The Emerald Atlas (12 page)

Or had she? Seconds passed, and the Countess simply stood there, inches from the glass, calmly turning her head this way and that. Then Kate remembered: she’d been in that room. There was a mirror on the wall. Exactly where the Countess stood. And as Kate watched, the Countess touched a hand to her hair and, still giving no sign of having seen the children, turned and stepped away.

Abraham motioned the children to come along, and they were about to follow when someone in the Countess’s room began talking.

“And what will milady do now, if her poor servant may inquire?” The gray-toothed Secretary was hunched at a drinks cart, pouring ice-cold vodka into a glass, the yellow bird perched atop his shoulder.

Across the room, the Countess reclined in a comfortable chair, her dainty feet resting on a stool.

“I will make a full report. I should have done so when the children appeared the first time.”

“Yes, yes, of course, an indubitably intelligent course of action.” Scraping low, the man handed her the glass.

The two-way mirror was on the wall directly opposite where the Countess was seated; this meant the children, clustered in the passageway, had a clear view of all that transpired. It was thrilling to be so close, the more so since Kate couldn’t quite believe they were invisible. Each time the Countess’s gaze drifted over the wall, Kate had to fight the urge to run. She was thankful for the enveloping thrum of the rain, certain that otherwise the Countess and her secretary would hear her heart hammering against her chest.

“What is it, you sniveling little rodent?” the Countess snapped. “I know you’re thinking something.”

Twisting his fingers, the man Cavendish bowed quickly three or four times. “Just … no, impossible, not my place to venture, no—”

“Your place is to do what I tell you, you gnat. Now, what is transpiring in that putrid brain of yours?”

Alone with her secretary, the Countess apparently felt no need to be charming or to act the part of the airy, gold-speckled teenager. She looked the same, certainly, but her manner, her voice, everything about her now spoke of power, malice, and a greedy, jackal-like hunger.

Cavendish sucked in his head like a turtle. He spoke in moist little gasps. “Yes, milady, and forgive my imbecility, I was just inquiring of myself what exactly the Countess would report? That she had one of the Books of Beginning and lost it?”

“That was beyond my power to control. You know that.”

“Undeniable, yes, certainly undeniable, the Countess is innocent. And fortunately”—he corkscrewed two of his fingers and gave a ghoulish, insincere smile—“fortunately, our master is known for his understanding nature.”

Their master? Kate was stunned. There was someone else? Someone maybe worse than the Countess? How was that even possible? She looked over and saw Emma shake her head and mouth the word “great.”

“You think I should not tell him,” the Countess said slowly.

Cavendish took an eager step forward. “The missing book must be close, milady. You said so yourself earlier—very beautifully, one might add. And a person, even a person as dull as myself, can’t help but conjecture how much better it would be to say, ‘I have your prize, Master.’ Not, ‘I had it, then lost it. Oops!’ ”

Sipping her vodka, the Countess rested her head against the leather back of her chair. “You have a point, worm. Very well. I will wait.”

The man bowed even lower, as if being called “worm” was the highest compliment. But he continued to study her from the tops of his small eyes.

“How is it,” she said quietly, “that after all these thousands of years, three unremarkable children should just stumble on one of the Books of Beginning?”

“Chance, perhaps? Simple hazard?”

The Countess laughed scornfully. “There is no such thing as chance where magic is concerned. Those children are important somehow. In a way I do not fully understand.”

Back in the passageway, Abraham plucked at Kate’s sleeve, signaling they had to leave. But Kate shook her head. She and Michael and Emma were being discussed. She wanted to hear what was said.

The Countess finished her drink and held out the glass for Cavendish to refill. “And you’ve searched the cellar completely? This chamber the boy spoke of, the underground study where they found the book, there’s no trace of it?”

“None, milady. And no evidence of enchantments hiding such a space. This chamber, if the child was telling the truth, must have been created in the future. Does milady still believe the old man is behind this?”

“Of course,” the Countess sneered, “who else could it be?” She tapped her fingernails against the glass, suddenly gleeful. “Imagine, once I bring our master the book, I shall be raised up higher than any other. I will rule at his side.”

Cavendish dropped the carafe with a clatter onto the cart. The Countess looked up sharply. “Careful, toad!”

“Yes, yes, Countess. A million thousand pardons.” He fiddled with the bottles pointlessly, knocking them against each other.

“You truly are a moron, you know that? When you have something to say, say it. Instead of blundering about like a drunken parlor maid.”

The man turned. He was pulling on his fingers with such force that Kate thought he might yank them free of his hands. “It is just, milady, I worry for you, yes, I worry for you, I do.”

She laughed. “For me? And why should you worry for me, you walking collection of dirt?”

He shuffled close to her chair, still twisting and wrenching his fingers, seemingly unable to look her in the face. “The Countess is so beautiful and so strong, and our master, terrible and awesome as he is, has been known to be … unpredictable.”

The room became very still. The Countess stared at the sweating, twitchy man.

“You think he will deny me my reward?”

“No, no,” he said, glancing up quickly. “I would never say that. Never. But …” He put his fingers in his mouth and bit them viciously.

“What would you have me do? Speak.”

“It’s just …” He inched closer. His voice was like the hiss of a snake. “The Countess is already so powerful that I wonder, once she has the book, who then would be more powerful? The Countess or—”

The Countess’s hand shot out and seized the man by his stringy hair. The bird took off from his shoulder in alarm.

“Are you suggesting, you miserable creature, that once I am in possession of the book, I betray our sworn master and turn its power to my own purposes?”

“Milady, no! Never! You misunderstand—”

“Do I?” She gave his hair a terrific yank.

“Please, Mistress! I beg you! I never—never—”

She smiled then, beautiful and deadly. “Calm yourself, Mr. Cavendish. I know you only mean to protect me. And in any case”—she smoothed the man’s greasy hair—“I do not yet possess the book, do I?”

In the damp and dark of the passageway, Kate felt a chill as she watched the man and woman look at each other and something pass between them.

Abraham pulled her sleeve again. Insistent. She nodded. Every moment they lingered was dangerous. She’d just started to turn when the Countess said:

“Did you notice the oldest one, the girl? The book has marked her.”

Kate froze.

“I wonder,” the Countess murmured, “is it possible.… No, it can’t be.…”

The Secretary grinned horribly. “I know what milady is thinking. Impossible, and yet if it were true … Perhaps the Countess wishes to examine the child again? Before I entered, I took the liberty of dispatching one of the
morum cadi
to retrieve her. She should be here any moment.”

Emma and Michael looked at Kate, their eyes wide with panic. They had to go—now. But before any of them could move, a scream ripped through the walls of the house.

They ran, no longer making any attempt at being quiet. They heard the shrill, raised voice of the Secretary, the far-off uproar in the children’s room, the cries of the Screechers.

Very quickly, they reached what looked like a dead end. They could hear more Screechers outside, circling the house. Abraham was breathing heavily.

“I’ll go first. You three wait till you hear me draw ’em off. Then run for the trees. Keep going as far and as fast as you can. Find someplace to hide tonight. Come morning, head south along the river. Watch the sky. Folks say the witch uses birds as spies. A day’s walk and you’ll reach the lake. Any boat should take you to Westport. I’m sorry I can’t help more.”

“You’ve done so much,” Kate said. “Thank you.”

“Tell me this,” Abraham said, “is it true you’re from the future?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re here to set things right?”

“What? No, we—we just came to get Michael.”

“You promised them kids you’d come back.”

“And I will. But I don’t know how to help them.”

For a moment, Abraham just stared at her. “Maybe not,” he said finally. “But you heard the Countess. There’s no such thing as chance when it comes to magic. Things happen for a reason. Including you being here. Now, enough talk.”

Kate and Emma both hugged him. Michael hung back, still too ashamed, but Abraham put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“You made a mistake, but you’re a good lad, and your sisters here love you.”

Michael nodded, swallowing thickly. Abraham grasped a handle protruding from the wall. Kate could just discern the outline of the door.

“Remember, run and don’t look back.” And he opened the door, letting in a blast of air and rain, and was gone.

Darkness again. They waited, listening to the cries outside.

Emma fidgeted. “So who do you think this master guy is?”

“I’ve got a few theories,” Michael said.

“Like what?”

Michael paused, straightening his glasses. “I’m not quite ready to share them.”

Emma gave an annoyed huff, but it was obvious she wasn’t really annoyed, that she was glad things were back to how they used to be, with Michael driving her crazy. “I bet you that old man the Countess was talking about was Dr. Pym, though. You haven’t seen him, Michael. He really is a wizard.”

“Really?! Did he do any magic?”

“Well, me and Kate went to see him and he made a fire just like appear, didn’t he, Kate? And I think he’s got a magic pipe.”

“What kind of pipe?”

“How should I know? The magic kind, dummy.”

“I meant, the kind you smoke or the kind you blow into?”

“Duh, the kind you smoke. Does being in the past make everyone stupid?”

Kate kept her ear near the door so she could listen to the sounds outside. But it was hard to concentrate. Her mind kept going back to what the Countess had said.

Did you notice the oldest one, the girl? The book has marked her
.

She thought about what had happened in the bedroom, when she and Emma had been looking through photos, how she’d put her hand on the page and then watched as blackness spread across the parchment and up into her fingers. What had it done to her?

“Kate …” Michael touched her arm. “I think Abraham’s led them away.”

There were shouts and commotion from the other side of the house.

Kate took hold of the handle. “I’ll go first. Just keep running. No matter what.”

After the Screecher sent by the Secretary failed to find Kate and her siblings, pandemonium erupted in the dormitory. Children ran about, shouting, jumping on one another’s beds; a few of the younger ones began crying. Chaos reigned for several minutes. Then the door opened, and the Countess walked in. All became very still.

She waved her hand. Instantly, candles were burning along the walls. She smiled, and the children felt themselves pulled toward her.

“Where are they?” Her voice was comforting, sweet.

No one answered.

“I’m not going to hurt them. Goodness! I want to help them! They’re in great danger. Please. Tell me where they went.”

There was something so gentle in the way she spoke. The children would tell her everything, about Abraham, about the secret passages, about Kate and Michael and Emma. She was their friend.

“Where’re who?”

The Countess looked at the boy who’d spoken. Stephen’s jaw was set tight and his arms were crossed. She bent close, letting her perfume drift over him.

“The three who were brought here. Two girls and a boy. Oh, you’re just being silly!” She brushed his hair back playfully. “I know you know who I mean.”

“They ain’t … they ain’t here.”

“Yes, my love, that much I put together myself! Now, where did they go?”

Stephen stared into the beautiful eyes. His fingers gripped his arms. He was fighting hard against the pull. She was the enemy. Like Abraham said. He had to show the others how to resist her. He forced a shrug.

“Dunno. Just disappeared.”

One of the children stifled a laugh. The Countess looked up, her eyes flashing.

“They disappeared?”

“Uh-huh. Like magic or something.”

“Yeah,” another child said. “And there was a bang!”

“And smoke,” said a third. “With lightning!”

“Yeah! We had to jump out a’ the way!”

“I see.” She’d lost them. Somehow they’d found their strength in this boy.

The Secretary rushed in, panting and soaked, his hair webbed against his skull.

“Did you find them?” the Countess snapped.

He shook his head. “Just that crippled fool of a photographer. The lout was drunk again.”

The Countess said: “Release the wolves.”

The children gasped. Even the Secretary looked surprised.

“Milady”—he giggled breathlessly—“forgive me, those beasts are not easy to control. They’ve been starved. Wisely, of course. Makes for more eager hunters. But what’s to stop them from tearing the children limb from limb?”

“I suppose that’s a chance we’ll have to take, isn’t it?” She paused at the door and gestured toward Stephen. “Oh, and have that one taken to the boat.”