Tara Duncan and the Forbidden Book

by HRH Princess Sophie Audouin-Mamikonian

  “I’m dead?” exclaimed the ghost, sounding very surprised. “Are you sure? It’s strange, I don’t feel dead.”

  “But you are, unfortunately” said his father, his jaws clenched. “You were killed, and we’re trying to find out what happened. When you activated the Transfer Portal, a loud scream made you lose your concentration and the portal went out of control. You died because of two Lancovit spellbinders, and all we have left of you now is your ghost. Justice must be done. Are these two spellbinders the guilty parties?”

  The ghost seemed at a loss.

  “Yes . . . I remember now. The scream . . . fear . . . the dark power. There was a little girl . . . She tried to help me.” (Tara sat bolt upright— little girl indeed!) “But the vortex was too powerful, and it sucked me in.”

  The boy’s voice strengthened, and he went on: “And you say I’m dead because of those two?”

  “That’s right, son,” answered the woman.

  “Then there’s no doubt about it,” said the ghost, his tone harsher. “They’re guilty!”

  “No!” Tara’s scream cut through the buzz of excited comments. Deftly dodging a guard who tried to stop her, she ran to stand in front of the ghost.

  “They distracted you, that’s true,” she said. “But they didn’t kill you! You spoke of a dark force, a force that nearly swept us both away. Try to remember! That force wasn’t coming from these two spellbinders. It was coming from somewhere else.”

  The ghost frowned, but something seemed to be interfering with his concentration.

  “Yes . . . a dark force . . . something that kept the vortex from closing. If it weren’t for that force, I’d still be alive.”

  “That’s enough!” shouted the boy’s father. “Miss, I understand that you want to protect your friends, but my son is dead! He’s dead because of those two, do you understand? So step aside, and let my son pronounce judgment on his killers.”

  Tara had opened her mouth to reply when the ghost spoke: “I feel . . . I feel a force pulling me away. I have to leave. These two spellbinders must be condemned for what they did to me. But death . . . death is too great a penalty. They should be imprisoned for the rest of their lives.”

  With those terrible words, the boy’s shape wavered, began to fade, and disappeared.

  Tara refused to accept defeat.

  “I claim my imperial favor!” she cried.

  The emperor shifted on his throne.

  “Your favor doesn’t apply here,” he said harshly. “It applies only to you personally; you can’t use it for your friends. In any case, you can’t claim an imperial favor in a matter of life or death.”

  Tara felt herself weakening, but she shouted again: “This is crazy! Cal and Angelica aren’t guilty! And you know it as well as I do.”

  Tara had made a mistake. The empress didn’t like being crossed, and she knew how to deal with insolence.

  “That’s enough,” she said coldly. “The sentence has been pronounced. Take the defendants to prison. I have spoken.”

  Under Tara’s helpless eyes, Empress Lisbeth’tylanhnem stood up and walked out.

  Sparrow, Robin, and Fabrice stared at the condemned pair. Angelica was weeping on her father’s shoulder as he raged against the empress, calling for a war against the empire. For his part, Cal seemed in shock. But oddly enough, his mother didn’t seem worried. She whispered something into her son’s ear and after a moment, he looked up and smiled.

  The imperial guards had to tear Angelica away from her parents, but Cal followed them without any fuss. As Blondin leaped like a living flame by his side, Cal even gave his friends a little wave.

  Tara collapsed at that point, slumping to the floor in tears. Sparrow was instantly at her side and started sobbing as well. The two boys bravely tried not to cry, but couldn’t.

  “It’s unfair,” moaned Tara. “The adults in this world are crazy. This is awful! What are we gonna do?”

  Robin discreetly wiped his tears, then gave Cal a searching look as he was being led away.

  “You know, Cal looks awfully cheerful for a guy who’s just been given a life sentence,” he said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind asking him a few questions.”

  “We’re allowed to visit him in his cell,” said Sparrow, blowing her nose. “And—”

  She was interrupted by Master Chem’s arrival. The old wizard seemed both furious and baffled.

  “I don’t understand any part of this whole business!” he groused. “It’s obvious that Magister somehow set Cal and Angelica up. But what’s crazy is that we aren’t able to clear them. The Truth Tellers suddenly become unable to probe them, and the empress and the emperor have them jailed. And I’d bet my pile of gold that they know perfectly well that Angelica and Cal are innocent!”

  “I agree,” said Tara who had recovered a little. “Someone, somewhere is playing us for complete idiots. And if we don’t find out why, they’ll be right.”

  The old wizard scowled, and she smiled a little.

  “Grandpa, you said that a Teller probed you, right?”

  “No, I said that someone probed me,” answered Manitou. “I don’t know if it was a Teller.”

  “Then we better talk to the gnome,” said Tara, chewing on her white forelock. The habit always annoyed Gallant, and he swatted the hair away.

  “To the gnome?” asked Fabrice. “Why?”

  “He’s worked with the Tellers for a long time. He should be able to tell us if one of them read Grandpa’s mind and maybe even why.” They had no trouble finding him. The gnome was in one of the palace’s outdoor gardens, with two Truth Tellers. They had opened their white tunics and Tara was astonished to see that their brown bodies looked like wood.

  So, the Tellers were actually plants!

  Instead of arms, they had a tangle of budding branches. Their feet—roots, actually—were sunk into the earth. And the things that Tara had taken for helmets were actually large black petals that had opened around their heads and were hungrily soaking up sunshine. Their entire beings gave off a feeling of silent ecstasy.

  The gnome’s eyes widened when he saw the little group striding toward him, and he set down the watering can he’d been using.

  “Hello, Master Buglul,” said the dragon wizard. “Could you spare us a few minutes of your time?”

  The gnome bowed, looking somewhat apprehensive. “Er, of course, High Wizard. What can I do for you?”

  “High Wizard Manitou Duncan says he was probed by a Teller in the hearing room. Can you confirm that for us?”

  The gnome was shocked.

  “That is impossible!” he said indignantly. “No Truth Teller would ever probe a conscious individual without their permission, or the permission of a court of law. It is strictly forbidden.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Chem said smoothly. “But we all do something that’s forbidden every once in a while. So, could you kindly answer my question, please?”

  The two Tellers stirred. Buglul squinted, then spoke.

  “High Wizard, the Tellers declare that if one of them had wanted to probe you or Master Duncan, no one would have detected the intrusion. So, if someone tried to read or penetrate his brain, it was certainly not a Teller.”

  “Is that so?” asked Chem in surprise. “I see. So they can ‘read’ people without their knowledge. That’s very, very interesting.”

  “But they never, ever do it,” said the gnome firmly. “Remember, many countries ship their worst criminals to Santivior, the Truth Tellers’ home planet, where the Tellers guard them in exchange for the goods they need. Why would they trade that special relationship for the pleasure of snooping? Whoever read your friend was not one of them. You will have to look elsewhere. “

  In the face of the gnome’s determination, Chem bowed. “Thank you, Master Buglul.”

  As they left the garden, the friends knew one thing for sure: They had been trapped, and they couldn’t make a move until Cal was free.

  Master Chem decided
to request another audience with the empress.

  “I’ll keep you all posted,” he said. “Manitou, stay with the children and keep them from doing anything too stupid, like destroying the palace or launching an interplanetary war—you know, the things they seem to specialize in. Okay?”

  “I’m not their babysitter,” growled the dog. “And if they feel like doing something, I’ll probably do it too, believe me.”

  Tara gave her great-grandfather a big smile, and he winked. Chem rolled his eyes in resignation and stomped off, muttering.

  “None of this is getting us very far,” said Fabrice as they headed for the palace’s lower depths. “If what Buglul said is true, it wasn’t the Tellers who probed your grandfather. So, who was it, and why? What does Manitou know that someone would want to rummage around in his brain to find it?”

  “It’s like a puzzle,” ruminated Tara. “Lots of little pieces that don’t fit, until the moment when something suddenly starts to make sense. And I wonder . . .”

  “What do you wonder?”

  “Hm, what? Oh, nothing. Let’s start by seeing what Cal has to tell us. We can’t let him rot in jail for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  “Er, just to be clear,” hazarded Fabrice. “We’re going to see Cal to talk things over, right?”

  “Of course not,” said Tara brightly. “We’re going to help him escape!”

  CHAPTER 4

  IMPERIAL PRISONS

  “What?” shouted Fabrice. “Are you kidding?”

  “Not at all,” said Tara. “Someone wants Cal in jail. I don’t know if Magister is the one who came up with the scheme, but by freeing Cal we’ll be screwing up the plan.”

  “You know, for once I agree with Fabrice,” said Sparrow. “Springing someone from an Omois prison is impossible. Can’t be done.”

  “Oh, yeah? Finding and breaking out of the Gray Fortress was impossible too, wasn’t it?” said Tara. “Defeating Magister and destroying the Throne of Silur was just as impossible, but we did it. For that matter, magic is impossible, and this world is impossible.” She shrugged. “I’ve learned not to let that word stop me. In fact, I’m seriously considering eliminating it from my vocabulary.”

  Robin smiled at her. “You’ve got a point, Tara. If helping Cal escape will mess Magister up, facing the empress and her chatrixes and arachnes is worth it.”

  “What did you say?” yelped Fabrice. “Chatrixes and arachnes? Not again!”

  “I’m really sorry,” said Robin, who didn’t look sorry at all. “Didn’t I mention that the prisons are guarded by chatrixes? As for arachnes, I’m not so sure. They may have been replaced since my father was stationed in Omois. I seem to remember they once ate a guard who’d forgotten the answer to the riddle of the day.”

  Fabrice shivered. “I hate spiders!”

  He immediately looked up, scanning the ceiling for them, and he nearly missed the prison’s main protectors. When Fabrice eventually glanced down, what he saw sent him leaping backward in panic. He had almost bumped into a chatrix, a huge hyena-like animal with black fur and a poisonous bite. The beast was licking its chops and seemed to be thinking something like, “Dinner is served!”

  There may not have been any arachnes around, but there were lots of chatrixes, all straining at their leashes at the sight of so many people invading their sanctuary. They were drooling over such appetizing prey and were extremely disappointed when the guards muzzled them to let the visitors pass.

  Cal was in prison, all right. But the problem with most prisons is that they can’t hold spellbinders. So the walls of this one were specially built of spellblock from the Gandis Mountains, which blocks magic spells. In addition, an artifactum that neutralized all magic in its vicinity was mounted on a column above the hallway. Since were-light couldn’t be used, the prison was lit by ordinary electric bulbs, powered by a small generator.

  The artifactum was just a simple statuette, but its outstretched arms hummed with all the magic power it was absorbing. When Tara walked under it, she felt the living stone move in her pocket.

  Power? sang the stone, its voice sounding a bit muffled. I feel it going away. Why go away?

  Don’t worry, Tara answered mentally, though she hadn’t expected the statuette to be strong enough to neutralize the living stone’s power. We won’t stay long. You’ll feel better as soon as we’re outside its area of influence.

  Sleep, I will. Good night.

  Gallant, whom Tara had miniaturized, whinnied, and they heard Cal’s voice.

  “Tal, Zegranbraz!” said the little thief happily. “Sal tan mir?”

  Great, they couldn’t understand a word he was saying! (What Cal actually said was, “Hey there, guys! Wassup?”)

  “Trus!” swore Sparrow. At least Tara guessed she was swearing. “Valendir!” (Which translated to, “Rats! Let’s move away from here!”)

  She gestured for them to move out of the statuette’s energy field. Once they were far enough, she spoke again.

  “The palace translation spell doesn’t work because the statuette neutralizes all magic in the area around it. You guys will have to learn our various languages, otherwise we won’t be able to communicate.”

  “But I thought everybody used the Interpretus!” exclaimed Fabrice. “What are we gonna do?”

  “We’re going to use a spell that will allow you to learn all the languages I know,” said Sparrow. “Lancovian, of course, plus Omoisian, Dwarvish, Gnomish, Elvish, and a couple of Earth languages I picked up on my visits there.”

  “Eh, how many do you know?” asked Fabrice, impressed.

  “About twenty, I think. Once the spell is lodged in your brain, it’s permanent. We’ll be able to talk even when the statuette is neutralizing magic, because it won’t affect us. Gather round, and I’ll cast the spell on you.”

  They obeyed, and Sparrow chanted: “By Rosettus, take every single word I know, and on my friends instantly bestow.”

  Tara felt as if thousands of bees were suddenly buzzing in her head. Words, sentences, and expressions shot through her like lightning bolts.

  “Are you all right?” asked Sparrow in Lancovian. “It isn’t too uncomfortable, is it?”

  Manitou shook his head, and his pink tongue lolled out.

  “Geesh,” he moaned in fluent Elvish. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a train. Or gotten a hangover without having a drop to drink.”

  Robin stared about wide-eyed and addressed Sparrow in guttural Gnomish: “Wow! That spell of yours really works!”

  After a few experiments in different languages, they all decided to use Lancovian, which Cal spoke fluently.

  They headed back toward his cell. The little thief was standing on the threshold of a large comfortable room. Its door, which was made of clear OtherWorld quartz, let images and sound through, even without magic. Perched on a big cushion, Blondin winked at them.

  Cal had observed their comings and goings with some perplexity. “Are you guys all right?”

  Robin frowned and answered in perfect Lancovian: “Seems to me we’re the ones who should be asking the questions, don’t you think?”

  “Well, I’m fine. What’s going on?”

  “We were treated to an accelerated language course,” explained Tara. “In fact, it was so accelerated, I feel like I’ve got every OtherWorld language in my head. Anyway, here’s the question: Why do you look so cheerful?”

  Cal grinned. “Mom said a similar misunderstanding happened to her a couple of years ago,” he explained obligingly, “and she gave me some tips that might help get me out of here.”

  “Ab-so-lute-ly not!” said an icy girl’s voice. “My father will take care of whatever is necessary to solve this problem. And since my fate is unfortunately connected to yours, you’re not doing anything.”

  Cal rolled his eyes.

  An image of Angelica in the next cell appeared, and Tara grimaced. Not only did she have to devise a plan to get Cal out of jail, she would probably have to free
Angelica as well.

  The tall brunette looked at them scornfully.

  “What are you losers doing hanging around here? Hatching another of your little schemes?”

  Cal didn’t like Angelica, and the feeling was completely mutual. “What do you know?” he said. “The animal in the cage next to mine can speak! I thought she could only scream.”

  “Can it!” snarled Angelica. “I’ll scream if I feel like it. And that stupid ghost is going to pay for getting us locked up.”

  “Really? What you plan to do, kill him?”

  “That’s a point for Cal,” remarked Robin.

  “A hit, a very palpable hit!” said Sparrow, grinning.

  “That’s enough out of you, Angelica!” said Tara angrily. “It’s your fault we’re all here. You’re responsible for that boy’s death, and the death of your familiar. So spare us the comments and mind your own business.”

  Angelica glared at her. If looks could kill, Tara would’ve died on the spot. The tall girl turned on her heel and went to sit on her bed, muttering insults under her breath.

  Tara turned to Cal and whispered, “Is it safe for us to talk? If it is, explain why you look so pleased with yourself.”

  “I don’t think there are any microphones,” said Cal in a low voice, “but let’s be careful anyway. I have two reasons to feel happy. The first is that this is going to be part of my final exam next year!”

  “Your what?”

  “My licensed thief final examination. I have to pass a whole bunch of tests to get my license. So, when my mother saw I was being put in prison, she went to the school dean and suggested I be graded on my escape.”

  Fabrice was dumbfounded. “And that’s all you could think of? You’re in jail, in a place where you can’t perform magic, because you’ve been trapped by Magister, who attracted us here so that he could get hold of the Forbidden Book, and all you can say is, ‘Cool, I’ll be graded on this’? Those guards must’ve bonked you on the head when they arrested you, because you’ve completely lost your marbles!”

  “I think I must’ve missed an episode somewhere,” said a perplexed Cal. “Magister did what?”