by Lorelei Bell
“Do you think Count Saint Germain is behind the Knight's disappearances?”
“I really can't say. That's exactly what you are there to find out. But, again, I stress”—his hands were on the desk, palms together, he pounded them gently to get his point across—“your job is simply to observe, find out everything you can about him, his castle, the things that go on, who comes in and out, and who lives there, and report it to me. That's it. You are not—I repeat—not to stop him in any way from going about his business.”
“Even if he's trying to harm someone?” Like me?
“Only if your life is in jeopardy, or that of your unborn,” he nodded toward her abdomen.
Zofia's hand went automatically to her belly. “Don't worry. That won't be hard,” she replied. There was a moment of thick silence, and she remembered something he'd said earlier. “Didn't you say that Dorian was going there?”
“Yes. He will be in the same vicinity. I have no idea exactly where he will be, however. But, he might stay at one of the two inns, there, in Ravenwood, which is at the base of Dark Castle. Ravenwood is a very small village, population no more than twenty or thirty people.”
“So, it's possible we might bump into one another?”
“It's very possible, but I highly doubt it, since you should be at the castle almost immediately. However, if you do happen to see him, you are not to approach him. You are not to act in any way as though you know him.” He nodded toward the book in her lap. “That's there in the Knight's Codebook. Code three eighty-five, section eight.”
She frowned sourly at him. She didn't know which she found more disturbing, the fact she had to learn another set of codes, or the fact that she may see Dorian, but wasn't to speak to him at all.
“That'll be hard,” she said. Unless he still wasn't speaking to her, of course.
“If it is, just remember, that you are not supposed to be a sorceress. If you even allude to the fact that you know him, both your covers might be blown, and the result may be disastrous, even deadly.”
She swallowed and nodded.
He slipped a piece of blank parchment out of the ledger that Nelms had left behind. This was a cheaper type of paper. Typical of the types commonly used by Ugwumps. He held another piece of his own parchment along with it. This one looked like a letter. He handed them both to her.
“I've had this written up for you to copy onto this blank page. I didn't want to send out a letter that was not in your own handwriting, just in case he compares your writing at some point.”
She was scrutinizing the letter he wanted her to copy.
“It explains the positions you've held, the schools you've gone to—all Ugwump schools.”
“The Academy of Liberal Arts?” She looked up at him, confused. “I went to Withergyld Academy for Sorceresses. The Academy of Liberal Arts is for either Ugwumps, or sorceresses.”
“That's right.” His smile was smug, arms folding across his chest as he leaned back, swiveling again.
“It's one of the finest schools in the Province,” she added, looking up at him.
“That's right. I want him to hire you.”
“I get it now,” she said at length. Everything that had happened in the past few days was supposed to happen. Stephen had complete control over everything, counting on Zofia to become a Knight in order to spy for him.
“You're perfect for this job. I couldn't stress this any more, Zofia. I need you for this assignment. I have no other way to infiltrate Dark Castle, so as to learn more about Saint Germain. You're the only person who can do this—as my Knight—acting as his employee,” he added with emphases on the last word.
Zofia could only blow out a light sigh. “Okay. What else should I know?”
Stephen kept his tight smile in place, shifted in his seat and said, “That's all for now.” He glanced over her left shoulder. She turned to look and found one of those multi-globed hour glasses and saw that her hour was nearly up. “I have an eleven o'clock,” he said as he rose to his greater height. “Zofia, there are other things I still need to speak to you about, but I think it would be better if we talk over mid-day meal? In the meantime, I'd like you to get that resume' copied so that I can send it out today. You can bring it with you at mid-day. I'd like to get Count Saint Germain's response by tonight—tomorrow morning at the very latest.
“Meanwhile, you can get a good start on your homework.” He nodded toward the books, and the leather folder, which were now in a neat pile. She found herself doubly dumbfounded as to how all those loose papers and two books arranged themselves so neatly all of a sudden, and then, she saw him tuck his wand back into its holder. He was very quick on the draw. And she had forgotten, he was an Inaudible—he didn't need to verbally say an incantation, if he didn't want to.
“Okay,” she said, rising as she floated her books, ledger, the money pouch, and little jewelry case piled on top of the books, magically and moved to join him near the door.
“Welcome to the Witenagemont, Knight Zofia. I know you'll do well.” He escorted her to the door, one hand at the middle of her back. “I'll send word where mid-day meal will be served, later.”
She strode through the outer office and heard Eunice mumbling from behind a stack of files on her desk. “…thinks I gots all the time in the world—humph!”
“Eunice?” Stephen called to her from across the way.
“Yes?” she responded in a voice posturing as polite.
“Pen me in for mid-day with Ms. Trickenbod—I think on the terrace would be nice, it's such a beautiful day out,” he said to her.
“Mid-day with Ms. Trick-en-bod. Got it,” Eunice said, and Zofia could see the top of her white quill wiggling from behind the files. She stabbed at the paper with her quill, dotting the i as though it had affronted her.
“Well, then, in a few hours, Zofia,” Stephen said. “I'll see you then—oh, and do bring the family, Tillie too.”
“Of course. Thank you,” she said as she darted for the door, magicking her pile of things in front of herself, and having to hike her robe up with one free hand as she walked.
“Also—”
Zofia twirled to see Stephen poke his head out of his office door again. “Just wear your normal clothes. You don't have to wear your robes again, only on certain occasions.”
“Right,” she said. “I really didn't pack much, though. I thought I was going back home after last night.”
He frowned slightly. “Eunice?”
A stack of files fell over like an avalanche. Papers slid from their files, fanning all across the floor.
“What now?” Eunice brayed.
“Have the maids find Zofia something proper to wear, I think there must be something in the south wing?”
“Got it,” Eunice said. “TWILINA!” she yelled at the top of her voice.
The small winged pixy zipped in through a very small revolving copper door above the regular door.
“Thanks,” Zofia said and scurried out the door, heard the door bump shut on its own, thankful she didn't have to deal with a secretary like Eunice.
Zofia Transvected all the way back upstairs, finding her brain felt as though it were over-loaded with information, she had a powerful thirst, and her lower back and breasts ached. Lovely. Just lovely.
Finally she made it to her door, opened it and charged right in. To her ears came male and female voices uttering groans and grunts. Gaze darting around the room, she saw no one, yet the source of these sordid sounds came from somewhere inside the room. She pinpointed them coming from the bed, but high, like on the top of the canopy.
“Biddle?” she said, unsure what was going on.
There was a screech from an unseen woman, followed by other sounds of two people caught in some act they would rather not be caught in, and trying to either hide or pull their clothes back on. (No one was really sure if Ghogals wore clothes at all, however.)
“Madam!” Biddle said in an overly excited voice. “I-I didn't expect you back for a while.” H
e sounded surprised, befuddled and totally at a loss for words, whereas the Ghogal was usually surly and uncooperative. Right now he was very un-Biddle like.
She saw the bed frame wiggle, as though someone had been on the canopy. The essence of some perfume drifted past Zofia as something unseen (another Ghogal?), disturbed the air around her.
“You have a guest, Biddle?” Zofia said, certain she'd caught him doing something he shouldn't. She caught the sense that he was terribly embarrassed, and more so than she was feeling at the moment.
“I—uh—well, I-I—” he was sputtering as the door behind Zofia opened and shut quickly.
“See you later, Azalea!” Biddle called to his invisible visitor. But she was long gone.
“Azalea?” Zofia said, locomoting her books and junk onto the secretary's desk. Then she yanked the robe up over her head, pulled it off and tossed it to the floor. He could pick that up for her and hang it.
“Yes, madam.” He cleared his throat. She imagined him going through a flurry of motions to adjust things, like his hair and clothes. Or did Ghogals have hair? No one really knew. It was one of those don't-ask-don't-tell things.
“Does Azalea work here?”
“Yes,” he answered quickly. “Yes. Azalea works as a castle Ghogal for the Restormells. She came in to clean, you see, to straighten the bed, and I introduced myself, and, well one thing led to another, and—can I help it if I'm such a hunk?”
Zofia rolled her eyes. “Never mind, Biddle.” Maybe Stephen had Eunice to put up with, but Zofia had her hands full with Biddle and his antics. At least she couldn't see half the things he did—well, just about all of the things—and only the results of those things some of the times. Like now.
“I'd like to bathe, Biddle,” she announced as she poured some water for herself into a small glass. She drank it down quickly and poured more. She really could use a larger glass. Possibly a quart tumbler?
“There's a very nice bathing room down the corridor, to your left,” he suggested.
“No. That's communal. I want to bathe privately in my own room.” He wasn't going to get out of this so easily.
“Yes, madam. I'll notify the servants,” he said from the vicinity of the canopy of her bed. He was probably floating above it.
“Yes. And I also need a quill and some ink?”
“In the secretary desk, madam,” he said.
“Good. Now, go and fetch the servants and get my bath ready,” she said as she strode back to the desk. She moved the books and files onto the floor, and flipped up the top of the desk and found the quill, ink and some parchment. This was the castle parchment. She would need to use the parchment Stephen had supplied.
She would have to notify Tillie, Blanche and Elton of what had transpired; that she was leaving on assignment. She didn't know when exactly, but it sounded like within the next day or so. Tillie and Blanche would have to return to First World, sell the house, all their things—what they couldn't bring home in the Sorcerer's Tree—and close the shop (the money from all of it would be exchanged into their own currency upon their return). But Elton was to begin school right away. She didn't have to wonder how he would react to the fact that he was about to go to wizarding school. He had always wanted to return, be able to use his Powers in front of everyone, and ride a broom in broad daylight. That was evident just yesterday during Blanche's party. And Blanche would have to say goodbye to all her friends on First World. Zofia found herself feeling slightly bittersweet over this; she would not get a chance to go back and say goodbye to friends she had made.
A tear formed in her eye as she sat down to begin copying the resume' Stephen wanted to send off to Count Saint Germain. (What a strange name. Did it mean he was a saint? Or was it merely a name borrowed from a saint? It was a very Ugwump name.)
Everything hit her all at once. Things were moving so fast. Too fast. She had to stifle her emotions just then, before she burst out crying. She didn't want tear stains on the parchment; she didn't want to have to ask for more Ugwump parchment. Stephen might ask why. That wouldn't help things. Ah, yes. The swirling, rampant hormones were causing her emotions to go wacky too. One more thing she just wasn't looking forward to. Goddess save the man who had to put up with her for the next several months (it wasn't nine months, but about seven, here on Euphoria, due to the longer months). Could Dorian have foreseen this and wanted to stay away for the duration?
She stopped just then, seizing upon this one thought. Ohmygoddess! Dorian doesn't know I'm pregnant! At least she didn't think so. He would have at least stayed around to ask about it. Wouldn't he? He couldn't have left her like that, knowing she was pregnant. Well, who would have told him? She hadn't told him at all, and before last night, she'd only told Tillie about being pregnant. Oh, and Stephen
She released a heavy sigh. She tried to filter out all her worries and concerns while she very carefully copied the resume for Stephen. She just had to get this done before mid-day for him.
Just as Zofia was finishing up with the resume, Biddle returned, along with four Monks, carrying a large tub, and several others following them with buckets of water to fill the tub all in a line. The monks were singing something in their tongue. They seemed quite happy in their work. They always seemed to enjoy their work, no matter if it was the dirtiest drudgery, like cleaning out chamber pots.
Turning, Zofia gaped at the sight of four-foot Wadmund Monks hefting the tub on their backs. She realized the tub was carved out of wood, and almost chuckled at the sight. She thanked them as they arranged the tub near the fireplace and filled it with the water. Bowing as they finished, they each left the room.
Zofia used her own Powers to heat the water. When she was ready, Biddle left her side, swooping up into the flue of the fireplace, yelping as the fire singed him slightly. She disrobed and climbed in to sooth her achy body. There was much to do before lunch, and she didn't have time to do it all. While relaxing back in the tub, she daydreamed. Mostly about seeing Dorian at Dark Castle, or in the village. She visualized herself in the setting of a rustic inn. Dorian would see her across the crowded, smoky tavern. He would acknowledge her with a nod and a wink. Everything between them was alright again. She then saw herself seated at a library table, with dozens of books about her, and the count walked in. She couldn't quite decide on a face to go with this mysterious count. But she settled on that he would be dark, handsome and had a strange accent. He would ask her to dine with him at one of the inns…
Chapter 10
Zofia woke staring up at a painted ceiling. Then she remembered Restormell Castle had whimsically painted ceilings throughout with chunky cherubs, exotic birds and animals running through out a serene landscape, with fluffy clouds in the center of the ceiling. The top of her canopy had them painted there, too.
She didn't remember falling asleep. And now she was chilled. Why was she naked? She moved her hand, and heard the splash of water.
Tillie's form swam into view.
“You're becoming one big wrinkle!” Tillie chuckled lightly at this. “Here,” Tillie said, drawing a nice large towel up to cover Zofia's nakedness. “Out you go… that's it.”
Emerging from the tub, splashing tepid water all over the floor, Zofia stood shivering as she allowed Tillie to wrap her up. How long had she slept in the tub? A shadowpass? These cat naps were becoming annoying. She would nod off at the drop of a wand. How was she going to work as a library assistant to Count Saint Germain if she was constantly falling asleep?
“The maid brought in some dresses,” Tillie informed, thrusting her hand toward the canopied four-poster bed. “She saw that you were asleep, didn't want to wake you, and so came to tell me.”
“Goddess!” Zofia swore hastily, chill bumps rising on her skin as she clutched the towel to herself. “I keep on forgetting to lock that frigging door!”
“Not a good idea, dearie, unless you want an undesirable to walk in on you.”
“I keep on forgetting that I'm in Stephen's castle, dam
n it!” With the towel securely wrapped around herself, Zofia took in the dresses lain out for her on the bed. Some were made of velvet, and had lace at the collar and sleeves. Some were exquisite brocade, but all were richly dyed; ether deep maroon or dark green, and there was one black one with a richly spun gold edging. Not one of them could she wear into a village and not get a head turn, and in fact, not be mistaken for a woman of great wealth, like a princess, or a lady of a castle.
Except one. She'd just noticed it, underneath one of the more extravagant velvet ones. She pulled it out. Ankle-length, jade in color, it had tight sleeves and just a thin band of lace at the wrist. The skirt was a cut away, edged in more ivory lace, revealing an under dress of matching colored satin. And the neckline was tame enough for even the most demure woman, only coming to about the collarbone. It was high-waisted, so she could possibly wear it into the later stages of her pregnancy.
“Sea of Nectar!” Tillie swore as she ran gnarled fingers across a black velvet evening dress included in the bunch. It had a dramatically low front and back. In fact, Zofia couldn't figure out which was the front and which was the back. Sequins dotted it in a dazzling design down the long skirt, ending in a tight, up-swept curl. “Stephen's given these to you? What did you do for him in return?”
Zofia didn't like the speculation in her voice, and ignored it. It did appear as though she and Stephen had something going on the side. She hated the very idea of it. Turning on her heal, she darted for her bureau. There she found the money pouch Stephen had given her as advance on her pay. (She'd left it out in plain view—again, stupid, stupid, stupid!) She spilled the coins out onto the dresser top. One Rothgar could buy at least three cheap dresses, or two skirts and blouses.
“Here,” Zofia fisted several coins almost roughly into her palm. “Go buy me some nice, decent, respectable clothes. Make sure they're homespun by an Ugwump. Let's see. One nice cotton skirt in solid a color, like brown or a light olive, and two or three blouses to go with it—nothing in silk or satin, or velvet. I'll also need a wool cloak, a purse, some gloves, stockings, and some—you know—underthings,” she added low. “I don't have enough to get me through two days, much less a week of wear.”