“Don’t be foolish, Mephisto,” Theo began, then he caught sight of the blush upon my cheeks. “Miranda . . . is he telling the truth?”
I stared into my mug, my appetite suddenly gone. When I finally spoke, it may have been the most difficult single word I ever pronounced.
“Yes.”
Theo looked so shocked and so hurt that, for a moment, the young man he had once been was visible through the wrinkles and the short gray beard. I would have been overjoyed had I not been wishing so very hard that I could turn invisible. The humiliation of watching the pain and doubt that warred upon my brother’s features was so great, I thought I should die. Tears of shame stung my eyes.
Theo did not even attempt to maintain his pretense of gruff aloofness. He cried, “B-but, he must be dead, some five hundred years now! Are you certain the man you saw was not a look-alike?”
“I don’t understand it either,” I mouthed. I had intended to speak, but no breath came. “But he asked for me by name. I suppose it could have been Osae,” I added more clearly. The thought cheered me, obscurely. “I didn’t get close enough to check for telltale red spots.”
“He abandoned you at the altar?” The muscle in Theo’s jaw began contracting. “How did he justify breaking his sacred engagement vow?”
“She doesn’t know. She ran away and wouldn’t talk to him,” Mephisto chimed in. He now had a mustache of chocolate foam. “Too chicken to face the man who wronged her and warped her for life.”
My face burned like a furnace, and I feared I might faint; something that had not happened to me since the 1800s, when the dictates of fashion required that I wear a corset too tight to allow for proper breathing. Theo, who had always adored me, regarded me with something akin to pity on his face.
I was saved from further indignity by a knock at the door. The three farmhands—a hefty, bearded man and two wiry fellows in flannel jackets—returned from the bonfire to report “the weirdest thing.” The bear carcass split open in the midst of the flames, and a small red bird had flown out. Theo asked a few questions and then sent them away, shaking his head.
“God’s teeth!” He reverted to the swear words of an earlier age. “He escaped me that way once before! I should have told my men to keep their guns ready and shoot anything that came out.” My brother shot a long angry look at the trunk upon which I was sitting.
Mab closed his notebook and adjusted his hat. “Look, it’s been nice visiting, Mr. Theophrastus, and I admire your philosophy. But we’ve got to be going, if we’re going to warn the rest of your relatives. Oh,” he snapped open the notebook. “There was one other question I wanted to ask Mr. Mephistopheles.” Mab turned to Mephisto. “What color was Chalandra’s hair?”
“Oh, the most pretty auburn, just like a Titian. And she had the most lovely pearly gray eyes . . . Oh!” Mephisto trailed off. His mouth fell open. Then he screwed up his face as he began to spit and sputter.
“Eew, gross! Yuck! Phewwy!”
“Teach you to be more careful about your bedmates,” Mab said. “You’re lucky she didn’t make off with both your staves.”
Mephisto drew his knees together. Theo shook his head in disgust, though he chuckled dryly in spite of himself.
“Well, we’re off then,” I said softly. The room seemed stiflingly hot, and I found myself short of breath. I had failed. Theo would die, and I would be left, bereft.
Theo stood, suddenly awkward. “Take care of yourself. If I don’t see you again . . .”
“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss,” Mephisto stood and slapped him on the back. “We’ll be back to bug you before you know it.”
“I would prefer if you did not return,” Theo replied stiffly.
While my brothers talked, I went to Mab and took back the crystal vial. When Theo’s head was turned, I slipped it onto the writing desk, next to the brown medicine container. I was probably wasting two ounces of the precious Water. But, some risks were worth it.
Moving across the room, I embraced Theo and kissed his bristly cheek. He squeezed me tightly to his chest.
“It has been good to see you again, Sister,” he said lamely, as he let me go. “You are as beautiful as ever. . . .” His hand rose as if to touch my cheek, then fell away. “Untouched by the passage of time.”
In light of his previous comment regarding Erasmus, his words pained my heart and nearly caused me to cry. I managed an appreciative smile and squeezed his hand, but he only stood frowning at me. Dropping my eyes, I turned to go.
That was when it struck me. One last desperate idea. Perhaps it was in my power to save my brother after all.
“Theo, do you recall the day atop Grantham Tor?” I stood in the doorway, framed by darkness and softly swirling snow.
“We were both children then,” Theo replied brusquely.
“So, your promises meant nothing?” I whispered, hurt. Maybe the Theo I loved was already dead. Maybe he had died long ago, on that horrible night beside Gregor’s grave. Maybe this man here was nothing but a husk.
Theo bristled and snapped fiercely, “I always keep my word!”
Oh, thank God! I drew myself up.
“Prince Ferdinand Di Napoli has offended my honor.”
I did not wait for him to answer, but turned and headed through the early evening gloom toward our rented car. As I crossed the snow-sprinkled yard, I could feel the heat of Theo’s anger burning behind me like a flame.
CHAPTER
NINE
The Gate in the Crate
“Miranda, your suitcase is chirping,” announced Mephisto.
“Quiet, pal, someone will hear you. Ma’am, haven’t I told you before you should turn that dratted thing off when on a stakeout?” Mab muttered, exasperated.
“Relax, Mab, we’re in a sealed car. No one is going to hear us. Only, I don’t think I can reach the phone. Could you answer it, please?” I asked.
Mab grunted and reached into the backseat of yet another rental car. As he opened the carrying case and answered the phone, I kept a lookout on the warehouse door across the parking lot.
It was early evening of the following day. We were in Landover, Maryland, parked in front of the warehouse that was the last known location of Mephisto’s staff. As soon as the warehouse employees cleared out, we were going in to have a look around.
After leaving Theo’s, we had driven back to the airport without incident. Once at the plane, I had wanted to hurry on to Logistilla’s, in hopes of reaching her before the Three Shadowed Ones did. Mephisto had refused to give us any additional directions, however, claiming we were not taking the hunt for his lost staff seriously. In return, Mab had offered to bash him with a lead pipe.
Since it was quite late in the evening, we had found a hotel for the night, where we could discuss the matter civilly. Eventually, we reached a compromise. Mephisto told us Logistilla lived in the Caribbean. In return, since Maryland was en route to the Caribbean from Vermont, we agreed to pause and check the warehouse where Osae had brought Mephisto’s staff and see if it might generate any additional leads. Once this was done, Mephisto promised, he would give us the exact location of St. Dismas’s Island, where our sister Logistilla lived.
So now we sat in the car, hunched down under a blanket, waiting in silence for the warehouse employees to depart. At least, we had sat in silence until my phone rang.
Mab spoke softly into the telephone. “Hello? Miranda Prospero’s answering service. Chicago, eh? What can we do for you? Really, you don’t say? Wait, I’ll ask her.” He covered the receiver with his hand, “Miss Miranda, it’s that kid from the Chicago office, Simon? He says there’s a gentleman at their office asking to see you, a Mr. Di Napoli. Mr. Ferdinand Di Napoli.”
This was unexpected.
“Any suggestions?” I barely managed to keep my voice from coming out as one long squeak.
“I know!” Mephisto bounced up and down, his hand raised. “Set up a meeting with him, then don’t show!”
“How the he
ck did he find us?” Mab growled. “Might not be a bad idea to hear what he has to say, Ma’am. I, for one, wouldn’t mind asking him a few questions. Would you like me to go speak with him?”
Mab’s tone of voice evoked images of single chairs positioned beneath unbearably bright spotlights. I laughed, despite my dismay. My palms were slick with sweat. I wiped them on my Irish Setter-ripped coat.
Meeting Ferdinand would cause a delay, and I was eager to carry out Father’s request, warn my family, and return to the business of running Prospero, Inc. On the other hand, I did not feel the sense of impending doom that had oppressed me before our encounter with Osae the Red. My sister must be warned, but it could probably wait a day. Besides, the unlikeliness of Ferdinand reappearing in my life now was too great to be a coincidence. I wanted to discover the relationship between his reappearance and the Three Shadowed Ones.
“Let’s meet him, then. I’ll come too.” The thought of sending Mab was appealing, but I could not run from my past forever. “Where?”
“Better make it some public place, Ma’am.”
“I’ve never lived around here. I don’t know any public places.”
“Everybody knows public places in D.C., and that’s only a few miles from here,” Mephisto said. “What about the Capitol building, or the Lincoln Memorial?”
“Very well,” I replied. “You may tell Simon we’ll meet Mr. Di Napoli tomorrow at noon at the Lincoln Memorial. If he can’t make it, so much the better.”
“Tomorrow, at noon, at the Lincoln Memorial. Gotcha.” Mab repeated the information into the cell phone. He hung up and looked at me. “You gonna tell your brother that this Ferdinand joker is going to be here?”
I sighed. “No. Theo would blast him before we got a word in edgewise. I think we should hear what Ferdinand has to say.”
Besides, the whole point had been to get Theo to leave his farm and interact with the world. That would hardly happen if I did his legwork for him.
MAB hung up and poured himself a cup of hot coffee from a thermos which he, like all good detectives, kept with him in the car along with a wide-mouthed jar. He offered a cup to Mephisto and me, but we both shook our heads. It was growing dark, and we could barely make out the two figures who came out of the warehouse, waved to each other, and climbed wearily into their cars. The lights came on in one car and then the other. Both cars pulled out and drove away. We were left alone with two trucks, a Dumpster, and the warehouse.
“That’s the truck I chased in the cab! I recognize the numbers.” Mephisto popped out from under a blanket and pointed over my shoulder at one of the two green-and-blue sixteen-wheelers. He frowned. “Or maybe it was the one over there. Anyway, they’re gone. Shall we go in?” Darting from the car, he started forward.
Mab leapt after him and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Hey, punk, where do you think you’re going?”
“Get your hands off me. Into the warehouse, isn’t that the plan?” Mephisto shrugged free of Mab’s grip.
“If you want to set off the alarms and notify the police,” Mab said.
“They didn’t have any alarms when I was here before,” Mephisto said.
“That was before the place got trashed, by you. If they’re not bonkers or bankrupt, they’ve upped their security since then.” Mab squinted, pointing through the gloom at the warehouse. “See that sticker by the door? That tells us they have a security system. Hand me the binoculars, Ma’am. I’ll see if I can read it despite the dimness of the light.”
I reached into the backseat and picked up the shoulder bag into which I had stowed equipment we might need. The gear Ariel had packed for us included a pair of binoculars, my laptop and portable scanner, a starlight scope, several LED headlamps with battery packs. Last night, we had added some bright-orange foam earplugs, the kind used at shooting ranges, for Mab’s ears.
Climbing out of the car, I handed Mab the binoculars. “Check it out, Mab. Tell us what you can find out.”
Mab peered through the field glasses. “Thomson Security Co.: I’ve run into them before. No motion detectors, usually, but the system is tied into a phone line which calls the security company and the police.”
Smiling, I picked up the shoulder bag and handed the neon-orange earplugs to Mab. Then, I took up my flute. “You gentleman see to the locks. I’ll take care of the alarms.”
I WENT forward, whistling softly. Across the parking lot, three brick steps led to a heavy steel door. Climbing the stairs, I touched two fingers to my lips, then tapped them lightly against the door, just next to the doorknob.
“Spirits of lightning,” I intoned, “deviate not one iota from the paths of your dance!”
Then, sitting down upon the steps, I raised my flute and played the tune I had been whistling. Upon my lips it had been a cheerful march. When voiced by the flute, it became something grander, rousing and yet solemn, bringing a tear to my eye even as it lifted my spirits.
As I played, Mab and Mephisto came hurrying across the parking lot, Mab glancing carefully backwards to make sure no one was in sight. Convinced we were alone, he pulled out locksmithing tools and set to work. Meanwhile Mephisto, who had not climbed the stairs, went over to the warehouse’s windows and tried in vainly to peek between the closed slats of the Venetian blinds.
The lock clicked open. I kept playing. As Mab swung the door open, a tiny line of blue fire continuously leapt the path between the tongue of the doorknob and the metal plate on the lintel.
Mab ducked under the stream of living current and stood blinking in the darkness on the far side. I followed more slowly, maneuvering so as to enter without disturbing the lightning or my flute playing. Then, I was within the small hall beyond the door, my back pressed against a coatrack, and only Mephisto remained outside.
Mab called to my brother, who came meandering up the stairs. Upon seeing the open door, with its blue-white flickering arc, Mephisto let out a cry of delight.
“Oooo! Look at that, Miranda! How pretty! Can I touch it?” He raised his hand.
In horror, I watched my brother reach for the live electricity. The amount of current necessary to keep up this unnatural arc was far greater, by several magnitudes, than normally flowed through these wires. I wanted to shout at him, but if I stopped playing, the alarm would go off. Of course, my brother disrupting the current by electrocuting himself would also set off the alarms. Desperately, I kicked at Mab, who had turned away and was gazing into the inside of the warehouse.
Mab saw Mephisto. With the speed of a striking snake, he grabbed my brother’s shirt and forced him down, away from the deadly blue-white arc.
“Are you crazy?” Mab’s voice was unusually loud, as he still wore his earplugs. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”
Mephisto’s eyes fixed on the electricity, and his face turned ashen. Swallowing fearfully, he squatted to the ground and duck-walked through the open door, far beneath the blue arc of the electricity.
Once Mephisto was inside, Mab slammed the door shut. I played another measure or two to insure the current returned to its natural path. Then I lowered the flute and waited, holding my breath.
No alarm sounded. We had made it safely inside.
THE narrow hall opened into the great cavern of the warehouse. To our right was a loading dock with openings to two truck bays. Before us stood six towering rows of shelves, each some twenty-five feet tall. Large wooden crates sat on the floor beneath the lowest shelf, which stood the height of a tall man. The upper shelves held electrical equipment, furniture, and boxes marked INVENTORY or “UCS”. These shelving units stretched off into the darkness, toward the back of the warehouse, some tenth of a mile away. The middle four were accessible from both sides. The first and last units stood against the side walls.
A noise in the darkness startled us, and we ducked among the giant crates. The cause of our distress turned out to be the dripping of one of the great pipes running across the ceiling. Relieved, I reached into my shoulder bag and handed out
the headlamps.
We split up according to our pre-agreed plan. Mab and Mephisto crept away to search the warehouse. They moved down the narrow corridor between two rows of shelves, the light from their headlamps falling upon the crates and causing shadows to leap and dance before them. Donning my own lamp, I set off as well. Since I was familiar with the running of Prospero, Inc.’s warehouses, my task was to find and check the records.
* * *
I FOUND offices on either side of the warehouse. The office tracking incoming goods was neat and orderly, while the one tracking outgoing shipments was a disorganized mess. It stank of burnt coffee grounds, and beverage stains discolored the piled papers. The computer directories and file cabinets in the outgoing office were in better order. Luckily, they did not require passwords to get past the screen savers, and only one cabinet was locked. Mab jimmied it open at my request, revealing personnel records and miscellaneous reports.
A quick search revealed the date of the break-in. Hooking up my laptop, I scanned copies of all files for that date and those of several days to either side. A few of the filthier pages I ran through the warehouse copy machine first, so as to avoid smearing some unknown substance on my scanner.
A perusal of their computer records confirmed that a shipment had gone to Chicago on the eve of the break-in. The street number of the destination point differed by two digits from the one Mephisto recalled. I scribbled the correct address on a piece of paper and stuck it in my pocket to pass along to Mab.
As I worked, my thoughts returned to the warehouse door. Opening locks was another of the Six Gifts of the Sibyl, and commanding lightning was a third. Had I been a Sibyl, the precious minutes of attention-drawing flute music could have been replaced by a word and a touch. We could also have avoided the game of electric limbo. I sighed. If only I could discern my Lady’s mind and discover what held me back from achieving this final honor. But upon this matter my Lady remained mute.
Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I Page 16