Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I (48 page)

That night, he came to see me where I was chained. He slipped into my cell under the cloak of darkness, not as an old man but in his own youthful shape. I had been praying when he arrived, pointing out to my Lady that this might be a good opportunity for me to be raised in Her esteem, as Sibyls could open locks. I was certain Gregor intended to have me put to death.

He stepped upon the straw covering the cell floor and pulled back the hood that obscured his face. He was taller and stockier than my other Italian brothers, though not as large as the Scottish Titus. Gregor had thick wavy dark hair and penetrating black eyes. His arms and shoulders were large and muscular—he had been apprenticed to an armorer in his youth. I wondered if he had come to strangle me personally.

“Greetings, Sister.”

Gregor spoke in Italian. His voice sounded hoarse, as if from disuse. Before he had been transformed into the Cardinal, he had spoken with a pleasant baritone. Logistilla must have made some error that night in returning him to his true form, however, for his voice sounded low and breathy. From that day forth, whenever Gregor was in his own shape, he retained the low, husky voice. The last time I heard him speak, at our Christmas celebration
about three years before his death, his voice was still the gravelly bass I first heard that night in my cell.

“Have you come to ask me to repent?” I asked, twisting my arms in their stocks.

“Would you?” he asked.

“Never!” I composed myself to die.

“I thought not.” He spoke without a trace of humor. “I came to tell you I have found a way to save you, but you must be patient. You must promise, if I do this, you will wait for your legal release, not to disappear or flee away by magic.”

“Free me? Why are you doing this?” I hesitated to give my word, lest this be some trick. “I thought you hated my Lady. Are you even
fond
of me?”

“It does not matter if I approve of your heresy, or even if I am fond of you,” my brother replied huskily. “What matters is that you are my sister.”

True to his word, I was released a few weeks later. The guard who unlocked the chains explained I had been spared by the grace of Pope Gregory XV, who had passed a Papal Bull reducing the penalties for witchcraft. The new Bull decreed the death penalty appropriate only for witches who were proven to have made compacts with the Devil or to have committed homicide through magic. To this day, that decree remains the last Papal Bull ever issued on the subject of witchcraft.

CIRCLING
the altar, I knelt and slid back a panel, revealing a little cabinet. The top shelf held matches, a candlesnuffer, and other simple tools. The bottom half contained a black metallic safe with a combination lock. I spun the dial through the combination and swung open the safe door.

Within, upon a bed of green velvet, lay a heavy black case. Its intricate silver fastenings had been designed by Titus. Only someone who knew the secret to solving their puzzle could open the case. To my dismay, I saw I had left the fastenings unlatched the last time I had been here, some decades ago. Chiding myself for absentmindedness, I opened the box.

As the lid came up, the light of day glinted against the crystal cut sides of vessels within, causing a prism-like flash of light. The black velvet lining was molded to hold the special decanters that held my precious supply of the Water of Life from the Well at the World’s End: a large diamond carafe and four tiny matching pear-shaped vials. These vessels had been given to me by the Keeper of the Well and were fashioned of the only material that
could store Water of Life. Erasmus had studied them in his alchemy days, and declared this material was not diamond but crystallized Urim. It was because I had so few of these vessels that I could bring back so little Water from each trip to the World’s End.

Within the case, the carafe and two of the small vials glinted snugly in their proper places, but the two remaining pear-shaped indentations were empty. I had intentionally left one vial at Theo’s.

Where was the last one?

Silently cursing that Mab should be away at such a time, I drew one of the two remaining smaller vials out of the case and put it in my pocket, disturbing the case and its contents as little as possible, so as not to tamper with the evidence. Then, after locking the safe and closing the cabinet, I yanked on the pull-rope hanging beside the tapestry, ringing the bell in the steeple. A moment later, the door blew open, and Ariel’s fluting voice asked what I desired.

“Ariel, we have been robbed. One of the vials of the Water of Life is missing. It has been some years since I have opened the case. I have no notion when it vanished. Quickly, call one of Mab’s assistants, or someone trained in his art. Have them dust for fingerprints and do what else they may to discover who has touched it.”

“I go and return as my mistress commands.” The door rattled again. Moment’s later, Ariel returned. “I have done as you decreed. There is another matter I would broach, Great Mistress. There is that which has been promised me, but not delivered.”

I sighed. “Ariel, your contract is with my father,” I repeated for the umpteenth time. “It serves no purpose to debate this matter with me.”

Ariel’s fluting voice continued. “The winds bring rumors of Prospero’s death. If Prospero is no more, then our fate doth rest in the hands of his eldest child. Will you not set us free now, eldest child of your father?”

“Who has repeated such slander? I will not hear such evil spoken of my father!”

“But if it should prove true that he has perished . . .” Ariel began.

I cut him off. “There will be no talk of Prospero’s death. Go about the task I have assigned you.” Ariel sighed and sped away, and I was left standing in the dappled light.

Gone was the lighthearted calm that had accompanied me into the Enclosed Forest. The fear of the demon’s predicted doom closed in around me like a cloak. Ariel’s question had shaken me. I had never considered how the Aerie Ones’ obligations to our family might be affected by my father’s disappearance.
It was one thing to continue to tell Ariel and Mab I could not free them because my father did not wish it. It was quite another to have to take responsibility for their captivity upon myself.

My gaze fell upon the bronze seal of the Order of Sibyls, where it hung above the heavy oaken door. Around the image of a unicorn rampant circled the words:
RELEASE CAPTIVES, ABSOLVE OATHS, BANISH DARKNESS.
A shiver went through me.

Had I ever read these words properly before? Eurynome, my holy Lady, forsook Her place in High Heaven to free the children of man in the Garden. Could my involvement with the imprisonment of the Aerie Ones be the reason that the coveted Sibylhood has eluded me?

I so yearned to be a Sibyl, a true servant of my holy Lady. Sometimes this desire was but a faint longing. At other times, it burned me like a living coal. Sibyls could wield the Six Gifts, and, unlike Handmaidens, Sibyls were free to marry.

Remaining unwed through the long years had been no hard task, since losing my Handmaiden status would have denied me the Water of Life, and damned my family to mortality. Secretly, in the depth of my heart, however, I have always longed for the kind of love my father had spoken of when I was a child.

We would take our meal atop the bluff overlooking the northeast shore of the island, and Father would speak to me of my mother. As he described his love for her, his keen blue eyes would glow, as if some light, kindled within his heart, were shining through them. Father took four more wives over the ensuing years, but none of them sparked such adoration.

My father had been a callous youth, so he often told me, foolish and bent upon selfish goals. Meeting my mother had transformed him. All his efforts since then—his life’s work to improve the Earth for mankind, which had culminated in the current activities of Prospero, Inc.—all were inspired by my mother. Her influence had lifted him out of his previous wickedness and made of him a better creature.

Sitting atop the bluff with the wind in my face and the cries of seagulls in my ears, I had vowed to myself I would not wed unless I, too, could have such happiness. Of course, at the time I had imagined it would be only a short while before I found a man who stirred such devotion in me. It never occurred to the child I had been that I might remain unwed forever.

Were I a Sibyl, I would be free to pursue such a love.

Yet, even if I wanted to free the Aerie Ones, sacrificing my beloved flute
and denying myself its music forever after, duty forbade me from doing so. It was not just the damage they might do were they free. There was also the matter of Prospero, Inc. To lose the Aerie Ones would be to destroy the company, and all my family’s work. Half the employees at Prospero, Inc., and all those who managed our supernatural accounts, were Aerie Ones. If I let them free to pursue their own amusements, the company would fail. Even if I were willing to reveal our secrets to mankind, some of the most important tasks would be impossible to accomplish without supernatural servants.

Were Prospero, Inc. to founder, its contracts would be violated. If that were to happen, the technology upon which mankind depends would begin to fail.

Earthquakes and hurricanes, mankind might endure; however, worse fates would befall us if Father’s covenants failed. Blood of the earth, known today as petroleum, only burned evenly because my father bound the oreads from whose veins it flowed. Nor would machines run smoothly if lightning, the servant and herald of my Lady, were no longer bound to run along a wire. Nothing mankind achieved in earlier ages rivals the grandeur, the accomplishment, or the quality of life of the modern age—all of which would be lost if the spirits of the natural world could act without restraint. The pre-industrial age had been unpleasant for men and worse for women. I could not free the Aerie Ones if it meant reducing mankind to that again.

I stood in the chapel staring up at the seal, astounded by the enormity of Father’s accomplishments. Had he done all this deliberately? Had he foreseen this modern world, in which men moved mountains and walked upon the moon, when he first began binding spirits? Or, had he merely trusted mankind to prosper, once they were free of the ravages of unruly supernatural forces?

And what of Mab and the other incarnated Aerie Ones? Was spending time as a human the answer to the problem of freeing them? I certainly hoped so, especially as Mab’s talk about devils had filled me with foreboding. I much preferred to think that the stacked naked bodies at Logistilla’s were meant for our airy folk: the Aerie Ones, and the sylphs, sprites, apsaras, gandharvas, and other spirits of the air who serve them.

Contemplating all this filled me with renewed admiration for my father. I felt ashamed for having doubted him. Next to his accomplishments, accusations of ensorcelling me and damning Ferdinand paled to naught.

“I heard about the theft, Ma’am,” Mab drawled. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you discovered it.”

He plunked himself down in the chair Ferdinand had chosen the night before, resting his booted feet on an embroidered ottoman. Mab’s return was a refreshing distraction. Having spent the rest of the morning immersed in Prospero, Inc. business—I wanted to ensure that no other Priority Accounts went awry—I had only just returned to the lesser hall to continue reading Father’s journals. Having finished the recent ones, I had begun delving into some of his earlier volumes. When Mab arrived, I had been in the middle of a horrifying dissertation called
On the Detrimental Effects Upon the Soul of Prolonged Exposure to Demons
.

“Were your people able to detect anything?” I asked, gratefully closing the journal.

Mab shook his head, scowling. “The culprit, whoever he was, wore gloves.”

“Do we have any leads?”

Mab grimaced and scratched his jaw. “That depends on what you mean by a lead, Ma’am. At first, I suspected Mr. Prospero, thinking maybe he knew trouble was coming and thought a little Water of Life might help his chances. Now that I’ve seen the site of the crime myself, however, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Two reasons, Ma’am. One, if Mr. Prospero wanted Water of Life, why wouldn’t he have asked for it? It’s not like you’d tell him no. At the very least, I would have expected him to leave a note. He certainly wouldn’t have sneaked into the chapel with gloves on to hide his trail.