The maids returned to their duties and Nick pulled his foot from the table under Kate’s quick baleful glare.
Simon bowed fully to Imogen. “I regret you must say good evening now, Miss Imogen. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
The young woman seemed confused at first but then rose and curtsied, following his lead. She extended the hedgehog back to Simon.
“Oh no,” he said. “You may keep him.”
“No,” Imogen replied simply. “He won’t be safe with me.”
Kate felt a hot pang of sadness as her sister placed the tiny, helpless bundle in the man’s hands. Simon glanced at Kate with concern, but Imogen seemed completely untroubled. She kissed Kate on the cheek and went out of the dining room with a maid at her heels.
“I’m sorry, Miss Anstruther,” Simon said. “I hope I didn’t overstep myself.”
“Not at all, Mr. Archer. It was wonderful to hear her laugh, if only for a moment.” Kate stroked the hedgehog with her finger, smiling at the prickly little thing. “Now that you’ve revealed the great mysteries of your occult sciences, if you and Mr. Barker will come with me, I’ll reveal a bit of mine.”
She led Simon and Nick into the corridor and toward the rear of the sprawling country house. After much walking, she reached up into her hair and pulled out a hairpin with a small key attached.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “you are the first outsiders to whom I have shown this room.”
“We are practically family, after all,” Simon quipped.
“Not quite.” Kate unlocked the heavy door. “I have told you I am a scholar of the occult, but there’s more.” There was a flush of excitement on her cheeks as she opened the way to her sanctum.
She lit oil lamps on wall sconces to reveal the room that used to be a parlor but now hosted several worktables covered in laboratory glassware. There were many beakers with colored liquid or bright granules. Apothecary cabinets lined one wall holding endless small bottles of herbs and chemicals and unidentified objects. The other walls were covered by crowded bookshelves, with more books resting in stacks on every flat surface.
Kate announced unnecessarily, “I have an affinity for alchemy.”
Nick whistled. “An affinity? I’d say you have a fixation.”
“I should have guessed by the effectiveness of your discombobulating snuff.” Simon tilted his head, reading the spines of books, making grunts of recognition. He jerked up in surprise and seized a heavy volume from a sideboard. He drew a finger along the embossed lettering on the cover. “Al Hashiri’s Miracles and Wonders.”
Kate regarded him with a look of mild doubt. “You’ve read it?”
“I have.” He opened the book and stared in shock. “Oh. This is in Arabic.”
“Yes. Didn’t you say you had read it?”
Nick laughed as Simon handed her the book a trifle sheepishly. “I read the Latin translation.”
Kate slid the book onto one of the shelves. “No shame. The Latin version is quite serviceable.”
Simon shook his head with an impressed smile.
“What is that thing?” Nick asked from across the room. He was staring at a very large glass jar filled with greenish liquid in which was suspended an object of some sort.
“An old experiment,” Kate replied. “I’ve put it aside for now.”
Simon joined his friend at the jar. “Good Lord. Is that a thorn?”
“Yes. From a rose.”
“It’s two feet long.”
“That was the largest I could manage and still have a rose in any meaningful way.”
“Where’s the flower?” Nick asked in awe. “Did you have to build a separate shed for it?”
“I haven’t any. Everything broke apart. I only managed to save that thorn in a suspension.”
“This is extraordinary,” Simon said.
Nick commented, “You must really like flowers.”
“Yes, Mr. Barker,” she responded coolly. “I turned all my scientific knowledge to the singular feminine goal of making pretty flowers.” She turned back toward Simon, who covered his amusement with a gentle cough. “I wanted to apply the process to increase crop size to feed more people. Alas, the plants were too fragile and fell to dust. And the fragrance of the rose was dreadfully poisonous. I lost several songbirds unfortunately.”
A horrid inhuman squeal broke the night, followed by a terrible howl.
“Aethelred!” Kate sprinted for the French windows at the rear of the room.
The doors were hardly open when Simon took her upper arm in a rough hand. “Stay here.”
As soon as he released her and started into the dark, she was on his heels. “Aethelred!” Her shout elicited an annoyed glance from Simon.
He gave Nick a few quick hand signals, and the shorter man took off in another direction through the shadowy garden.
“Is it too much to hope that Aethelred turned up a badger?” Kate asked without conviction.
“It didn’t sound like a badger to me.” Simon pulled a small pistol from his jacket and handed it to Kate. “That weapon is loaded and primed, so be careful.”
She welcomed the heft of wood and iron in her hand. “Nor did it sound like a werewolf.”
“Stay close to me.”
They started off along the path between high shrubs. Faint starlight cast the garden in deep shadows and dappled the weird landscape. Kate’s heart pounded and she listened hopefully for the sound of her dog’s panting or thudding paws approaching. A frigid breeze rustled the branches around them. Their feet squished on the worn grass path. Simon kept his left hand back, maintaining contact with Kate’s arm. Despite herself, she found the gesture comforting and welcome.
They reached a break in the high topiary and Kate heard a soft whine. She slipped through the gap into a grassy court. A large, dark shape lay before her.
“Aethelred.” She ran and knelt beside the dog. The hound tried to lift his head and his heavy tail thumped once on the ground. She lowered her hand toward his furry neck.
“No!” Simon pulled her hand away. “Don’t touch him.”
Kate angrily jerked free. “He’s hurt. He needs help.”
“I know.” Simon dropped to one knee next to her with a solicitous move toward the dog. “But you will need help yourself if you aren’t careful. Look here.”
He indicated the hound’s shoulder and, in the dark, Kate saw that the fur was matted wet. She didn’t smell blood, but there was a strong musty, loamy stench. Then she spotted a long thread-thin spine sticking out of the dog’s neck, wavering with each heaving pant. She squinted at it. “What is that?”
“A quill of some sort.”
“A porcupine? Here?”
“Nothing so blasé, I fear.”
Kate had to restrain herself again from touching her beloved dog. “He won’t die, will he?”
“I hope not.”
“Simon! Look out!”
Kate barely had time to flinch at Nick’s alarm before she saw a shape charge into the starlight from the shadow of a nearby yew. It was vaguely human, but hunched, pale white and glistening. It ran with a strange, gangly motion, and Kate had the sense of great bulbous eyes that twisted in many directions and finally settled on her. Its flesh twitched. She reached to pull back the hammer on the pistol, but Simon bore her to the damp ground under his weight.
Nick yelled as he ran past, “You all right, old boy?”
“I am,” Simon shouted, eyes locked on Kate. “Miss Anstruther, are you hit?”
“Hit?”
Simon grabbed her and bent her forward, touching the back of her neck and pushing roughly through her hair. His actions startled her. He ran his hands over Kate’s shoulders and torso.
“Mr. Archer!” Kate pulled away. “I would’ve thought you knew my policy on that.”
“Be still! I’m checking for quills.”
“I can check my own chest for quills, thank you.”
“I don’t know what it was. We should retur
n to the house now.”
“What about Aethelred?”
“There is little we can do for Aethelred at the moment. I prefer to move you to safety.”
She was surprised by his coldness. “Will you not help your friend then?”
“Miss Anstruther, that creature was the source of the quills which struck your dog.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I have two of them in my back.” He twisted to show a pair of filamentous spines quivering in his formal jacket. “And I fear I will be quite paralyzed in a few minutes and completely unable to help you. Shall we move inside?”
Galvanized now, Kate pulled Simon to his feet, and he pressed heavily against her as they staggered back to the garden path. He was stiff-legged by the time they entered the laboratory. As soon as they were inside, he fell sideways onto a leather sofa and lay motionless, eyes open, chest rising and falling shallowly.
As quickly as she could, Kate unfastened his white shirt collar and removed the stays from his shirtfront. When she pulled the material back, she saw a muscular chest covered with intricate tattoos. Scores of runic script ran in various lines and curved around his torso just under the neck bones and across his pectoral muscles, the ink an ebony black against his skin. The writing was only vaguely familiar but she couldn’t read a word of it. Suddenly he seemed less like a gentleman and even more a man of mystery.
Kate wrestled him from his shirt and tails, careful not to touch the quills that came away with his coat. She stared at the tattoos covering even the hard contours of his arm. The runic symbols intertwined in a vaguely disturbing fashion and seemed to move as his hand dropped limply to his side.
She hovered nervously. “Mr. Archer, can you hear me?”
His wide eyes didn’t shift.
There was a knock at the door and a muffled voice. “Miss Kate, is there a problem?”
She rushed to the door and opened it to reveal Hogarth. “There is an intruder on the grounds. Please attend Imogen and have all the doors and windows locked.”
“I will put more armed men around the grounds.”
“No. The intruder is very dangerous and our people aren’t prepared. Just see to the security of the house.”
“Very well, miss.” Hogarth noticed Simon on the sofa. “Is Mr. Archer injured? Shall I send for Dr. Nothergill?”
“No. I’ll look after him.” Kate closed the door and spun around to see a figure leaning over Simon. She shouted and Nick turned in annoyance. He held the two quills in his hand with a handkerchief. His pant legs were wet from the knees down.
Kate asked, “Did you find the thing?”
“No. How’s Simon?”
“He’s been poisoned. His breathing is slowing.”
Nick’s eyes filled with fear. Kate turned away from his pained expression and began to search the laboratory, hoping for inspiration. Something must spark an idea. Some formula. Some concoction. An antidote.
She turned to see the rigid Simon gasping for air.
“He’s dying!” Nick shouted.
“Wait.” An idea pierced Kate’s mind. “There is an elixir that Norsemen of the Dark Ages used to increase their vitality in battle. It might allow Simon to counteract the deadly effects of the poison. I don’t know. It’s not a sure option.”
“Why are you still talking to me? Do it.”
“Perhaps if you stop blustering and help me. Open that cabinet and fetch the stinging nettle and the bottle labeled ox heart.” She went hurriedly to a shelf and pulled a book. Flipping vellum pages, she scanned the Latin inscriptions. She didn’t have all the proper materials, but hopefully she could find usable substitutes. She unlocked a chest and removed a flask of green liquid.
Nick set bottles on the worktable. “You know what you’re about, don’t you?”
Kate didn’t look up. She measured with practiced fingers doses of crumbled herbs, sections of twigs, small piles of rare earths. Once she had the proper amounts, she scooped them into a mortar and crushed them together. When she had a suitable blend, she took up the flask of green and a chemical dropper.
Kate held the open flask over the mortar and tipped it. She pulled several drops into the pipette. This substance was not part of the original medieval recipe, so she was estimating the amount needed. A mistake could well have dreadful consequences, perhaps even worse than simple death. She squeezed the green liquid into the mortar and sniffed. A metallic tinge went deep into her nose. It was active. She worked the substance into a heavy paste.
“Traditionally,” she said, “Norsemen used it as a poultice. We don’t have time for that. I am going to apply it directly to his gums.”
Nick reached for the mortar, but Kate pushed past him and went to Simon, who lay gasping on the sofa. His eyes were rolled up in his head as she knelt next to him and took a dollop of the greenish paste onto her finger. She spread Simon’s lips and began to slide her finger along the wet surface of his upper gums. After an inspection of the work, she repeated the action across the lower. She wiped her hands, feeling a minor tingling on her fingers.
Nick was at her shoulder. “Is that all? Is that all you’re doing?”
“Mr. Barker, be still, I beg you.” Kate was suddenly very aware of the loud metallic ticking clock on the mantel.
Nick exhaled anxiously, cracking his knuckles. He muttered threats under his breath, or perhaps a prayer.
Simon’s breath turned wetter, as if he was strangling. Then his gurgling croaks stopped.
Nick froze and gave a sick moan. “No.”
Kate held up her hand to silence him, willing Simon to breathe, staring at the stark stillness of his chest. It should work. Her theory was sound.
Suddenly, Simon took an explosive gasp and rose nearly off the sofa. Kate was there to grab his arms, holding him steady. His eyes sprang open. His hands clutched the upholstery like claws, nearly tearing the leather. His muscles were rigid cords. She eased him back down. He lay still, exhaling harshly through his nose. His mouth clamped shut.
“Simon, try to relax.” Kate pressed the palm of her hand against his chest, covering a dark rune. She could feel the wild pumping of his heart. It nearly matched her own. “Don’t panic. Try to control your breathing as best you can.”
Simon’s eyes locked on hers. She could see understanding and gratitude beneath the wildness. His trembling hand fumbled over hers.
Kate gasped with relief. It had worked. She had saved him. Her fingers curled tight around his, offering him her resolve and reassurance, her head bowed offering a prayer of gratitude. Nick brought a blanket and together they draped it over the shivering man. She looked into the mortar and saw a bit of the green paste remaining. “Mr. Barker, I am going to save Aethelred.”
“It’s dangerous out there.” Nick had a hand on Simon’s damp forehead. “That thing is still about.”
“I don’t care.” She lifted Simon’s pistol. “Mr. Archer is out of immediate danger, or at least beyond what I can do for him.”
Nick stomped to the French windows. “Fine. I’ll come with you then if you’re so damned set on it.” As Kate slipped past him onto the terrace, he added quietly, “Thank you.”
She glanced back and saw abject relief on the man’s face. “You’re welcome, Mr. Barker.” Kate started back into the dark and suddenly foreboding garden without hesitation.
Chapter Fifteen
A beaker bubbled over a flickering flame as Kate observed a final experiment before closing up the laboratory. She was examining Imogen’s blood to determine if she could see any foreign bodies or strange additives that might explain her sister’s continuing dissociated state. Kate felt compelled to try to aid her sister although she was unsure what she could do.
Simon waited with her as she dallied with the complex apparatus. He watched her, obviously fascinated by her work, all the while tapping his foot and flexing his fingers, keeping time with some internal concerto.
When he glanced away, Kate looked up from her w
ork to observe him. His face was still a trifle pale and the skin around his eyes dark as if from lack of sleep, but he had a contented expression like a husband at the fireside.
Aethelred lifted his head from where he was curled awkwardly in the corner. Kate pursed her lips at the dog; he appeared to be recovering well enough from the poisoning. He thumped his tail twice, then went back to sleep.
Simon removed a small blue vial from his pocket and uncorked it. He took a sip. “This concoction of yours is amazing.”
“Don’t become dependent on it.”
“No, no. Once this dose is gone, I’ll need no more. It’s quite bracing though. This is how you saved me from the poison?”
“Not exactly. What you have there is an elixir vitae that restores stamina. It’s an ancient Norse recipe. It’s a relatively simple solution; even I use it occasionally to work longer.” Kate stirred uncomfortably. “I suppose I must make a confession to you, Mr. Archer. What I did two nights ago when you were poisoned was to start with that elixir but then alter it. I fully admit that it was a shot in the dark.”
Simon regarded her curiously but with no anger or accusation.
She continued, “I used a bit of the solution from the gigantic rose. There was no time. I had to fire your blood. It was a risk but a calculated one.”
He raised his hands in acceptance. “Well done. It worked.” But then he shot her a melodramatic glare. “Am I in danger of my heart crumbling like your rose?”
“No.” Kate smirked but then grew thoughtful, and said with less force, “No.”
Simon rose and moved to the coal grate next to the wolfhound’s bed.
“Are you feeling ill?” Kate asked quickly.
“Have no fear. Just a bit stiff. It seems the cold affects me like an old woman.”
She returned to writing her notes, being exaggeratedly prim. “I can have Hogarth fetch a shawl for you.”
Simon stared at her as if gazing at a painting. “I thank you, but I will content myself with the warming glow of your wit.”
Kate smiled without looking up. “Mr. Archer, may I ask you a personal question?”
“I’d say you’ve earned the right.”
Kate realized her eyes were locked on his chest. She quickly glanced at her table but slowly eased back to him. He furrowed his brow in amusement as she began, “When you were unconscious, I removed your shirt.”
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