The Enchantress (The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel #6) (21 page)

“The facts cannot be unconnected,” Saint-Germain said.

“Is it unusual to have so many Elders in the city?” Joan asked.

“It is. We are …” Hekate paused and glanced at Prometheus. “We are solitary by nature. Especially those whom the Change has radically altered.”

Prometheus leaned forward. “The Ruling Council of Danu Talis sits tonight. And now that Bastet has removed
Aten from control of the council, who knows what will transpire. She will seek to have Anubis appointed the Lord of Danu Talis. He created and controls the anpu. They will support him.”

“They will sentence Aten to the volcano,” Hekate said, her voice beginning to crack. Her face was now lined with deep wrinkles and her breathing had become ragged. “And that I will not allow either,” she breathed.

“So we go to Aten’s aid?” Prometheus asked. “To rescue him?”

The old woman looked at him, frowning. “Who?”

“Aten,” he said patiently, “the rightful Lord of Danu Talis. Only you can command it.” He was clearly struggling to keep the note of panic from his voice. “And if you do not give the order now, then by the time you resume your second aspect tomorrow afternoon, it will be too late.”

“I fear it is already too late for Danu Talis,” the old woman whispered. “Go, Prometheus, go and bring Aten home.”

“And if it means war?”

“Then so be it.”

V
irginia Dare was standing in a huge market square directly in front of a spectacularly ugly pyramid-shaped building protected by high walls: she guessed it was either an army barracks or a prison. Prison, she decided, judging by the number of jackal-headed guards who were facing inward. The massive sloping walls were lined with anpu, and there were more of the red-eyed creatures guarding the solid stone gates. Behind the walls, the pyramid had a flattened top, similar to those she had seen in South America. Narrow, steeply sloped steps led up to the top of the structure. The top steps, she noted, lips curling with disgust, were dark with stains.

The immortal suddenly felt her skin start to crawl with static. The same instincts that had kept her alive and out of danger for centuries were vibrating through her, warning her that something was going to happen. Pressing her hand against her white robe, she felt the flute warm and safe in its
bag against her flesh. A spark snapped from the wood through the cloth and stung her finger.

Virginia was already moving out into the middle of the courtyard, away from walls and statues and milling people, and had crouched down, both hands pressed flat against the ground, when the earthquake rumbled through the city.

The ground vibrated strongly enough to send dust spiraling upward. The crowd around her moaned aloud, a single exhalation, the sound of abject terror. Their reaction puzzled her. It was not a large earthquake—a four, perhaps—and the only damage had been the upsetting of some of the carefully built piles of fruit in the market stalls. Glancing around, she realized that everyone had turned to look toward the huge volcano that dominated the island. Thin gray-white plumes shot toward the sky, and even as she watched, a column of black smoke belched into the heavens.

There was a second rumble and gray-black smoke boiled into the skies over the volcano. The dark cloud flattened and spread across the mouth of the volcano, then quickly dissipated.

In the silence that followed, Virginia heard a high-pitched, almost hysterical laugh; then, suddenly, all the sounds of the city came rushing back. The crowd surged toward the prison gates and someone began a low chant. “Aten … Aten … Aten …”

Curious, Virginia moved off to one side, circling around the back of the ever-growing crowd. These seemed to be the ordinary people of Danu Talis—short, dark-skinned, dark-haired. No one showed signs of wealth. Many were barefoot,
none wore jewelry or ornamentation and most were wearing the usual costume of simple white shifts and robes, though some of the stall holders wore leather aprons. Almost everyone wore a conical straw hat for protection from the blistering sun. Looking around, Virginia noticed no human-animal hybrids in with the people; however, none of the guards, she observed, were human. Most were jackal-headed anpu, while others had horns and seemed to have the heads of bulls or boars.

One of the massive prison doors opened and a dozen enormous anpu in full black armor charged out. They carried narrow bamboo canes and slashed and cut their way through the screaming crowd, driving them back.

A young man in a dirty white robe—Virginia thought he looked to be no more than thirteen—threw a handful of rotten fruit. It sailed through the air and exploded across an anpu’s breastplate. The crowd erupted into cheers. A troop of guards immediately shoved through the knot of people and grabbed the young man. They lifted him off the ground and carried him, kicking and screaming, back toward the prison. A grief-stricken woman raced after them, obviously pleading with them to release the boy. An anpu turned, raised its bamboo cane and bared its fangs, and the woman shrank back, terrified.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Virginia murmured. Her hand closed over the flute tingling warm against her chest and she started forward.

“You cannot fight them all.”

Virginia spun around. She was facing a tall young man wrapped in a long white robe. The bottom part of the robe was thrown back across his left shoulder, concealing the lower half of his face, and he was wearing a large straw hat that threw much of his face into shadow. His eyes were a brilliant blue.

“I don’t have to,” she snapped. “Just those bullies.”

“There are another thousand like them in the fort. Ten thousand like them scattered around the city. Will you fight them all?”

“If I have to,” the immortal said, turning back to the prison. The anpu had rounded up a handful of people—indiscriminately snatching men and women, young and old—from the crowd and were hauling them to the prison. She saw the boy. He was still struggling in the arms of the huge anpu. He called out, screaming a name again and again. Virginia bit her lip, watching as his mother pressed her hands to her ears and collapsed onto the stones. The anpu guard held the boy aloft in one hand, and just before the gates slammed shut, the boy stopped struggling and called out at the top of his lungs, “Aten!” The crowd roared back the name.

“What will happen to him?” Virginia asked the mysterious man.

“If he is lucky, he will be sentenced to the mines or to join one of the slave gangs who build the Elders’ pyramids.”

“And if he is unlucky?” she began, and then stopped, suddenly realizing that the young man had spoken in English. She turned to face him.

“If he is unlucky, he will be sent to one of the Shadowrealms as a slave. That’s a life sentence. Some would feel it is better than the alternative.”

“And what is that?”

“To be fed to the volcano.”

“For what?” she demanded. “For throwing a piece of fruit?”

“All the punishments are unnecessarily harsh. They are designed to keep humans under control. It is how the few control the many. With fear.”

“Humankind should rise up,” Virginia snapped.

“They should.”

“I suppose Isis and Osiris sent you to find me?” she asked.

“They did not.”

The immortal looked at the man carefully. “You know me, don’t you?”

The corners of the man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I know you, Virginia Dare,” he agreed. “And if you look over my shoulder, you’ll see someone else who knows you.”

Virginia shifted her gaze and looked over the figure’s right shoulder. Leaning against the wall at the mouth of an alleyway, supporting himself on a tall broken stick, was Dr. John Dee. The Magician raised his own straw hat in greeting.

“Go to him, and wait. I will join you presently.”

Virginia reached out to catch the man’s arm, but a curved metal hook wrapped around her wrist. “It would be better if you did not touch me,” he whispered icily. Slivers of yellow fire crawled across the hook and the immortal felt her flute grow almost painfully hot.

The blue-eyed man nodded and walked past her. He moved through the crowd, taking care not to touch anyone, and Virginia noticed that everyone unconsciously stepped out of his way. Uncharacteristically shaken, the flute throbbing like an extra heart against her skin, she crossed the square and slipped into the darkened alleyway alongside the aged Magician. “I thought you were dead,” she greeted him.

“That’s a charming hello. I almost was.”

Shaking her head slightly, she looked him up and down. “I should have guessed you’d be hard to kill.”

“I bet you didn’t think of me once,” he said with a tired smile.

“Maybe just once or twice,” she admitted warmly. “I hoped you’d died quickly, and feared you had not.”

“Is that something like concern I’m hearing?” he teased.

“You’re looking old,” she said, avoiding the question.

“Not as old as I was. And I’m still here.”

Virginia Dare nodded. “I’m guessing Isis and Osiris weren’t the ones to renew your youth.”

“They did not.”

“The blue-eyed man?” she guessed.

Dee nodded. “Marethyu, the hook-hand.”

The name sent a shiver down Virginia’s spine. “Death,” she whispered.

“Who gave me life,” Dee said, shaking his head. “What a world we live in. Once upon a time, you knew who your friends were.”

“You never had any friends,” she reminded him.

“True. Now all is topsy-turvy.”

Virginia Dare turned to look back across the milling crowd. The blue-eyed man had vanished. She saw the woman who had lost her son. There was a young girl—no more than three or four—clinging to her skirts. “Where is Marethyu?”

“He’s gone to visit someone in jail.”

Dare turned back to Dee. “This jail doesn’t look the type that has regular visiting hours.”

“I don’t think that would bother him too much.” The Magician laughed. “He’s gone to see Aten.”

“I heard the people call his name. What is he?”

“Aten was the Lord of Danu Talis,” John Dee explained simply. “An Elder, but sympathetic to the humani. Humans,” the doctor corrected himself. “Now he is a prisoner and awaiting execution.”

“Doctor,” Virginia asked, “do you want to tell me what’s going on?

“I wish I knew.” Dee attempted a smile. “All I know is that I’ve spent centuries planning and scheming. I thought I was clever, making plans that would take years or even decades to bring to fruition. Little did I know I was part of something bigger, plotted by creatures who had never been human, whose plans encompassed millennia. Today I learned that everything I did was either already set or permitted. I was only allowed to do whatever fit into their plans,” he finished, a note of outrage in his voice.

“Shame,” Virginia murmured. “Though you’ll get no sympathy from me.”

“Oh, but you’re not exempt either. How would you feel
if I told you that you too were part of this extraordinary plan? It spans millennia.”

Virginia looked closely at the stooped immortal, his eyes bright in the gloom. She’d never noticed it before, but she suddenly realized that his eyes were the same color as hers. She frowned, remembering. The same color as Machiavelli’s. “Part of a plan?”

“A little while ago, I spoke to an Elder who was slowly turning into a gold statue,” Dee said. He reached under his robe and pulled out a slender rectangle wrapped in a palm leaf. “He asked me to give this to you.”

Virginia turned it over in her hands. “What is it?” she asked.

“He said it was a message.”

“For me?”

Dee nodded. “For you.”

“That’s impossible. How did he know I was going to be here?”

“And how did he know I was going to be here?” Dee asked. “Because he planned it. He and Marethyu planned everything.”

“Planned what?” she demanded.

“Why, Virginia, nothing less than the destruction of the world.”

“O
h, I hate trolls,” Perenelle Flamel groaned.

The creature that click-clacked down the narrow stone path looked like a primitive human. Short and squat, it had flat brutish features, and its entire body was covered with greasy red hair that was almost indistinguishable from the animal skins covering it. It carried a blade carved from the shinbone of an animal that had gone extinct before dinosaurs walked the earth. The creature’s eyes were the color of dirty snow, and when it smiled, its pointed teeth were appalling.

“Did that thing just lick its lips?” the Sorceress asked, disgusted.

“Dinner,” the troll said, in a surprisingly pure and clear voice. There was the trace of an accent.

“They rarely travel alone …,” Nicholas began.

There was a clicking, like claws scrabbling, and then two more—one unmistakably female, with her wild red hair tied
in two pigtails—appeared out of the swirling fog. Even over the smell of the sea and the meaty odor of the fog, the stink wafting off the creatures was overwhelming.

“Not trolls.” The female’s face twisted in disgust. “They’re filthy beasts. We’re Fir Dearg,” she said proudly.

“Well, technically, we’re the Fir Dearg,” one of the creatures said. “We’re male. You’re Mna Dearg. Female.”

Sighing, the Sorceress leaned on the stone trident and turned the three creatures to stone with a single gesture of her hand. “At least trolls just want to eat you and not talk you to death.”

“Could have been worse,” Nicholas said. He stepped toward the frozen creatures and tapped one—the female—as he moved past. Yellow eyes glared at him through a stone face. “They could have been leprechauns.”

Perenelle shuddered. “You know I hate leprechauns more than almost anything.”

Moving cautiously, the Alchemyst and the Sorceress followed the narrow pathway around the island to the quayside. They could hear the Nereids following their progress, splashing invisibly in the sea to their right.

“Dee is not a fool,” Nicholas said. He stopped when they reached the jetty where the tourist boats once docked, and turned to look at the empty pier. “He gathered these creatures on the island….”