seldom seen anything disturb him.
Rachel’s mother was less unflappable. She hid shyly behind her husband’s elbow. Her straight dark hair was held back with a clip, though some had escaped and fallen forward into her pixy-like face. She had up-tilted Asian eyes that regarded the world with a gentle, merry intelligence. Her lips were pressed slightly together, giving the impression that she was perpetually struggling not to laugh.
Rachel ran to her. Her mother might be tiny by adult standards, but she was still taller than Rachel. As the two embraced, her warmth encircled her daughter like a soft, sweet-smelling cloud, providing a safe haven against the storms of evil teachers and crazy murderers, not to mention the chill of the night air. Rachel hugged her tightly, trying not to jab her with Vroomie.
It felt wonderful to just be a little girl again. Rachel had not realized, until this moment, what terrible burdens her new life entailed.
Laurel tugged on Rachel’s hair. “Look it’s our sister, the Broom Goddess!”
“Are you going out for Track and Broom?” Peter asked. “If so, between you and Dash, we might actually beat Vermont E. and the Tennessee Institute of Alchemy this year.”
“I don’t much care for sports,” Rachel murmured into her mother’s shoulder. She pulled back and looked at her mother’s face. “What are you doing here?”
Her mother’s eyes crinkled kindly when she smiled. “Meeting of the Brotherhood of the White Hart. James Darling called us to help with the emergency.”
Rachel looked around and realized that there were only about a dozen adults there.
“The King of Magical Australia is in the Brotherhood of the White Hart?” asked her brother Peter.
Her mother nodded again. Of course, thought Rachel, his son was a member, too.
Her father laid a hand on her shoulder. “I hear you’ve had quite an adventure. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I instructed you to avoid trouble?”
Rachel looked up at him. He looked so steady, so strong. Her anger at him drained away. “Would you like to hear about what happened?”
“Yes, indeed,” her father replied solemnly.
“First things first.” Rachel’s mother beamed at her youngest daughter, touching her cheek lightly. “You finally achieved your dream of coming to Roanoke. How are you finding it? Are you enjoying your studies? Is your dorm room acceptable? Is the food to your liking?”
“Yes! Everything is fantastic!” Rachel cried. “Classes, roommates, meals!” There was no point in telling her family that she would have preferred to be in Dee Hall. They would just be hurt. She tipped her head, thinking. “Except that there is no kimchi.”
“Ugh!” Laurel cried. “How can you like that stuff? It’s like eating pickled dirty socks! Even the smell is vile! Lack of kimchi is one of the highlights of this place!”
Peter laid a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I keep a tub of it in my room. I usually bring some to dinner. The Americans react strangely if I bring it to breakfast. You are welcome to come by, Rach, and get some.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
The door to the infirmary burst open. With uncharacteristic enthusiasm, Nastasia sprinted across the lawn, her face beaming. “Father! You’re all right!”
Nearby, a smiling man stood beside
Ivan Romanov. The gentleman was good-looking in a rugged sort of way, with sandy hair, a mass of crow’s feet around his keen and laughing eyes, and straight teeth. He wore a bright pink and blue Hawaiian shirt, a pair of green plaid Bermuda shorts, and long orange socks decorated with wombats. When Nastasia reached him, he scooped her up and hugged her tightly. For once, she did not look pained by the familiarity.
Watching the man carefully, Rachel decided that Ivan was right about his father. The King of Magical Australia did not look like a man who would mistake an emu for a track star. Rather, he looked like the kind of man who understood completely the consequences of putting his country on the pink Monopoly money standard and who found it very amusing indeed.
How exceedingly strange.
“I am, indeed. Awake even.” Her father placed his daughter on the ground. “That silly old Lightbringer couldn’t get the best of me.”
Nastasia smiled gratefully. She looked so pretty, so endearing, that Rachel’s heart swelled. Ivan must have agreed that his sister looked sweet, for he was gazing at her with an expression of fondness and pride.
Rachel regarded him, the young man who thought it would be fun to be king someday. Had she made a mistake, picking the scientist boy instead of the prince? She could have been the princess’s sister. Then, they certainly would have still been friends twenty years from now, just like Scarlett MacDannan and James Darling. She would so love for that to come true for her, too.
No. Ivan might be cheerful and amusing, but Gaius was infinitely intriguing. It was the avidness with which Gaius approached life, the interest that he showed in things, that so captivated her. It reminded her of her own desire to know everything.
But maybe she still could be Nastasia’s sister-in-law. Rachel could not help noticing how Ivan’s gaze strayed to rest admiringly on Laurel, who stood beside their father, smiling happily—an oddity in itself, as Laurel seldom saw eye-to-eye with their parents on anything.
“Just a moment.” Rachel excused herself briefly from her parents. She ran over to where Ivan stood with a slight smile, as he watched his father and his sister. Tugging on his sleeve, she whispered, “Psst! Are you going to ask her?”
The Raven, The Elf, and Rachel (A Book of Unexpected Enlightenment 2) Page 14
