The two children sped across the commons, passing the gym and the walled garden. The doors of the main building were open for breakfast. Rachel shot by the startled proctors, rocketed through the dining hall, glanced from side to side, and zoomed out the other side into the grassy interior courtyard. As she soared upward over the many spires of Roanoke Hall, she reviewed her memory of the children eating breakfast, rapidly examining each face in the crowd. The girl she sought was not among them.
Rachel flew over the lawns of the commons again, still searching. She did not know which dorm Valerie lived in. If the girl was inside, Rachel would have no way to find her. At the far end of the commons, she circled the high dome of the Taliesin the Brave memorial, flew over the fountain that looked like a young tree with water cascading from every branch, and buzzed the lily pond—sending the sea fairies who lived therein diving for cover. Wind rushed by her, a low roar in her ears. Behind her, Siggy whooped loudly.
There was no sign of Valerie Hunt, but Rachel was undeterred. She seldom grew frustrated when she had put her mind to something.
“Hey!” Siggy called. “Did you say short blond hair? How about that one?”
Below them and to the right was a walled garden. Purple blooms of wisteria grew along the trellis-like fence that made up part of the stone wall. In the center of the garden, mosaics surrounded a marble basin. In the middle of the shallow pool, a fat-cheeked cherub with a curling fish tail blew a fountain out of its trumpet. To one side, sitting on a bench, two girls pored over the latest issue of Wise Wear magazine. One was pretty, with short flaxen hair, glasses, and a squarish jaw. She had a pile of notebooks next to her. An old-fashioned camera on a red strap hung over her shoulder. A silver and black Norwegian Elk Hound, with thick fur and a curling tail, lay with its muzzle resting on her feet. Rachel recognized her as Valerie Hunt.
The other girl was gorgeous with long, wavy blonde hair, impish cheeks, and eyes that seemed almost luminescent. She also was the most well-endowed young teen Rachel had ever seen, but this might have been because her black and white subfusc outfit had been tailored to display her figure to best advantage. Her white blouse strained at the buttons, and her black pleated skirt was shorter than the knee-length specified by the school handbook.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel noted that Siggy had noticed, too. When the young woman stood up and bent over, his face turned red, and he averted his eyes—an unusually knightly response from a low-born boy. Rachel understood that boys liked curves.
For Rachel’s part, she found the girl’s display vulgar. If she had such a figure, she would wear baggy robes. The idea of being ogled by boys terrified her. Still, Sigfried’s reaction intrigued her. Rachel knew her own ideas of decorum were in a minority. She had spent her early childhood with her grandparents, who had been born during the reign of Queen Victoria. How had a boy raised in a horrid mundane orphanage developed such an old-fashioned sense of propriety?
“Were there any girls at the orphanage?” she asked curiously, as she zoomed toward the walled garden.
“Only the nuns.”
“Really? What order were they with?”
“Hestia, Goddess of Home and Hearth,” he replied bitterly. “They weren’t home-like at all. They were horrid.”
“Do you like girls?” she inquired teasingly.
He answered indignantly. “I like ladies. What knight would risk life and limb and third-degree burns to slay a dragon for a trollop?”
“Did the nuns teach you how gentlemen and ladies should act?”
Siggy snorted disdainfully. “Are you kidding? They never talked to us except to shout or hit us with a ruler. I learned about knights and ladies from a book I stole from the library and hid under my mattress so that the nuns would not confiscate it.”
“What was the book about?”
“King Arthur and his knights.”
The corner of Rachel’s lips kept quirking upward despite her efforts to restrain her amusement. He spoke of knights and ladies and hid books under his mattress. “Sigfried Smith, I believe we shall be very good friends indeed.”
• • •
Rachel landed in the courtyard. Sigfried leapt from the broom, threw himself down on the mosaics, and kissed the ground repeatedly. The two blond girls stared at him in fascination.
“Never rode a broom before,” Rachel offered by way of an explanation. Both girls nodded. From their reactions, she surmised that Miss Hunt had never ridden a broom either, but that the other young woman had. “You’re Valerie Hunt, right?”
The short-haired girl flashed a pixie grin. “That’s me. Valerie Hunt, fearless girl reporter and amateur rock hound.”
“There’s a man looking for you!”
“Really?” She began gathering her magazines. Her collection consisted of Photo Pro Magazine, Rock & Gem, and Blade Magazine, which sported a picture of a huge, jagged edged knife. Siggy stared at this last one with interest. “Where is he? Is he one of the tutors? That’s what they call professors here, right?”
“No!” Rachel waved her arms, barring Valerie’s way. “I mean, yes—tutors. But, no…don’t go looking for him! He’s not a good man. He’s bad. I sent him off, but I’m rather sure he’ll be back when he discovers I lied to him. You’ve got to hide.”
“How do you know he’s bad?” The second girl looked up from the pages of Wise Wear, her large luminous eyes fairly dancing with curious amusement.
“Because he was impersonating an Agent.”
“But he wasn’t an Agent?” asked the second girl.
“No.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, even more curious.
“If he were an Agent, I would have known,” Rachel replied firmly.
“Oh-kay,” she drawled, glancing at Valerie. “What do we do now?”
Rachel blinked. She had only thought as far ahead as warning Valerie.
“Who are you?” Siggy asked the second girl, averting his eyes so as not to stare at her enticingly-displayed charms.
Seated on the bench, Valerie watched his efforts and pressed her lips together, amused.
“Salome Iscariot.” Rising, the lovely blond jutted out her hip and rested her fist upon it.
“Of Iscariot Enterprises?” Rachel stepped closer, intrigued.
“Of course.”
“You’ve heard of her?” Siggy said, but he looked at Valerie, who gave him a pretty smile. He returned it with a blindingly bright smile of his own. She blinked, a bit dazed.
“Of her family’s business,” Rachel said. “She’s the richest girl in the world.”
“Very likely.” Salome’s smile showed perfect white teeth. “There are blockbuster actresses who have less in their personal accounts than I do. It would be the greatest life possible, if I didn’t have to contend with the most evil mother ever to breathe or shop. Who are you?”
Sigfried scowled darkly at Salome’s complaint about her mother, as if the comment offended him personally.
“I am Lady Rachel Griffin, daughter of The Duke of Devon,” Rachel replied primly, aware that her hair had escaped its barrettes yet again.
“Ooo! You’re Ambrose Griffin’s daughter!” Now it was Salome’s turn to be impressed. To Valerie, she said, “Her father is a famous Agent.”
“The one you were telling me about?” Valerie opened a notebook and flipped through it.
“No, that was James Darling. Darling is legendary. Griffin is merely famous.”
“Speaking of famous,” Rachel tried to keep the sparkle out of her eye and failed, “this young man here is Sigfried Smith.”
Both girls squealed with glee. They moved close to him, asking a thousand questions about his life, his dragon, his gold, his fight against the dragon in the sewer. He answered with a casual, careless attitude. This only fueled their fervor.
Turning to look for the dragon, Rachel noticed for the first time that another girl sat in the walled garden. Her long pale golden hair floated about her like spun sunlight.
She had the most lovely face Rachel had ever seen, like a princess from a storybook, with blue eyes, a pert little nose, and rosebud lips. This new girl sat reading a textbook, her expression so sadly sweet that it almost hurt to look at her.
Like Rachel, this other girl was dressed in full academic black robes with a golden crest over her left breast. Golden crest meant royalty—she was a princess! Rachel had the right to wear a silver crest, but her parents had only put crests on her very best robes. Peering closer, Rachel frowned in consternation. She had memorized Burke’s Peerage and Registry of the Noble Wise, but she had never seen this crest before.
What nation had an emu on their heraldry?
Siggy straightened. “He’s back! That man!”
“What?” Rachel cried, looking left and right. “How do you know?”
“I…saw a flash down the way we had come.”
Rachel checked her memory. She had been facing that direction but had not seen a flash. But if Sigfried was lying about the flash, why did he think the man had returned?
“He’s coming,” Siggy insisted. “Should I go kill him?”
“You can’t kill people.” Rachel stamped her foot. “I told you that.”
Siggy spread his arm, gesturing toward the docks. “It’s more difficult to burn someone’s face off and keep him alive. Killing is easier. And you don’t have to worry about retaliation.”
Rachel glared at him. “No killing!”
“What about a very severe scalding?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Salome grabbed Siggy’s hand. “Let’s go talk to him. He’s not looking for us!”
“Okay!”
They ran off. Rachel sighed. From her huge, mischievous grin, Salome obviously thought she had scored points by getting the famous boy to herself. Rachel did not care. Siggy was her first friend, true, but he was not the kind of boy she would want for a boyfriend—too wild, for one thing. She did care about Siggy’s safety, though. If the man searching for Valerie was willing to impersonate an Agent, what else might he do?
Valerie looked up, notebook and pen in hand. “A girl reporter must gather facts if she’s to be useful. What does this man look like? Did he have any distinguishing marks such as tattoos?”
Rachel described him as best she could, wishing she could draw. She could see him so clearly, could zoom in on every tiny detail, in her perfect memory. Without a thinking glass, however, she could not convey what she had seen to someone else.
“Sorry. No idea.” Valerie shook her head. “That could be a number of people. None of whom have a reason to come looking for me.”
Rachel squatted down and let her fingers trail over the thick, soft fur of the Norwegian Elk Hound. The dog licked her hand. “What’s his name?”
“Payback. And it’s a she,” Valerie drawled. “Because Payback’s well, you know…a female dog.”
Rachel, whose family owned an estate with a dog kennel that bred hunting hounds, knew exactly what the proper name for a female dog was. She began to giggle.
Siggy and Salome came running back, faces flushed. Salome’s chest rose and fell rapidly.
“He is an Agent,” she reported, her eyes huge. “I saw his badge. It was legit.”
“No!” Siggy interrupted her, scowling in annoyance. “That’s not what happened. I just told you. The man held up a blank piece of paper. He told you it was a badge. I could feel it in my head, trying to make me think stuff. But I’m too quick for the coppers! I didn’t let it get to me! Then, he asked you where Valerie was, and you told him. He’s coming.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Salome frowned in confusion. “Evil paper. You told me. But…he had an official paper, too, right?”
“She’s ensorcelled.” Rachel stared.
“The guy is coming!” Siggy repeated.
“W-what should I do?” Valerie asked, her face going pale. Leaning down, she pulled a knife from her low boot and held it ready.
Fear gnawed at Rachel’s stomach. She thought and thought, but this was not like flying. She did not have a set of skills for hiding from bad men.
“Shouldn’t we go get a proctor?” she asked.
“Never go to the grown-ups!” Sigfried cried fiercely. “They will blame you, even if it’s not your fault. They’ll probably lock you in a closet and take your food away. Grown-ups are like that.” Beside him, Lucky the Dragon bobbed his head in agreement.
“You may slip in here, if you wish.” From behind them, the beautiful princess stood up from the bench. She spoke with a slight Australian accent. Her speech had an air of formality, her words measured and clearly enunciated.
Rachel was startled, upon glancing her way again, to be struck just as forcefully by the girl’s ethereal beauty as she had been the first time. It was like the beauty of a lovely summer day. Rachel was reminded of breathing in the perfumed air when the lavender farms on her family’s estate were in bloom. The girl’s beauty must be a supernatural thing, Rachel decided, such as the gift fairies occasionally bestowed.
“Wow! A staircase in a bag!” Siggy grabbed Valerie’s elbow and hustled her toward the purse. “In you go!”
Valerie ducked in and ran down the staircase.
“What’s in there?” Siggy asked. “Is it safe? Will it eat her?
“A house,” the lovely princess replied with good humor as she closed the bag. She gave them a sweet look that made the day brighter, as when sun broke through heavy clouds. “A modest one, I fear, but fully furnished and provisioned. Your companion should be quite comfortable for the duration of her visit.”
Rachel’s eyes grew large. She had only ever seen purses with a space the size of a room inside. Siggy looked skeptical, as if he thought the princess were teasing him.
The princess stood up and extended her hand. “Lady Rachel Griffin, as there is nobody here to present me, I shall have to introduce myself. I am Nastasia Romanov, Princess of Magical Australia.”
Rachel shook her hand, curtseying. With a shy yet brave smile, the princess curtseyed in return. Salome made a noise of amused impatience.
Nastasia regarded Salome as if she were a quaint exhibit at a county fair. “Would you be so kind as to introduce the commoners to me?”
Rachel nodded. “This is Sigfried Smith.”
“Mr. Smith.” The princess shook his hand. “Your exploits are known to us in Magical Australia. I applaud your bravery.”
“Why, thank you, your highness.” Siggy bowed over her hand, looking pleased. “Are you a real princess? That’s extraordinary! Do you get to be queen someday? Do you own hoards of gold? Or do you own flocks of servants who hoard your gold for you? Can you order them to go out and fetch more gold? Or, being from Australia, do you prefer opals? Me, I want to be a dragon when I grow up!”
“Um…” The princess wet her perfect lips, taken aback by the barrage of questions. “I…don’t think people can turn into dragons. Not and still be intelligent, at any rate.”
“That’s not fair!” Siggy said crossly.
He stomped on the water in the little marble pool. Droplets of water sprayed up. A few struck Rachel’s cheek.
Rachel sighed and continued, “And this is Salome Iscariot.”
The two girls shook hands. Nastasia’s face went a bit pale. She withdrew from the other girl’s grasp. Rachel thought she looked slightly ill.
“Commoners?” cried Salome, perhaps recalling this particular offense due to Nastasia’s quick retreat. “I’ll have you know my parents run the second largest private enterprise in the world.”
“Nonetheless, you are a commoner,” the princess replied, not unkindly.
“I am much richer than you could ever dream of being, girl from a country I’ve never heard of!” Salome announced, her eyes flashing. She waved her fingers at the princess, as if shooing her away Her fingernails were elegantly painted in a blue and black paisley design.
“Undoubtedly true, Miss Iscariot. I never dream about mere money, and beyond
the borders of my own kingdom I am a pauper, as no foreign nation recognizes the currency of Magical Australia. That fact is, however, irrelevant. Money cannot buy blue blood, nor does a lack of wealth diminish it.” The princess spoke graciously, unfazed by the other girl’s show of temper. “Royalty comes with duties and obligations not required of those of common birth. Though we enjoy many advantages, our lives are not our own, but belong first to our country and our subjects. No matter how much wealth your family gathers, it cannot make you royalty, nor even nobility.
“However, there is no shame in being common, no insult in the term, nor does being born to high station make me better than anyone else. Only our actions, how we measure up to the duties we were born to, determine our worth. If you allow yourself to be groomed to take over your parents’ financial empire, you will, perhaps, assume duties similar to those required of a royal princess and might one day rise to be the greatest and most worthy of commoners.”
Rachel donned the mask of calm she had learned from her mother. Underneath, she danced with mirth. Salome was so outraged. Most likely, she had never met anyone who did not treat the daughter of the Iscariot financial empire as royalty. Rachel’s sympathies were with the princess. She did believe in judging men on their merit, but, as the daughter of a duke, she also understood the obligations that came with rank, something that egalitarian Americans—despite their many other charming qualities—often failed to grasp.
Footsteps rang against stone. The man with the pony-tail strode into the private garden, his Inverness cloak billowing. He looked around, frowning. His gaze fell on Rachel.
“Sorry,” Rachel mumbled, her cheeks growing hot. “I thought she’d left.”
“Where is she now?” The man spoke in a pleasant baritone.
“She went to the loo,” Rachel lied.
“I have a package for her, a present. Can you give it to her?”
“Of course.” The princess held out her hand. The man’s pupils widened at the striking beauty of the picturesque young lady.
Recovering his aplomb quickly, he gave her a mild smile and handed her a small white box. “Please tell her that this is from her father.”
The Unexpected Enlightenment of Rachel Griffin (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 1) Page 4
