Prospero Regained

by L. Jagi Lamplighter

  “Huh! Did it work?” Erasmus looked quite intrigued. “Ah, but you already said that you did not know. Interesting … interesting. Wonder if he could pull it off.”

  A conversation struck up between Erasmus, Theo, and Mephisto about the likelihood of Father being able to carry off such a project. I took advantage of their preoccupation to pose a few questions I was very curious about to Mab.

  As casually as I was able, I asked, “Tell me, Mab, what kind of a master was Astreus?”

  “The boss? Oh, he was a bag load of fun, Ma’am. Really looked out for us winds!”

  “Did he have any faults?” I pressed.

  Mab thought about this for a while. “He was quixotic, Ma’am; he would change his mind at the drop of a hat. All elves are like that, but Lord Astreus was capricious even by elvish standards—though he acted rather differently the last time I saw him—at Santa’s place.” Mab frowned. “Also, he didn’t understand about humans; I mean how frail they are and all that. Course, I didn’t know back then, either.” Mab paused again. “All things being equal, Ma’am, I’d rather be working for you.”

  I was so touched that, for a moment, I could not speak.

  My brother Gregor, who had apparently been listening, stepped closer and posed a question to Mab. “So, you prefer your current life to your past?”

  “No, Sir, I’d prefer to be free. But if I were free and had to have a boss, I’d rather it were Miss Miranda.”

  * * *

  “SHE hasn’t moved,” Titus announced.

  “Who, Miranda?” Theo asked. “She’s moving just fine.”

  Titus pointed at the crystal ball, which Mephisto was balancing on the back of his arm, rolling it between his shoulder and his elbow. “Logistilla. I have been having Mephisto look in on her regularly. All this time, while we made our way through trenches, slept, flew on Pegasus, et cetera, she has not so much as turned her head or twitched a finger.”

  We gathered around Mephisto, peering into the ball. Logistilla sat upon the infernal version of the throne that had once belonged to my father, as handsome and regal as any queen. Yet, Titus was correct. She sat unmoving. She stared straight before her, holding some bit of broken crockery as if it were a scepter. The Staff of Transmogrification lay ignored atop the debris beside her seat. On the dais, next to her, huddled an emaciated old man who hugged his own piece of crockery. He looked a bit like Old Theo, before Erasmus made him young again—if Theo had stopped eating for centuries. I could not place the man, but it was obvious he was a member of my family.

  “Who’s that other guy?” asked Mab.

  “Galeazzo Lucretius di Rizzo,” Erasmus said. He glared at me. “Logistilla’s third son. He died a bitter death, consumed with envy for his mother’s immortality.”

  “Envy,” I whispered. “Logistilla’s vice is envy, too.”

  “Miranda’s right,” Gregor said finally. “Logistilla could not have made those dolls. She is a prisoner here, a captive of her vices.”

  “Maybe she was carrying the dolls in her purse, and they fell out when the Hellwinds deposited her,” Caliban offered.

  “Fell out onto an altar in the middle of a pentacle? Sorry, Buster, I’d like the perp to be Miss Logistilla as much as the next guy, but this just doesn’t add up.” Mab yanked out his notebook, licked his finger, and started flipping pages. He glared at Mephisto. “I’m updating my list of suspects.”

  “If it was not Logistilla,” Erasmus said, “there must be someone else in the castello.”

  “Show us who else is in the castello, other than our sister and her dopey son, I mean.” Mephisto held the crystal ball up for us to see, but it merely grew misty again. “If someone else comes there, they aren’t present at the moment.”

  * * *

  THE ground began to rise sharply. Large boulders and deep sinkholes made footing treacherous. Ahead, we could see the rounded tops of the foothills. Beyond them stood the Mountains of Misery themselves, their peaks sharp and stark against the fiery red-orange sky.

  The air grew colder, almost frigid. Our breath left our mouths in white clouds, which immediately distinguished us from the rest of the inhabitants, sad baggy-eyed souls who toted the great boulders, carrying them up the slopes upon their shoulders.

  We hiked up a steep rise and paused at the top, most of us panting. Ahead was a series of rocky outcroppings with small ledges upon which damned souls balanced, looking nervously this way and that. Just ahead, nestled between the rocks, was a large sinkhole, as big as a pond, from which issued a constant hissing. In the darkness of its depths, something writhed.

  Most of us moved away from the opening, but Mephisto squatted down on the edge of the sinkhole and peered into it.

  “Snakes!” Mephisto leapt up, waving his arms wildly. “Why did it have to be snakes? I hate snakes!” Mid-gesticulation, he paused and tapped a finger against his chin, thinking. “No, wait, that was Indiana Jones. I like snakes.” And he leaned over, offering his hand toward the nearest serpent as it slithered up over the rim of the sinkhole, hissing. “Hi there, Little Fella!”

  Gregor, who had been staring darkly at the pit, grabbed Mephisto and yanked him back, just as one of the serpents struck, barely missing my brother’s hand. “Those are not snakes. They are souls of the damned. I do not know what will happen if one bites you, but it could not be good. Let us move away, quickly!”

  Hauling Mephisto along, Gregor strode some hundred yards before he stopped. The rest of us followed quickly. Behind us, hundreds of snakes came pouring out of the pit, converging on our previous position.

  “How did you know they were the souls of the damned?” Caliban asked curiously, his breath forming bright white puffs.

  “I can hear them speaking.”

  “You can speak to snakes?” Mephisto’s eyes narrowed. He pointed a finger at Gregor. “You’re a parselmouth, aren’t you? I bet you’re in Slytherin!”

  The comment meant nothing to Gregor or to me, but Erasmus and Caliban laughed heartily. Gregor gestured at the heavy golden ring he wore on his right hand. “The Seal of Solomon grants the gift of speech with beasts. These creatures speak in the language of beasts, but they talk of things no beasts would mention. They wish to steal our shapes.”

  “Oh!” Mephisto exclaimed, nodding sagely. “So that’s where we are! Makes sense Ulysses would be here.”

  “Where, exactly, is here?” Mab chafed his arms against the cold.

  “It’s one of the places of punishment for thieves,” Mephisto explained. “There are lots of thieves, but not enough human bodies. The snaky guys slink around trying to sneak up on the human-looking guys. If they can bite them, they get to steal their shape. Then, the previously snaky guy gets the human shape, and the guy who got bitten becomes a snake.”

  “How do you know all this?” Theo asked, eyeing Mephisto suspiciously.

  “Dante describes something like that in Canto 25.” Caliban spoke up from where he stood with his club resting on his shoulder. “Only he described red and black lizards, with feet, rather than snakes. Shall I quote the passage?”

  Erasmus arched an eyebrow. “You can quote Dante?”

  Caliban shrugged and smiled.

  Mab, who had been scanning the hillside, suddenly pointed. “Hey, isn’t that the perp? Er … I mean, your brother?”

  High above us, a naked Ulysses stood nervously on a tiny rock shelf, kicking at serpents who tried to come over the ledge. Theo called out to him, and Mephisto jumped up and down, waving his arms and his staff, but Ulysses did not seem to notice us.

  “Where’s his staff?” I asked, squinting at the figure of my brother. “I don’t see it.”

  “Then, it is unlikely that this is our brother,” Gregor replied hoarsely. “Someone has stolen his shape.”

  Mephisto raised the crystal globe. “Ball, show me my brother Ulysses!”

  The ball showed the naked Ulysses kicking snakes on the ledge.

  Mephisto frowned and then asked, “Bal
l, where is my brother’s staff?”

  Mist swirled in the glass sphere, then cleared to show the Staff of Transportation lying between two boulders, a green and yellow snake wrapped tightly around its length. Following the images in the crystal ball, we pinpointed where this was relative to our current position.

  “How are we going to retrieve him?” Titus asked. “That area is crawling with snakes.”

  Caliban stepped forward. “Allow me.”

  Swinging himself onto the nearest boulder, the large man who might or might not be my half-brother jumped from rock to rock, covering distances I would have sworn no human could leap. Each time, he landed as lightly as a gymnast, sweeping snakes out of his way with his club. To aid him, Gregor tapped his new staff. The incessant hissing and faint cries and curses in the distance all vanished, leaving an empty silence. The snakes swayed aimlessly as if stunned.

  Caliban swooped up the Staff of Transportation. A moment later, he landed beside us, carrying a leather bag, and the staff, the green and yellow snake wrapped tightly about it. There was no sign of Ulysse’s clothes. Some thief’s soul must have made off with them.

  Caliban dropped the bag at our feet and drew the serpent from the staff, holding it by its tail. When Gregor turned off his staff and the sound and hissing had returned, Mab came forward to peer at it.

  “Ma’am, I think this is him. Notice the little yellow mask around the eyes.” Just like that domino mask your brother always wears.”

  Sure enough, the snake had a yellow figure eight about the eyes against the otherwise grass green head. Gregor held up his ring and leaned toward the serpent, careful to stay out of biting range.

  “Ulysses? Is that you?… Ah, yes. We came as quickly as we could. There were others in greater need … No, we did not abandon you out of spite and revenge. I told you I have forgiven you. Did you not believe me? Well, ’tis no matter. Your body? Good question.” Gregor turned toward the rest of us. “Any ideas?”

  We all began talking at once.

  * * *

  IN the end, we concluded that we had to rescue Logistilla first. We would head to Infernal Milan, investigate the voodoo dolls, and then return here with Logistilla’s staff to recover Ulysses’s shape. With the Staff of Transmogrification, we could both restore Ulysses and turn the serpents into something less dangerous—something without sharp teeth. Mephisto suggested bunnies, then acted out some kind of a skit involving a baby rabbit that ripped out the throats of knights, which, I must admit, was rather amusing, even if it was against the whole point of taking away the snakes’ teeth.

  When Mephisto finished his theatrics, we touched Ulysses’s staff to the ground, to allow us to return to this spot instantly, and then set off following the crystal ball. Ulysses rode curled around Gregor’s neck. Mab, the only one who did not already have a staff or club, carried the Staff of Teleportation. Titus leaned over and explained to my brother the snake that he had better not bite Gregor, or Titus would personally tear him to shreds. Perhaps Ulysses believed him. Either way, he was very well behaved.

  The ball led us over one of the smaller foothills and into a dense forest of twisted, repulsive trees with crooked grasping branches. The leafless boughs, like claw-fingered arms, gripped the struggling damned in a tight woody embrace. Thick gluey sap oozed from the dark trunks, holding fast anything that so much as brushed against it. From time to time, we caught a glimpse of the forest’s prisoners: men and women with wild eyes and tangled hair who writhed and screamed, ever trying to tear themselves free of the viselike grip that held them immobilized. Even Mephisto did not know what their crimes had been.

  As we entered this nightmarish wood, long ropelike roots stretched out, attempting to trip us or wrap about our ankles, and great shrouds of some dark moss, hanging from the branches, tangled in our hair and garments. The air was unpleasantly dank, and, from time to time, the flapping of leather-winged horrors startled the trapped dead, causing them to scream. Gregor tapped the Staff of Silence, and the moans and muffled cries that had become our constant companions fled, along with the disturbing flapping. Within the range of his effect, the unnatural trees froze, allowing us to walk among them unhindered.

  The walk through the forest seemed interminable. We were able to free a few of the poor souls trapped among its branches. They escaped when Gregor’s staff froze the trees that had been imprisoning them. We could not hear their words, but the lip and hand gestures of some indicated that they were grateful. Yet, many others remained as they had been before we freed them, writhing and silently screaming, unaware that they could escape.

  Those who were aware of their new freedom followed us, staying within the range of Gregor’s staff, lest they be caught again. After what seemed like hours, possibly days, we rested and ate some of the meager provisions we found in Ulysses’s bag: canned caviar, water crackers, and grapes, strange fare for Hell. We took turns sleeping, while those who remained awake kept a watchful eye on our new spirit companions.

  Two of the damned tried to attack the sleeping Erasmus but were driven back by Gregor, who brandished Solomon’s Ring at them, driving them out of the safety of the silence and back into the forest, where the trees soon trapped them again. After that, the remaining shades did not cause any trouble. We were forced to move on sooner than we would have wished, however, because the flapping horrors had ringed our position and appeared to be cawing for reinforcements.

  Finally, we reached the far edge of the terrible forest. As we came out into a landscape of barren rolling hills, our spirit followers dispersed, going their separate ways. Our group continued forward, picking up the pace. Several attempts were made to start a conversation, but they foundered.

  For the most part, we kept to ourselves.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  The Duchess of Infernal Milan

  We passed over rolling hillsides covered with dead and moldering grapevines. The lay of the land was familiar; the longer we walked, the more I recognized it. Even so, I was not prepared for what I saw as we crested a hill.

  Before me lay Milan, but it was not the Milan of my childhood. The familiar skyline of towers, domes, and steeples had not changed, apart from a few newer skyscrapers. Yet, everything was different.

  An enormous fungus sprouted from the magnificent dome of the Duomo, the cathedral where I once had waited in vain for the murdered Ferdinand. The Castello Sforzesco, my childhood home, was dark and corroded, its walls dripping with blood. The Filarete Tower, where I had first spoken to little Theo, looked rotten and swollen, like an overripe fruit. The Arco Della Pace, which I had seen in pictures, though never in person, as I had not returned to Milan since it had been built, dripped with moss and shiny poisonous-looking vines.

  Oh, my poor Milan!

  Looking at it nearly broke my heart. I felt new sympathy for Astreus and his memories of lost heaven. Being trapped here, in this twisted reflection of the place I had loved, would be a far worse punishment than any physical torture.

  Nor was I the only one affected.

  Gregor drew back. “What horror is this?”

  “It looks like home,” Theo cried, “only horribly wrong.”

  “It’s the skyscrapers. They’re new,” Mephisto suggested cheerfully.

  Theo turned on him angrily, and Mephisto shrank back. Eager to redeem himself, Mephisto made a fist and shook it at the pale sickly yellow-gray sky. “Oh dastardly demons, to have done such a thing to our town!”

  Again, he glanced at the city before us, and his cheerful demeanor slipped, showing a brief glimpse of grim, bleak sorrow. Then, he perked up, smiling. Slipping his arm through mine, he pulled me forward. “No time like the present! Let’s go!”

  * * *

  WALKING the streets of this dark Milan, we stared about us like passersby at a train wreck. Black oily mud oozed up through the cobblestones, as if the city were sinking into a swamp. The streets, the parks, and the Piazza Mercanti all crawled with damned souls, literally.
Bright red imps with flaming whips drove the unfortunate about on all fours, like cattle. Dark, insubstantial spirits, which Mephisto identified as vengeance-seeking wraiths, hovered everywhere, floating through walls. Some clustered about Erasmus and Theo and would not leave them. They tried to cluster around Gregor as well, but he made the sign of the cross, and a sudden gust of wind drove them away. One tall wisp of a shade even tried to attach itself to me. My wings flared brightly, and it fled, wailing.

  The Naviglio Grande flowed with crimson blood instead of water. On its banks were strewn thousands of skeletons, which Mephisto said were reminders of victims murdered by the rulers of the city, either openly or in secret. Many of the remains were child-sized; the tiny skulls and hand bones of babies, slain by the rulers of their households, perhaps, lest a different sin be discovered.

  The air here was thick with droplets of blood and stank horribly, like spoiled meat. We were all relieved when our path took us away from the waterway.

  As we ducked around a particularly large growth of fungus, we came face to face with a brigade of demons. The infernal soldiers had goat legs and corroded tridents. They cackled, a high horrible sound, and poked things with their weapons: pillars, walls, passing souls. Whatever they touched corroded, as if eaten away by some deadly acid. The first demon to spot us screeched eagerly. He and his companions charged toward us.

  Erasmus and Theo both began warming up their staffs, but neither could act immediately. Titus and Caliban could wield theirs like ordinary weapons, but they were reluctant to do so, as they did not want them to become corroded. Mab pulled out his lead pipe, I drew out my razor-edged fighting fan, and Mephisto tapped his staff, laughing. Out of the corner of my eye, I began to imagine that half a dozen fanciful creatures were bounding around on the muddy street. Not winged creatures, such had carried us across the swamps, but the chimera and the cockatrice and other deadly beasts.