by Lorelei Bell
Forcing a smile, she said, “Oh, it's from… a dear friend of mine who works for a school.” She decided this was best, because she didn't know how much Saint Germain knew about their world. For all she knew, he might know more than he owned up to.
“Open it,” Saint Germain said, as he stood. “I will step out of the room to give you some privacy to read your letter.” He made a slight bow and left the room, more or less following in Percival's footsteps.
Zofia couldn't help her hands from shaking as she tore open the envelope. A letter from her son was the last thing she would have expected. But at the same time she hoped it wasn't from the Head of the school, telling her that he was in some sort of trouble. He'd only just begun school. She had mixed feelings about opening the letter, but her heart leaped with joy to find Elton's handwriting on the letter as she opened it. She needed this, and it felt good to know he was thinking about her—and missing her enough to send a letter.
Hi Mom!
Things are going pretty good here. I share a room with several other boys, in a big sort of castle-like school.
Anyway, classes here are nothing like on First World—of course! The teachers aren't boring me to death! They're really cool.
At first it was all hard to understand stuff, but I caught on, with a little help, after everyone understood that I was on First World for 5 whole years.
I'm in what they call Basic Alchemy, right now. We're supposed to learn transmutation of metals—that's turning stuff into GOLD. My new friend, Toby Bretthauer and I were put together in this class. He's pretty cool. Anyway, we're learning about something they call a Philosopher's Stone. It's actually this yellowish-brown stuff that's supposed to help you turn any metal into gold. I've also learned it's used to make an elixir that lets a mortal gain immortality, plus, I think it can make you invisible. That's what it says in my book. Cool. Now, I have to figure out how that's done so I can wander around this castle at night when I'm supposed to be in bed—just kidding!
This is really advanced magic. Our teacher says that even the best alchemists have a hard time making the Philosopher's Stone. Maybe you'll get it right one time out of a million tries, they say. Besides, this stuff stinks. Worse than that goop you made Dad drink in order to get him back his soul.
Well, I'd better finish this letter up. It's time to go to bed.
Hope things are cool with you, Mom. Hope your spying on Saint Germain is going well too.
Love, Eltony.
Zofia felt a small tear trickle from her eye as she read the last of the letter, and a small gush of amusement leaked from her lips, seeing that he'd used his formal name—not Elton. But, then, she was only used to calling him that because the Ugwumps had made fun of his real name, and so they had changed it to Elton on First World.
She didn't know when she would ever be able to see him again. Probably not until the Sabats, and they were a long way off. Funny how his mentioning Saint Germain in his letter now reminded her about why she was here, and not just living in a cozy cottage, somewhere in the Provence, awaiting Dorian's return, like she had years ago. Confused thoughts and emotions ran amok. The tears didn't want to stop either.
I'm just a mess, she thought miserably. She was a mess because she wasn't thinking of Dorian at all. Not really. She was thinking of Saint Germain, and what it would be like living here as his wife. Of course the picture up in his rooms above haunted her. How could another person from another time look so much like her? Perhaps that's what Saint Germain had been—and still was—wrestling with himself.
She folded the letter, placed it back inside the envelope, and slid it inside a pocket. She looked around and realized she was all alone in the Weapons Room. It was disconcerting that any one of the blades on the wall could come down and just whack off an appendage. And three of them were within striking distance, should their mooring fail.
Time to get up and move. She exited through the same door as had Saint Germain and Percival before him. There were two other ways in or out of this room. It was one of those rooms which were connected by the various corridors which snaked around the castle. Pondering the seemingly endless hallways that appeared to have no rhyme nor reason, she moved swiftly into the hall, hoping to find Saint Germain at the end of it—not knowing which way he might have gone—and nearly ran into Percival.
Chapter 32
“Oh! Percival!” she gasped, hand to chest.
“Begging your pardon, madam, but the master has asked me to lead you back to the library.” Without much more preamble, he turned on his heel, and swiftly marched up the hall. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she knew the way. It was Saint Germain who had made the kind effort to make sure she didn't get lost.
Eventually, after going up one set of stairs, and going down another, they made a couple of twists and turns, and wound up in the library where the grand piano was playing a beautiful piece. It sounded like Mozart.
She had been expecting to find herself alone. But no. She observed Jacques standing among the towers of books he'd made. Turning, he fixed his gaze on her. She knew the look was resentment smoldering behind his dark whiskey-colored eyes. She wondered if he had spoken to Saint Germain just moments ago, and had lost his argument against her. It would seem so by the daggers he was sending her now.
“I will keep an eye on our charge, Percival,” Jacques said in a monotone that went heavy on sounding more like he were dumped with an unwanted task.
Zofia watched Percival leave the room. Did it just get chilly in here? She turned to find Jacques' gaze lock on hers. She was his charge, now, was she? Somewhat like an unruly child who needed to be kept an eye on lest they break something. Great. A wolfman in charge of watching the sorceress. Somehow this was going to end badly, she just felt it.
Amid a climate of strained civility, Zofia arrowed for her work table and sat with her back to the almost empty bookshelves, and began digging into her work. She was doing her best to ignore Jacques, who now whistled along with the bouncy tune from the piano as though he knew it intimately. Probably he did, as it came from a piano that had been here for years.
Zofia slid on her white cotton gloves.
Jacques moved four books off of one stack, and piled them onto a shorter stack, all the while whistling.
Zofia chose a book to work on. It had a slightly frayed, brown leather binding. The title was Gnomes in My Garden by Kaily Alday.
Whistling, Jacques moved two more books from one stack onto another. He seemed to be making his piles all the same height. What was he, obsessive compulsive?
Rolling her eyes, Zofia opened the book. She noticed the stitching needed to be reinforced, as it had some of it missing, or frayed. She picked up the needle that she had threaded all ready the day before with strong horsehair.
Jacques whistled the trilling notes of Mozart as the tune came to a resounding end.
Cringing at Jacques' horribly high pitch, Zofia stuck the needle into the back of the pages, shoved it through the hole and—“Ouch!” The pain jolted through her. Yanking off her glove, she observed the dot of blood on the end of her finger. Dragon dung! Slipping her still stinging finger into her mouth she peered up at Jacques.
Straightening, Jacques stared at her. “Oh la la!” he said. “You 'ave 'urt yourself, madame?” A gleam in his eye translated his satisfaction at this. “Too-o-o bad,” he sang and bent back over his books.
Face becoming warm, Zofia found a few evil thoughts reserved only for the little Arpiesian while getting a good view of his posterior pointed right at her. A perfect target. Was he purposely baiting her? Pulling her finger out of her mouth, she aimed it at his butt.
“OUCH!” he screamed like a girl.
Startled, Zofia blinked, and yet had to stifle a chuckle. She hadn't thrown a curse—yet—he had definitely felt something because he'd jumped a foot and now was rubbing his posterior. Quickly, as he turned to glare at her, she put her injured finger back in her mouth—hiding the fact she might have done s
omething to him—and smiled dimwittedly at him.
She pulled the finger out of her mouth, tasting the coppery essence of her own blood. “What happened?”
A look of controlled anger swept across his face. “I do not know, madame, but I think I 'ave been pinched!”
Eyes wide as she could make them, striving for as much innocence in the matter as possible, she blew out a puff of air. “Well, don't look at me, I'm way over here. How could I have pinched you?” I'd like to shake the hand of the person who did.
“I theenk you did,” Jacques said, squeezing his eyes at her.
“I theeenk not,” she said, mimicking him badly on purpose.
A sudden blunder of notes from the piano caught them both by surprise, and they swiveled their heads in that direction. From the area of the piano came a very familiar male voice speaking Arpiesian.
Jacques' jaw fell open—looking both insulted to no end by whatever was said, and because the voice had come from no visible person.
Piano keys depressed as a chord was played masterfully. Zofia was relieved from the sound of Biddle's voice, and overjoyed by the prank he'd just played on Jacques, because it was exactly what he deserved.
“Fantome!” Jacques screamed, and ran from the room, hands up in the air as he went. His screams echoed as he ran up the hall until he could only be faintly heard, and then not at all.
Perverse laughter filled the room, and Zofia's joined it.
“Oh-h-h, Biddle! That was nearly as funny as what you did last Halloween.”
“Yes, it was,” Biddle agreed and then began to play the piano again. A slow, jazzy tune.
“Thank you.”
“No problem, madame,” he replied.
“And thanks for delivering the letter to Stephen.”
“No problemo,” he said, still playing.
“What's that you're playing?”
“Just a little something I picked up while living on First World,” Biddle said as his invisible hands depressed the keys.
“I didn't know you could play the piano.”
“I've been practicing.” She didn't want to know where—probably over in the church, down from their house on First World. She'd heard the rumors that the pastor had heard the piano play in the middle of the night, and came in to find no one there, but the piano was playing by itself. It had become a local anecdote that the Four Corner Church was haunted by the ghost of the woman who'd always played the piano there, and had died in her nineties.
“What took you so long in returning?” she asked, eying her injured finger. It had not quite stopped bleeding. She might have to spell it with an incantation to make her blood to coagulate. She couldn't repair books while bleeding all over the place. Standing, she sauntered over to the piano. She didn't feel like working anyway.
“I was asked to stay,” he said.
“Likely story.”
“It's true!” Biddle blurted, sounding peeved she didn't believe him.
Zofia anchored her elbows on top of the piano, cradled her face between two fists and stared at the invisible entity. “By who?”
“By Stephen.”
“Right. You just wanted to see your Ghogal-friend.” Was that the correct way to say it? She chuckled at the sound of it.
The music stopped. “He had another letter to send, but wasn't quite ready to send it.” She could almost imagine Biddle sitting there glaring at her with his fists at his sides.
“You mean there's a second letter? Dorian brought me the first one.”
“Yes. It was sent to him, just in case there are spies watching you.”
Zofia rolled her eyes. “Everyone but Saint Germain seems to know who I am and where I am, by the way.”
Biddle began playing again. Something soft, something classical. Bach? No. It was Mozart, she decided. Mozart was his favorite. He'd often pop in a CD of Mozart's symphonies into the player when they lived on First World.
“So, where's this other letter?” Zofia wanted to know.
“Look inside the top book next to the piano,” Biddle said, playing on.
Zofia turned to find the tower of books nearby, opened the top one and found that another letter was, indeed, there.
“Also, I have a message,” he said, changing from Mozart to a Christmas tune. Jingle Bells.
“A message?” Zofia said, stepping away while opening the envelope. She found that the letter was actually from Tillie. “What's the message?”
“You are to meet Dorian at the inn.”
“Which inn? There's two.”
“I don't know. Just meet him at the inn where he's staying. That's the message.”
Biddle continued a medley of Christmas songs, and played Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer.
Pausing for a moment, she remembered that Stephen had told her in his letter that Dorian was staying at the Golden Dragon Inn. “Did he say when to meet him?” she asked over her shoulder as she angled back through the columns of books toward her table. Her finger had quit bleeding.
“Tonight.”
“When? Before or after supper?”
“After sunset.”
Sighing heavily, Zofia settled back into her chair and opened up the letter and read.
Dear Zofia,
Did you get lucky yet? Ha!
How are you doing with your little problem? Make sure you get plenty of sleep and water. Eat anything you want—that is if you can keep it down! I remember you were so sick with Elton, you had to take something to keep everything down. Have you found an alchemist, or a chemist to make it for you?
Blanche sends her best, but really I know she's going through a lot. She broke up with that Troy kid. I think he broke up with her. It was hard for me to not turn the putrid little snot into a toad, but then, when I sent for the Bubble to take my letter to you, it was delivered by a very nice looking young man. You should have seen Blanche light up. NOW she says she's ready to go back to Euphoria. I told her as soon as we can pack up and get things settled down here, we're out 'a here. She couldn't be happier. Before, it was like I was about to throw her to the trolls. Sheesh!
Anyway, be careful of Count Saint Germain. I've Googled on his name and learned that he was from the 18th century, claiming to have lived a couple thousand years—then. He's an Ugwump alchemist. Probably has an Elixir that keeps him from aging or dying. He's also supposed to be able to transmute metals into gold, and also can take small diamonds and make them larger - “grow” them.
On second thought, maybe it wouldn't be so bad you hooked up with him. Ha, ha.
Oh! Before I forget—Argyll and Perth are back. I don't know how they returned, or where they've been since you're the only one who can understand them. However, Lolly has become a missing person. Great flying lizards! It's been all over the news. You can't hardly listen to the TV or radio, or read a paper without her ugly puss splashed all over the front page. People have had search parties, and dogs sniffing for her.
In the meantime, Richard has been here, naturally claiming he's investigating Lolly's disappearance. I told him you had already moved. I don't think he buys that you're out of the country. I think he's probably had the FBI out looking for you and Dorian. I'm surprised he didn't try and arrest me, or bring me in for questioning. But I suspect it won't be long before he does. I don't know if we'll have time to sell the house. We may have to just vacate it. I'm not going to the clanger. The sounds of it scare me. But, then I'd be able to whip some sort of spell up and escape.
Well, that's all the news from me. Write as soon as possible! Keep me up to date. I'm sure by the time this letter reaches you, things have changed here as well as there.
I've got a Realtor coming over tonight. I really can't wait to just jump on the Bubble with as much as we can carry and get the hell out of this Ugwump world!
All for now, love Tillie
P.S. Blanche said since you weren't here to say no, she's borrowing your peach colored skirt and top to go with her friends to a pizza party—it's like a li
ttle goodbye party for her. I let her, since she'd missed her own birthday party here.
With love from us both,
Tilly
Zofia scanned the letter for the paragraph about Saint Germain. Nearly everything she'd told her about him, she already knew. She had wondered about the diamonds, though. She didn't think she would have to check to make sure they were real, now. Besides, why should she care if they were? Other than the fact that diamonds—no matter if they are transmuted, or grown, or discovered and mined, were just as expensive here as on First World. Maybe she was just a tad curious. Dorian had never made a gift of diamonds to her. Gold, yes, and pretty jewelery that she could wear to nice functions. But no diamonds. You'd have to be a more than average wizard to make gold. Diamonds took something extraordinary.
In any case nothing in the letter had held anything in it that made her feel ill at ease over Saint Germain. She didn't even know why Tillie had warned her about him. After they'd made love she thought it was as if they'd started up where they'd left off after a long interruption.
“Anything important?” Biddle asked, stunning her out of her thoughts.
“Huh?”
“The letter. Was it anything important?”
“Not really. Just news from Tillie. Lolly is still missing but Perth and Argyle are back home for some reason.”
Biddle scoffed and said, “The world will not miss her for long.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Zofia said vaguely aware of what he'd just said as she found herself staring at Tillie's letter.
“Do you need a nap, madam? Or—”
The letter fluttered to the floor as Zofia looked toward the exit, and then her feet moved her in that direction, automatically. She didn't know why, but she felt a sudden summoning for her to leave the room and go out into the hall. She stopped and looked out the canted window. There, standing quite still, and looking up into the sky was Saint Germain. What was he looking at? The sky?
