by Webb, Holly
Rose was just trying to open her Inner Eye to allow her True Sight to work, as instructed in Prendergast’s Perfect Primer for the Apprentice Magician, when there was a knock at the workroom door.
Rose and Freddie jumped – it was almost unheard of for one of the staff to interrupt a lesson, as they were terrified of the workroom, and whatever devilish practices the family got up to.
‘Come in!’ Mr Fountain called, and the door opened, very slowly. Susan was standing there, white-faced. She thrust a heavily sealed envelope at Rose, who was nearest, bobbed the fastest curtsey Rose had ever seen, and ran.
‘Odd girl,’ Mr Fountain muttered, taking the envelope from Rose, and holding it out to Gus, who slit the wax seals with one unnaturally extended claw. ‘This is King Albert’s seal – what on earth does the man want? I’ve been at the palace all morning already. Really, this treasury job is becoming desperately dull.’
He started to read the letter, irritably tapping one finger on the table, but as he scanned the heavy parchment, the tapping died away, and his face paled. Gus jumped into his lap to see.
‘Oooh, visiting. And in time for tea,’ he purred.
Mr Fountain shoved his chair back with a screech, Gus clinging onto his waistcoat and hissing.
‘There’ll be no fishpaste sandwiches today. Come on. Both of you, he wants us all there. Good God, how could this have happened? Why didn’t I see it coming? Send for the carriage, Rose, and Freddie, for heaven’s sake brush your hair.’
‘What is it?’ Freddie demanded.
‘Those damned fools at the palace have mislaid – hah, that’s how he puts it! – mislaid the magician’s mask!’
From the stricken look in the master’s eyes, and Gus’s bottlebrush-fluffed tail, Rose could tell this was something dreadful, even though she still didn’t understand. She shot out of the workroom, dashed down four flights of stairs and burst into the kitchen, gasping, ‘He needs the carriage, for the palace, can you tell John Coachman, Bill?’
Miss Bridges stared at Rose over her pince-nez spectacles. ‘Is he taking you with him?’
Rose nodded, looking down in dismay at her grubby apron and second-best dark wool dress, which she was growing out of.
‘You couldn’t do something to it yourself?’ Miss Bridges asked, with just a hint of hope, and an apologetic glance at Mrs Jones, who was holding a copper jelly mould in front of her like a shield.
‘I don’t think so,’ Rose said, after thinking frantically for a second. ‘It would be a glamour, and I can’t do those on my own yet.’
‘Typical,’ Miss Bridges snapped. ‘No one thinks about appearances in this house. I’ve told the master. Well, we’ll just have to do the best we can.’ She bustled out of the room and came back with an armful of white cambric. ‘I’ve had this put by. I had a feeling something like this would happen. Here, put it on, Rose. And just – well, just try to crouch a little, then your dress won’t seem so shamefully short.’
Rose dragged off her apron, and Miss Bridges buttoned her into the new pinafore, which had lace trimming the arms, and embroidered flowers around the hem.
‘From the look on the master’s face, miss, the king won’t care that I’ve got my old dress on. Something’s wrong, I think. And I do have my good cloak. Thank you, Miss Bridges, for the pinafore, it’s prettier than the princess’s.’
Even Miss Bridges was not immune to princess gossip, and a small smile curved her lips for a moment. ‘Run along, Rose,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t suppose he’s taking Miss Isabella too?’ she asked hopefully.
‘He didn’t say so, miss,’ Rose said apologetically, and Miss Bridges sighed. Bella, Mr Fountain’s young daughter, was a terror, particularly when she thought she was being left out of something exciting, and she was expert at avoiding her governess.
‘When that little minx starts throwing magic around the place, I shall be looking for a new situation,’ Mrs Jones warned. ‘She’s bad enough on her own. I can’t bear to think of it.’
Rose nodded, slipping eagerly towards the door. She wondered if she would see the princess again – strangely, she missed Jane, even though pretending to be her had been a rather odd way to get to know someone.
Even after living there, the palace was still a breathtaking sight. It reminded Rose of a cake – the sort of fine white wedding cake that the smart confectioners had in their windows, all crusted with swags of sugar icing.
An anxious-looking young man in an ornate uniform was pacing up and down the mews, clearly waiting for them, and Freddie moaned at the sight of him. ‘Oh, no. Raph’s done something awful again. Look at him, he’s almost green.’
Raphael Cressy was Freddie’s cousin, an equerry to the king. No one was quite sure how he’d ever been given the post, but Freddie believed it was because his regiment were prepared to lie through their teeth to make sure he never went near the front line.
Raph was startlingly beautiful, and so he was useful at the palace in a decorative sort of way – all Princess Jane’s older sisters were in love with him. Quite unfairly, his good looks often got him out of trouble, but he was terribly dim most of the time.
Raph dashed to open the carriage door, almost colliding with the coachman, who retired to his box, muttering.
‘Please hurry, sir,’ he begged. ‘His Majesty is beside himself with worry.’
‘What did you do, you idiot?’ Freddie hissed, jumping down, and handing Rose out.
‘It wasn’t me!’ Raph protested. ‘Really, I never went anywhere near the bally thing. His Majesty’s waiting in the throne room, do come on.’ He seized Rose’s sleeve, and actually pulled her inside past the guards, hustling the party up an enormous staircase, the banisters held up by plump and winsome cherubs that had Mr Fountain wincing. He strongly disapproved of many of the king’s renovations. ‘The throne room,’ he was muttering. ‘It would be. All that scarlet carpet gives me such a headache, and the statues are absurd.’
Gus ran ahead of Raph, his tail waving high. He adored dramatic situations, and Rose suspected he was also hoping to finally have a chance to terrorise Queen Adelaide’s lap dog. Gus had been in disguise during most of their previous visit, and had been forced to control his natural instincts.
The king was pacing up and down the scarlet carpet that had so worried Mr Fountain. Rose agreed – the carpet was blood-coloured, and the walls were a shade darker. It was like being inside a bag of liver, which had been liberally dotted with gilded marble statues. It was also unfortunate that the king was wearing a crimson Guards’ uniform which clashed, subtly and dreadfully. He looked haggard, his face greyish pale, and his eyes haunted.
‘At last!’
‘I’m so sorry, Sire, we came as soon as the message arrived. It’s really gone?’
‘Look!’ The king wheeled round and pointed dramatically at a display of weapons on the wall. Even Rose could see that there was a rather unfortunate gap in the middle.
‘Is this mask supposed to be there?’ she hissed to Freddie.
Freddie shrugged. He looked put out, as he prided himself on knowing more about the palace than Rose did.
‘Why are those children here?’ Queen Adelaide was sweeping down the room towards them, the train of her velvet dress trailing across the red carpet. Behind her trotted a grumpy-looking pageboy, carrying her fat little Pekingese dog, its eyes bulging at the sight of Gus.
‘We need their help, my dear,’ the king reminded her curtly.
Rose bent her knees slightly, hoping to hide the inches of leg that showed under her outgrown dress. But she could tell that the queen could see what she was doing. Queen Adelaide looked down her rather long nose at the two children. ‘Do they have to look quite so dishevelled?’ she asked in a stagey sort of whisper.
Mr Fountain bowed. He didn’t like the queen, it was quite obvious – though he was far too much the courtier to admit any such thing. ‘We obeyed His Majesty’s summons in rather a hurry, ma’am.’
The queen’s ‘H
mmm’ was masterly, and Rose and Freddie both attempted to hide behind Mr Fountain. This meant that Gus came out from around his master’s legs, and leered at the Pekingese. The Peke stood up in the pageboy’s arms and barked itself silly, while Gus merely stared demurely at it, standing decoratively next to Rose and opening his eyes very wide. He knew that made him look innocent, but Rose could tell from the twitching of his tail-tip that he was enjoying himself enormously.
The queen seized the Peke from the pageboy and cooed lovingly at it, but the little creature fought and scrabbled, yapping hysterically.
I think he is being terribly rude in Chinese, Gus told Rose admiringly. I wish I understood.
At last the queen handed the dog back to the pageboy, still wriggling frantically. ‘I shall have to take Flower out of here,’ the queen pronounced, frowning. ‘He cannot stand to associate with such an underbred animal. I will speak to you later, my dear.’ She processed out, with the pageboy following her, stuffing Flower inside his gilt-encrusted bumfreezer jacket, and glowering at Rose and Freddie, who were stifling giggles.
‘Did she mean me?’ Gus was staring after the queen, an expression of amazement and dawning horror in his eyes. ‘Underbred? Me?’
The king had heard Gus talk before, but he still jumped slightly as the voice echoed from around his feet. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said awkwardly – clearly finding it hard to address a cat, even one as grand as Gus. ‘My wife is not fond of cats. I am quite sure you have a magnificent pedigree.’ Tentatively he reached out to pat Gus’s head, but something about the way Rose, Freddie and Mr Fountain all sucked in a breath made him withdraw his hand again.
‘I am descended from an Egyptian god,’ Gus snapped, his tail lashing to and fro.
‘Sire, what is the magician’s mask?’ Rose asked, bobbing a curtsey in the direction of the king. Showing her ignorance didn’t weigh against distracting Gus from clawing the reigning monarch.
‘An heirloom…’ King Albert gazed at the space on the wall, a dazed expression settling in his eyes. ‘A mask, made of gold, and inlaid with enamelling and gems. Unbelievably precious, even as a jewel…’
‘Except it isn’t just a jewel,’ Mr Fountain sighed. ‘It’s a magical tool, a Venetian mask. It’s well known that the Venetians have strange powers, and they hold magical festivities, with interesting dancing. Rituals, you know. Foreign cults are mixed up with it all,’ he added vaguely. ‘Priests travel from the far Indies to be there, so I’ve been told.’
‘Probably the ones that worshipped me,’ Gus snarled.
‘Mmm. I’ve often wondered about going to Venice. Masks, most fascinating things, and the Venetian masks are known to have incredible powers for the wearer… And as if that isn’t enough, this particular mask belonged to Dr Dee, Queen Elizabeth’s court magician. He was said to have learned many of his strange powers in Venice. Who knows what spells he imbued it with, besides its own secrets? It’s an invaluable magical artefact.’
The king, flushed spots burning along his high cheekbones, drew something out of his waistcoat.
Everyone stared at him politely. Eventually, Freddie ventured, ‘That’s a teaspoon, Sire.’ He exchanged a worried sideways glance with Rose. Missing princesses were one thing – an insane king was quite another.
‘I know that,’ the king murmured patiently. ‘Earlier this afternoon, one of the butlers discovered that the display above you now contained a teaspoon – this teaspoon – instead of Dr Dee’s mask.’
Mr Fountain took the spoon, weighing it in his hand. ‘It’s been glamoured,’ he said, tapping it against his teeth, and then biting it gently. ‘The theft didn’t happen yesterday.’ He eyed the king thoughtfully, obviously wondering if he needed to explain.
‘Well, of course it didn’t!’ the king exclaimed irritably. ‘It was that cad Venn and his accomplice. Obviously! Who else has been dallying about the palace with unlimited magical powers? And look at the handle. Unbelievable conceit. The gall of it. They left their calling card.’
Rose peered over at the teaspoon, and Gus, curiosity winning over dignified fury, leaped into her arms to see too. Delicately etched into the silver handle of the spoon was an intricate snowflake.
Rose frowned. It seemed a lot of effort for Gossamer and Lord Venn to go to. All this for something that was just for dressing up?
‘What will they do with the mask?’ she asked, nibbling at one of her nails. ‘Does it – does it do anything?’
‘If they can unravel the secrets of its spells, they can do whatever they like,’ Mr Fountain muttered, slumping onto one of the spindly gilt chairs, and wiping a silk handkerchief across his forehead. ‘It’s terribly powerful. But then, no one since Dee has really known how to use it. No one has dared to wear it, not knowing what would happen.’ There was a strange longing in his voice, and his eyes were hidden by the handkerchief. ‘I need to go home and look it all up – I have a history of Venice somewhere. There are rituals. Certain days when everyone wears masks. But this mask – the right person could wear it to wreak havoc, and remain a secret. Or, even worse, he could use it to create. To build.’
‘To build an army,’ the king said in a low voice. He didn’t even bother with a chair, just sank down on the pedestal of one of the ugly gilded statues. ‘An army of magicians, following the power of the masked man.’
‘We wouldn’t…’ But Mr Fountain sounded doubtful, and he shivered, and smiled faintly, one hand stroking across his cheek, as though he was smoothing on a mask.
Mr Fountain stayed silent for almost the whole of the coach journey home. Freddie and Rose exchanged curious glances, but somehow the silence infected them too, and they didn’t dare to break it. Even Gus perched on Mr Fountain’s shoulder and glared out of the window at the darkening streets.
Scrying lessons were suspended as soon as they arrived home from the palace, in favour of research. Which meant Freddie climbing the study bookshelves like a sort of trained monkey, dislodging enormous leatherbound volumes and clouds of thick, but somehow sparkling, dust. Most of Mr Fountain’s huge collection of books were ancient, and many of them had no title on the spine, or only a few faded gilt letters. Mr Fountain was very little help. He sat in his armchair by the window, surrounded by rising walls of books, and occasionally peering out to remind them that they still hadn’t found the particular book he wanted. As he couldn’t remember the title – although he helpfully suggested that the author’s name was ‘something like flowers’ – and had no idea what colour the binding was, Freddie’s temper was becoming somewhat frayed.
‘This one has Venice in the title, sir!’ Freddie yanked the book off the shelf, and almost overbalanced on top of Rose in his eagerness. His arms windmilled frantically, and Rose’s magic buzzed and shivered inside her, sending an army of dust motes swirling around Freddie, wrapping him in a blanket of grey fur. The vaguely hand-shaped dust-creature pushed him firmly back onto the shelf, and deposited the book in Rose’s hands, before disappearing back into the faintest film of dust over all the furniture.
Mr Fountain blinked, and Freddie clung shaking to an enormous atlas that was so heavy he couldn’t possibly pull it off the shelf. Rose sighed disapprovingly at the dust. Why on earth couldn’t she have made the spell put it somewhere useful? Outside, far away, preferably. Now she would have to dust the room all over again, and she’d spent at least half an hour cleaning in here this morning.
‘Mmm.’ Mr Fountain beckoned her over, and took the book, wiping a finger over the binding and inspecting the dust.
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Rose bobbed a curtsey. ‘I’ll clean it, sir, after our lesson.’
‘I’m not complaining about the dust, Rose.’ Mr Fountain shook his head wearily. ‘I’m just beginning to think that you and Frederick could do with further lessons from someone whose magic works more… unusually than mine.’
‘Was it wrong?’ Rose asked worriedly.
‘Of course it wasn’t wrong. It worked! But I would never have thought of
using dust. Dust, for goodness’ sake!’
‘What would you have done, sir?’ Freddie asked weakly.
‘Let you fall, I should think. You’ve been working on that secret floating spell of yours, the one you persist in thinking I don’t know about, for quite long enough. You really ought to test it.’ Ignoring the gobbling noises that Freddie had started to make, Mr Fountain added the book to his pile. ‘That isn’t the one I wanted either. But I think you had better come down until you have recovered. Each pick a book from here, and see if you can find anything useful.’
Gus slid sinuously around the study door, and padded across the Turkish rugs to perch on the arm of the chair, peering disdainfully at the piles of books.
‘A fool’s errand. We should be concentrating on Gossamer – find him, find the mask!’
‘And what are we to do when we find him?’ Mr Fountain stared at his cat, his eyebrows raised wearily. ‘Walk up to him and ask politely if we can have it back? Don’t you see? Rose only managed to defeat Venn at the palace by half-killing herself, and draining your power and Freddie’s. And Venn was just Gossamer’s deputy! He wasn’t the real villain, just a weak man who broke and started to spill his master’s secrets. Gossamer saw that his plan had failed, and chose to take himself and Venn away, before Venn told you anything else. We still don’t know what he can do himself, and that’s without the mask.’ He stared out of the window into the square, but Rose could tell that he was staring through the snowflakes that were starting to fall again, this time a sign of the true winter. Fountain was seeing beyond the storm, seeing something – someone – far, far colder. A magician whose power matched his own, a magician who had not just one, but two dreadful weapons.
It was true that Gossamer had the mask, but worse, he had the ruthlessness to use it. To do anything – steal, kidnap or even kill – to get what he wanted. And they didn’t know what that was.
