She walked into the throne room, head held high. Marabella instantly recognized her and waved her over, a smile spreading across her delicate features.
“My dear, how are you feeling this afternoon?” she said as Juniper drew closer.
“Much better, thank you Princess,” said Juniper, feeling a little out of place amongst the other well dressed people of Court. The man she stood next to was wearing a silk robe, embroidered with what appeared to be gold thread and studded in places with the tiniest of red jewels. In comparison to Juniper’s own simple lavender cotton pants and shirt she looked like a peasant, or worse. She had wondered if the Atlanteans kept slaves, but she had been too afraid to ask.
“Dreadful business that happened earlier,” said the man next to her. He had dark brown hair, a softer olive complexion, and a deeply chiseled face, as rocky as any mountain range she’d seen. His jawline seemed more bone than skin. But, she felt attracted to him in a strange way, as if she could see herself trusting him with more than her secrets. She calmed herself and brought her attention back to the business at hand. “I’m Maximilian Senshure,” he said, holding out his hand. She shook it tentatively.
“Max’s family is one of the oldest and most prominent noble families in the City,” said Marabella. She eyed Max as if she controlled him, her eyes betraying her manipulation, and her lips curling as she announced his stature and importance.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Juniper. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I was wondering if any of you had seen Lord Manfred?”
“What on Earth do you need to see the Guardsmaster for?” asked Max, his arm finding its way around Juniper’s shoulders. The trust she felt earlier oozed out of her and she began to feel uncomfortable, unsure of what the nature of their relationship really was. She didn’t even know him.
“I’ve been summoned to the Archives by the Archivist,” replied Juniper, shrugging his arm off. It fell almost limply behind her and grazed her butt before returning to his side. She took a step away from Max.
Distracted by Max’s unsought attention, she hadn’t noticed the group’s faces change when she mentioned the Archivist. “What’s wrong?” she asked, worried that she had somehow offended them by slightly rejecting Max.
“You’ve been summoned by the Archivist?” said Marabella, her tone both surprised and interested. Perhaps Juniper was worth something, Marabella thought to herself, stepping forward a few inches to be closer to her.
“Apparently. How do I find this Archivist?” asked Juniper.
Marabella flew into action, throwing her arms up in ecstasy. “Why don’t you let my man take you there? It’s no trouble at all!”
“Really?” Juniper felt some kind of trap coming on, but was unsure of its implications.
“It’s no trouble at all. The Archives are a bit outside the City and it will take some time to get there. I unfortunately have to stay in the palace, but all will be well, I promise,” finished Marabella, grabbing onto Juniper’s arm and leading her out of the throne room.
The Archivist
Marabella had whisked her down hallways that Juniper had never seen before, through doorways leading to areas only reserved for nobles, and finally out a nondescript back entrance into a stable of horses and carriages. For a moment Juniper was surprised to see horses under the ocean, in a city that was part magic and part whimsical old technology, until she remembered that anything was possible in this city. If there were people and nobles, of course there were horses and carriages.
Marabella had pushed her into a carriage made of wood, stained a deep brown and inlaid with brass studs, and instructed the driver, a portly older man with a black cap and black tails, to take Juniper straight to the Archives. The driver nodded curtly and they were off. Marabella waved for a few moments as Juniper looked back at her and then disappeared back into the castle, presumably to continue gossiping with her colleagues from Court.
The carriage passed through the city around the castle quickly, making most of it a blur. With its immensity and the four large horses that pulled it, the carriage moved through the sea of people that walked along the streets with ease. Juniper was amazed at how different the city looked than what she had seen from high above in the palace. The people walked quickly over cobblestones and other rocks that were used as pavement and the shops bustled with activity. She could smell bread baking, chefs cooking, and spied a seamstress using a giant loom to make a rug. The city was alive. Alive in a way that was medieval and modern all at the same time. She was amazed at the complexity. She didn’t see any computers or smartphones, no telephones at all for that matter, but she could see a few typewriters through some of the shop windows, and even what looked surprisingly like a steam engine turning a lathe in a woodworking shop.
But all of that was gone after mere minutes as the carriage traveled into the countryside. The size of Atlantis and its bubble was amazing to Juniper, but it seemed logical that some farmland had to exist to feed the population. Since spying the countryside weeks before during her days gazing out from the palace, she’d wanted to spend time out there.
They passed into fields and the road got rougher, turning quickly to dirt. They traveled past cows and horses, goats and water buffalo, an amalgam of creatures that were thrown together in the odd world of Atlantis. Since she had been a student of history, Juniper swore she spotted aurochs grazing comfortably underneath a few trees off in the distance.
The minutes turned into hours and before long they arrived in front of a quaint thatched hut. The driver reigned in the horses, hopped down, opened the door and instructed Juniper to exit the carriage and enter the house.
“Thank you,” said Juniper.
“Do you wish me to stay, madame?” asked the driver. His English was impeccable and it would have surprised Juniper if she didn’t quickly remember that he worked for a Princess.
“I do not believe that will be necessary,” said Juniper. She nodded at the driver once, unsure of the etiquette she should be using. She then quickly went up to the door and knocked twice.
Immediately, the door flung open and a small, nebbish, bespectacled lady greeted her with a frown. “Who are you?” she asked, her gray hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. A few stray strands fell into her face as she talked. She blew at them impatiently.
“My name is Juniper Nesbitt, I’ve been instruct—“
“Ah. Yes. Come in, come in,” said the woman. She wore a dark blue gown, puffy at the sleeves, that came down just below her ankles. She wore elegant leather shoes with barely a heel.
Juniper entered the hut. She couldn’t understand how this was the Archives that caused everyone to feel both so enamored and frightened. Who was the Archivist, she thought. Was this her? The hut was completely empty, except for a desk, a chair on one side of the room, and a stone door on the other. Presumably, it led to the outside. But what use was that, she thought.
As if to answer her thoughts, the small woman turned around and grabbed Juniper’s left hand. “I am not the Archivist. I am the Arbiter of Records. You may refer to me as Arbiter. We’ve been expecting you for some time, but alas, the unfortunate incident has kept you bedridden,” she said.
“I feel much better now. Atlantean medicine is better than I expected,” said Juniper, trying to break any tension with a small joke.
The Arbiter looked at Juniper oddly for a moment. “Who treated you, primarily? Do you remember her name?”
“No, Arbiter, I’m sorry, I don’t. But she was a distant cousin of Cecil’s. I mean, the heir. A distant cousin of the heir,” said Juniper. She felt embarrassed every time she used Cecil’s name now. Was she gloating, that she knew him that personally and didn’t have to use his gaudy titles?
The Arbiter looked into Juniper’s eyes for a second, their pupils locked. “Madame, I taught that Healer myself. I trained her for years. There is no better Healer in this city, even the Healermaster would agree with me on this one. Mostly, because I curr
ently hold the position of Healermaster,” said the Arbiter, chuckling.
Arbiter took a seat at the desk. “The Archivist will be here shortly, if you could just stand there and wait patiently, all will be answered shortly,” she said. She then closed her eyes and placed her hands on the table, palm down.
Juniper stared at the Arbiter, not knowing what was going on. A few moments passed and the stone door opened, and a wizened old lady emerged, dressed in a periwinkle blue satin robe and slippers. Behind her, instead of a view of the outside, there was only a ghostly blue shadow and mist that creeped into the room behind her.
Juniper looked at her closely and nearly jumped out of her skin. It was the same woman from weeks earlier, with the milky eyes, foretelling her future from the library and the bar bathroom. She was sure of it. The same wrinkles, the same eyes, and the same expression of being curious, and yet certain, of everything around her. She seemed older than before, as if she had aged years in the span of a week. Her hair was wispy and frailer, spotty in places on her head. She left the door open and walked towards Juniper.
“Do you remember me?” asked the Archivist softly. Her eyes were still young and full of mirth. They were the same pale green that Juniper remembered.
“I do ma’am. You’ve led me here, haven’t you?” replied Juniper. Juniper wondered if this had all been planned. Was her love for Cecil planned as well?
“I’ve only suggested, poked, and prodded,” said the Archivist.
“Why am I here?”
The Archivist grabbed Juniper’s hand and instead of her eyes turning a milky white again, she led Juniper over to the stone doorway and the blue shadow interior. From within, shapes of fog and mist moved. Cities of fog, people of undefinable number emerged, battles seemed to be fought in clouds, people made love in the darkness, and life went on. Juniper was amazed at what she saw. “What is this?” she whispered.
“This is the Archives. The Archives of Atlantis. The Archives of everything,” said the Archivist.
From the mist, a figure moved towards them, a tall, muscular man, in full Atlantean armor. His body slowly took a clearer form, the mist aligning to show his features, the intricate torso and arms, hamstrings like stone, and a face that made Juniper nearly jump out of her skin again. The man looked exactly like Cecil. And unlike the other figures in the mist, he had bright lavender eyes. He held out his hand to Juniper.
“Who is he?”
“He is Horace. King Horace the Just. King Horace the Mighty. King Horace the dead,” replied the Archivist.
“What does he want?” asked Juniper. She was confused as to what was happening, but it was clear that she was at the center of something magnificent and grand, something immense and important. Somewhere deep within her gut, a pocket of her soul felt a tug towards the mist.
“He wants to show you the Archives. And he wants to ask you a question.” The Archivist gently pushed Juniper towards the open doorway. Juniper couldn’t resist, it just felt like the right thing to do.
“What’s the question?” she asked as tendrils of mist closed around her legs, her arms, and she felt the altogether much too solid hand of Horace take hers.
“He wants to ask if you would be so kind as to replace me, and become the Archivist.” Juniper had crossed the threshold, and her look of surprise provided the Archivist the perfect moment to close the stone door behind her and let Juniper experience her future, and her fate, in the best possible hands.
Epilogue: A Visit From Luxor
Tinker and Fielding sat in their car, with Tinker less than surreptitiously looking through a pair of binoculars at a second floor apartment window. Their car, a retired police car, often smelled like a mix of vomit and citrus whenever they turned on the heater. Both sat there, slightly gagging at whatever came out of the vents, but deciding not to venture outside as another layer of snow had just fallen on Kurlington.
“Do you really want to wait for her to show up here?” asked Fielding, rubbing his hands together near the air vent.
“I’m about ninety five percent sure he’s going to show up,” muttered Tinker. Through the apartment window he could see Sharon, barely dressed in anything but a bra and panties making what looked like a strawberry banana smoothie. “I feel like a pervert, but she is one amazing looking woman.”
“She’s like ten years your junior.”
“I think that still follows the half plus seven rule.”
“You sure do like ‘em thin, don’t you?”
“I like all women, especially the one right in front of me.” They both laughed at their crude humor, with Tinker’s eyes glued to the barely clad Sharon. He watched her hair swing merrily behind her in a silky pony tail. She walked out of the room at what he assumed was a knock on the door. “Have you been watching the apartment entrance?” muttered Tinker.
“Was I supposed to be doing that?” said Fielding, sitting forward in his seat.
“Fucking hopeless dude. Fucking hopeless. The faster we finish this, the faster we can get back to D.C. and out of this wasteland.” Tinker tried to focus the binoculars since another person and Sharon had just entered into an adjacent window. “Well, there’s someone. And she’s put on a robe.”
“Sorry buddy.”
“Shut up,” said Tinker. He followed with a sharp intake of breath.
“What?”
“Grab the folder out of my bag, would ya?”
“Yeah, of course.” Fielding reached in the backseat and grabbed Tinker’s black leather briefcase and removed a stack of manila folders. “What’re you looking for?”
“Family tree. Cecil’s family.”
Fielding rifled through the folders until he found the right one and handed it to Tinker. “Alright, here you go.”
“Thanks.” Tinker opened the folder and handed the binoculars to Fielding. “Take a look for yourself.” Tinker paged through the contents of the folder, looking for a specific folder.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Is that?”
Tinker picked up a single picture. “Yeah,” he replied. He handed the picture to Fielding who flipped it over to look at the name on the back.
“Luxor Montenegro,” muttered Fielding. “He hasn’t been seen ashore in a long time.”
“Things must be heating up,” said Tinker. “Let’s get back to the station.”
Before Fielding put the car into gear, he took one last look through the binoculars, finding another window into Sharon’s apartment. Sure enough, sitting in one of Sharon’s chairs was Luxor, his clear cut face and neck sticking out of a heavy black pea coat. Things, surely, were heating up.
To Be Continued
In
ANCIENT ATLANTIS
BOOK III
ARCHIVES OF THE ANCIENTS
Stay in Touch
The adventures of Juniper and Cecil will continue in Archives of the Ancients, Book 3 of Ancient Atlantis.
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To Live With Ancients (Ancient Atlantis Book 2) Page 7
