“Logistilla even married Malagigi!” Mephisto declared gleefully. Then, he paused and tapped his finger against his cheek. “Or was it Eliaures?”
“Both,” I laughed, adding, when I saw Mab’s outraged expression, “Not at the same time, of course.”
“Both matches ending badly,” Theo said stiffly.
“Which means?” Mab leaned forward inquiringly.
“The gentlemen in question spent time as a boar or a goat,” I replied. “All Logistilla’s paramours end up that way.
“I thought Theo was going to marry his beloved Alcina,” Mephisto sighed dreamily. “But it was not to be.”
“Why? What happened?” asked Mab.
“They were French aristocrats.” Theo’s voice became grave. “One morning in 1793, the entire family was taken by surprise by Robespierre’s fanatics. They were dragged from their home before they could gather the tools necessary to practice their art.
“They lost their heads to Madame La Guillotine—the men, the women, even the half-sister with the serpent tail.” He shook his head in disgust. “A thousand years they lived secretly among men, and they were all killed in a single day, slain by envy and spite.”
“Weren’t they great magicians?” Mab asked. “Why didn’t they save themselves with magic? Not that I recommend that course of action, mind you. I’m just surprised they would show restraint under the circumstances.”
“The problem with sorcery,” Mephisto announced from the couch, “is that it’s no good unless you’re prepared! If they catch you without your staff, you’re just like anybody else—a dweeb.”
“Is that what you are, Harebrain?” Mab drawled. “A dweeb?”
“Yes, and I hate being a dweeb!” Mephisto replied fiercely. More cheerfully, he added, “Which is why I want you to find my staff!”
“Then you had best get underway,” Theo said stiffly. “You don’t want it to fall into the hands of the Three Shadowed Ones. Where are you going next?”
When I did not respond immediately, Theo asked curiously, “Who else have you warned?”
“So far, we’ve reached Mephisto and yourself,” I replied, “and we sent a letter to Cornelius. I’m assuming Cornelius knows where to find Erasmus.”
“If he doesn’t, the Orbis Suleimani will know,” Theo said, adding, “Cornelius is their leader.”
“Orbis Suleimani?” Mab flipped through his notes. “Did you mention them before? Who are they?”
Theo ran a finger along his mantelpiece, checking for dust. “The Circle of Solomon, the secret society founded by King Solomon, from which the Freemasons were later derived.”
“Holy Setebos!” Mab’s face went pale. “I’ve heard of those guys, and they aren’t nice to the likes of me. Used to have a—well, you’d call it a cousin. Poor sucker got caught by those bastards one night, and they put him in a jar. Far as I know, he’s still in there, and it has been over a millennium!” Mab turned to me. “Have you mentioned these guys before, Ma’am?”
“I don’t know much about them.” My eyes narrowed. “Women are not allowed to join, but our family has been involved with them since before I was born. They’re the organization I mentioned earlier, the one that backed my grandfather’s bid to become duke of Milan. They have tasked themselves with keeping all mention of magic out of official records.”
I did not add that it was thanks to the Orbis Suleimani that Father and I did not appear in history books. All record of our exploits had been removed, and the period of Father’s reign credited to his father and younger brothers. The Orbis Suleimani did not bother eradicating The Tempest, given that it was generally regarded as fiction.
“Shhh!” Mephisto whispered loudly from the couch, “Ix-nay on illing- spay our ecrets-say, ench-way!”
I raised my eyebrow imperiously, then whispered back just as loudly. “This is Mab we’re talking to, Mephisto. He’s one of our employees, and he’s trying to help us. What’s the point of keeping secrets from him?”
“So, these Orbis guys go around changing the history books and messing with public records?” Mab asked. When Theo and Mephisto both nodded, Mab asked bluntly, “Why?”
“It’s part of their duty as guardians of the legacy of King Solomon.” Theo came to lean against the back of the armchair in which he had previously sat. His dog trotted over as well and sat beside him, gazing up soulfully at his master. “When men believed in the supernatural, they were victims. They tried to solve their problems by appealing to supernatural entities for help. Many of these beings demanded worship in return. Few of them were worthy of the honor human beings paid them, and some of them were downright evil.
“As soon as men stopped believing that pagan gods and spirits could help them, they began solving their own problems,” Theo continued. “Notice the Renaissance and the Industrial Revolution started in Europe. This was not because the Europeans were wiser than other peoples, but because that was where the Orbis Suleimani was most active. The idea that we lived in an orderly, scientific world caught on, and men began studying nature and benefited from it accordingly.
“Of course, it’s just a deception created by Solomon’s heirs and maintained, nowadays, by the Orbis Suleimani and Prospero, Inc.—what scientists call ‘physical matter’ only behaves consistently because King Solomon captured the four kings of the elements and bound them to the service of mankind. But it is a deception that is useful to the dignity and well-being of men,” Theo explained. He added piously, “Also, people are more likely to turn to God Almighty for their solace when they do not believe in lesser supernatural entities.”
Mab scribbled away for a time and then muttered, “Got it. Thanks.” He turned to me. “Anything else noteworthy about them, Ma’am?”
“Back in Milan,” I replied, “my father was a member of the Orbis Suleimani. Soon after he joined, there was a division in their ranks. Father was loyal to one faction. Uncle Antonio and King Alfonso of Naples, Ferdinand’s father, belonged to the other. Their falling out led to the treachery that ended with Father and my infant self being exiled to Prospero’s Island.”
“And the second betrayal?” Mab asked.
It had never occurred to me to wonder if the opposing side of the Orbis Suleimani was involved in bringing the French to Milan. I replied hesitantly, “As far as I know, that was fueled by personal ambition.”
“And you’re sure this Uncle Antonio isn’t behind your current problems?” asked Mab.
I laughed. “He’s been dead a long time.”
“Did anyone actually see the body?” Mab asked.
“We all did,” Theo confirmed. “One of his old supporters turned on him when he realized that Antonio had betrayed Milan to the French. Erasmus found Antonio lying in the mud, dying, and made his last few minutes comfortable.”
“Erasmus sent a runner to fetch Father,” I said, “but by the time Father arrived, Antonio was gone.”
Only three times had I ever seen my father weep. The death of Antonio was the first. That was when I learned that Father and Antonio had been the best of friends as children, before power and Milan had come between them.
“His death has always troubled me.” Theo frowned. “Antonio was a bad man, and he died unshriven. I fear he may be burning in Hell.”
“Er . . . right,” muttered Mab. He reviewed what he had just written. “Which faction of the Orbis Suleimani is Cornelius loyal to, Ma’am? Your father’s or Dead Antonio’s?”
“I don’t know. I never paid much attention, myself—too much mumbo jumbo for my taste.” Theo squatted beside the armchair and let the dog lick his face.
“Bears looking into.” Mab scribbled furiously.
Mephisto, who had slumped down again, popped his head up over the back of the couch. “Oh, Cornelius is loyal to Daddy. No doubt about that!”
“That covers Cornelius and Erasmus, then,” Theo said. “What about Logistilla?”
“Mephisto knows where she is, but he’s not talking.” Mab turned tow
ard the couch. “Hey? How did a harebrain like you manage to track down so many family members anyway, when my detectives can’t find hide nor hair of them?”
“What’s to track down?” Mephisto folded his arms across the back of the couch and beamed at Mab. “I’m not a head-in-my-shell, like Miranda and Theo here. I never lost track of them. Well, except for Titus. He just dropped off the face of the earth about two years ago—hopefully not literally. And Ulysses, of course, but who could track him? I mean I know where he was when I last saw him, but who knows if he’ll ever go back there again? He’s less rooted than thistledown! I like his staff.” He considered this for a moment before concluding, “But I like mine better!”
“Hardly admirable that you’ve kept track of your relatives when your motive is to hit them up for money,” Mab observed.
“Oh, and you know so much about my motives, Mr. Bodyguard!” Mephisto replied hotly. He stuck out his tongue.
“Last I heard, Logistilla was living on an island in the East Indies,” I offered. “She also has a place near the Okefenokee Swamp and another on the Russian Steppe. She loves the Steppe,” I said, turning to Mab. “She’s a superb horsewoman. Horses were her greatest passion before she became a sorceress.”
“What changed her? Getting her staff?” Mab asked.
“No, being left out of our most famous undertaking.” Theo chuckled, smiling in reminiscence. “While the rest of us risked danger and gained glory, Logistilla was stuck holding the horses. She wanted to make certain we’d never have an excuse to leave her behind again, so she took up the study of magic.”
“Which most famous undertaking would this be?” Mab asked.
“The stealing of the artifacts of power from the popes of Rome,” all three of us Prosperos said in unison.
“Whoa! I thought all those Catholic artifacts were hoaxes,” said Mab. “Didn’t they recently debunk the Shroud of Turin?”
I smiled. “Of course, the shroud the Church has is a fake. The original is in the tapestry room in Father’s mansion.”
Mab scowled and spat. “No wonder that demon got past the wards. That house is even more polluted than I thought. How did you Prosperos know where these artifacts were?”
Rising, Theo glowered and took a step toward Mab. “You will not use the word ‘pollute’ in reference to the shroud of Our Lord in my house!”
Mab lowered the brim of his hat. “My apologies, sir.”
“As to how we knew . . .” Theo leaned against the wall again and scratched the dog behind the ear. “Gregor was pope at the time. But, back to Father. What of Father himself? What efforts have you made to find him? Have you at least traced him to wherever he was when he disappeared?”
“We sent detectives after Father as soon as we knew he was not at home,” I replied.
“Why didn’t you go looking for him yourself?” Theo asked, his voice suddenly accusatory. He jerked his thumb toward Mab. “If he’s the best detective Prospero, Inc. has, why is he here, instead of looking for Father?”
“Those weren’t Father’s instructions,” I replied simply.
Theo stared very hard at me and then sat down in his armchair and put his face in his hands. After a time, he spoke without looking up. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time now, Miranda. When you were growing up on that island, did Father spend a lot of time looking after you?”
“No,” I replied slowly, puzzled by this dramatic change of subject. “He was usually studying, at least until I came to be of tutoring age. Ariel kept me out of trouble.”
“Ariel? Mab, you must know Ariel well. How good, would you say, is Ariel’s judgment of what is good or bad for humans?” Theo sat back.
“Lousy,” murmured Mab. “Take it from me.”
“What’s this about, Theo?” I asked.
“You were left alone a lot as a child, yet unlike every other child in the world, you never got in trouble, and you never got into Father’s hair.”
“I was obedient,” I replied, adding under my breath, “unlike some people.” Theo had been a dutiful boy, but I would not say the same for my other brothers.
Theo continued, “On an island, where every living creature—the Aerie Ones, Caliban, and even the flowers—were bound to Father’s will . . . hasn’t it ever occurred to you, Miranda, to wonder if he might have bound yours as well?”
“No.” I dismissed the idea.
“Well, it’s occurred to me many times, and I’ll tell you something else. I don’t think he ever got around to releasing you either. Here it is, over fiftyfive decades later, and you still can’t help but obey his every command, even when disobeying might save his life,” Theo said bitterly.
“That is insane. Ridiculous,” I objected. “You have absolutely no evidence.”
“Then why don’t you give up looking for the others and go find Father?” Theo asked persistently.
“Those weren’t his instructions.”
A deep, trembling growl came from over by the writing desk. Mab stalked slowly forward, his eyes smoldering.
“Mr. Prospero wouldn’t have done that, would he?” he asked. “By Setebos and the Four Quarters! If I find that he enchanted Miss Miranda, there will be hell to pay!”
“Relax, Mab. No one has enchanted me. If you care about Father so much, Theo, why don’t you go save him, rather than accusing other people of being bewitched?” I snapped back.
Theo rose, and my heart leapt, for he looked as if he planned to take up his staff and head out to save Father there and then. If he would only leave his farm and return to the world, I was certain he could find the strength of will to throw off this malady of the spirit, whatever it was that had poisoned him and made him turn his back on the family and on life.
Theo’s gaze dulled. The sense of purpose left his body, and he slouched back in the chair again.
“I’m certain Father can take care of himself,” he said flatly. “He can’t be in Hell. That’s ridiculous. No, this is about you. You just don’t face up to facts. You know, Miranda, sometimes I think Erasmus is right about you. Nothing has touched you in five hundred years. You’re the same now as you were at sixteen.” He coughed briefly and then stood up. “Excuse me, I am going to get myself a glass of water.”
Theo headed for the kitchen with the old hound following him, its nails clicking loudly against the broad boards of the floor. As they disappeared through the door leading to the kitchen, an older woman’s voice rang out cheerfully, inquiring what she could get him and whether he wanted refreshments for his guests. From her tone of address, she sounded more like an employee than the mistress of the house.
As my brother stomped off, I stared after him, stung. Was this really Theophrastus, my loyal brother who had defended me unfailingly against Erasmus’s cool and acerbic humor? How bitter he had grown in his old age! Even so, I found it hard to stomach his siding with Erasmus. If Theo had fallen this far, what hope had I of rousing him?
Rage toward my malicious brother swept over me. Intellectually, I knew Theo’s new attitude was not Erasmus’s fault, but I could not quite get myself to believe it.
The door of the kitchen, which had been propped open, banged shut behind my brother, and I forgave Theo for all his rudeness.
On the back of the door hung a shield-shaped embroidery frame. The dark walnut frame held an embroidery of an elegant unicorn rampant upon a field of royal blue. The unicorn had a silver horn and silver hooves. Tiny pale flowers of light blue and lavender grew at her feet. The piece had faded over time, the unicorn’s graceful deer-like body yellowing to a creamy beige. Yet I felt it had aged well.
The sight of the faded embroidery brought back a flood of memories. Long ago, Erasmus claimed my lack of skill at womanly arts resulted from some want in my person. In truth, it was my upbringing among spirits rather than civilization that was to blame. Theo had stood up for me and told Erasmus that if he repeated his slanders, he would have to answer to Theo and his Toledo steel. And wh
en Erasmus refused to be silent, Theo had beaten him soundly.
To show my thanks, I secretly learned the very arts Erasmus had mocked me for lacking. The first thing I made with my new skills was this embroidery of Theo’s livery, for Theo had kept the vow he made in the Filarete Tower at the age of five. He had taken the Unicorn as his device and had devoted his long life to righting wrongs in her name. That my embroidery hung here, when even his beloved sword and clock were not in evidence, meant that, despite his gruff words, he had not forgotten his affection for me.
THEO came back with a tray of fresh-baked cookies and a mug of hot chocolate for each of us. He carried the tray around and handed out the cocoa before settling back in his armchair with a cookie and his glass of water. The dog scampered back as well, and laid its grizzled muzzle across his feet.
The sight of the embroidery had warmed me, and the cookie was sweet and fresh from the oven. As I sipped my cocoa, however, I felt a dull emptiness spreading through my heart. Out in the snow, I had felt so confident that a few encouraging words were all that would be needed to rouse Theo out of his lethargy. I had not counted on the debilitating effects of the physical ills from which he suffered. These ills were hardly a barrier, of course. A drop or two of Water of Life and he would be good as new again. However, they sapped his spirit, keeping him from rallying against the reaper whose dry fleshless hands clawed at his door. I had tried Father’s plight. I had tried reminiscing. I had tried righteous anger against the demons, I had even tried family duty, from which the Theo of old never shirked. Nothing had worked.
I did not know what to do.
Silently, I bowed my head and prayed to my Lady, asking for Her aid, begging Her not to let my brother die.
Mephisto, who had been watching a soap opera, switched off the TV. His mouth full of cookie, he peeked over the edge of the couch and blurted. “Hey, Theo, you’ll never guess who we saw at the hotel today! Prince Ferdinand. You remember him . . . the supposed sap? Did you know he jilted our sister? At the altar, even? Left her standing there in her wedding dress! I bet you didn’t know that.” He waggled his index finger at Theo. “Somehow, Miranda neglected to mention this down through the centuries.”
Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I Page 15