Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. That was one concern out of the way.
Time to confront another one.
“Um, Nastasia,” she said casually, “now that Von Dread knows as much as he does, from the fetch-maiden, would it be okay if I told my boyfriend about your vision about Dread?”
Nastasia sipped her tea and considered the question. Finally, she nodded. “It would be unbecoming of me to object at this juncture. I did not wish that reprobate to profit by his offense against me. But under the circumstances, further objections on my part would seem churlish. You have my permission.”
“Thank you.” Rachel smiled lightly, as if the matter were of little consequence. Inside, her heart was singing. She could not wait to tell Gaius and Vladimir about the princess’s vision.
“About the vision, Rachel, there is one other thing…” Nastasia said. “When the Horseman of Death read my mind, he was very surprised that Von Dread was still alive. He thought that he and the other Horsemen had killed Dread. It was not a happy surprise to him.”
Rachel nodded. She glanced down at the letter that had arrived for her that morning. Salome and Nastasia’s opinions of Dread were in stark contrast to Sandra’s. Unfolding the letter from Sandra, she read it a second time.
Dear Rachel,
First, I passed on to Father your concerns about your little friend. Father has had Juma and his elephant moved to a safer location.
Now, to your questions: Vladimir is not an evil man. Nor will he ever be. He is driven and will do whatever is necessary to protect the world and those he cares about. If he pushed your friend through a door, I am sure he knew what he was doing. He would never endanger someone recklessly.
As to marrying him…I am not sure Father would approve. The kingdom of Bavaria is a dictatorship. Father does not believe in that sort of government. He also thinks that Bavaria is conducting certain…operations…which are highly unethical. I am not sure if it is true or not. If it is, I am sure Vlad has nothing to do with it.
Anyway, my little sister does not need to play matchmaker for me. I spoke with Gaius, and he has apologized for not asking my permission to court you. I accepted his apology on the condition that he protect you. I think he will. You have done well for yourself catching his eye.
As to Peter, I think he is trying to give you your space right now. He’s not used to the new Rachel. He still thinks of you as a seven-year-old. He will adjust. Eventually. If you need anything, just ask him. He will be there for you.
If you want me let me know. I am but a travel mirror away. I can come see you within the hour. Or, if things become too overwhelming, you can come stay here with me for a few days.
All my love,
Sandra
Rachel folded the letter thoughtfully. She was glad that Sandra approved of Gaius and that Father had moved Juma, but her sister’s comments about Vladimir worried her slightly. Rachel liked the prince a great deal, but she had no illusions that he had touched Nastasia for some altruistic reason. Or that it had not been dangerous. Nor was she so convinced that Vlad would avoid participating in projects undertaken by his father sheerly due to ethical concerns.
The difference between her and Sandra was that it did not bother Rachel that Vlad was not entirely scrupulous. She did not approve, but she also understood why he might act as he did. Grandfather had been like that, too.
Across from her, Joy leaned forward conspiratorially. “I can’t believe my sister Faith is dating Drew Colt—you know, the older brother of that boy who’s in the vampire-hunting club? If she’s even dating him! Charity said she caught them kissing at the bonfire—though Faith says that they were just talking. That would be her seventh boyfriend since she came to school. Seventh! Well…according to Charity and Mercy. Faith says it’s only been two.”
Joy chatted on, and the talk turned to events from the night before that Rachel had missed. She listened for a time, but the longer the others talked, the more difficult she found it to pay attention. Part of it was that she was still tired from the lateness of the previous night. Another part, however, was that after the things she had seen the night before, her friends’ interests seemed frivolous and unimportant.
She had slept quite late this morning. There were no classes on Samhain, and attendance at the religious ceremonies down in the Memorial Gardens was not required, so there had not been anything for which she had to rise. Having missed breakfast, she had gathered with the others at the charming soda fountain in the basement of Roanoke Hall to get something to eat. But now, as the others droned on, laughing and teasing one another, she began to wish she had stayed in bed longer.
She had tried to convince Nastasia that since today was a holiday, it would be an ideal day to bring the Elf home. Now that they had spoken of her secrets, Rachel was beginning to feel uneasy on the elf woman’s behalf. But the princess had insisted that even though there were no classes on Samhain, they were still not allowed to leave school grounds. So she refused.
Rachel’s eyes traveled to the mural on the wall. The storm goblin, the Heer of Dunderberg, stood with arms akimbo atop Storm King Mountain. He was an odd sight in his Dutch garments: orange and green doublet and hose and his pure white sugar-loaf hat. To either side of him, lightning imps leapt with their javelin-bolts sizzling, and mist sprites eagerly reached down with their long foggy fingers. Below in the river were famous wrecks, sunk by the Heer’s fury, their crews crying out as they drowned. Only the Flying Dutchman remained untouched as it flew above the river’s waters.
Rachel had seen this mural before, but it meant much more to her now. She had seen many of these drowned sailors with her own eyes. She felt so sorry for the ghosts who were trapped in this world, unable to go on to their proper resting places. Even worse was the plight of Remus Starkadder, who was in danger of being dragged to somewhere horrible—possibly a place of punishment, considering the bad things he had done during his brief life.
Rachel had been looking forward to finding Freka this morning and apologizing for having upset the other young woman during their talk at the Knights, but she had been woken by Gaius calling her on her card to let her know that he had run into Freka and had passed on Remus’s message. So, to her dismay, she had been relieved of that duty. She hoped that Freka would be able to help her brother. His crimes were bad, true, but Rachel was not certain that they were bad enough to warrant being punished for all eternity.
Was anything bad enough to warrant eternal punishment?
As she gazed at the painted faces of the drowning sailors and wondered if there might be anything she could do for the poor souls she had met the previous night, the candle display next to the candy case caught Rachel’s eye. She glanced at the placards beneath the pretty colored candles: almond-scented for hope, fennel for strength, olive for peace, frankincense for honoring the dead.
Rising, Rachel bought four frankincense candles. Taking leave of her friends, she walked across campus toward the Memorial Gardens, shivering in the early November cold. The fallen leaves swooshed and crunched beneath her feet. Above, the sky was filled with billowing clouds, some white, some gray, with tiny glimpses of blue peeking through.
The morning ceremony was over, and the afternoon ceremony would not begin for several hours. Currently, the gardens seemed to be empty. Rachel walked past the fire ring where last night’s bonfire had been held. The scent of burnt wood still lingered in the air, but everything looked quite different by day. The large trees had all lost their leaves in the previous night’s storm, but smaller fruit trees still held theirs. Some had turned a candleglow gold and resembled brilliant flames. Others had become a dark burgundy, so deep as to be almost purple. Amidst this riot of color, the chestnut omens of the previous night no longer seemed the least bit ominous.
Beyond the fire ring were the many shrines of the Memorial Gardens. They were laid out in a circular pattern around the memorial temple, a domed edifice held up by columns, with a cast iron spiral staircase surrounding
the central, innermost column. Above the dome was a statue of Taliesin the Brave. The shrines themselves were large rectangles of stone, eight feet tall but seldom wider than four feet. Some were flat along the top. Others were curved or rose to an arch. Some had bas-reliefs etched into their surfaces. Others had niches carved in them which held a statue. A wire basket into which offerings could be placed sat at the bottom of each shrine.
Rachel walked by the shrines for Hermes and Hecate, both of which were overflowing with offerings today. She passed a pale white shrine, set with a disk of beaten gold, to Amaterasu and a black one to the goddess Hela. Beyond that was the place where she had stood the night before and, beyond that, the spot where Kitten’s familiar had been when it turned and looked at Astrid.
The tiny Lion was still there.
Rachel stopped and blinked at it. For just an instant, she wondered if her mind were playing tricks on her, superimposing on her eyesight a memory from the night before. But no, it was really there, crouched beside the granite shrine to the Unknown God, batting at a curling brown leaf.
When Rachel’s footsteps stopped, the little tawny beast glanced up, and their eyes met. A strange feeling overcame Rachel. She was reminded of reading a book, of being curled up in her favorite chair in her grandfather’s tower library with some great old tome that smelled of leather and brought comfort. Then, the Lion turned its head, and she was back in the present. It glanced toward the shrine to Persephone, where candles were traditionally burned for the dead. Following its gaze, Rachel saw someone already knelt before the gray and black shrine. She glanced back at the Lion.
It was gone.
She looked around, even circling the granite shrine, but there was no sign of the little familiar anywhere. Shrugging, Rachel continued on her way. Ordinarily, had there been another person there, Rachel would have left them to their mourning and come back later. However, the presence of the Comfort Lion made her feel that she should continue.
At her approach, the figure kneeling at the shrine stood. He rose until he was considerably taller than Rachel had expected. Startled, she took a step backward out of trepidation. Then, she recognized the towering figure.
“Vladimir!” Rachel exclaimed, not entirely able to hide the relief in her voice.
“Miss Griffin.” The prince of Bavaria inclined his head toward her. “I trust you are well after your nocturnal adventures.”
“I am, thank you. Did Gaius…has he had a chance to tell you everything?”
“I would not go so far as to assume that he has told me everything. But he has shared a great deal that was of interest. Have you come to light a candle for your Uncle Emrys?”
A wave of chagrin assailed Rachel. She had not even thought about Emrys when she passed the tables set for the Roanoke dead the previous night. Her father’s younger brother had been killed here at Roanoke, fighting the Terrible Five. Perhaps Myrddin would not mind sharing the candle she has brought for him with his half-brother.
Rachel lifted her four candles and murmured, “Among others.”
Vladimir Von Dread waited as Rachel knelt solemnly and placed the four candles she had purchased onto the short spikes set there for that purpose. There was a box of matches for those who did not yet know the secret name of fire. She struck one, lighting one candle for her two uncles, one for Old Thom and the other sailors, one for Remus and his wolf-brother, and one for Percy Cornelius Taylor and his band mates.
When she finally rose, Von Dread gave her an approving nod. “They deserve our respect and our remembrance of them, your uncle, my mother, and all the noble dead.”
His mother? Rachel glanced at the candle burning brightly beside hers. So, that was for whom his candle was meant. It was strange to think of the tall, impressive young man as a motherless boy.
Touched by the thought, Rachel looked up at Von Dread. She had told Nastasia that she was going to share the vision of his previous life with Gaius, but the unspoken assumption had been that Gaius would then share it with his boss. Was it a violation of Nastasia’s trust if Rachel shared it directly with Dread himself? She felt not.
“Would you like to hear about the vision the princess had of you?” asked Rachel. “She has given her permission for me to tell you.”
“I admit to being curious,” Von Dread replied impassively, his hands clasped behind his back. “Come. Let us walk together, and you can speak to me of what you know.”
He turned and led her back by the fire ring, around the lily pond, and into the Oriental gardens on the far side. Rachel walked beside him, trying to match her pace to his. She had to take two steps for each one of his.
They walked through the red gate that led to the oriental gardens, passing the stepped waterfalls with their picturesque arching bridges and the bamboo forest. The shishi odoshi made a rhythmic tock noise, as pooling water caused its bamboo arm to swing to the down position. Japanese bells chimed softly.
Ahead, a gazebo overlooked a pond. Von Dread led her over the dark-wood bridge leading to the gazebo, stopping beside a fish-food dispenser. He turned the lever, gathered the pellets that it dispensed into his hand, and poured some of them onto Rachel’s palm. Cautiously, she sprinkled a few over the edge and then gasped with wonder.
A school of two-foot long koi swarmed around the food, moving so gracefully through the water that they hardly seemed to be natural creatures. Some were dappled like gold-fish, white and gold, red and gold, red and white, others were black with long whiskers that reminded her of Lucky. Watching them, Rachel recalled a tale her Korean grandfather had once told her about a gate hidden on one of the great Asian rivers that would turn a koi into a dragon, if the fish was able to fight its way upstream and leapt through it.
Staring down at the hypnotic motion of the graceful fish, Rachel recited what she had seen in the princess’s mirror. She described the medieval armor of the knights, the white, red, and black enchantresses, the Gypsies with their flag, the gigantic green ogre, all of these gathered together on a hill facing the entities that the fetch-maiden had called the Four Horsemen. She described how Von Dread had appeared in his black swan-feathered cloak and had raised an army of automatons out of the earth. She described the marvelous building down the hill that was like nothing she had ever seen, with its windows of pictures made of colored glass and its strange spires and carvings. She also made a point of mentioning that her boss, Mr. Chanson, and Wanda Zukov had both been in the vision.
“Ah, yes…the P.E. Tutor.” Vladimir’s tone was dry and ironic, as if there were some quarrel between him and Mr. Chanson.
As he said this, Rachel suddenly became aware of something she had not noticed previously. When the princess had shared her experience in the thinking glass, Rachel had only paid attention to specific parts of the scene. She had not, for instance, thought to examine the faces of the others who were present throughout the events. Rachel’s memory, however, had recorded the whole thing.
Now, as she thought of her boss in his sapphire armor and his golden helmet, she recalled his face as he watched the Dread King, decked out in his winged helm and his robe of black feathers, congeal out of the shadows. Mr. Chanson had looked fiercely disapproving yet firmly resolved. It was exactly the kind of expression that came over her father’s face when he was preparing to fight the Morthbrood or to capture members of Veltdammerung—as if, in their previous lives, Roland Chanson had been devoted to the undoing of Vladimir Von Dread.
Vladimir asked her several follow-up questions. Rachel felt obscurely pleased when he looked surprised at the level of detail in her answer. But, of course, she could recall the scene the princess had shown them in the thinking glass as clearly today as if he had asked her these questions at the time.
“That is interesting,” he concluded finally. “I do not know what it means, but perhaps I will find out in time. Thank you, Miss Griffin. Your powers of recollection rival Mr. Evans.’”
“You are welcome.” Rachel curtsied graciously. “I am happy to be
of use. I wish our two groups could work together more often. Unfortunately, any serious collaboration would run into…problems.” Rachel rested her elbows on the railing, staring down at the swift motions of the brightly-colored fish. “I am certain I could overcome these objections, however, were it not for the matter of you having acted with extreme disregard for the person and safety of the princess.”
“Ah, yes. That.”
Rachel gazed at him, her eyes dark and steady. “Nastasia says she told you about the dangers. The first time she disobeyed instructions not to touch someone, she suffered. She suffered personally in the form of injuries. She suffered fear, because the being she met hunted her. She suffered emotionally, because the being attacked her father. Also, someone else was put into tremendous danger by her action.”
“She did not tell me in…quite those terms.”
“She says that she told you that harm had come to her, but you touched her anyway. In her mind, this act showed tremendous disregard for her person, her safety, et cetera—the same as if you deliberately shoved her through a door that you had been told led to danger.”
He nodded but did not comment.
“Here is one thing I have not yet told you,” Rachel continued. “One of the Horsemen, Death, looked at her entire memory—possibly compromising secrets of hers, her father’s, or ours…including the fact that you are alive, here. Also, when he realized that you and others in the scene were actually here, at Roanoke, he destroyed that version of the scene—perhaps a dream diorama?
“Both of these things suggest that the person harmed by that vision—the person whom the power that told her not to touch you may have been trying to protect—may not have been the princess at all.” Rachel reached up and touched his arm, gazing up with concern in her eyes. “It might have been you.”
He turned and looked off into the distance for some time. She let her hand fall back to her side and threw more pellets in for the fish.
Rachel and the Many-Splendored Dreamland (The Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 3) Page 36
