Yet, my thoughts kept slipping away from work and back to Ferdinand. I tried to recall Ferdinand as he had been when we first met, but his voice, his smile, his laugh, were lost in the mists of time. The real events were all tumbled with Shakespeare’s version in my mind. After all, I had only lived my life once, but I had seen The Tempest performed hundreds of times down the centuries. It was a family favorite.
Shakespeare must have been closer to the truth than I remembered. Maybe Father really had forgiven Uncle Antonio, and I had only invented the idea we had been seeking revenge to soothe my broken heart and hurt pride. Or, had Father been as eager for revenge as I later recalled? Exactly what kind of man had Father been when I was young? I shook my head, but the mists of time refused to dispel. I wished Father were around so I could ask him. He was already an old man in those days, while I had been a mere child. Undoubtedly, he would remember what really happened.
Only, Father was missing. . . .
OUTSIDE the plane, a storm moved in suddenly—great black thunderheads looming ominously before us. Normally, Mab and I would have flown into the tempest for the joy of it; however, we were in a hurry. Mab took the plane above the clouds, while I prepared a song to play on my flute that would disperse the storm without dispersing Mab, in case the weather worsened.
As we pulled above the writhing clouds, a lightning bolt snaked across the storm-darkened sky. Smiling, I pressed my cheek against the cool glass of the window and waved. As if in answer, the lightning bolt formed, for an instant, the outline of a horned equine rearing up on its hind legs. From the cockpit, I heard Mab’s exclamation of wonder, and Mephisto’s yelp of surprise. They had seen it, too!
As the dark clouds fell away below us, I stared out, the afterimage of the unicorn still visible to my eye, and a feeling of joy replaced the heaviness which had overtaken my heart.
AFTER landing at Manchester Airport, we rented another car. I drove, following Mephisto’s directions. We passed briefly through the city of Manchester, then found ourselves driving through beautiful rustic New Hampshire on our way to Vermont. My sense of urgency growing, I barreled down the road at well over the speed limit. Mab muttered a snide comment, but I ignored him. In Chicago, he had been speeding in busy traffic. The roads I was racing down were empty.
Once we were underway, Mab pulled out his notebook and his stubby pencil. There followed some snorting and shuffling as he arranged them on his lap to his satisfaction. Once done, he jerked out his arm so that he could glance at his watch without his sleeve blocking the view.
Noting my glance, he said, “Keeping track of the time, Ma’am. I’m expecting to get paid double my normal rate for this. Okay, Mr. Mephistopheles Prospero, fire away.”
“Where should I start?” asked Mephisto. In the rearview mirror, I could see him spreading his arms. “There’s so much to say.”
“When did you realize the staff had been stolen?” Mab began.
“In the morning when I woke up. I reached for it to summon up a maenad or a harpy to cook me breakfast, but it was gone.”
“You are certain that it was there the night before?”
“Yup. I summoned up the Archangel Uriel just before Chalandra arrived.”
“The Archangel Uriel,” breathed Mab in amazement. “Holy Croesus! What can’t this staff do?”
“It can only call beings or beasts with whom Mephisto has properly prepared covenants, the creatures whose images are carved into the length of the staff,” I offered from the driver’s seat. “I believe Erasmus summoned Uriel for him the first time.”
“Have you ever seen it?” Mephisto bounced in his seat enthusiastically, “I wouldn’t want you not to recognize it if you came upon it. It’s about six feet long. It’s made of dozens of little wooden figurines with jeweled eyes, all attached together.”
“Six feet! Hardly, Mephisto! Five feet at the longest,” I said, picturing the staff resting in the hand of Mephisto’s self-portrait statue.
“It used to be,” he spoke rapidly. “I . . . uh . . . made it longer.”
“How?” I demanded. “Father never mentioned anything.”
Mephisto shifted uneasily in the back seat.
“Uh, I had more compacts made, so I had to add more figurines,” he answered offhandedly, then continued with more animation. “But let me finish describing what it looks like. The very top has a winged lion head, then comes Uriel and celestial beings, like Pegasus and those guys. The celestial guys are all carved out of light-colored woods, like pine and birch. After that comes normal animals: cats and hounds and boars. These guys are carved from brown woods, like maple and beech. The bottom part had magical beasts: chimera, cockatrice, Nessie, my Bully Boy, seven hoods from D. C., you know, that kind of thing. They’re made of darker woods, like mahogany. The last figurine at the bottom is ebony. It’s a Horror of the Deep Abyss that Father met once in his travels. But I don’t call him up often. He smells.”
“Surprised you would notice,” Mab muttered.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Mephisto replied cheerfully, rushing on. “As I said, I had used it the night before. When I woke up, the staff was gone, and so was Chalandra. So I figured they had to have gone together. Bright of me, wasn’t it, Miranda?”
“Brilliant,” I muttered noncommittally. This was a discussion into which I did not wish to be drawn.
“Which reminds me,” Mephisto chirped. “What happened to Daddy? I mean, you said something happened to him, right? So, where is he? Is he better now? Why isn’t he here helping us? Or, are we on assignment for him, just like in the old days? That would be fun, I miss those days when we’d all go rushing off together to wrestle some recalcitrant rock troll that was shaking boulders onto the town at the foot of his mountain, or to mug some dopey sorcerer who had sicced an old hag on some pathetic rival.”
“I wish,” I said sadly. “Unfortunately, I don’t know where he is.”
“Well . . . what was he up to? I mean, you must know! You’re Miranda. You know everything! And besides, wherever Daddy goes, you go.”
“Not since he retired.”
“Oh.” Mephisto shrugged. “Oh well. What a shame. I’m sure he’ll turn up. After all, he’s Daddy. He knows everything even more than you do.”
I considered pointing out to Mephisto that his comment made no sense, but Mab interrupted.
“Just a moment.” Mab raised his hand. “I . . . I got to ask. Why—I mean for what awful and occult purpose—could you possibly have needed to summon the Archangel Uriel, Potentate of Heaven, Lord of the West Quadrant?”
“I wanted to look good for my date.”
“You summoned up an Archangel of Heaven—an angel of the Choir of the Seraphim—to help you prepare for a date?” Mab asked, an incredulous expression on his usually stolid face.
“Yeah, angels are very good at decking people out in impressive raiment,” said Mephisto. “I recommend them to anyone who needs a valet.”
“North Wind blow this madness from me,” muttered Mab.
He shook his grizzled head in mingled disgust and awe. I chuckled at his expression, but my sympathies were entirely with Mab. Angels were the Breath of God, living Words whose presence made one aware of the majesty of Heaven and the shabbiness of mortal things. Summoning them for any reason made me uneasy, much less for frivolous purposes! The only forces more awesomely destructive than our enemies, the Powers of Hell, were the Powers of Heaven.
Mephisto was saying, “Anyway, so when I found out it was missing, I went over to the hotel where Chalandra was staying.”
“This woman you had the date with. I assume she was someone important, if you felt you needed an archangel to dress you. You were planning to propose or something, right? How long had you known her?” Mab snapped.
“Oh, a long time,” Mephisto assured him earnestly. “Almost three days!”
“Three days? You summoned one of the Seraphim of High Heaven to dress you for a date with a dame you’d known for
three days! By Setebos and Titania! You’d checked her out, I assume? Tell me something about her.”
“Checked her out? For a date? If I had to check out every girl I went on a date with, I’d never have time to do anything else, including going on dates with pretty women!”
“Surely you could take the time for a few precautions. How many women do you date a month?”
“Twenty or thirty.”
“He’s exaggerating, isn’t he?” Mab asked turning to me. “He’s bragging, right?”
I shook my head. “No. For some reason I have never understood, women seem to like him.”
“I see,” Mab said grimly.
“Anyway,” Mephisto rushed on, “I caught sight of her as she was heading across the lobby, carrying my staff. Then, she caught sight of me and ducked into the ladies’ room. I waited a little while, but she didn’t come out. So, I decided I wasn’t about to let the ladies’ room stop me. A bunch of ladies screamed when I looked in the stalls. But none of them were Chalandra, so I ignored them.
“The back window was broken, and the curtains were flapping. I leapt out the window and saw a man running down the back alley carrying my staff.”
“Was there any sign of this Chalandra character in the back alley?” Mab asked.
Mephisto frowned at the interruption. “What does that have to do with anything? Anyway, I ran after my staff, but the guy climbed into a truck.”
“Was this in Chicago?” Mab asked. “What did the man look like?”
Mephisto stamped his foot against the car floor. “Will you stop interrupting my story!”
“Do you want my help or not?” Mab flipped his notebook shut. “Never mind, Ma’am. I suggest we give up. I can’t help this brother. And, if the others are anything like him, I don’t think I want to help them either, if it’s all the same to you.”
“You help me find my staff or I’ll . . . I’ll have Miranda fire you!” Mephisto exploded.
“I’m shaking in my boots,” Mab purred.
“Mab!” I began reluctantly.
Mab cut me off. “He’s the one who won’t answer questions, Ma’am. Got to proceed in an orderly fashion, or we’ll get nowhere.”
I caught my brother’s gaze in the rearview mirror and said gently. “Mephisto, if you want his help, you must answer his questions.”
Mephisto pouted and crossed his arms.
“Very well.” I stepped on the brake. “We’ll turn around and give up. Mab won’t help you. We won’t help Theo.”
We were driving through miles of national forest. Dark pines flanked the narrow road. To the right, a dirt road led to a camping area. I pulled off the road here and began turning the vehicle around, my seat rising and falling as the car bumped over the deep ruts.
“Okay, okay!” Mephisto cried, as the tires spun on the sand. “I’ll put up with his rude interruptions for the sake of progress. After all, my staff is more important than my vanity.”
“Glad something is,” Mab muttered under his breath. I shot him a warning glance.
Turning the car about again, I drove back onto the highway and continued in the direction we had been going. The forest parted to reveal craggy gray cliffs. Half visible in the distance, white-capped mountains hovered like dark ghosts.
“What were the questions again?” Mephisto asked cheerfully.
“Did this happen in Chicago?” Mab replied through clenched teeth.
“No.”
Mab waited, but Mephisto did not elaborate. Sighing, he asked, “Where did it happen?”
“Washington—D. C.”
“I see,” Mab made a note. “What did the guy look like? The one you saw running with your staff?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Stocky guy in a gray pinstripe suit, with bright red hair.”
“Ever seen him before?”
Mephisto hesitated, brows furrowed, then he shrugged and shook his head.
“Go on,” Mab encouraged.
“As I was saying, the guy climbed into a truck. I hailed a cab, and we chased him. It was just like in the movies. We were careening left and right, cutting off congressmen and buses! Just like James Bond or Knight Rider!”
“Did you catch him?”
The animated expression on Mephisto’s face died. “No. We had to stop for a light. That never happens in the movies!”
He shot an accusing glance at Mab, who sank back in the seat. Reaching up, Mab tilted his hat over his face and muttered, “I wouldn’t know.”
Mephisto continued to glare.
Mab sighed. “So then what? You left D. C. and came to Chicago. Why? Because the light was better in Chicago?”
Mephisto snorted impatiently and forged ahead. “I was heartbroken! And after I’d had such faith in the cab driver! But, he was worthy after all. You see, he had noted the truck’s license plate and its licensing number. You know, those numbers trucks have painted on their doors? The cab driver called a friend of his, who found the address of the company that owned the truck. We went there. It was a big warehouse in Maryland. Just as we arrived, I saw my staff going in the door. I rushed in after it, but I couldn’t find the staff or the man. They threw me out, but I went back after dark.”
Mephisto launched into a convoluted story that described how he snuck back in the dead of night and broke into the warehouse, but which also included what he had had for dinner that night, and the process he went through to have his fancy clothes dry-cleaned now that he no longer had his angel valet. His meandering tale was punctuated regularly by brisk questions from Mab.
The rhythm of the road and the constant scratching of Mab’s pencil lulled me into allowing my thoughts to drift. We had passed the state line and were now in Vermont. Thickly forested hills rolled away in all directions, dotted here and there with patches of snow. High overhead, turkey vultures circled, their ragged wingtips silhouetted against the winter sky. Closer at hand, the liquid eyes of deer watched our progress from beneath overhanging boughs of pine and spruce.
As I gazed out at the gorgeous vista, contemplating Mephisto’s story, I began to wonder, again, what had happened to him. He had always been athletic, but he had been nimble of mind as well. Back in his youth, whenever a puzzle confronted the family, Mephistopheles would invariably be the first to solve it. Things came naturally to him that others had to work hard to achieve. Erasmus might currently be the best magician in the family—other than Father, of course—but that was only because Mephisto had dropped out of the running. Nor was magic the only area where Mephistopheles had excelled. He had also been a master with a paintbrush and with a blade, at one point earning himself the sobriquet of “the best swordsman in Christendom.”
When Mephisto’s condition became apparent, Father devoted a century to searching for a cure. Then, one day, he ceased pursuing the matter. I questioned him about this more than once, but Father could be extremely cagey when he wished. To this day, I did not know if he had discovered something that caused him to back off or if he merely decided the matter was no longer worth pursuing.
IN the back seat, Mephisto was finishing his story. “. . . had to run, but that was okay, because by then I’d broken open every object big enough to possibly hold my staff. I think . . . I might have made a mess.”
“Let me guess,” Mab drawled slowly, “You didn’t find it?”
Mephisto shook his head sadly. “It wasn’t in there, and no one carried it out. Between the cab driver and me, we watched all the doors. But one truck left between when I arrived and when I got inside.”
“And . . . ?”
“That truck went to Chicago. So, that’s where I went!”
“Did you pay the cabby for his considerable investment of time?” I asked curiously.
Mephisto nodded. “I gave him my wallet.”
“Was there anything in it?”
“No, but it was a really expensive wallet, studded with diamonds! My brother Ulysses gave it to me. The cab driver was happy.”
“So, you followed t
he truck to Chicago?” Mab asked.
“Well, I started with the address the truck had been delivering to. I had found it in the office of the warehouse in Maryland. That’s how I knew where it had gone. But the place was empty when I arrived. It must have been a fake address!” He frowned and shrugged. “Or maybe I remembered it wrong.”
“How long between when the truck left Maryland and when you arrived in Chicago?”
Mephisto hesitated while he figured it out, counting on his fingers. Finally, he said. “Eleven.”
“Eleven hours?”
“No, eleven weeks,” Mephisto said. When Mab groaned, he added defensively. “It took me a while to get there. I visited Theo, Miranda, and Logistilla first. Oh, and I went by Cornelius’s to borrow money.”
Mab sighed. “One last question. What were you doing in Chicago when we found you?”
Mephisto answered cheerfully, “Oh, that’s easy. I was on my way to Daddy’s local office to borrow money. Only I’d been there to hit them up for dough already a few days ago—when I first arrived—so I didn’t know if they’d help me again. So, I was trying to make a little on my own.” Mephisto turned toward me. “Clever of you to come walking down the very road where I sat singing, Miranda!”
“Cleverness had nothing to do with it,” I replied, “My Lady directed me to walk that way.”
“What a good egg that Unicorn is!” Mephisto exclaimed. He put his chin on his palm. “She really knows her stuff!”
I cringed but did not rebuke him; calling my Lady a “good egg” was not, technically, disrespectful.
Mab took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Not much I can do here unless you want to give up the other matter, Miss Miranda. Trail’s a little old.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to investigate the workers at that warehouse and the Chicago address. Could you find the warehouse again, Mephisto?” I asked.
Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I Page 8