Back Under The Stairs - Book 2 in The Bandworld Series (13 page)

All bleeding -- including the color banded
chief -- each priest ducked his head to suck blood from his own
wrists. Disgusting!

Putting away their knives at last, tightening
the sleeves around their self-inflicted wounds to stanch the
bleeding, forming a line behind their holy clown, the lot of them
"bunny-hopped" out of the room, exiting in the same direction as
the soldiers.

Leaving the shadowy-cool room in blessed
silence.

The action over, John still curiously numbed
by his transference to this world, he realized he was ... hungry
.... the cooking pots over the fire stones at room center calling
to him.

If he took a pot of "vittles" with him, he
could lose himself in the vastness of the castle; in that way, gain
the time he needed to figure out what had been going on here in his
absence.

That settled, as timid as a deer in a forest
of wolves, John edged out from behind the arch. Had gone but a
single step when a soft sound froze him in place!

Mewing?

Whirling about, John spied a figure hidden by
a floor length tapestry across from the arch that had been John's
refuge.

A ... girl. In her arms, a large, squirming
cat.

A slender girl with black hair and dark,
fearful eyes. Standing rigidly, as if rooted to the spot where
she'd been concealed.

Platinia!

As she had feared, the Mage,
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had returned. Platinia could feel his terrible
green eyes stabbing at her back as she led him toward the tower
room. Could he see inside her mind? Was that the reason this Mage
was still alive?

Melcor had not known her plan. When Melcor
was building crystal-power to bring back Pfnaravin, Melcor had not
known that Platinia would bring the ceiling down or he would have
stopped her. Because he could not read her mind, Melcor was
dead!

Though she had tried to kill
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin in the same way, she had failed to do it.
Failed because ... he was holding his white cat. She could not hurt
a cat.

So John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had escaped to the
other world. And, as she had feared, was back again. As terrifying
as ever.

"This place continues to confuse me," said
the Mage at her back. He said that quietly to keep any soldiers who
might be near from hearing.

Though knowing everything (he was Pfnaravin!)
he often talked like that. Like he was lost.

Platinia felt mixed-up all the time.

At one time, she believed she had control ...
at least a little ... of this Mage, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin. By
thinking, she had helped him build his power. At the battle.

"Are you sure we're going to the turret room?
The one I was in when I went to the other world? The one you were
in, too, helping me go?"

"Yes."

You must be careful with a Mage. Even now,
without his magic crystal, the Mage sensed Platinia was misleading
him. Which she was -- taking him up and down and round and round.
To give her time to think. To think of how this Mage could die.

If she failed to find a way to kill him, she
must take him to the room.

She wished to take him anywhere but to the
tower room!

She had been looking for the cat when the
soldiers came into the hall. That was why she was back of the
curtain.

The soldiers and the priests.

Not priests of the god of light, Fulgur. But
priests from Malachite.

After the soldiers and priests had gone, she
was still behind the curtain. With the cat. It was then that
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had discovered her, making her very much
afraid.

He had gone. Now he had returned!

He had asked for food. She had found him some
and he had eaten. In a pantry off the eating hall.

Poison was a way to die. But she had only
heard of poison. How could she poison someone without poison?

While eating, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had asked
his questions. Like he always did, his glittery, green eyes boring
into Platinia's mind. (As she, sometimes, could bore into the mind
of others.) She was very much afraid! Afraid that the Mage could
see murder in her mind!

But he did not.

This time, his questions were not about a
"sun" a "moon" or "stars" -- whatever those things were. Nor did he
ask if the world was round or flat. Or other, mysterious questions
of that kind, questions that made no sense. No. This time, his
questions were about the war.

She knew little, but thought that Malachite
was winning. Otherwise, why would there be these soldiers in the
castle of the Hero?

That was what the Mage thought, too.

He wished to know about his crystal. If she
had taken it to the man called Coluth, like she had promised.

What could she say to that? Of course, she
had not done that. Crystals made men into Mages. Made them still
more dangerous. When this Mage had left from the tower room, the
crystal, on its chain, was on the floor where he had stood.

He had told her to take the golden gem to
Coluth, Navy Head. But she had done another thing. Instead, not
wanting to look at that thing of power -- certainly, not to touch
it -- she had left it there. Until she could find a stick.

Finding a stick, she used the stick to pick
up the crystal's chain.

She knew what to do then. Put it in Melcor's
secret hiding place.

The Mage, Melcor, did not know that she knew
of his secret place. But she had watched Melcor slip the wall stone
out and swing it to the side. Watched Melcor consult the magic book
that he kept there in that large space. (Melcor had put her under a
light spell that bound her. But he had forgotten to take away her
mind. Or sight. So she had learned what Melcor thought only he
knew. About the hiding place.)

"Are you sure this is the way? We've been
going up and down stairs a long time."

The Mage could not be fooled much longer. It
was dangerous to lie to Mages. Ever! She would have to take him to
the tower, after all. Since there was no means that she could see
to make him dead, she must do what he commanded or he would hurt
her!

"We are almost there, John-Lyon." She had
remembered that he wanted to be called that name. John-Lyon.

Even after he had become the Mage of
Stil-de-grain -- for his own reasons -- he denied that he was also
the dread sorcerer, Pfnaravin, Crystal-Mage of Malachite.

Who could understand the mind of Mages?

When the soldiers came in the not so long
ago, they had come to catch Pfnaravin. The Army Head had asked the
castle slaveys about Pfnaravin. Why he was not in the castle like
the Head had thought.

Platinia had told the Head that the Mage had
traveled to the other world. But that he would come back soon. That
was what the soldier wished to hear. Platinia always told men what
they wished to hear.

That was when the soldiers built the cage. To
trap Pfnaravin.

After straining to lift the cage up all the
stairs, they had put it on the place where Pfnaravin must come
back. In the tower room.

Platinia had showed them where to put the
cage so that, when the Mage returned, he would return into the
cage, and so, be trapped.

As the Head soldier had wanted, she had tried
to throw her mind into the other world: to beg John-Lyon-Pfnaravin
to come back. Though she could only hope her mind was with the
Mage, she had wished that John-Lyon-Pfnaravin would come back. She
was so sure the soldiers would then kill the Mage! It was the
perfect time to do it since he would return without his
crystal.

Then, everything went wrong. The other man
had come instead. Platinia knew the other man was not Pfnaravin.
But did not tell that to the soldiers. (Platinia only talked to men
when she was forced to do so. Men were dangerous! Men hurt
her!)

The old man in the cage had said he was not
Pfnaravin; but the soldiers did not listen. The chief priest had
wished to torture the old man. The Head soldier had said no. That
first, they would give him time to realize that he must answer
questions. It was then that the Army Head had the old man's cage
raised up into the air. For safekeeping.

But the old man died. From her hiding place
behind the ... tapestry ... she had seen that. Heard the Army Head
say the old man was dead. Saw the soldiers take his body out.

It was after that, after the others left,
that the real Pfnaravin had found her hiding behind the cloth.

Platinia was tired from all this climbing.
Her mind was wandering.

Did the soldiers know that the real Pfnaravin
had returned to Hero Castle? She did not think so.
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had hidden from the soldiers, as she had been
hiding. They had both seen the old man die.

If Platinia had gotten free from
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin, she would have told the soldiers he was there.
Since Pfnaravin was without his crystal, the soldiers could have
killed him.

But the Mage had stayed with her every
minute. He had gone with her as she got his food. He had kept her
with him while he ate.

And after eating, the Mage had questioned
her. About the crystal.

What could she say? She must tell the truth
to the man with eyes that pierced her mind and body. Eyes the color
of the sky of Malachite. Making chills go through her when he
looked at her and smiled.

So she had told him. But with a little lie.
How the soldiers had come so that she could not take the crystal to
the man, Coluth. Told him she had hidden it instead. Of course, the
soldiers had come much later. A fact she had not told the Mage.

Then, John-Lyon-Pfnaravin, desiring his
crystal, had wanted her to take him to the crystal's hiding
place.

Which meant that he would be safe from her.
Safe from ... everyone. For how could she find a way to kill the
Mage while he wore his crystal!?

Now, her time run out, she led
John-Lyon-Pfnaravin through the curving, upper hall. And finally,
into the tower room beyond.

The floor was wet. Slippery. But that was
always true. There, to the left, was where she had bent Melcor's
magic to make the ceiling fall.

Melcor's body and the stones that crushed him
had all been taken out. In the long ago.

The room smelled ... bad.

"So, you said that Melcor had a hiding place
in here? Where is it?"

"It is in that, wall, John-Lyon." She had no
choice. She had to tell.

"Show me."

Platinia still leading, they crossed over to
the wall.

Bending down, she counted stones from the
bottom. One, two, three. One, two. That was the stone that moved.
That was the stone that, when you put your fingers on its edges,
you could pull it out.

She had seen Melcor do that. Later, when she
had to hide the crystal, she had been surprised how easily that big
stone moved. But only if you pulled straight out.

It looked just like the other stones in the
room's dark walls. Dirty. With black streaks. Sometimes, like the
others, wet with morning or with evening mist.

But that stone was different. When, just like
Melcor, she had pulled on its roughened edges, it had come straight
back. After that, like Melcor, she had moved it to the side, the
space opening in back of it. A large space. A space for the hiding
of the magic book.

She had never learned to read. She did not
know anyone who could. Anyone who was alive. Melcor could read the
book. But he was dead.

Could John-Lyon read the book of magic? He
was a Mage, so maybe he could read.

Would the reading of this book make him more
dangerous? At that terrible thought, she felt sweat start to streak
her forehead!

With both book and crystal, would he be too
powerful for anyone to kill? Using Melcor's own magic, she had
killed Melcor. But Melcor was a lesser Mage.

Now that she thought of it, it was strange
that John-Lyon-Pfnaravin had said nothing of the book ........ But
not as strange as other things that the Mage did.

"Well, if this wall opens, show me how its
done."

She could delay no longer. The Mage was eager
to have his crystal. With his crystal around his neck, would he
hurt her now? Or would he wait and hurt her later? Platinia knew
nothing of the mind of Mages. Only that he would hurt her sometime.
Like before.

Putting her fingers on the edges of the
block, the stone that was two more than three blocks up from the
slippery floor, she pulled.

Again, the block came out. She swung the
block to the side.

"Clever," John-Lyon said.

The tall Mage shouldered past her, now. Was
doing something strange, like he often did. Was using his hands as
if to measure the size of the hidden place.

Was the crystal still there? The yellow
Mage-crystal of Stil-de-grain? Platinia, trying not to look, had
stuck it back into that black space. Had shaken it off the stick so
that it fell back in there.

She had not seen the book. She did not want
to look at a magic book any more than she wished to see a
Mage-crystal. Such things were dangerous.

"For now, Platinia, if you don't mind, I'd
like you to stand out in the hall. To warn me if soldiers are
coming. Would you do that for me?" The Mage spoke differently than
Melcor did. Differently than King Yarro spoke to her. But she was
not fooled. He did not want her to look for soldiers. He wanted her
outside the room when he put the crystal back around his neck.

While his orders were like questions, she
knew she must obey.

"Yes."

"Thank you. I won't be a moment."

The Mage was so ... polite ... that
sometimes, she had been fooled into liking him ... a little
............

She must not be fooled!

Trembling, Platinia left the Mage in the
tower room.

Was there time for her to run and get the
soldiers? Time before the Mage got the crystal around his neck?