Prospero in Hell (19 page)

“A what?”

“A fake. That ring’s a counterfeit.”

“It’s not the real thing?” Theo looked disappointed. “Why is Father keeping it here?”

“The copy has some kind of magic in it. Mr. Prospero planned to examine it and find out what it does.” Mab came back into the Elementals Chamber, his arms laden with candles, plumber’s lead, carving tools, and other paraphernalia.

“Did he?”

“Don’t know.”

“Where’s the real one?”

“Mr. Ulysses stole it,” Mab replied. “He stole a bunch of stuff during his caper with the Warden device, then he returned everything… only, later, we discovered two of the items he brought back were fakes.” He jerked his elbow at the ring as he put the things he had been carrying down on the shelf. “This was one of them.”

“Dam…” Theo cut short his swear word, as the copper pot with the King of Fire in it trembled. It was never wise to call upon infernal powers around magical beings. He flushed, and I felt sorry for him. Here he was, so careful about not swearing, and the one time he slips up, something hears him. Little wonder he believed life to be a constant contest between the angelic and the demonic.

Mab, who had joined Theo by the false Seal of Solomon, stopped to examine the brass rings and stoppered vials. Picking up a ruby-colored vial, he peered into its swirling contents.

“Hey, I think I know this guy! It’s my missing… well, you’d call it a cousin. Mind if I take him, Ma’am?” Mab started to put the vial into the pocket of his trench coat, but Theo glared at him. Looking chagrined, he put it back.

“Poor unlucky blighter,” he muttered as he returned to stand by the pedestals.

Theo turned to Caurus. “You, Spiritling, can you wield the Wounding Wand?”

Caurus looked at
Laevateinn
’s cruelly curling hilt, his face grown pale beneath the soot.

“If I must,” he replied bravely.

“Good.” Theo’s eyes fell on me. “You! Out of here. Find a safe place. Maybe the Holy Chamber.” He pointed across the central rotunda at the opposite wing. “I don’t want you in the way when the flames shoot out.”

I would have objected, but he was right, there was nothing I could do to help. The last thing Theo needed was a bystander to distract him at a crucial moment. I leaned close and kissed Theo on his scratchy cheek.

“Promise me you’ll be careful!”

He touched his cheek and smiled obediently. “Yes, Big Sister.”

I chose the Treasure Chamber, which looked even worse than I expected. A layer of soot covered everything, except Midas’s donkey, which was now coated with tiny golden specks. The items on the right side of the hall were coated with ash and flecks of splattered gold; those on the left were completely ruined. On the floor, a faint black film spread from the mouth of a broken amphora; it was the last remnants of our precious supply of water from the River Styx.

How was I going to run Prospero, Inc. without it?

The room smelled both pleasant and vile, as odors such as of charred cedar mingled with those such as of burnt hair. Mixed in was a trace of something putrid, perhaps the once-pickled organs of the pharaoh Ozymandius, whose canopic jars had exploded from the heat.

A wave of anger at the King of Fire swept over me, and I ruminated upon a suitable revenge. I was on the verge of returning to the Elemental Chamber to ask Theo and Mab if they could inflict some kind of punitive damage as they bound him, when I remembered that Seir of the Shadows was the true target of my wrath. If he had not broken the seal on the copper jar, the djinn king would never have escaped to plague us.

I wandered among the damaged treasures, searching for anything that might have survived the fury of the Fire King’s blaze, discovering a bracelet here and a cloak pin there. The tarnhelm was still in one piece, but the helmet was damaged where it had been splattered with molten gold. Wondering if it were still working, I began to place it on my head, but thought better of it. Damaged magic items were chancy at best, and besides, the only mirror in this chamber was cracked and blackened. How would I be able to tell whether I had turned invisible?

Farther down the shelf, a glass slipper had survived the conflagration, but only burnt hulks remained where the red shoes had been. Probably for the best. I had argued for destroying them back when Gregor first took them off that poor dead girl’s feet. Father, on the other hand, was frugal. He would never destroy anything that he might conceivably put to good use later. Though what good use Father imagined could be made of dancing oneself to death, he never shared with me.

Clinks and clatters of preparation sounded from the Elementals Chamber, along with a running commentary from Theo, as he muttered
disparagingly about “lack of respect for an angel’s shield” and “blasphemous treatment of Our Lord’s handiwork.” Good old Theo, he had not changed a bit.

Strangely, it occurred to me, being an old man suited Theo. He had always been the voice of caution and decency among the family. Now, he had the appearance to accompany his cautionary advice.

Among the wreckage, I found the remnants of the Halter of Clynoeiddyn. A memory sprang to mind of my brother Mephistopheles, long ago, back when he was sane, leaping atop the wild Pegasus and wrestling the shimmering halter over the head of the bucking winged horse, laughing all the while. This halter had come in handy, as well, when he caught the chimera and the cockatrice, and half a dozen other mythical creatures. Had Mephisto been unable to tame these fearsome monsters, Father would have had to send Theo to slay them. Instead, they remained alive today and at the beck and call of my brother’s staff, which was a very good thing. Otherwise, Pegasus would not have been there last week to save us, when our plane went down on our way to the North Pole.

As the charred halter broke apart in my hands, my eyes filled with tears. What other noble beasts might now be doomed because Mephisto would never have the opportunity to tame them?

I sat down on the battered tarnhelm and wiped my eyes, blaming my sudden sentimentality on Osae the Red.

A splash of white caught my eye. Reaching out, I found myself holding the edge of what had once been a swan maiden’s cloak. Its leather was cracked and twisted, but one corner had miraculously been spared. The downy feathers of pure white stood in stark contrast to all the blackened destruction. I lifted the corner of the cloak and rubbed the soft feathers against my cheek.

Whose cloak had this been? My brother Erasmus had collected such cloaks once. Unfortunately, each one had belonged to a particular maiden—a swan maiden or crane maiden—who could not return to her supernatural home without it. Sometimes, Erasmus killed the maidens. Once or twice, he brought her home and married her, though he never treated these fey women well. I remember him beating one, a swan maiden named Reginleif, with the handle of his whip after he caught her trying to feed slugs to their son. She had been fierce and proud once, and her captivity filled her with longing and shame. My heart had gone out to her.

I had felt so sorry for Reginleif that I went to the trouble of discovering where Erasmus kept her cloak and stole it. Before I could return it to her,
however, Cromwell’s Roundheads found her; the Puritans destroyed anything that smacked remotely of witchcraft, including young wives who laughed at funerals. A Roundhead soldier struck her over the head with a heavy golden crucifix and then put a dagger in her belly.

Titus held Reginleif as she died. I still remember coming upon them, a slender pale figure lying limply in the arms of my huge hulk of a brother. Reginleif saw the stolen cloak in my hands, and her dark eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude. She had reached out, but before her fingers could so much as brush a single feather, her spirit passed from her body, and she was no more.

I returned the cloak before Erasmus discovered it was missing, and Titus never breathed a word about the theft. Before I put it back, however, I could not resist the temptation to try it on.

The moment the garment clasped around my neck, the magic of the cloak transformed me into a swan, and for one glorious afternoon, I soared about the moors and over our loch, glorying in the freedom of the sky. I might have stayed a bird forever, so exhilarating was the experience; however, around evening, a Cavalier soldier pursuing the Roundheads took a shot at me, hoping to win himself a swan dinner. Quickly, I returned to the ground and, after a harrowing moment, during which I could not figure out how to unclasp the cloak, regained my proper shape.

Titus and Theo had wanted to chase down the soldiers and avenge Reginleif’s death, but Erasmus could not be bothered.

“Don’t worry,” he had said with a laugh. “I can get another one.”

As I pressed the few white feathers against my cheek, I wondered if this was the cloak that had once been Reginleif’s.

From the other room came two ringing knocks, as if Mab had struck one of the copper jars with his lead pipe, followed by Mab’s voice.

“Listen up! Know who’s out here? Theophrastus the Demonslayer! That’s right, you flame-headed lout! Bet even you have heard of him! So, you put so much as one flicker of flame outside the mouth of this pot, and the pain of trying to break an oath sworn on the River Styx will be a mere overture compared to the symphony of agony that we will visit upon you. You follow me? Good!” There came a pause. “Okay, Mr. Theo. Everything’s ready.”

A struggle followed. I heard shouts and swearing and, twice, cries of pain. Both times, I started to run toward the Elemental Chamber but stopped myself. Theo was right. Without my flute, unarmed, there was little I could do. My Japanese war fan, so useful against men and rhinos, would be useless
against the Fire King. I resolved that if the screaming became prolonged, I would go. So long as my brother and the Aerie Ones remained in control, I would aid them more by remaining here.

Still, it was frustrating.

Eventually, I heard footsteps, and Caurus came to join me. He was covered with even more soot, yet the merry twinkle had returned to his blue eyes.

“Milady? Lord Theo has sealed away the King of Djinn, and I have locked the Wounding Wand back up in the Weapons Chamber.”

“Thank you, Caurus! You did a difficult job here.”

“Oh
ja,
Milady,” he laughed shakily. “Winds aren’t meant to be cooped up underground.”

I nodded, struck suddenly by the hopelessness of the Aerie Ones’ quest for freedom. As employees of Prospero, Inc., they saw firsthand how we dealt with spirits who mistreated human beings. Could they be so foolish as not to realize their longed-for liberty could never come unless they could demonstrate self-control?

“Caurus,” I said slowly, “there is something you should know. I have promised the other Winds that if all eight of you should swear upon the Styx that you can keep your followers from harming mankind, I would let you go.”

The lines of fatigue vanished from Caurus’s face, and his blue eyes danced with a merry light. “A frail hope, Milady, but a little hope is better than none!” He bowed his head respectfully. “I thank you.”

“You are welcome. I realize it’s not much. Boreas explained how the lesser winds are hard to control, as there is nothing that you can offer them.”

Caurus cocked his head. “Ah, but there is something all winds desire, Milady, and not just winds, but every spirit… all the supernatural beings and horrors we at Prospero, Inc. seek to tame. Something we want so much, we might do your bidding willingly could you provide it.”

“And that is?”

“Water of Life.”

“Really?”

“Oh
ja.
It is like nectar to us and like gold, too. It makes us strong and healthy, powerful and wise. Not only do we desire it for ourselves, but there are always lesser spirits we could cajole to do our bidding, were we able to offer them some.” Caurus’s blue eyes twinkled merrily. “If you could offer even a small store, say an ounce a decade? I would swear.”

“Interesting…” I murmured thoughtfully.

An ounce a decade? That did not seem like much. Hope rose in my heart. Could freedom for the Aerie Ones become a reality?

Then I did the math, calculating how much Water would be needed to placate the Great Winds, some of whom I suspected would not be as reasonable as Caurus. Unless I could free up my schedule to make the year-and-a-day trip to the Well at the World’s End three or four times a century, this plan would not work. Considering how busy I had been of late, it was not a very likely option.

Of course, if I were a Sibyl, I would be able to make Water of Life. This left me in a bind; if my recent conjectures were correct, so long as I kept the Aerie Ones bound, I would not be a Sibyl, but if I did not let them go, I would never have what I needed to free them.

Were I certain I would be made a Sibyl instantly upon releasing them, I would have been willing to try. However, it was not a sure thing.

As I considered all this, Caurus brought up another stumbling block. Frowning at the broken amphora on the floor, he pointed at the black stains. “But you have no more Styx water, Milady. How could we swear?”

“We can acquire more,” I replied with false confidence. “Or we can hunt down the Three Shadowed Ones and take back the
Staff of Darkness
from Seir of the Shadows. You could swear on that.”

“Oh
ja!
That would do it!”