The Blackhope Enigma

by Teresa Flavin

  “I quit forgery almost as soon as you’d dragged me into it, and I destroyed all the paintings I did. You know that.”

  “Almost every painting, Lor. There were a couple that found their way out into the world. I forgot to tell you at the time.”

  “What!”

  “Yes, two paintings,” said Angus. “One is out there somewhere hanging on a nice museum wall. I was accused of forging the other, along with the rest I had done. But I protected you. I went to jail and never told anyone you had played a part. So you owe me.”

  The art teacher’s face sagged.

  “You understand your predicament?” said Angus.

  “I understand.” Lorimer flexed his hands in his lap. “If you manage to get into that painting — and I hope you don’t — the least you can do is look out for the kids and help them.”

  “If I run into them,” Angus replied. He sauntered into the hallway and pulled on his coat and hat. As he headed for the door he called triumphantly, “Thanks for breakfast.”

  Later that afternoon, a weary Lorimer Bell trudged into the corner shop on his way home from school. As he paid for his milk, the headline of the Braeside Evening Sentinel caught his eye. He bought a copy and read the article before he left the store:

  ANOTHER ENIGMA GRIPS BLACKHOPE TOWER

  In a startling development at Blackhope Tower, police have confirmed that an unidentified man vanished from the Mariner’s Chamber this morning. Three local children have already disappeared from the same room since Tuesday.

  The intruder was dressed in a dark overcoat, gloves, fedora-style hat, and a mask when he broke in through a ground-floor window and overpowered a guard at the door to the Mariner’s Chamber. He was last seen entering the windowless room. Police are analyzing security recordings to determine how the man was able to get past guards and vanish in the same way as the children had.

  Despite the huge public interest in Blackhope Tower since the children’s disappearances, Archie MacQueeg, director of this historic castle, has decided to close its doors until further notice. He says he hopes that the public will understand that chances cannot be taken with visitors’ safety.

  He got in — blast him! Lorimer hurried home in the wintry dusk.

  Snow swirled outside the art teacher’s window. But Lorimer, crouching on his studio floor, surrounded by papers he had taken from an old box, did not notice the weather.

  He chuckled at some of the scraps and frowned at others, especially one faded leaflet, which read:

  During the 1580s, Sir Innes Blackhope swashbuckled his way across the high seas. Always relishing a challenge, he battled pirates and privateers and sparred with the Spaniards.

  He spent as little time as possible on land, and though he loved Blackhope Tower, he grew restless there. When he was bored, he often disappeared for days or weeks at a time, though he was never seen leaving the castle. Some wondered whether Sir Innes had built secret passageways in Blackhope Tower, but none were ever found.

  Whenever he reappeared, it was said he looked as though he had been through a battle. He was once found on the floor of the Mariner’s Chamber, barely able to move as a result of a leg injury, but deliriously happy. Servants reported that Sir Innes kept repeating, “He does challenge me well, the enchanter! His manoeuvres test my wits, but I prevail again and again over his beasts and villains!”

  At first his servants worried that the sea captain was afflicted with an imbalance in the brain. But he always recovered quickly, stronger than ever. He never explained where he had been or how he had been injured.

  The old wives in the village of Braeside gossiped that “the enchanter” was surely the devil and that Sir Innes was called away to fight him from time to time. Every time Sir Innes returned, the old wives said, “He’s broken Lucifer’s back once more!”

  Sir Innes died at sea in 1590, taking his secrets with him. The identity of “the enchanter” was never discovered, nor did anyone find out whether the “beasts and villains” lived only in his imagination.

  Lorimer stared for a long time at a scribble in the margin. It was a question he had written when he was a teenager: “Was Corvo the enchanter?”

  That had been the start of Lorimer’s obsession with the mystery of Fausto Corvo. And Angus had become just as involved as he was, if not more so.

  Lorimer should have left the mystery alone, but he could not. Even now, twenty years later, when he thought he had finally let go, it had come back to haunt him.

  With a curse, he crumpled up the leaflet and flung it into a corner of the room.

  A pink light flickered in the distance as Sunni felt her way through the dim forest with Dean at her elbow, following the swish of Hugo’s coattails. The silent boy, Inko, was behind Dean, moving easily in the gloom.

  When at last they arrived at a clearing, Sunni saw that the pink glow came from a shimmering lake laced with tiny bubbles. Mesmerized by the tumbling water, she watched in amazement as a translucent hand materialized and swept through the water. She saw arms and lithe bodies all flowing and turning beneath the surface. As they passed, the figures glided along, making tiny waves lap the shore. Occasionally a streaming face surfaced then vanished.

  “Look,” hissed Dean.

  “I know. I can see them.”

  “The naiads have come to greet us,” announced Hugo with a bow toward the lake. “Good evening, ladies.”

  “Who are the naiads?” asked Sunni.

  “Why, they are the lovely water nymphs of ancient poems and tales. Corvo painted many subjects from Greek and Roman mythology. He brought some of them to life in Arcadia.”

  “Do they come out of the water?” asked Dean. “Do they talk?”

  “If they do, it must be when I am not about. I have never seen them on land nor heard their voices, if they have them. Unlike the dryads — tree spirits who can walk on the land if they desire.”

  “Where are they?”

  “In the woods, of course.”

  Hugo hurried ahead, guiding them away from the water. Sunni glanced over her shoulder to make sure no watery creatures had followed. She noticed that Inko scanned the ground behind him as he walked, as if he, too, were worried that something was trailing them.

  Up ahead, Sunni glimpsed a luminous building that looked like an ancient Greek temple. Thick columns at the front held up an angled roof. And once again, a dancing pink-violet light poured out from tiny high windows, highlighting veils of mist caught in tree branches and drifting over the lake.

  They reached a pair of monumental doors, which Hugo unlocked with a large key he took from his waistcoat pocket. He pushed one door open and ushered them in.

  “Welcome,” he said. Inko pushed the doors shut after them and bolted them with a heavy iron bar.

  A chill ran down Sunni’s back. “I hope we did the right thing coming here,” she whispered to Dean.

  Before them was a long marble corridor lined with carved stone heads of lions and boars and eagles, each breathing jets of pink-violet flame. On either side of the corridor were three huge doorways, revealing eerily lit chambers. Sunni strained to see in as they passed, noting that each room had a large mural on its far wall.

  “Come, come,” urged Hugo, leading them into a covered courtyard. “You shall see it all tomorrow morning. This is the Sun Chamber.”

  In the center of the courtyard was a massive table laden with food and drink. Hugo pulled up two stools and sat himself in a high-backed chair. The wall behind him was decorated with a mural of a yellow-bearded man standing in the center of a golden circle with a lion crouched at his feet. Over the man’s head were the letters SOL, and a fiery sun was painted on his chest. Hovering above either shoulder were a phoenix and an eagle in flight.

  Rows and rows of tiny pictures, with captions, radiated out above the golden circle. When Sunni squinted, she could make out a horseman with a falcon, a man with a python, a rooster, a lion, and a man in a chariot in the clouds.

  “Please take
whatever you wish. You must be ravenous.” Hugo pushed a platter of roasted meat and a bowl of glistening fruits toward Sunni. Her mouth watered at the sight of the feast in front of her, but she hesitated to try any of it.

  “It’s good, Sun — go on!” Dean was already gnawing on a chicken leg and grabbing purple grapes with his other hand.

  “Dean!” Sunni hissed. “It could be poisoned!”

  “I’ve already eaten half a chicken and I’m not dead yet.”

  “You are understandably wary, Miss Forrest.” Hugo put a slice of meat into his mouth, then washed it down with something from a goblet. “There, you see? I am also still alive.”

  Yeah, you are still alive, she thought. She tried to figure out how old Hugo might be. He looked younger than her dad. Maybe thirty, she guessed, but getting closer to two hundred if he had truly been here as long as he claimed.

  Hugo passed Sunni a goblet of golden liquid, but she shook her head. “I understand. Eat and drink when you are confident you can trust us. I recommend the figs. Inko fetched them this morning.” The boy in the embroidered vest bowed from his position just inside the doorway.

  “Where does all this food come from?” she asked while Dean jammed something else into his mouth.

  “We are well provided for here,” said Hugo. “Il Corvo designed Arcadia to perfection: an abundance of food and drink that replenishes itself, gentle companions such as Inko and the naiads, and a lovely climate. Just like the paradise described in mythology.”

  “I thought Arcadia was the city with Sir Innes’s ship and the castle, that we’ve just come from,” Sunni said, peering into the goblet at the golden drink. It smelled like honeysuckle.

  “No, no!” Hugo said. “That is the outer painting, just the entrance. This is the true Arcadia, the living world il Corvo made for Sir Innes Blackhope to enjoy when he was home from his travels.”

  Dean chewed noisily. “You mean, like a private theme park for the rich guy? He could come here to relax and then go home when he’d had enough?”

  “Theme park?” Hugo pursed his lips. “A park to be sure — but ‘theme’?”

  “Oh,” said Dean, “it’s like an amusement park where you can go on awesome rides and have adventures.”

  Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Then, in that case, Master Dean, Arcadia does resemble a theme park.”

  Dean rubbed his greasy hands together and said, “Ten out of ten to me.”

  “And why do you call him ‘il Corvo’?” asked Sunni.

  “That is his name, to most people. Il Corvo means ‘the Raven’ in Italian,” said Hugo. “You must have seen his signature on the painting — the raven in flight.”

  Sunni nodded, trying to take everything in. “But how did il Corvo make Arcadia?”

  “Surely you must know this,” scoffed their host gently. “Why else would you be here, if you did not know about il Corvo’s ability to harness the power of the planets and stars to bring pictures to life?”

  “Yeah, right. Planets and stars made this?” said Dean, rolling his eyes at Sunni.

  “It’s quite true, young man.” Hugo was indignant. Dean shrugged and pulled his red hat farther down over his forehead.

  “Mr. Fox-Farratt,” said Sunni, kicking Dean under the table, “we’re telling the truth. We’re here by mistake. Dean just happened to be with me when he stumbled on the entrance to the painting. I was sketching the painting, but all I know about Fausto Corvo is that he was an amazing artist who was suspected of being a sorcerer and vanished.”

  “And you have never heard about the ancient knowledge that was passed down in secret books that Corvo and his friends studied?”

  “No,” said Sunni.

  Hugo’s eyes lit up. He sat back in his chair and addressed them with a flourish of his hand.

  “Then let me tell you about him. In 1575 il Corvo was about forty-five years old, a successful painter with a workshop in a respectable part of Venice. He made paintings for rich merchants and members of royalty who admired the way he painted the stories of Greek and Roman mythology. He had a very comfortable life.” Hugo pressed the tips of his fingers together. “But our friend il Corvo had a secret life, too. He was interested in astral magic. He had heard of ancient texts that explain how to gain extraordinary control over the hidden powers of the universe.”

  The torches on the walls sputtered for a moment and flickered across Sunni’s rapt face. Dean held a half-eaten fig in midair as he listened.

  “Il Corvo had many wise friends: geographers, mathematicians, astrologers. They met regularly to share knowledge, and one day Corvo was given a copy of a twelfth-century book called Picatrix. It was a guide to the making of magical talismans, to the harnessing of power from the stars. Corvo became hungry for more of this knowledge and secretly read every magical text he could find. He imagined channeling these powers into his paintings to create a wondrous living world of treasures and beauty. By 1582, when he was forced to flee Venice, he had already succeeded in making several enchanted paintings.” Hugo’s voice rose excitedly. “Corvo had brought to life the paintings beneath his paintings. We are now beneath The Mariner’s Return to Arcadia.”

  “Is that why everything was white before we came into Arcadia — because Corvo painted over all this to hide it underneath the top painting?” asked Sunni.

  Hugo nodded, his eyes dancing.

  Dean pulled his hat even farther down over his eyes, shaking his head and saying, “First we’re in a painting. Now we’re in a painting under a painting. How do you know that’s where we are?”

  “Because I saw this place before I even came here, while I was in Venice,” Hugo said. “When I arrived, I recognized the lake, the palace, the statues. Except when I first saw them in Venice, they were just a sketch by Corvo on a tiny piece of paper in a museum.”

  Sunni looked around her. There was no sign of a brush mark or a paint smudge to let anyone know this was a painting. Everything was as solid as she and Dean were.

  “How?” she whispered. “How does someone control the stars to make this?”

  Hugo sat forward. “During the Renaissance, most people believed the earth was a ball sitting in space at the center of everything, surrounded by the elements of water, air, and fire. The cosmos was believed to surround the earth in rings, or spheres, that circled the earth and its elements: first is the moon, then Mercury, Venus, then we have the sun, then Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. Outside these was the sphere of the zodiac — the stars of the heavens, and above these, the realm of the angels.” He drew great circles in the air.

  “Il Corvo’s labyrinth was created as a model of the cosmos. The outermost path is the longest to walk because it stands for Saturn, the farthest planet from the earth. Each inner path symbolizes the other six planets in order, and each is shorter than the previous one. The innermost path is the moon, its orbit shortest and closest to the labyrinth’s center, which is Earth.” He paused, looking at the children.

  “By walking the labyrinth, il Corvo believed he could experience each planet’s journey round the earth and become open to its influence. And then he would be ready to start his work. The magical textbooks he studied told him which days and times were best for connecting with, for example, the authority of the planet Jupiter. He learned how to prepare special enchanted chalks, paints, and canvases. The secret books taught him how to make his workshop a place that would attract the planetary powers to Earth and infuse his paintings with life. The chalk marks and paint strokes that made Arcadia are like the bones or blood in our bodies — we can’t see them, but they are there. Because this world is a huge, living magical talisman.”

  Hugo folded his arms across his chest, waiting to see how his guests would take this information.

  Sunni frowned. “I still don’t understand. The earth isn’t at the center of the universe, is it? So how come the magic works?”

  Hugo sighed. “To be frank with you, nobody has ever really understood it, apart from il Corvo and perhaps a few a
lchemists who spent their lives searching for the answers to ancient mysteries.”

  Sunni looked across the courtyard, picturing Corvo at his easel watching his painted people wriggling to life on the canvas.

  “So, if he used labyrinths to get himself ready to do the magic,” she said carefully, “and we came in on a labyrinth, do you think the way out is on a labyrinth, too?”

  “Possibly,” said Hugo. “One must walk to the center to come in, so perhaps one must walk back to get out. But I have not seen a labyrinth in my time here.”

  Sunni shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

  Dean finally put the rest of the fig into his mouth and asked Hugo between chews, “How do you know all this?”

  “I am passionate about il Corvo’s work. I made it my business to learn all I could about the man and his mysterious disappearance,” replied Hugo. “It so happened that I was forced to disappear myself for a time and left London for Italy. That is how I came to be in Venice. I visited the small museum that held some of il Corvo’s sketches and paintings and studied the diaries of his friends in the old library there. I wanted to know whether the rumors were true — that he had learned how to concentrate the power of the universe in order to bring drawings to life and hide dazzling cities inside flat paintings. My search eventually brought me to Blackhope Tower, and then here, to Arcadia.”

  “How did you work out the password?” Dean rubbed his sticky mouth.

  “Trial and error. And you?” asked Hugo.

  Dean answered smugly, “I can’t really remember, but I got it on my first try.”

  “You were goofing around, Dean, and got in by pure rotten luck,” Sunni said. Remembering the labyrinth jolted her back to their problem, and she said to Hugo, “Everything you’ve told us is amazing and I’m glad we are getting to see it for ourselves, but we don’t belong here. There must be a way out of Arcadia if Sir Innes was able to come and go. Please, Mr. Fox-Farratt, do you know where the exit is?”