by Kage Baker
“I daresay that’s one of Mr. Wenlocke’s magical illusions,” said Winston, looking around to see what was making the lion appear. “Not only was he an inventor, but he told me he’d learned stage conjuring. Ah! There it is.”
High up on a shelf was a black box with a sort of big glass eye on its front, projecting a beam of light across the room. Winston got a stepladder and unhooked some electrical wires in the back. At once the lion vanished. “Yes, that’s just what it is: a magic lantern device. You must have switched it on somehow, Emma.”
He set it on the desk, and they could see that the device was nothing more than a box containing a high-powered bulb that focused its light through the glass eye. Between the bulb and the lens was a little rotating wheel on which were eight glass slides, each one containing a photograph of a lion in a different posture, hand-tinted to look real. At the back of the box was a noisemaker on a rotating cylinder, arranged so that it went off every time the eighth slide popped up.
“A silly prank,” said Mrs. Beet with a disdainful sniff. “They had strange ideas about what was funny, the Wenlockes did.”
“But this don’t tell us nothing about where the treasure is,” said Captain Doubloon.
“I don’t think it’s supposed to,” said Emma, looking at the little green stone lion on the desk. “I think it’s supposed to scare us off.”
Cautiously, she tugged at the miniature lion’s head and it came off, just like the stopper of a bottle. Rolled up in its neck was another slip of paper. Emma unrolled the paper and read aloud:
“‘The Peacock hates to see his black feet;
But when he regards his shining tail,
He sings for joy!’“
“Now, what in blazes does that mean?” asked the captain.
Emma looked around the room, searching for a figure of a peacock. There wasn’t a peacock to be seen.
Winston snapped his fingers. “I know!” he said. “There’s a Peacock Window in the Great Conservatory! Come on, I’ll show you.”
They all went out into the hall, where Emma noticed it felt much warmer. Shorty turned and barked at Mr. Wenlocke’s portrait, once they were safely through the doors.
“Hush, silly boy!” Mrs. Beet scolded. “It’s only a painting, after all!”
But Emma thought she heard a man’s laughter behind them, a second after the door had closed. She almost went back in, but then decided she’d had enough of the cold dark room.
11
THE PEACOCK AND THE SIREN
WINSTON LED THEM down to the third floor and along a corridor until they came to two big doors of sparkling stained glass.
“The Great Conservatory!” said Winston, and opened the doors.
The air was warm and sweet with perfume. It was an indoor garden. One whole wall and a high arched ceiling made of glass glittered in the morning sunlight. Something was throwing rainbows all around the room, which danced on the orange trees in pots, and the flowering vines that twined up the wrought-iron columns. They danced on the hanging baskets of red and purple fuchsias and begonias. They danced on palm trees, and orchids, and big velvety flowers whose names Emma did not know.
Captain Doubloon laughed. “Here’s our blooming peacock,” he said, pointing up at the big window. There was a stained-glass pattern of a peacock’s tail there, blue, green, purple, and gold. The little rainbows everywhere were being thrown by the eyes in the center of each feather, which were set with prisms of cut crystal.
At the bottom of the fan of the tail, instead of a stained-glass bird, there was a life-size figure of a peacock attached. It was made of brass, but had been colored all over with blue enamel to look like the real thing. Its head drooped down, and it was looking at its feet with a sad expression.
“‘The Peacock hates to see his black feet;
But when he regards his shining tail,
He sings for joy!’“ Emma quoted. “Well, he doesn’t look too happy!”
“Anybody got a mirror?” said Mrs. Beet. “We could shine his tail’s reflection back at him.”
Emma remembered the little hand mirror in her room, and almost ran to fetch it. Then she had an idea.
“Let’s try this,” she said, and went to the peacock and took hold of its head. She meant to twist it around, for she thought there might be some kind of pivot mechanism in the neck, hidden under the enameled feathers. No sooner had she touched it, however, than it rattled and gave a mechanical kind of cry. The head reared up on its long neck and swayed to and fro. Emma snatched her hand back and stood well away from it.
“Here’s another trick to throw off treasure seekers,” said Mrs. Beet, as the peacock swayed and struck, making threatening-sounding noises.
“Don’t you get pecked, dearie,” said Captain Doubloon. “I know how to deal with a mean-spirited bird, so I do.” He watched the peacock’s movements carefully a moment, and then grabbed its neck and wrung it well around. Now the head seemed to be looking backward at its tail. The peacock’s beak sprang open, and a rolled slip of paper poked out.
“There!” Captain Doubloon dusted his hands and gave his parrot a meaningful look. “Just you remember that, next time you think about biting my ear.”
“Who’s a pretty little bird?” said the parrot, meekly.
“Well, what do you know?” said Winston. “Is it another clue, Emma?”
Emma opened it and read:
“‘Her song beckons sailors,
Her fair skin is cold
And she sees what you seek.’“
“I reckon that’s talking about a mermaid,” said Captain Doubloon. “Beckoning sailors and all. My dad always used to tell me, ‘Neddy, don’t you go a-listening to no mermaids, however sweet they sings, or you’ll jump overboard and drown, aye.’“
“There’s a window with a mermaid on one of the staircase landings,” said Emma.
So they hurried up to the landing Emma remembered, and there was the mermaid, still smiling out at them in a cool and mysterious way.
“Why, that mermaid’s the image of Miss Atropos,” said Mrs. Beet. “Another one of the Wenlocke girls, you know. Except Miss Atropos didn’t have a fish tail. I don’t think,” she added doubtfully.
“But what does it mean, about her seeing what we seek?” said Emma. She went up to the window and, standing on tiptoe, peered out through the mermaid’s transparent eyes. Nothing to see but the Dunes, stretching away to the horizon. “I hope the treasure isn’t out there,” she said, and turned around again.
She found herself looking at a part of the mahogany wall paneling opposite the window, a pattern of carved Greek vases and laurel garlands. Was one of the vases sticking out just a little higher than the others?
“Oh! There’s what the mermaid sees,” exclaimed Emma. She stepped across the hall and touched the carved vase. Yes, it gave a little under her touch, like a push-button. She pressed it.
At once there came a high-pitched whistle, so loud that Shorty immediately put his nose in the air and howled. Emma thought the whistle would stop after a moment, but it didn’t. It only got louder, and shriller.
Shorty put his tail between his legs and fled. Shrieking, Captain Doubloon’s parrot flew after him. Emma had to clap her hands over her ears, and so did Winston and Mrs. Beet, and finally even Captain Doubloon’s ears were affected, though they were used to years of booming foghorns and roaring winter gales.
Gasping, everyone ran back down the hall, and took refuge on the other side of the landing door.
“What on earth is that?” said Mrs. Beet.
“It’s a siren,” said Emma.
“Ha! Mr. Wenlocke was having his little joke, I reckon,” said Captain Doubloon. “Sirens. Mermaids. Same sort of creatures, you see?”
“But what’ll we do?” said Winston.
“I read a book of mythological stories once,” said Mrs. Beet. “It belonged to those rich children I was telling you about. Heaven knows, they never opened their books, so I borrowed it for a good
read. There was this fellow named Ulysses, and he had to get by some sirens. They were on a rock in the sea, singing to lure sailors to come close to them, and the rock was surrounded by wrecked ships. To avoid hearing them, he stuffed wax in his ears.”
“That doesn’t sound very safe,” said Emma.
“Unless you had some proper earplugs,” said Winston. He snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute! I know the very thing.” He turned and ran down to the Lobby. A moment later he came running up again, carrying a small pasteboard box.
“Here we go! There were some in the shop.” He read from the label on the box. “‘Acme Ear Plugs! Made of Purest Beeswax. For the Comfort and Convenience of the Traveler. Positively Guaranteed to Block Out All Distressing Noises Such as Snoring, Cats, and Immoderate Neighbors.’“
“I’ll try them,” said Emma. Winston opened the box and handed her a pair of little wax plugs. She fit them into her ears. At once all sound went away, except for the pounding of her own heartbeat.
Winston looked at her and said something. She supposed he was asking if the plugs worked. She nodded, and then opened the landing door and peered around it.
Now Emma could hear the siren, just a little. She drew a deep breath and ran down the hall. By the time she got to the mermaid window, she could see the dust vibrating in the air and the doors all along the corridor rattling. The sound was beginning to cut through even the earplugs, making them vibrate in her ears, which tickled dreadfully. A glass dome fell from one of the hall lights, narrowly missing her. She reached out and pressed the vase carving again. Instantly, the siren stopped.
A tiny drawer, no more than three inches long, popped out above the vase. Emma reached in with two fingers and found a slip of paper. She pulled out her earplugs and ran back to the others, waving the slip of paper. “Here’s the next clue!”
They had to coax Shorty out from under one of the divans in the Lobby, and Captain Doubloon had to go catch his parrot before they were ready to see what the next clue said. Emma read it out:
“‘The Queen of the Moon, on melodious sea
Keeps safe the key
With vain regret and misery.’“
“A key!” said Captain Doubloon. “Well, now we’re getting some-wheres. Only, where would we find the Queen of the Moon?”
“What does melodious mean?” Emma asked.
“It means musical,” said Winston. “And there’s only one place Mr. Wenlocke can have meant. Follow me!”
He led them down to the second floor, where above a big set of double doors was painted the word BALLROOM.
12
THE SHIP
THEY ALL WENT in and stopped in surprise.
Emma blinked. She seemed to be standing on a flat moonlit sea. Above her was a starry night sky, where little stars winked on and off. Bearing down on her was a big, square-rigged ship all made of silver. It was only one of Mr. Wenlocke’s clever illusions, of course.
They were actually standing in a vast, echoing room, empty except for a row of silver chairs along two walls. The bare floor was made of wood, bleached gray and inlaid with ebony ripples. The high windows along one wall had a stained-glass design of white waves and stars. The ceiling was painted to look like the night sky, starred and spangled with electric lights. And the ship…
The ship was painted on the wall, a gigantic mural two storeys high, so cleverly done that Emma felt she could almost hear the wind in its rigging. Only its silver-painted bow was real, projecting into the room ten feet above the dance floor. There was a figurehead on the prow. It was a silver lady, with a crescent moon on her forehead.
“That must be the Queen of the Moon,” said Emma, running down the length of the room. The grownups followed more slowly. As she got close, Emma saw that the bow of the ship concealed a balcony, which was reached by a small flight of stairs.
“That was the orchestra gallery,” said Winston. “Mr. Wenlocke meant for musicians to go up there and play, so the dancers would have the whole floor for themselves. If we’d ever had a dance here,” he added with a sigh.
“Well, we’re going to have dances some day,” said Emma. “You’ll see.”
“Look at that there ship!” said Captain Doubloon, with his one eye wide. “I’d give me other leg to be able to sail on a fine old clipper like her! I reckon I’ll climb up and have a look at that figurehead, eh? Let’s see where she’s hiding a clue.”
“Lay aloft, ye lubbers!” said the parrot. “Take in sail!”
“Well, if we find your treasure, you can buy a big ship,” Emma told him, watching as he climbed the stairs. He reached the top and found himself in a triangular space like a church pulpit, only bigger. There was an upright piano there, and room for a small brass band or a string quartet—although a tuba player or cellist might have found it a tight squeeze. The captain went to the front of the gallery, meaning to look down at the Queen of the Moon.
But as he started to lean over, he stopped and stared out into the ballroom. His mouth fell open. Emma, watching him, turned and looked over her shoulder, but saw nothing surprising there.
“What is it, Captain?” said Mrs. Beet.
“Mother!” he shouted, and turned and scrambled down from the gallery, almost slipping as his peg leg hit the smooth floor. He ran forward a little way before he skidded to a stop. He stared around. “Mother?”
“There’s nobody else here, Captain,” said Emma.
“There couldn’t be,” he agreed. “But I tell you, when I looked out it seemed as though I was standing in the bow of that clipper and it was real-like, sailing into port. I could see a little cottage on the shore with its door open, and there stood me dear old mother with a pot of clam chowder. She used to make the best clam chowder in the world,” he added, and wiped a tear from his eye. “But she’s been dead and gone these thirty years. Oh, how I wish I’d written her a letter now and then, when I was away at sea…”
“You poor dear! Perhaps I ought to go up there instead,” said Mrs. Beet. She climbed up into the gallery and went to the edge, but stopped there, staring out. “Oh!” she said, as though something hurt her. She put her hand to her heart. “Wait! Please wait for me!”
She climbed down in great haste, and took a few steps out onto the dance floor. There she halted. “Oh…he’s gone,” she said, and hid her face in her hands.
“Who did you think it was?” inquired Winston.
“Only a boy I knew once,” said Mrs. Beet, in a muffled sort of voice. “The one who stayed ashore when I went off to sea. I always meant to come back to him, but I never did.”
“I know what’s happening,” said Emma. “It’s another illusion, to protect the treasure. The figurehead must have the next clue, but every time you start to look for it, you think you see something you lost instead, and get distracted.”
“I reckon that’s it,” said Captain Doubloon, pulling out his handkerchief and blowing his nose. “Though I’m blamed if I know how it’s being done. That ain’t no stage illusion; it’s like real magic. Why don’t you climb up there and have a go, girlie?”
“I don’t think I want to do that,” said Emma quietly.
“You ain’t scared, are you?”
“No,” said Emma. “But I’ve lost an awful lot. I don’t want to see any illusions.”
“Very wise, too,” said Winston. “I’ll give it a try.” He walked up the stairs and looked out over the bowsprit. For a moment Emma wondered whether he’d see an illusion too, but he only smiled.
“I thought so. The only thing I ever lost was this hotel, and here she is! And is this the trick?” He bent down and picked up a small box. “It’s some sort of machine, with a dial on it. It feels like an alarm clock going off in my hands! Funny, though—I can’t hear anything.”
“Oh, I know what it is!” said Emma. “I read a book about a phony haunted house once, and some robbers hiding there put in a machine that made a noise, only it was so low people felt it instead of hearing it. It made people imagine thin
gs, and scared everyone off.” She tried to remember the word. “Subsonic! That’s what it was called. I’ll bet this works the same way. Can you turn it off?”
“There’s a switch here,” said Winston. “Yes! There. Just like an alarm clock! Now, let’s have a look at that figurehead.” He leaned over to peer at it. “She’s holding something up against her heart,” he announced. Mrs. Beet gasped, clutching Shorty.
“Heavens, man, have a care! You don’t want to fall.”
But it was not Winston who fell.
A shadow flashed past the high windows, as though a very large bird had decided to land outside. Shorty began to bark. They heard a shrill scream, and then a crash.
13
MASTERMAN
"SOMETHING JUST HIT the verandah,” said Winston. He left the Ballroom at a run, with Emma close behind him. Mrs. Beet and Captain Doubloon followed them. They were not very fast, so Emma and Winston rushed down the Grand Staircase far ahead of them.
Winston got to the doors and pulled them open, preparing to hurry through. Then he froze.
“I—I can’t go out again,” he said, in a strange voice. Emma wondered what he meant, but had no time to ask. She ran out past him. She saw a little boy, struggling in the sand at the foot of the verandah steps.
“Help me out of this, you!” cried the boy, in an angry voice.
“You don’t have to be rude,” said Emma, but she went down the stairs at once.
The boy was tangled in a contraption of snapped metal struts and leather straps that looked as though it had been made from a pair of men’s belts and an old umbrella. It had apparently fastened the boy to a pair of metal tanks, just like the ones balloon-sellers use to blow up balloons. There were also a lot of tubes and cords, and a billowy confusion of green silk.
Emma wrenched and tore at it until the boy was able to wriggle free. He stood up and almost fell again, he was so unsteady on his legs. Emma had to catch his arm to help him stand.
