“I brought Mab,” I called back. “And you’re not dreaming. Don’t listen to anything it says.”
Theo stopped short. “Sword talking? Oh, no!” He threw up his hands as if to block an invisible attacker. “Surely you did not draw Laevateinn! The Wounding Wand is accursed! I’ll have nothing to do with this! I’ve worked far too hard and suffered far too long to risk becoming contaminated by the dark arts at this late stage!”
“Then, get out of the way,” Mab growled, exasperated. He pushed by Theo while pulling up his sleeves. “And leave the work to those of us who still care.”
As Mab stalked forward into the Elemental Chamber, Theo remained where he was, frowning dubiously. I hesitated beside him an instant, then followed Mab.
Now that the Elemental Chamber was lit, the vials, rings, and old brass lamps piled upon the shelf that ran about the circumference of the room were clearly visible. Otherwise, the chamber was empty, except for Caurus and the four pedestals upon which sat the jars imprisoning the kings and queen of the elements. Ahead of me, Mab paused, taking in the two, untouched, lead-sealed copper jars, and the third jar, still capped by the breastplate of gleaming Urim and held in place by the finely fashioned cart wheel. The fourth pedestal held Laevateinn. When Mab reached it, he drew back in alarm, glaring at the sword, its hilt cruel and curling and pale as bone. Mist trickled out from the mouth of its ill-fitting Urim sheath.
Caurus, his Urim-clad left hand still hovering nervously between the wheel and the hilt of the sword, gave Mab and me a big welcoming smile. His long narrow nose and pointed chin were smudged with soot, and his singed straw-colored hair stuck out, much like hay. His once-long scarf now ended in a charred stub, his Icelandic sweater sported several large holes, and burn marks marred his sealskin breeches. Only the hornpipe protruding from his belt remained unscathed.
I was pleased to see the Water of Life had done its work. The terrible burn on his face was nearly healed.
“Milady!” Caurus cried gratefully. “And Mab! Bless the Stars!”
“So, what seems to be the problem?” Mab had his lead pipe in hand and was knocking it against his palm.
“Seir of the Shadows let the King of Fire out. He needs to be sealed in again,” I explained.
Mab eyed the copper pot dubiously. “What’s keeping him in there now?”
“He swore an oath.” I recalled with pleasure the cleverness with which I had tricked the King of Djinn back into his jar. “He swore on the River Styx not to try to get out for a year and a day.”
“Ah ha! . . . What was the exact wording of the oath?” asked Mab.
Caurus and I looked at each other.
“We were in the middle of a battle,” I began.
“I wasn’t even in my body,” objected Caurus.
“You don’t know the exact wording . . .” Mab asked in disbelief. “What do you remember? You did make him swear to go into the pot taking nothing, leaving nothing behind, and harming none, right? . . . You made him promise not to put any part of himself, even a flicker of flame, outside until after the pot was sealed, right? Please, tell me you . . . Dang!” Mab took off his hat and threw it against the marble floor, shaking his head with disgust. Picking up the hat again, he dusted it off and eyed the pot doubtfully.
“Not sure what to tell you, Ma’am. This might be a bigger case than I can handle. Might need to call in some professionals.”
“Professionals?” I blinked, bemused by the idea that anyone could be more professional about such matters than Mab.
“You know, like those Orbie guys.”
“You mean the Orbis Suleimani?”
“Ja, no! Surely there’s a better way, Milady,” Caurus cautioned. “The Circle of Solomon has no love for our kind! They’re as likely to harm us as help us!”
“They won’t hurt her.” Mab stuck a finger at me. “Their leader is one of her brothers.”
All this was too much for Theo, who came stomping into the room, still holding his Winchester.
“I am a professional,” he growled, “and a member of the Orbis Suleimani.”
“Milord Prospero!” Caurus cried, delighted. “Are you a sight to cheer a weary spirit! How wonderful to see that the rumors of your death were false!” Then, suddenly, he drew back. “Wait! Alarm! This man bears not our Master’s arcane aura! He is an imposter! Milady, run!” He lunged forward, his Urim-gauntleted hand reaching for the cruel pallid hilt of the Wounding Wand.
“Caurus, no! Stop!” I cried, but Mab was even quicker than I. He leapt forward and threw himself between Caurus and Theo, his arms outstretched.
Caurus froze. His gauntleted hand hovered just above the terrible sword, reluctant to touch it.
“This seeming, Milady! He is not your noble father!”
“He’s not trying to look like Father, Caurus . . . that’s my brother Theo.”
Caurus tilted his head, amazed. “Lord Theophrastus?”
“The same,” Theo replied gruffly. He was frowning at Mab’s back, his brows arched in surprise. Mab lowered his arms and stepped away, clearing his throat.
Caurus peered at my brother. “You have changed, Milord. I had believed your family immune to the ravages of time.”
“Only if we so choose,” replied Theo. “You’ve changed as well. Last time we met, you were a disembodied voice in the air.”
“Oh, ja!” Caurus waved his Urim gauntlet dismissively. “That was a while back. I’ve been in this body for some time now. Well, except for the day before yesterday.” He looked at me blearily. “Or however long it’s been. There’s no clock in here.”
Theo came farther into the chamber and squinted at the copper jars on their pedestals. “Where’s the fourth one? The . . .”—he paused to examine the arcane symbols engraved into the side of each pot—“the King of Air? What was his name?”
“You mean our king?” Mab drawled. “The consort of Eurynome? He is known by the august and holy title: Ophion.”
Theo frowned. “Miranda’s Lady consort is called ‘Snake’?”
“With whose help She created the stars!” bristled Mab.
Caurus leaned toward Mab, whispering loudly, “Tread carefully, Brother, the mortals heed a different account of Creation.”
“I do not know where the fourth jar is,” I jumped in. “In fact, I have never even seen a fourth jar. Maybe Father never had one. Did he ever mention it to you?”
Theo’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never seen it myself, but Father mentioned more than once that, as Solomon’s heirs, the Orbis Suleimani were the guardians of the four kings of the elements, whom Solomon bound into the service of mankind. Maybe the Orbis Suleimani still guards the fourth. I’ll ask Cornelius.”
I frowned, wondering if this was a good time to bring up Logistilla’s suspicions about Cornelius and his staff, but my brother had turned away and was scowling at Laevateinn.
“Can’t we get that thing out of here?”
“Nah. If I move it away, fire comes out of the pot.”
“Great.” Theo walked three times around the unsealed copper jar, examining it thoughtfully. He asked Mab for his notebook, wrote something down, and then handed the paper to Mab. “This is what I need,” he announced curtly.
Mab peered at the paper and then back at my brother suspiciously. “I thought you said you weren’t a magician?”
Theo scowled. “If you don’t want my help, I’ll go back upstairs where my immortal soul is not imperiled.”
“Er, right . . . okay. Wait here. I’ll find the stuff. Most of it should be down here. Mr. Prospero kept the place stocked for just this kind of emergency.” Mab hunched his shoulders and stalked off toward the Treasure Chamber, muttering, “That’s one of the things I’ve always admired about Mr. Prospero. He’s always prepared.”
Turning away, I smiled indulgently. Theo’s pretense of not being a magician always amused me. For a fleeting instant, I regretted that Mephisto was not here to share the moment. Maybe Mephisto was not such a bad broth
er after all.
“Hold on. What’s that?” Theo stepped over to the shelf along the wall and, shifting his gun to his left hand, reached out and picked up a gold ring bearing the Star of David that lay on a red velvet pillow. He laughed aloud. “Never mind, Mab! This is going to be a cinch! We’ve got Solomon’s Seal! The ring he used to bind up the elemental kings the first time!”
“Er, Mr. Theo,” Mab called from the next wing, his voice echoing through the Vault, “that’s a fake.”
“A what?”
“A fake. That ring’s a counterfeit.”
“It’s not the real thing?” Theo looked disappointed. “Why is Father keeping it here?”
“The copy has some kind of magic in it. Mr. Prospero planned to examine it and find out what it does.” Mab came back into the Elementals Chamber, his arms laden with candles, plumber’s lead, carving tools, and other paraphernalia.
“Did he?”
“Don’t know.”
“Where’s the real one?”
“Mr. Ulysses stole it,” Mab replied. “He stole a bunch of stuff during his caper with the Warden device, then he returned everything . . . only, later, we discovered two of the items he brought back were fakes.” He jerked his elbow at the ring as he put the things he had been carrying down on the shelf. “This was one of them.”
“Dam . . .” Theo cut short his swear word, as the copper pot with the King of Fire in it trembled. It was never wise to call upon infernal powers around magical beings. He flushed, and I felt sorry for him. Here he was, so careful about not swearing, and the one time he slips up, something hears him. Little wonder he believed life to be a constant contest between the angelic and the demonic.
Mab, who had joined Theo by the false Seal of Solomon, stopped to examine the brass rings and stoppered vials. Picking up a ruby-colored vial, he peered into its swirling contents.
“Hey, I think I know this guy! It’s my missing . . . well, you’d call it a cousin. Mind if I take him, Ma’am?” Mab started to put the vial into the pocket of his trench coat, but Theo glared at him. Looking chagrined, he put it back.
“Poor unlucky blighter,” he muttered as he returned to stand by the pedestals.
Theo turned to Caurus. “You, Spiritling, can you wield the Wounding Wand?”
Caurus looked at Laevateinn’s cruelly curling hilt, his face grown pale beneath the soot.
“If I must,” he replied bravely.
“Good.” Theo’s eyes fell on me. “You! Out of here. Find a safe place. Maybe the Holy Chamber.” He pointed across the central rotunda at the opposite wing. “I don’t want you in the way when the flames shoot out.”
I would have objected, but he was right, there was nothing I could do to help. The last thing Theo needed was a bystander to distract him at a crucial moment. I leaned close and kissed Theo on his scratchy cheek.
“Promise me you’ll be careful!”
He touched his cheek and smiled obediently. “Yes, Big Sister.”
I chose the Treasure Chamber, which looked even worse than I expected. A layer of soot covered everything, except Midas’s donkey, which was now coated with tiny golden specks. The items on the right side of the hall were coated with ash and flecks of splattered gold; those on the left were completely ruined. On the floor, a faint black film spread from the mouth of a broken amphora; it was the last remnants of our precious supply of water from the River Styx.
How was I going to run Prospero, Inc. without it?
The room smelled both pleasant and vile, as odors such as of charred cedar mingled with those such as of burnt hair. Mixed in was a trace of something putrid, perhaps the once-pickled organs of the pharaoh Ozymandius, whose canopic jars had exploded from the heat.
A wave of anger at the King of Fire swept over me, and I ruminated upon a suitable revenge. I was on the verge of returning to the Elemental Chamber to ask Theo and Mab if they could inflict some kind of punitive damage as they bound him, when I remembered that Seir of the Shadows was the true target of my wrath. If he had not broken the seal on the copper jar, the djinn king would never have escaped to plague us.
I wandered among the damaged treasures, searching for anything that might have survived the fury of the Fire King’s blaze, discovering a bracelet here and a cloak pin there. The tarnhelm was still in one piece, but the helmet was damaged where it had been splattered with molten gold. Wondering if it were still working, I began to place it on my head, but thought better of it. Damaged magic items were chancy at best, and besides, the only mirror in this chamber was cracked and blackened. How would I be able to tell whether I had turned invisible?
Farther down the shelf, a glass slipper had survived the conflagration, but only burnt hulks remained where the red shoes had been. Probably for the best. I had argued for destroying them back when Gregor first took them off that poor dead girl’s feet. Father, on the other hand, was frugal. He would never destroy anything that he might conceivably put to good use later. Though what good use Father imagined could be made of dancing oneself to death, he never shared with me.
Clinks and clatters of preparation sounded from the Elementals Chamber, along with a running commentary from Theo, as he muttered disparagingly about “lack of respect for an angel’s shield” and “blasphemous treatment of Our Lord’s handiwork.” Good old Theo, he had not changed a bit.
Strangely, it occurred to me, being an old man suited Theo. He had always been the voice of caution and decency among the family. Now, he had the appearance to accompany his cautionary advice.
Among the wreckage, I found the remnants of the Halter of Clynoeiddyn. A memory sprang to mind of my brother Mephistopheles, long ago, back when he was sane, leaping atop the wild Pegasus and wrestling the shimmering halter over the head of the bucking winged horse, laughing all the while. This halter had come in handy, as well, when he caught the chimera and the cockatrice, and half a dozen other mythical creatures. Had Mephisto been unable to tame these fearsome monsters, Father would have had to send Theo to slay them. Instead, they remained alive today and at the beck and call of my brother’s staff, which was a very good thing. Otherwise, Pegasus would not have been there last week to save us, when our plane went down on our way to the North Pole.
As the charred halter broke apart in my hands, my eyes filled with tears. What other noble beasts might now be doomed because Mephisto would never have the opportunity to tame them?
I sat down on the battered tarnhelm and wiped my eyes, blaming my sudden sentimentality on Osae the Red.
A splash of white caught my eye. Reaching out, I found myself holding the edge of what had once been a swan maiden’s cloak. Its leather was cracked and twisted, but one corner had miraculously been spared. The downy feathers of pure white stood in stark contrast to all the blackened destruction. I lifted the corner of the cloak and rubbed the soft feathers against my cheek.
Whose cloak had this been? My brother Erasmus had collected such cloaks once. Unfortunately, each one had belonged to a particular maiden—a swan maiden or crane maiden—who could not return to her supernatural home without it. Sometimes, Erasmus killed the maidens. Once or twice, he brought her home and married her, though he never treated these fey women well. I remember him beating one, a swan maiden named Reginleif, with the handle of his whip after he caught her trying to feed slugs to their son. She had been fierce and proud once, and her captivity filled her with longing and shame. My heart had gone out to her.
I had felt so sorry for Reginleif that I went to the trouble of discovering where Erasmus kept her cloak and stole it. Before I could return it to her, however, Cromwell’s Roundheads found her; the Puritans destroyed anything that smacked remotely of witchcraft, including young wives who laughed at funerals. A Roundhead soldier struck her over the head with a heavy golden crucifix and then put a dagger in her belly.
Titus held Reginleif as she died. I still remember coming upon them, a slender pale figure lying limply in the arms of my huge hulk of a brother. Reginleif
saw the stolen cloak in my hands, and her dark eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude. She had reached out, but before her fingers could so much as brush a single feather, her spirit passed from her body, and she was no more.
I returned the cloak before Erasmus discovered it was missing, and Titus never breathed a word about the theft. Before I put it back, however, I could not resist the temptation to try it on.
The moment the garment clasped around my neck, the magic of the cloak transformed me into a swan, and for one glorious afternoon, I soared about the moors and over our loch, glorying in the freedom of the sky. I might have stayed a bird forever, so exhilarating was the experience; however, around evening, a Cavalier soldier pursuing the Roundheads took a shot at me, hoping to win himself a swan dinner. Quickly, I returned to the ground and, after a harrowing moment, during which I could not figure out how to unclasp the cloak, regained my proper shape.
Titus and Theo had wanted to chase down the soldiers and avenge Reginleif’s death, but Erasmus could not be bothered.
“Don’t worry,” he had said with a laugh. “I can get another one.”
As I pressed the few white feathers against my cheek, I wondered if this was the cloak that had once been Reginleif’s.
From the other room came two ringing knocks, as if Mab had struck one of the copper jars with his lead pipe, followed by Mab’s voice.
“Listen up! Know who’s out here? Theophrastus the Demonslayer! That’s right, you flame-headed lout! Bet even you have heard of him! So, you put so much as one flicker of flame outside the mouth of this pot, and the pain of trying to break an oath sworn on the River Styx will be a mere overture compared to the symphony of agony that we will visit upon you. You follow me? Good!” There came a pause. “Okay, Mr. Theo. Everything’s ready.”
A struggle followed. I heard shouts and swearing and, twice, cries of pain. Both times, I started to run toward the Elemental Chamber but stopped myself. Theo was right. Without my flute, unarmed, there was little I could do. My Japanese war fan, so useful against men and rhinos, would be useless against the Fire King. I resolved that if the screaming became prolonged, I would go. So long as my brother and the Aerie Ones remained in control, I would aid them more by remaining here.
Prospero in Hell Page 13
