Spell of the Dark Castle

by Lorelei Bell

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  “This is how we're getting to The Oblast?” Biddle asked from nearby. He was helping the driver with her medium-sized trunk, into which she had been able to fit nearly everything she now possessed. She was grateful that Stephen had given it to her, as well as for some of the clothes he had provided for this mission. Of course most of the clothes were ones Tillie had bought for her. Nelms, the page, was laden down with Zofia's smaller bags. She carried only one black leather bag and the leather-bound portfolio, which held all the important papers Stephen had given her for her assignment. The leather bag held the books she was supposed to read.

  “Yes,” Zofia said to him. “Looks like it should be clear all the way to The Oblast.”

  “Oh, goodie,” Biddle said as unenthusiastically as possible. She had not told Biddle that he would be joining her on this venture until this morning when she rose. She could tell he had mixed feelings about going along. Especially since she had told him that he could not interfere in any way, nor could he make his presence known to anyone other than herself.

  “What's the matter, Biddle?” Zofia asked.

  “Oh, nothing, nothing,” Biddle sighed. The bags sailed up to the luggage rack on the coach as though of their own volition. The driver grunted as he hefted them up and secured them. Although she couldn't see him, she was pretty certain Biddle was probably sulking on top of the heap.

  “What's wrong with Biddle?” Tillie asked Zofia.

  “What's ever wrong with Biddle?” Zofia said drolly. “I think he's not looking forward to a long, boring ride to Dark Castle.”

  “Don't blame him,” Tillie said. “I've heard things about that place. Things that make my hair stand on end.” She wasn't helping things any.

  “I know,” Zofia said holding up The Wandering Traveler to her. “I've been reading all about it.” She leaned close and in a conspiratorial voice said, “Just don't tell Blanche too much about it. I don't want her to worry.”

  Tillie scoffed as though that wasn't possible. “Blanche's biggest worries are saying good bye to her friends, and whether or not her cell phone will work once she moves back here.”

  “Don't you dare tell her it won't,” Zofia warned.

  Tillie bore an expression of mild indignation. “Do I look that stupid?”

  Zofia couldn't help but smile at that. “No. Of course not. Just tell her you don't know if it will.”

  “Especially her CD player, computer, and whatever that Me-U-tube thing is.”

  Zofia let her eyes drift to the sky knowing that the day would come when the truth would cause the biggest hissy fit Blanche had ever mounted, and she wasn't looking forward to dealing with it. That was when she felt a stab in her heart, wishing she were going back to First World with them. She would now welcome the huge dilemma of selling the house and the chore of putting everything from the house and the store up for sale, rather than going off on this very dangerous mission. Her stomach had been in knots since she rose. The long trip would only exasperate her gloomy mood of doom, rather than relax her.

  As Tillie joined Blanche next to the horses, Stephen stepped casually over to Zofia.

  “Did you sleep well?” Stephen asked, a knowing smile perched upon his lips.

  “I did once my intruder left,” she replied, unable to hold back the smile that threatened to overtake her lips.

  “Glad to hear it,” he said low. He was donned in his official Witenagemont robes; today the color was eggplant with gold trim. Zofia's mind naturally conjured up his naked body that had slept next to her, which was now well hidden beneath the flowing robes. Thank wizards, because the memory was giving her a wild sensation in her lower regions, and she was glad she had her cloak on, to hide the sudden chill bumps. Beneath, she wore the jade-green dress, and the kicky new boots Tillie had bought her.

  “Those boots,” he said.

  Zofia looked down and put one foot out, the toe up, heal down. “Yes?”

  “Nice. Look like they were made for you specially.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Just bought them yesterday.”

  Their eyes met. “Nice dress too. That new too?”

  She frowned slightly. She didn't know if he was joking or serious. Maybe he didn't know this was one of the dresses brought to her from his stock. “Yes. New to me. Thank you.”

  “Happy to be of assistance,” he said with a tight smile. Stuffing his hand beneath his robes, Stephen produced a small vial of two different powders. “This is from Baruche, he told me to tell you this is enough for one dose, whatever he's been giving you for your—eh—problem.”

  “Oh! Thank you.” She took it from him and placed it in her small bag on her arm.

  Stephen pulled something else out. A stone on a leather thong, but it was no ordinary stone. No larger around than an acorn, it had a hole in its center, and the leather was strung through the hole. She knew it as a goddess stone.

  “Another amulet?”

  “Yes. May I?” he asked as he held out the unfastened ends.

  “Of course,” she said, turning around to allow him to bring the long cord around her neck and tie it in the back. When she straightened the stone hung heavily against her chest. It was very dense.

  “You'll want to wear it underneath your garments,” he advised.

  Zofia lifted it by the leather thong and slid it down the collar of the dress. It was cold and hard against her breast bone. It was far from comfortable to wear. Maybe she'd find some other way of wearing it. Perhaps she could try it on her ankle, or perhaps her waist.

  “Remember, this amulet feels your pulse. That's why if you wear it anywhere, it must be against a pulse, like your heart, or your wrist. If you should lose it, or even take it off, I'll lose all contact with you. I'll have to assume you're dead.”

  She nodded gravely. He must have some magical way of keeping every Knight's pulse monitored. Dorian always wore his goddess stone around his wrist. She'd have to keep it tethered to herself, in other words. She gazed to the coach. “How long will it take to get there?”

  “You should arrive just about dark fall,” he said. “Meanwhile, I've given you plenty to study up on.” He nodded toward her leather-bound portfolio, and her bag of books. “The driver's name is Augie. He'll get you as far as Raven's Hollow. There will be a carriage from the castle awaiting you at the inn. It will take you the rest of the way.”

  Zofia bit her lower lip and gazed over to Blanche and Tillie.

  Stephen's hands settled on her shoulders and he lowered his golden head to look into her eyes.

  “They'll be okay,” he said gently. “I'm taking them back to First World myself. I'm also giving them a Sphere in order to keep in contact with us.”

  “How are they getting back here?”

  “Same way. By Bubble.”

  Zofia nodded. She couldn't look up into his face. That lump was in her throat again. He took a finger under her chin and lifted it. She now was forced to look into his golden-green eyes.

  “Just remember, as far as we know, Saint Germain may only be a mortal man. It's up to you to find out, and find whatever he's using to create these long-range Portals. If it's at all possible, disable it until I can get there to destroy it myself.”

  She nodded again. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

  “Damn,” she swore under her breath. “I wasn't going to cry.”

  Stephen smiled, and wiped the tear away with a thumb. “It's okay to cry, Zofia. I know this is a very new life for you, but I have the greatest confidence in you. You took on a lot when Blood went after you and your family. You came out on top with that. Now, I know you'll be no less victorious in this assignment.”

  “I wish I could share your enthusiasm.”

  He hushed her, pulled her into an embrace and kissed her lightly on the lips. Her toes involuntarily curled up, but nothing more. Except for the somersaults her stomach was doing. Maybe she was getting used to his kisses.

  Tillie wolf-whis
tled.

  “Mom!” Blanche gushed in a girlish way; hands to the mouth showing that this behavior by her mother was quite un-motherly, and very unexpected, and possibly ventured toward totally gross. Someday Blanche would be in her shoes and understand such things.

  Looking not in the least bit embarrassed, Stephen backed away, and stood to the side, allowing Tillie and Blanche to step forward and say their good-byes.

  “That was one heck of a good-bye smooch for nothing going on between you two,” Tillie said with a suspicious tone in her voice.

  Zofia rolled her eyes. “Take a number,” she said dryly. “I'll fill you in later.”

  “Wow, Mom,” Blanch said. “Are you two doing it, or something? Does Dad know about it? Am I going to have a little sister?”

  “Dragon turds! Stop it!” she blurted and the both of them backed off as though she'd thrown a punch. “I'll explain things later.”

  Leaning toward Blanche Tillie said, “Too sordid.” She shook her head and clicked her tongue.

  Blanche chuckled lightly. Then both of them looked over their shoulders at Stephen, who had gone back to the winged steeds.

  “He does have a nice a—”

  “Tillie!” Zofia stopped her, seeing that smirk on her face.

  “I'll want a full explanation,” Tillie said low to Zofia. “With plenty of details, if you get my drift.”

  “There are no details.” Zofia wrapped her arms around the older woman and kissed her on her soft, crinkled cheek.

  “What do we tell everyone?” Blanche asked as Zofia hugged her and pecked her on the cheek. “Back home on First World, I mean.”

  “Tell them Dorian got a job overseas—make something up, but not overly elaborate. Tell them you don't know what kind of job it is. And make like you're not sure what country, either.”

  “I'll think of something,” Tillie promised.

  “I'm sure you will,” Zofia said as she stepped up to the coach where Augie the driver held open the door for her.

  “Up ye go, young lady,” Augie gasped in a southern Provence accent as he helped her into the coach.

  Once in, he shut it securely behind her. His white mustache and long hair was caught by a breeze. He was ensconced from head to toe in leather. His boots looked like they were made for mountain climbing, with buckles all up and down the legs. He would have to be in the driver's seat, after all. If he were a wizard, he could produce a bubble of protection over himself, to endure the weather.

  “Food 'n' drink stored beneath one of th' cushions. Blankets in th' odder. Keep th' windows closed, n' stay away from th' doors once we're off th' ground. Wouldn't want ya fallin' out, ya see,” he warned, making sure the door was fastened good.

  She nodded, then put up the window, and waived to Tillie, Blanche and Stephen. They all waved back, stepping well away from the coach and the winged horses.

  There was a whistle from Augie, then a sudden lurch. The coach bumped along and then she felt her stomach drop as the coach lifted off the ground and into the sky. Stomach cartwheeling, she peered out the window as the coach made a couple of circles high above the castle. Stephen, Tillie, and Blanche all waving and soon became ant-sized, and finally the castle fell away from view.

  This was it. She was actually leaving the Province for the first time, discounting when she'd left for First World. This seemed scarier. She was going on a spying mission. Alone. She sniffled, trying to choke back her tears.

  A white hanky appeared from somewhere and waved before her nose.

  “Here, madam,” Biddle's voice cut through the sound of wind slipping across the coach.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the hanky. She blew into it noisily.

  “Where exactly are we going?” Biddle asked.

  Zofia wiped her nose before answering. “To a place called Dark Castle. At the northeast edge of the Province.”

  “And I'm going along to keep you out of trouble?” Biddle asked. He sounded less his usual petulant self.

  Gazing out the window, she blew out a sigh. They were up in the clouds, now, and moisture had collected on the windows, and the interior had gotten very chilly. “Something like that,” she said. “Are the blankets under your seat, or mine?”

  “I'll look,” Biddle said, and the middle cushion was moved by Biddle's invisible hand, the lid sprang open. Out sailed a warm, wool blanket. Biddle snugged it around Zofia. She basked in the attention.

  “Thank you, Biddle,” she said, pulling the edges up around her neck. She was glad that Stephen had suggested he go along. He had always been a very loyal, and thoughtful servant. She always showed him gratitude, and never made him work day and night, like some wizarding families do to Ghogals. She allowed him to sleep, or have some free time, and he returned the treatment she doled, out, she supposed.

  She sighed thinking on everything that had brought her to this. Heart heavy, she pondered her new situation with Dorian who had betrayed her in his own way. She couldn't understand it, and the very thought of it left her totally bewildered. The whole idea that she may run into him, or see him somewhere in Ravenwood didn't exactly settle well with her, either. She didn't know how she would keep her emotions under a tight rein and say nothing to him, or keep from slapping him should they come face to face. To hell with worrying about their cover.

  The thoughts of running into Dorian upset her, so she had to think of something else, and then remembered she had to read through the Knight Codes, and also finish up with The Wandering Traveler. She reached over and opened up the leather bag she had carried on with her. She pulled out the slimmer of the two books. If she began to read the Codes, she knew she'd be guaranteed to snooze. She didn't feel sleepy, and wanted to finish the tale of Barry, who was last with his artful vampire friend.

  Biddle made a harrumphing noise.

  Zofia looked up. In her mind she had envisioned Biddle about middle aged, because he seemed somewhat fatherly—that is when he wasn't being a pain in the ass—and somewhat worldly. She didn't know much about him. They had never been thrown together in such tight confines before. Biddle usually was busy with some chore, in some other part of the house, while Zofia did whatever she had to do. She had often tried to imagine what Biddle might look like. After her parents had died, and for a long time, she had imagined Biddle looking something like her father, Cornwal Avery Eastlund—middle aged, shoulder-length, wavy brown hair with a little gray at the temples. He would have deep brown eyes. Good looking to handsome. Sometimes, she would forget what her father had looked like, exactly, but she had some memories of his features in her head, which went through slight alterations from time to time, but he always wore a kind smile.

  A deck of cards suddenly appeared from somewhere. “How about an interesting game of chance, instead, madam?” Biddle asked.

  “You mean you want to gamble?” she scoffed. “You don't have any money, and I have very little.”

  He sighed, shuffling the deck in mid-air. “Very well, then. Points.”

  “What are we playing?” she asked, dubiously. “Piquet?”

  “How about Rummy?”

  * * *

  Under the bronze disk of Antares, Zofia was transported across the Sea of Nectar into a vast wasteland that began northeast of Scyldings. Looking down, Zofia thought the odd-shaped rock ridges looked a little like the back bone of some prehistoric monster. Thus its name: Helsinga Backbone. From what she could recall from her geography lessons, (and the occasional trips abroad), the Provence was surrounded by water on three sides. To the west was a narrow strip of water called The Sea of Clouds; to the south, beyond the Valley of Nithhald was The Sea of Crises; to the northeast, where the landmass curled inward, somewhat like a bear's paw, was the Sea of Nectar. Scyldings sat just off the northern shore of the Sea of Nectar. Flying in a northeast direction from Scyldings, Zofia could now see in the distance the white-crowned Cordova Mountains.

  They were closing in. Time to go into panic mode. Maybe she should look through the Co
de book, and make sure there wasn't anything she should know before she arrived. She hefted out the Code book, and opened it up. The pages were made of very thick parchment, as though the sternness of the rules had to be printed on the heaviest paper in their world. She scanned down the pages of text. All she saw were Code numbers in the old Roman numeral—she couldn't read Roman numerals. Why did code books always use such an old, out-dated numeral system? It was ridiculous. Before long, her eyes drooped. Was it the thin air? All of a sudden, she felt very sleepy.

  “Biddle?”

  “Madam?”

  “Let me know when we arrive. I'm taking a nap,” she said around a yawn, and using the Code book as a pillow, she pulled up her feet and wrapped the blanket around herself and shut her eyes.

  “Very well, madam,” Biddle said wearily.

  Chapter 14

  “Madam, I believe we have arrived at our destination.” Biddle's voice awoke Zofia from a very sound sleep. She thought she was still on First World, and wondered why she was using one of Elton's books as a pillow when all of a sudden she was jarred by the motion of the coach as it made a wide arc. Zofia levered herself up on one elbow, and strained to peer out the window. Rising mightily were snow-crowned mountains, much closer than they had been a shadowpass or so before. Antares had sunk into the heart of a deepening crimson sky, then her view of it disappeared as the coach made one more wide arc over thick forested hills.

  She recalled now that Stephen had said she would arrive in a place called Raven's Hollow, and embark on a regular ground coach. The Hollow was not very large at all. In fact, it consisted of only two buildings snugged inside of thick forest. Smoke curled up from the chimneys. One building was larger than the other. The largest of which would have to be the inn, she hazard a guessed.

  The winged steeds brought the coach down to the ground with a sudden jolt. Zofia bounced, and became suddenly air born. The next second, she was on the floor of the coach as they bumped along.

  “Madam, are you—”

  “I'm alright!” she fumed as she swiped back a curtain of sienna hair and righted herself, then climbed back onto the bench, trying her best to regain some of her dignity. Thankfully no one had seen her befuddlement, except Biddle. And he was used to her being befuddled, and falling on her face or her ass from time to time.