“The Contessa isn’t likely to waste her sacrifices, once she realizes they won’t do her any good,” Thomas said confidently.
I cannot say that I shared his confidence, but I held my tongue. I did not see what other choice we had. For though
I was sure that James and Kate would be doing their best to find us, I was equally sure that to depend on their arrival would be the height of folly.
“Blocking the imperial ritual is a complicated process,” Thomas went on. “We haven’t the resources to do it magically. Interrupting it should serve quite as well and should be much easier to do.”
“And if we don’t get a chance?”
“Then I’ll try to block the final spell,” Thomas said. “I can’t do much without supplies, but my old tutor used to claim that applied concentration would do, if one had the time. I have the rest of the night to find out how right he was.” He looked at me. “Distraction will work, in a pinch—the timing has to be important, or she wouldn’t be waiting like this. Even a short delay ought to invalidate her spell.”
I did not like the sound of “delay.” I wanted something closer to “prevent entirely.” Delay was, however, all I was going to get. There really was no more to say; I understood Thomas tolerably well. If his spells did not serve the purpose, I might be able to slow the Contessa down by more mundane means. I think he intended me to have a fit of hysterics or raise some similar row, but I did not see that it would serve with a woman like the Contessa. I had in mind something more direct, possibly involving a large rock.
We spent an even more miserable night than before. Shortly before dawn, the door rattled. Much to my surprise, it admitted not only the two hulking footmen, but Eve-Marie, who I had thought was still in Venice. She snapped directions at the footmen and watched from the doorway as they carried out her orders. Thomas and I both struggled when we realized they meant to bind and gag us, but to no avail.
Under Eve-Marie’s direction, the footmen dragged us ignominiously out of the storeroom and loaded us into a donkey cart. There was a pause while Eve-Marie disappeared through another door. She emerged with a goat, which she tied to the rear of the cart, and we set off.
One of the footmen drove, while Eve-Marie and the other footman walked on either side. It was quite uncomfortable. Thomas and I were securely bound back-to-back, so we had the greatest difficulty in shifting position, and we appeared to be lying atop a quantity of jars and sticks and other paraphernalia.
It was just past dawn by this time, so we could see the beauty of the woods as we passed through them. After some time, we lurched down a hill and arrived at the edge of a ring of enormous oaks. On the far side was the lake, mirror-dark and smooth.
The footmen unloaded Thomas and me and dragged us to the far side of the clearing, where they took turns standing guard while Eve-Marie and the remaining footman unloaded the donkey cart. Eve-Marie tethered the goat next to us and sent the spare footman off with the cart. Then she began her work.
It took her at least two hours to set the stage—and setting the stage is what it was, as much as ritual preparation; I had learned enough of magic to know that much. She swept the entire clearing three times with a broom made of twigs (doing considerable damage to the grass in the process) and tied back the bushes along the trail where we had entered, so that they would not interfere with someone walking. She disappeared briefly into the woods, returning with several freshly clipped laurel branches, which she (after some struggle) bent into a wreath and tied together. She laid this at the edge of the clearing, along with a torch; flint and tinder; several small bowls, which she filled with herbs; and one large, shallow bowl.
All this while Thomas and I struggled with our ropes, but the footmen had a deal of unfootman-like skill with knots, and we could not win free.
Eve-Marie stood back at last and looked over her efforts. She squinted at the sun, said something else to the guard in Italian, and sat down under a tree to wait. Perforce, we waited with her.
A little before noon the second footman returned. Eve-Marie rose and, with his help, bound the goat and laid it in the center of the clearing. As they finished, I heard someone approaching down the path. Eve-Marie took a last look at her preparations then melted into the bushes—to keep watch, I assumed, for I could not imagine that the Contessa would want any interruptions to her rituals.
On the heels of Eve-Marie’s departure, the Contessa appeared, wearing a pure white robe in the style of Ancient Greece and carrying a gold sickle. I could not speak, but I snorted. Even I know that it was the Celtic Druids who used sickles, and not the Greeks or Romans. Behind her came Theodore, his eyes glazed, wearing an even more outlandish outfit—a Roman-style toga with a border stripe of imperial purple. Hanging at his side was the rusty, leaf-bladed sword.
Last of all came Lord Mountjoy. He looked uncomfortable and decidedly out of place in his morning coat and cravat, and he kept glancing uncertainly from the Contessa to Theodore and back.
In a honey-sweet voice, the Contessa directed Theodore toward the largest of the ancient oaks. He moved toward it docilely, his eyes still glazed and empty. I could feel the spell she was using to control him, but of course neither I nor Thomas could do anything about it, bound and gagged as we were. The Contessa raised her arms and chanted a long invocation in Latin. Then, in English, she said, “Now, Theodore Daventer! Claim your throne!”
Theodore drew the leaf-shaped blade, and I felt the shock in my bones. Cavalier Coducci’s theories had been right in this much, at least: Putting this ancient ritual object to use once more certainly woke its old residual magic.
Reaching up, Theodore grasped the end of a low-hanging branch and swung the sword. The oak branch parted, again with a shock I could feel. Power rushed into Theodore, and I knew that the first ritual was complete at last.
Lord Mountjoy started forward, but the Contessa shook her head. She spoke again in Latin, in tones of triumph, then said, “You are now the King of the Wood. The sacred grove is yours to protect and defend, until you go to the goddess.”
“I will defend it,” Theodore said. He sounded as if he were a long way away, or underwater.
“Good, good,” Lord Mountjoy said briskly. He stepped forward as he spoke. “That’s finished, then. Shall we—” He broke off, eyes widening, as Theodore spun and raised the sword. “What—what are you doing?”
“I will defend the grove,” Theodore repeated in the same blank tone. He started toward his uncle, plainly intent on mayhem.
Lord Mountjoy paled and backed away. “Theodore? Theodore! Gently, my boy.”
“He is the King of the Wood,” the Contessa said with fierce joy. “He will kill any man who enters the grove.”
“I—I—” Lord Mountjoy backed up again. As soon as he crossed the edge of the circle, leaving the grove, Theodore lost interest in him and turned back to stare at the giant oak. “I’ll just be going, then.”
“Theodore!” the Contessa commanded. “Tell him to stay where he is.”
“Stand still, Uncle,” Theodore said.
Lord Mountjoy stopped in his tracks. He goggled at his nephew, then at the Contessa. “Here now! What is this? I can’t move a step!”
“This is the power of the Emperor of the Soul of the World,” the Contessa intoned. “All who hear him shall obey” She bent and set down her sickle, then lit the torch with the flint that Eve-Marie had left ready. It took her several tries, which I do not think she had anticipated, and her cheeks were red with anger by the time it caught. She took a pinch of herbs from one of the bowls and sprinkled it over the flame, then waved the torch at Theodore and cooed, “Stay and commune with the grove, O King of the Wood and Emperor of the Soul of the World, whilst I perform the final rite, the ultimate ritual that will renew at last the ancient powers that you should command.”
Theodore’s gaze did not waver from the oak. Satisfied, the Contessa picked up the largest of the bowls and set it by Theodore’s feet. She returned to her supplies
and picked up the laurel wreath, which she set upon her own head. Then she took up the sickle once more.
I felt a wave of despair as she began circling the clearing, chanting in an impassioned voice. She had completed the first of her rituals without our being able to interfere in any way, and it looked very much as if she was about to complete the second. The very atmosphere in the grove seemed to become more dense and more quiet as she circled it, slowly spiraling inward toward Theodore.
And then I saw something moving in the bushes behind our guards. An instant later James emerged from the shrubbery, intent on taking the footmen from behind. I had not thought that I could be any more terrified, but I was wrong. For it occurred to me instantly that if Theodore or the Contessa were to see James, they would attack immediately—and there was no way in which he could resist Theodore’s new ability to command obedience. I looked away, hoping that no one had noticed him yet, and saw Kate march into the grove from the opposite direction.
She was, as my brother, Oliver, puts it, done up to the nines. Not a hair was out of place; not a ruffle drooped. Her eyes blazed, but her face was an icy mask—as cold and reptilian as Aunt Charlotte at her worst. Oh, dear, I thought. I haven’t seen her this angry since Oliver tied the sleigh bells to the dog’s tail to make it run, back when we were eleven. Somebody is in for it now.
From the commonplace book of Lady Schofìeld
26 November 1817
At the Villa delle Colombe, near Nemi
Our journey to the villa where Mountjoy was hiding seemed interminable to me. I had expected it to be cold and damp—journeys nearly always are—but my rose-colored shawl was ample warmth, even over the pink morning dress. I was wearing Thomas’s favorite again, for luck as much as the impression I hoped to make.
Piers drove and Reardon sat beside me, so I spent hours face-to-face with James, who only rarely looked up from the map he was studying. When he thought of it, James would grumble about the folly of permitting me to accompany him, so it was as well he was silent much of the time. I did not find his grumbles worth a reply, so I maintained my own silence.
By the time we reached Nemi, we found ourselves amid steep wooded hills. The town of Nemi overlooks a singularly beautiful small lake, and to judge purely by appearances, Nemi is a peaceful place. James produced a compass and telescope and put both to good use in his map study. The villa was well situated overlooking the lake and executed in the Palladian style, so that it looked a good deal more like a Roman temple than a Roman temple itself does.
At a prudent distance from the villa, Piers drew up and turned the reins of the carriage over to James. James and I waited with the horses while Piers reconnoitered the villa under the guise of delivering a message for Mountjoy.
James shut his telescope with a snap. “A brigade of horse, that’s what I should have insisted upon. These villains did for Bedrick and Strangle. I’m sure of it. Somehow they got the better of Thomas and Cecy. Clearly, they stick at nothing. It’s madness to proceed without reinforcements.”
“Sheer madness,” I agreed. Given James’s grumpiness, I thought it best to be as soothing as possible.
James took another look through the telescope. “There’s no alternative. Even if Lord Sutton persuades the authorities to send something resembling sufficient force to help us, Lord knows how long they will take to get here.”
“Lord knows,” I agreed.
James lowered his telescope. “Piers has gone inside.”
“What shall we do if he doesn’t come out again?” I asked.
“We won’t do anything.” James went back to squinting through the telescope. “I will move in, and you will stay here.”
All James’s attention was fixed upon the view through his telescope so I felt free to roll my eyes. Before he noticed my silence, James straightened.
“Here’s Piers again.”
“Won’t it make them wonder, Piers walking all the way to their villa?” I asked.
“Not half as much as they’d wonder at Piers rolling up to the door with this carriage,” James answered me absently. “I don’t see any sign of pursuit. I half expected them to send someone to follow him.”
When Piers rejoined us, he was scarcely out of breath. “Mountjoy is here. Honored guest of the Contessa. Daventer is with him.”
“Only the Contessa?” James asked, puzzled.
“Not the Conte?” I echoed.
“Not a whiff of the Conte,” said Piers.
“That’s odd,” said James. “Did you see Mountjoy or Daventer?” James moved aside to let Piers back on the box. “Did they see you?”
“I didn’t see anyone but the maid.” Piers took the reins. “At first she was cross because she had to answer the door, but I turned her up sweet.”
Beside me, Reardon broke her habitual silence to ask, “How sweet?”
Piers adjusted his hat to a jauntier angle. “She told me that the Contessa has taken the English gentlemen for a walk in the woods. She even pointed, so I know which way they went.”
“Isn’t that rather peculiar?” I clutched my reticule more tightly. “A walk in the middle of the day?”
“Deuced suspicious,” James agreed. “At this hour, I think we can safely assume that Mountjoy is not merely botanizing.”
“They took the footmen with them,” Piers added, “or my maid would never have had to put down what she was doing to see to the door.”
“Let’s go see what they’re doing, shall we?” I spoke with all the firmness I could muster, for I knew this was the point at which James would be most likely to attempt to leave me behind. Indeed, I think he considered the matter carefully, but something in my demeanor must have convinced him not to try.
“Yes, let’s,” was all James said.
Piers drove on. We were in a wooded lane when the horses balked and refused to go further. “Down there, I think.” Piers pointed in the direction of what looked to me like a bramble thicket. “Near the lake, if the maid was right.”
“Right.” James climbed down. “I’ll reconnoiter this time.” To Piers, he said, “If anyone comes along, you’ll be inspecting the harness.” To me, and by extension Reardon, he said, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” With a rustle of bare branches, he set off through the undergrowth.
James was as good as his word. Within fifteen minutes he emerged from the shrubbery and rejoined us. He looked, if anything, more haggard than before, but there was new light in his eyes and a truly mulish set to his jaw. “I’ve found them.”
As Reardon and I descended from the carriage, Piers dealt with the horses and carriage while James gave us a brief description of what he’d found.
“The underbrush grows thicker for about a hundred yards as you go downhill. Good cover. Bear to the right as you go, Piers. Kate, keep as straight as you can. The slope eases just before the cover thins. There’s a clearing in a grove of oak trees before you come to the lake. That’s where they are.”
“Who?” I demanded. “Mountjoy and Theodore or Thomas and Cecy?”
“All of them.” James looked grim. “The Contessa di Capodoro must have curious tastes in entertainment, for she’s wearing some sort of fancy dress. Cecy and Thomas are tied up, unharmed, I judge, and, from all appearances, Daventer has wrapped himself in a bedsheet. Mountjoy, thank God, is fully dressed.”
“So, two of them for the two of us.” Piers, finished with the horses, produced a small but efficient-looking pistol and set about preparing it.
“Not quite.” James produced a firearm of his own and checked it over. “There are two servants guarding Cecy and Thomas.”
“Four, then.” Piers didn’t seem alarmed at the change in odds.
“Five, if you count the Contessa, and I do,” James said. “From the way they all dance to her measure, I won’t be surprised to learn the Contessa considers herself to be in charge.”
“Oh, dear.” I remembered the comfortable chat we’d had over tea, Cecy and the Contessa and I. It had been so
nice to meet someone who truly knew about the opera. “What sort of fancy dress is she wearing?”
James thought about it. “I think she means to be an ancient Greek. Flowing white draperies, that sort of thing.”
That didn’t help. “I do hope she is just being Greek in general and not thinking of some particular Greek. Medea, say. Greeks can be very drastic.”
“Ask her,” James suggested. “Or do anything else you can think of to distract her. Because Mountjoy looks sick as a sheep. From all appearances, it’s the Contessa who is responsible for what they’ve done to Cecy and Thomas.”
I thought hard about what it would mean, walking in on four men and a woman who knew enough magic to capture Thomas and Cecy. “If I distract the Contessa, can you and Piers free Thomas and Cecy?”
James nodded. “Give us time to get into position before you show yourself.”
“If the Contessa does something drastic to me, you will help Thomas set it right as soon as possible?” Try as I might, I could not help pleading for a bit of reassurance.
“Trust me,” said James as he and Piers headed for the shrubbery.
It felt wrong just to walk away and leave the carriage unattended.
I turned to Reardon. “Perhaps someone ought to stay with the horses.”
Reardon was having none of it. “Nonsense. The horses will do very well by themselves. I will accompany you.”
“It will be safer with the horses. In all likelihood, I will be turned into a frog at once.”
“Then you will need me to look after you,” said Reardon.
“If you are with me, you will be turned into a frog, too,” I pointed out. “With luck, though, Thomas will be able to turn us back as soon as James frees him.”
“I am sure Lord Schofield will do his best.” Reardon was dauntless. “I will stay with you.”
“Very well.” I opened my reticule. “Hold out your hands.” I showed her the powder Thomas had swept up so carefully after Cecy’s first effort to focus her magic. “It won’t protect us from spells, but it may disrupt them. I intend to be a distraction, nothing more, but you must have some of this, too.”
The Grand Tour Page 31
