I shook such fancy from my mind, concentrating on the Keeper as he led us past closed doors, to a tiny room. He bid us enter, then followed, sealing the entrance with a sliding iron grate. The purpose of this crowded enclosure mystified me. A panel on the wall contained numbered buttons. He pressed number five and weight increased. The area beyond the grating dropped from view, and I knew I was rising, being carried upward by this marvelous contrivance.
As Angelique gave every sign of enchantment over the wonders of this place, I realized that the longer she stayed, the harder it would be for her to leave.
When we stopped, the Keeper opened the grating. We emerged into a hallway with a bright red carpet and blonde wood paneling. One end of the hall contained a stained glass window tinted seven shades of blue. Faux sunlight had been contrived to illumine it from the other side, turning patches of carpeted floor into shards of purple, dark and light.
The other end of the hall connected to the ribbed glass tunnel I’d seen from the boat. We were going across that? I hesitated to trust my life to what might be too fragile a bridge.
The Keeper laughed and stepped out, walking several feet. He turned back to face me. “It is quite safe. The glass has been strengthened with complex alchemies. You have nothing to fear.” He turned and continued.
Fearless as only the undead can be, Angelique broke away from me, bounding after him. I swallowed my terror, drew a deep breath, and rushed after her. Once into the tunnel, I observed it was not one whole piece, but sections joined by an outer ribbing. I noticed this because I kept my gaze level, refusing to stare at the water-filled chasm below. I was unnerved enough without encouraging further dismay.
Gladly, I left the tunnel behind, and willed my heart to calm. I had never known myself to cower at heights, but that was before the awful crossing to this Necropolis on the Bridge-Between-Worlds. The experience had seared itself into my spirit.
The Keeper pointed to two rooms. “These are yours to use. Now, if you will excuse me, I must finish certain matters before we can take the descender to the levels below the lake.”
Descender? I registered the unfamiliar word. That had to be his name for the little moving room that we used to change floors. I wondered if it became an ascender when taken upward.
The Keeper waved from further down the hall. “Feel free to wander about. There is a library, rather technical I fear, down that way, a solarium, a music room, and various parlors. Enter any door that will open to you. Those that do not must stay locked to protect work in progress. I shall join you for dinner when the bell sounds.”
“But wait, I have no time for such—”
He ignored me, and Azrael laid a restraining hand on my arm. “He is not one you can rush,” the dark angel said. “Now, things must move at their own pace.”
The Keeper acted as if he heard nothing said of him. “If you have needs or questions, ask any of the simulacra.”
Another word I did not know. I arched an eyebrow at the Keeper
He explained. “They are servants made of metal, living sculptures, if you will.” Our host smiled at some private jest. “You will find them amazingly lifelike.” He bowed in the distance, straightened, and clomped off about his business.
Two rooms. Angelique and I would take one and Azrael… I looked around. He had vanished yet again. I ought to be getting used to his disappearances by now. At least his absence gave me time to determine just how much of my heart I could afford to give him. I had no doubt that the dark angel loved me, or that I felt something for him. But could such feelings lead to anything other than pain? He was in this realm for a reason, perhaps tied to it forever. I was passing through, though not as quickly as I would like. What was I going to do when this was over? Drag him back to France, to my father’s country cottage, and have Azrael tend the rose gardens? Good lord! Whatever would the neighbors say?
True, I had been alone since Phillippe’s father died in some foreign adventure, before my son was born. Being without male attention for so long made me susceptible to it. Another problem; angels were neither male nor female, so the relationship could never be consummated. I would never have to be concerned about him forcing his attention on me—damn it!
“Which room is mine?”
Angelique’s question reminded me of business at hand. I smiled at her. “We will look at both and then move into the one we like the best.”
“I can stay with you?”
I caressed the side of her face. She made me wish I had a daughter as well as a son. “I really wish you would.”
The next thing I knew, she flung herself against me, wrapping arms around my waist with desperate strength that nearly toppled me. I held her a long while, feeling her need as well as my own.
Eventually we chose between bedrooms that were identical in everything but color. One was midnight blue with gilt highlights, and the other lavender and rose. We chose the second. I dropped my cloak and pouch on the bed and we went exploring, hand in hand.
I was curious about a solarium on a world without night or day. It turned out to be a protruding deck with wrap-around glass walls. Beyond, I saw a blue lake under an azure sky, and a golden sun that blazed a track of light across the water. I spotted a far off shoreline, a smudge of forest, and the higher buildings of the city, proud and pristine. None of it looked as unhealthy as it truly was. The Keeper deserved praise as a master of seductive miracles.
While Angelique and I enjoyed the warmth on our skin, heavy steps approached from behind. Still wary of this place, I turned at once and discovered two maids in uniform. Their faces were metal masks that would have passed for human in shadow. Their hands were solid and seamless metal, somehow given the elasticity of living flesh. They bowed in unison. The one on the right spoke, “We have been assigned to serve you. Make any desire known.”
“I am hungry,” Angelique said. “When is dinner?”
The second simulacra said, “Within the hour. Would you like something sooner?”
My little angel sighed. “I guess I can wait.”
I found our servitors’ empty eyes a bit unsettling. “That will be all for now.”
They curtsied and left. I went to a glass table by a sidewall that had a lone vase on it with an arrangement of white roses inside. Had this been done just for me in some way, or did I read too much into the selection?
I pulled out an exquisite chair made from bronze with back and legs fashioned to appear as though wreathed in ivy. I felt unease, using such art for common sitting, but settled as Angelique commandeered another chair, acting totally at home. I envied her the ability to be comfortable anywhere.
“Angel,” I called her what she was.
She looked at me and smiled.
I smiled back. “If I asked you not to stay here…”
Her smile faltered.
“…It would be because I do not want you to get hurt.”
Her smile returned, wider than before. “You want me go with you?” her voice was hesitant, nearly fearful. “Mama?”
Guarded hope hung in her cinnamon-colored eyes.
Now, I would be the one to hurt her. “I want nothing more than to be your mother, but it cannot be. I am here to save my son and then he and I must leave the city since we are not dead. And you cannot live outside the city, but would be a ghost in the night?”
“If you died, you could stay,” she said. “It is not so bad, really! And I would not mind having a brother, if he wanted to die too.”
My heart ached for the emptiness of her life, but I could not give her what she wanted. I tried another approach. “Angel, I do not know how any of this is going to work out. I have those I need to kill, unless they kill me first, and I do not want to drag you into that.”
“I could wait.” Her voice spiked. “I would wait anywhere, as long as it takes, for you to come back.”
“I will do my best for you.” That was all the promise I could give. It seemed to satisfy her.
She slid out of her cha
ir and came over to mine. Sinking to her knees, she seized one of my hands with both of hers. Her chin went on top of her hands. She gazed at me with teary eyes. “You do love me, just a little bit?”
“No.” I pulled my hand free. “I love you a whole lot.” It was true. This little bandit had stolen my heart and I could not take it back. I gathered her up into my lap and wrapped my arms around her. And that’s how we passed the time until the dinner bell sounded.
“Time to go,” I said.
Angelique stretched like a cat against me, preparing her body to move. She flowed to her feet and took my hand as I rose. She held on tightly. I think she feared I would slip away like a happy dream if she were not careful.
A metal servant approached to ensure we found the dining room. I had hoped to see Azrael, but he had not returned. Was he angry with me? I determined to knock on a shadow later and find out.
A simulacre seated Angel beside me. I seated myself despite an offer of assistance. The table was covered in white linen, exquisitely set with silver utensils, china, and crystal goblets that refracted light from candelabrum placed strategically around the room.
The Keeper arrived, dressed opulently for dinner, all brocade and ruffles—casting Angel and me in the roles of poor country cousins. He took his place at the head of the table, immediately sampling an offering of wine to ensure its suitability for guests. His suddenly sophisticated demeanor surprised me. I declined the beverage.
“You do not care for wine,” the Keeper asked.
“It’s not that,” I said. “Your hospitality has been flawless, but I have been warned that the living cannot survive on the fare of the dead.”
He nodded sagely. “Yes, of course, I should have remembered. Unfortunately, I have nothing else to set before you.”
I quoted a line often heard from my father, when he was not off in some king’s court teaching fencing, “What cannot be changed must be endured.”
“What would happen,” Angelique asked me, “if you did drink the wine?”
Children are curious over the oddest things. I shrugged. “That is something I am not willing to discover.” I thought of the pouch left in my room. “Fortunately, I have water from Avalon to prolong life and strength. It is said to possess remarkable restorative properties.”
“Shall I have it fetched for you?” the Keeper asked.
“No!” Angel answered, scooting her chair hastily back from the table. “I will get it for you, Mama!” She raced off, and I noticed the Keeper’s arched eyebrows.
“Mama? How can the living mother the dead?”
“That is my business,” I snapped back.
He looked more amused than offended by my tone. More and more, I began to believe the man an impostor. This could be the Gamesman, playing yet another game.
Azrael swept into the room, taking a chair well away from me.
I definitely needed to resolve matters with him. Soon after, the first course arrived on silver platters. Needing a topic for conversation, I seized upon the many miracles we had seen within this house. “The moving closet, the water-filled railings that glow, your statue servants; why are their wonders here that are no where else in the city?” I asked.
The Master of Gears took a sip of wine before answering. “The things you speak of—the technology that moves the city, and the crystal-powered gates that connect many worlds—are from my home-world. My people deal in mysteries and secrets, bartering them.”
“What world is that?” Azrael asked.
“Atlan,” our host said. “We are descendants of survivors of a great cataclysm long ago on Earth.”
“Your people are survivors of Atlantis,” I asked, “the island continent that sank into the sea?”
Our host nodded. “My ancestors gated to a new world we might not have chosen if not for the press of time, and have built a wondrous civilization through the centuries.”
“Then why would you come here to be the Gamesman’s servant?” Azrael asked.
“I have ... my reasons.”
The Master of Gears had reasons he was not going to share. I wondered if he might be some banished criminal, forbidden to return under threat of execution, or some out-of-favor lord escaping political retribution.
Angelique returned with the water flask. She filled my goblet and I drained it thirstily. Whatever its virtue, the flavor was unremarkable. Pity, I expected more.
My thoughts fragmented, scattered by a wild wind within my skull. Waves of dizziness came and went. I put my hand to my head, covering my eyes for a moment.
“Celeste?” The dark stranger’s whispery voice seemed impossibly far. “Are you all right?”
Whoever Celeste was, she failed to answer.
I stood slowly and the room canted disagreeably. My head felt so light, I had to touch it again to be sure it had not floated away. The winds inside me were screaming now, a roaring in my ears. I gasped, trying to breathe as the air turned thick as resin. The candles blurred, throwing out winding bars of light as my balance fled. I collapsed, sprawling into darkness.
6. A ROSE IN THE GEARS
I awoke to aching muscles. My eyes fluttered open. A lamp on the nightstand cast a wan glow. Much of my bedroom remained shadowed. I felt a small puff of breath at the nape of my neck. Someone’s arm was draped over my side, and a warm body snuggled up against my back.
Angelique murmured sleepily, “Sorry, Mama, I did not mean to be so bad.”
Instinctively, I soothed the child, “Mama loves you. Dream only happy dreams, little bunny.”
She sighed, subsiding.
My thoughts turned to my own condition. I noticed Silver Wolf’s mask pressed up against my stomach, under the sheet. I could not imagine why it shared my bed, or who had put it there. My mind drifted on to the larger mystery of what had happened to me. I knew I ought to be able to figure it out, but lacked energy. The last thing I wanted was to come fully awake and shoulder burdens no one should have to carry.
This was bliss, a warm bed, my head on the softest pillow, my body covered by clean fragrant sheets … and I smelled wonderful. Weary travel and grime had been washed from every square inch of my body. I wore the frilliest of nightgowns and nothing else. The pleasure I garnered from this reminded me I was indeed a woman, though I would be back to playing warrior all too soon.
Surely Angelique was not responsible for tending me so well? She lacked the strength if not the willingness. I thought of Azrael bathing my naked flesh lovingly, clothing me, carrying me to bed—a tingle of excitement swept through me along with a blush. Please, God, let me find out that the simulacra are responsible. I did not have to care about the opinions and observations of metal golems.
I sighed, very much awake after all.
A dark patch of shadow thickened. Azrael stepped into the light and cautiously approached the bed to check on me. I wondered how long he had kept vigil, and how much of it had been spent in my room. How long had I slept? Did I really want to know? The dark angel searched my face, breaking stride as he noticed my eyes were open, fixed on him.
The silence stretched out. We had too much to say to each other and no easy place to begin.
“Am I still alive? Did I … die?” I finally asked.
His eyes flared brighter at my question, then dimmed. “No. Not for lack of trying.”
“What happened?”
“You were poisoned.”
My eyes widened at his remark, and the thinly veiled anger I heard in his voice. It was not what I had expected to hear. “Really? How did that happen? No, do not tell me.”
I remembered Angelique’s sleepy apology and the pieces of the puzzle fit themselves into place. I needed to die to be her mother, and she knew I could not drink anything but my own water, which she had fetched for me. In my mind’s eye, I could see her yielding to temptation, pouring out my flask and refilling it. Any passing simulacra would have been most willing to help her.
I should have been livid, but somehow, I could not bring
myself to feel anything except sorrow for her. “Did you scold her?”
“Certainly, I did. She ran and hid under a harpsichord, and cried for a very long time. She did not want to come back to this room, but I found her and made her do so. She has made some small amends by supervising the servants tending you.”
Relief washed through me. “Then you were not the one who…” My face warmed once more.
“No.” There was laughter in his tone. “I did nothing improper. I was raised better than that.”
I smiled at the claim. As if an angel could have childhood or parents.
He sat on the edge of the bed and I pushed the covers low enough to bring my arm out. I offered him my hand in silent apology for being so much trouble. His fingers were ice-cold, but I was getting used to that. It no longer bothered me. I decided to tease him. “You are far out of character, my friend. I cannot help but feel that there is some great secret behind your attention to me.” I paused a moment, before I spoke again. “Do you think you will ever share it with me?”
“Soon,” he sighed, “but not just yet.”
“Then tell me why the poison did not work.”
The dark mist of his lower face parted to show the flash of teeth. “I can take the blame for that. I whisked you here and placed the Wolf’s mask next to you. The convulsions soon passed and you slipped into an exhausted sleep.”
Ah! That explained the third presence under my covers—and the ache in my muscles. “So the mask—”
“The mask carries Amberyn’s blessing. If you had kept the pouch on you with the mask inside, you would not have been in danger of poisoning. Do you remember what the elf said when he enspelled you?”
I protested weakly, “How could I? He spoke Elvin.”
“No, before that, he said as long as you carry the mask, his blessing would accompany you. He was being strictly literal, as you must be when invoking magic.”
“Trust me, from now on I will keep the mask with me wherever I go!”
The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) Page 8
