Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I (31 page)

The sight of the stars a-twinkle brought back memories of the night in 1627 when we had come upon the elves dancing outside their howe. I recalled the smell of apple wood upon their bonfire, and the brightness of the sparks that shot up from it. How tall and fey the elves had been, and how disdainfully aloof the elf lords’ regard. All except one, who had mocked his fellows for their poor taste and led me into the dance.

He had clasped me about the waist and spun me hither and thither, midst music and enchantment. Many a dancer wishes he could make his
partner feel as if she were flying, but this time, we did fly! He whistled, and the winds picked us up, swirling us amidst star and cloud and sky. His eyes, filled with laughter, changed their color with his mood. In them, I saw myself reflected as a constellation among the stars. It was the single most marvelous night of my life. Even the joy of skimming along upon the sea, amidst an illusion of endless sky, does not compare to the exhilaration of actually being among the heavens. Only my childhood flight and the music of my flute in the midst of a tempest could even began to compare.

The sea was without question my next most favorite place. Amazed, I wondered how I had spent so much time away from it. Sailing was the first skill I learned after we left Prospero’s Island. Ferdinand taught me on the trip back to Italy, when everything was brave and new. He had stood behind me, the length of his body pressing against mine, his hands guiding me, showing me what to pull or tie. We had laughed and laughed, once falling to the deck together to avoid the swinging boom. We had not been able to remain there long; the ship was crowded, and privacy rare. Yet, before he gallantly helped me to my feet, Ferdinand had stolen a kiss. I had blushed and called him “my most true love.”

Pain squeezed my heart, the ache of a wound I had thought long healed. I recalled the agony of those first few weeks after what should have been our wedding day, when I was certain Ferdinand lay grievously wounded somewhere and I had been unwilling to admit he might be dead. My father treated me kindly, but I could tell he did not believe Ferdinand would return. At the time, I thought he believed Ferdinand dead, but would not dash my hopes. Later, I thought Father had suspected the truth— that Ferdinand had run off pursuing a life of adventure. Now?

Now, I did not know what to believe.

As the sunlight dimmed, so did my mood. Like a leaf in the autumn winds, my well-ordered life was suddenly tumbling every which way. I no longer knew whom to trust, save my Lady. My abiding faith in my father, whom I relied on and loved above all men, had been shaken from two sides.

And what of those sides?

Theo’s speculation that Father held me enthralled in an enchantment was just that— speculation. I dismissed it. Ferdinand’s claims were harder to deny and harder to accept. I could forgive Father’s binding me up, should it turn out to be true, because I trusted him. If he had done it, he must have had a good reason.

If Father had condemned my love to Hell, I feared my heart would burst. What kind of good reason could a man offer for sending an innocent teenage boy to Hell?

Then, there were my brothers to worry about. Theo was dying. There was no way to be certain my calling upon his oath would successfully rouse him from his stupor. And, if it did work . . .

Alarmed, I sat straight up and wrapped my arms about my knees. I had sent Theo after Ferdinand! But, Ferdinand was innocent. I did not want Theo to kill him! Yet, if I called Theo off, there might not be time to find another way to engage his interest. This might be my last hope of saving my favorite brother. If it came down to my brother or Ferdinand— well, I had lived without Ferdinand this long. . . .

Finally, there was Mephisto! All these years, the family had assumed his madness was harmless. Yet, two nights ago in the warehouse, he had transformed into something bearing a sickening resemblance to a fiend of Hell. A frisson of terror tickled my spine when I remembered the disconcerting way he regarded me when we landed beside the car, right after I called upon my Lady! If Father sent Ferdinand to Hell, was he responsible for Mephisto’s state, too? And what, if anything, was the relationship between this larger, seemingly more alert form and Mephisto’s madness?

A LOUD
bellow broke my reverie, followed quickly by a high-pitched screech. The disturbance came from the cockpit. Grabbing a stay, I swung myself back onto the deck and began clambering along the port side of the vessel, squinting in the dim light. After shimmying past the anchor and hurling myself along the sloping deck beside the cabin roof, I found Mab crouched over Mephisto. His gray trench coat spread behind him in the wind. His hands encircled my brother’s throat, throttling him.

A lantern swayed upon the mast. In its light, Mephisto’s face was blue. His eyes bulged, and his arms were flailing. The pocketknife he had been carving with had flown from his hand. His piece of carving wood clattered off the cabin wall near my foot.

“You scurvy, good-for-nothing lout!” Mab shouted. “I’ll wring your scrawny neck!”

“Mab! Mab! Stop! What are you doing?” I cried, but Mab did not hear me. Mephisto made a gargling noise but could get no words past his strangled throat.

Putting my flute to my lips, I blew a harsh command. Mab jerked into the air and was thrown against the mast.

“What is going on here?” I demanded.

Mab slid down across the helm, his trench coat catching on the spokes of the wheel. Reaching the cockpit floor, he rose to his feet and yanked his coat free, growling. Mephisto rubbed his throat. He slunk up to sit upon the bench again and stared with sullen, hurt eyes at his attacker.

“Your lousy, no-good brother tried to cast a spell on me.” Mab jabbed a finger at Mephisto.

“Mephisto?” I turned to regard my brother.

Mephisto recoiled, blocking his face with his hands. “Did not! I was just carving. I was sitting here, minding my own business— as quiet as you please— when your stupid bodyguard went wacko and jumped me!”

“I’m not her bodyguard.” Mab stalked forward.

“Calm down, Mab. Nothing will be achieved by fighting.” I stooped and picked up the wooden figure by my foot, holding it up near one of the lanterns. The bottom was still an unworked rectangular block. The upper portion vaguely resembled a human face and shoulders. The very top, however, clearly and skillfully resembled a fedora and its brim.

“He was just carving you, Mab. You have to be less paranoid. Not every image of you is meant for voodoo, you know. Please be more careful! You could have hurt my brother. I think you should apologize to him.”

“Yeah!” Mephisto stuck out his tongue at Mab.

Mab ran his hand through his grizzled hair. “Begging your pardon, Miss Miranda, but I am the expert on thaumaturgy here. And when I say I felt a spell trying to bind what little is left of my freedom of will, I know of what I speak. Your brother was trying to cast a spell on me.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mab. This is harmless! It’s just a piece of wood. Look. It’s . . .”

I halted midsentence. Something about Mephisto’s carving seemed strangely familiar. During our conversation on the way to Theo’s, Mephisto had hesitated when I asked him how he had lengthened his staff. What had he said? Something about himself being able to make more compacts without Father’s help?

A cold shiver traveled down my spine. Other than Father’s magic, there was only one method I knew of to make compacts of that sort. Merciful Heavens, no wonder he hesitated! With what Hellish powers had Mephisto
trafficked, and what price had he paid for it? His wits, perhaps? I thought of the great black demon with his shining sapphire eyes. His soul?

I turned on my brother. “Mephisto! Mab’s right, isn’t he? This was going to be a figurine, wasn’t it, like the ones on your staff?”

Mephisto squirmed beneath my gaze.

“I . . . I thought he’d be useful,” he blurted out. “Ever since Chalandra took my staff, I’ve been so lonely without my friends. You have so many windy friends. I thought you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed one sometimes. Would you? Please?”

“No way,” Mab hissed. “No bloody way. Not even if Hell freezes over.”

I struggled to maintain my composure, fury seething through my veins. I was furious with Mephisto for daring to take something that was mine, and with Mab, for daring to attack a member of my family. My first concern, however, was to see that the incident not be repeated. Yelling at Mephisto would not make any impression.

When I could speak calmly, I said in measured tones, “Mephisto, your figurines only summon. They do not compel. What happens if the creature you summon doesn’t want to cooperate with you when it arrives?”

Mephisto gazed at me in horror. His face went slack and drained of all its color. His eyes opened wide in terror. His lips worked, but emitted no sound. His breathing became labored and rough. I had meant my comment as a prelude to a tirade; however, Mephisto’s reaction was so extreme that I reconsidered. Had he once summoned up something he could not control? If so, the mere memory of the incident was enough to petrify him.

“I’m sorry,” Mephisto squeaked.

I nodded and turned away.

“That’s it?” Mab fumed. “Aren’t you going to throw him overboard? Or cut off his hand?”

“He’s my brother, Mab. Besides, I don’t think he’ll do it again.”

“ ‘Don’t think’ isn’t good enough, Ma’am. If you want any more help from me, you’re going to have to do a bit better than that!”

The sails snapped loudly, jangling, as the boom swung across the ship. We ducked. When I rose, my voice was as soft as thistledown and as sharp as steel.

“Are you threatening me, Mab?”

Mab crossed his arms and stared back at me, eye to eye. “You can’t intimidate me, Miss Miranda. I know I don’t have much free will. But I cherish what I have above all other things. Now, you do more than slap that slaver’s hand, or I won’t do another stitch of work for you.”

My voice remained deceptively calm. “Mab, I give you my word. It won’t happen again. Now, I suggest we let this drop.”

Mab jutted his chin out and stubbornly shook his head.

“Look, Mab. I’m not going to drown Mephisto. He’s my brother. So we’re stuck on this boat together, at least until we reach Logistilla’s. Let’s put this behind us and make the best of it.”

“If this is the kind of treatment I get after all I’ve done for you, I’m sorry I even tried. And, I, for one, am not stuck anywhere. At any time, I can leave this body and wing away from here. Now, I suggest you tie up your brother, or I’m leaving.” Mab straightened, eyes glaring.

Staring back at him, I raised the flute. “Not away from me, Mab! Never away from me!”

Mab scowled. He took off his hat and threw it down. It bounced against the deck.

“You win, Ma’am,” he said bitterly. “But, if you want me to do something, you’re going to have to make me do it. I’m not going to do anything your accursed flute can’t force me to do.”

Mab snatched up his hat and put it back on his head, pulling it low over his eyes. He continued sarcastically. “Go ahead, Ma’am, play your exalted piccolo. Do you want me to spend my time blowing your sails or scrubbing the decks? Your wish is my command, milady. Should you want me to speculate about who is following us, or to make some guesses as to where your father is? Sorry, lady, you’re out of luck. I don’t think you’ll be able to find a song for that.”

Turning his back on me, he climbed out of the cockpit and stomped off to glower by the stern.

The last of the light died away as the colors of the sunset bled across the ocean. As the first star rose, I went to where Mephisto sat huddled under a sail tarp, staring out into the darkness.

“It’s Wednesday,” I said. “Let’s take a look at the Ouija board.”

As Mephisto rose groggily to his feet, I called good-naturedly, hoping that if I did not make an issue of our earlier argument, Mab would forget it. “Are you coming, Mab?”

He did not stir. Nor had he moved, not one quarter of an inch, not one hair, since our argument more than an hour before. He stood beside the binnacle, facing out toward the sea, shrouded in the night’s gloom. Seeing him so motionless, I was struck by the flimsiness of his human disguise. No man could stand as motionless as he on a rocking sailboat. He looked like a man, but in times of turmoil, the inhumanity of his true nature revealed itself.