by E. G. Foley
“I wonder what that says,” he mumbled to himself.
As soon as he spoke, he heard a series of odd little beeps and clicks nearby. He glanced toward the stately desk as a flicker of motion caught his eye. What the—?
A furry little caterpillar came scurrying out of a small box on the desk, waving its antennae as it ran across an open inkpad and got ink on all its numerous feet.
To his amazement, the caterpillar then raced onto the top sheet of a small notebook on the desk and began running back and forth across the page. But not all of the caterpillar’s many inky feet touched the paper with every pass the creature made back and forth. It seemed to be spelling out some sort of pattern.
Jake leaned closer in growing incredulity as words began to appear on the page. After one more pass, the caterpillar stopped, its task complete.
Marveling, Jake picked up the one-line message and read it. He glanced up at the Latin motto around the room, then looked at the insect in astonishment. “Is that what this says?”
The caterpillar reared up on its hind legs and nodded its forward parts up and down.
“You speak Latin? What are you, a bookworm?”
The caterpillar shook its head no, then jumped back on the inkpad and scurried across the page to sign its name.
Inkbug.
“Whoa,” Jake breathed. “Pleased to meet you.”
The inkbug wiggled its antennae at him, then glided back into its box, its job done.
“What a strange place.” Still mystified, Jake looked down at the message, then read the translation aloud: “Perstamus amicitiis defendere. Together we stand in friendship to defend.”
Pandemonium broke out in the library the second the words left his lips. The harp trilled. The tiger roared. Lightning crackled and thunder rumbled and a gust of chilly salt air blasted into the library from the stormy background of the Queen Elizabeth painting, which came to life. The inkbug’s papers blew in the sudden indoor storm.
Squinting against the pelting rain, Jake ran toward the painting for a closer look, careful not to step on the tiger rug, which was still flat but growling and had unsheathed its claws.
The Spanish galleons in the background of the painting were pitching and rolling, fighting to stay afloat. He could hear the sea roar and the doomed men aboard the vessels screaming; he could feel the spray on his face, could hear the masts splintering in the gale.
In the foreground, Good Queen Bess was perfectly still, rather gloating, her victory assured.
But in the background, a tiny figure strode into view. The man in the background of the painting marched out to stand on the edge of a cliff overlooking the invading Spanish fleet. Then he held out his hands toward the storm.
Above the clash of wind and storm that filled the library, Jake could just barely hear a deep male voice shouting out some furious chant. As the words were flung out into the Channel, the largest of the Spanish ships was swallowed by the waves—
And it all stopped abruptly when Derek stepped into the room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Secrets of the Past
Jake whirled around to face him. “What is this place?” he cried, his heart pounding.
“Beacon House?” Derek smiled in casual amusement as he shut the door behind him and strolled in. “Why, it is the London headquarters of the Ancient Order of the Yew Tree. But I thought we were going to talk about your parents.”
Jake stared at him, still speechless.
“Of course, it’s hard to talk about one without mentioning the other,” Derek continued. “Your parents were indispensable to the Order, and for Jacob and Elizabeth, their secret work with us was one of the passions of their lives.”
“Jacob and Elizabeth?” he echoed faintly. Those were the names the ghost of Sir George had mentioned to him in Newgate Prison.
“That’s right, lad. Your parents.” Derek laid a hand on his shoulder. “Two of my dearest friends. Jacob and Elizabeth Everton, the Earl and Countess of Griffon.”
Jake sat down abruptly. He could barely find his voice. “My parents—were aristocrats?”
“Indeed. And you were their only child. Now that you’ve been found, well, legally, the title and all that goes with it now belongs to you, not your uncle.” Derek eyed him hesitantly. “Waldrick is your father’s younger brother. When you disappeared and the world thought you were dead, he inherited everything. But now that we’ve found you alive, you see, it’s rightfully yours—the title, the houses, the goldmine.”
“Goldmine?” he choked out.
“And the responsibility that goes with it,” Derek cautioned with a pointed look. He crossed to a cabinet by the wall, uncapped a crystal decanter, and poured himself a drink of something strong. “Well, don’t look so surprised. Your family title, Griffon, is named after the gryphon, a beast that is said to be capable of locating veins of gold in the earth. For centuries, the Griffon lords have owned a goldmine in Wales that their gryphon originally showed them. So the legend goes. Of course, I’ve never seen a gryphon at your goldmine, but the dwarves who work there are all extremely capable.”
“Dwarves?” Jake squeaked, his voice breaking in his shock.
Derek put the cap back on the decanter. “They’ll be eager to meet you, as their new employer.”
“A goldmine,” he echoed in a daze. So that’s why my uncle tried to kill me. “Derek?” he asked after a long pause, still unsure if he quite dared to believe this. “Are you very sure you haven’t got the wrong Jake?”
He smiled. “I’ve seen what you can do. There aren’t any other Jakes out there who’ve somehow inherited both your parents’ powers. You’re their son, all right. The proof is in the pudding, my young friend.”
Jake leaned forward in his seat, his heart beating faster. “They had powers, too?”
“Your mother was the one who could communicate with the spirit world. The dead always knew they could rely on her. But in truth, Lady Griffon was an excellent diplomat for the living, as well. She represented the Crown in dealing with all sorts of magical beings, not just ghosts. She had a way with people, you see, both human and magical. She was very kind and good-natured. She even managed to tame your dad.”
“What about him?” Jake breathed.
“You get your telekinesis from him. That sort of thing has long run in your lineage on his side, from what I’m told. Brave man. Very smart. A little cocky. But they made a splendid team, the two of them, both in the human world, as one of high society’s golden couples, and in their secret missions for the Order.”
“The Order,” Jake echoed in awe. “What’s that, then?” It sounded important.
“The Most Ancient Noble Order of the Yew Tree, founded 1596 under the reign of Queen Elizabeth.” Derek nodded toward the painting. “It’s an alliance of humans and magical folk, dedicated to keeping the peace between our two worlds. We protect the balance.”
Jake held him in a blank stare, astonished.
Derek sat down nearby, studying him. “Perhaps I should start at the beginning.”
Jake nodded vigorously.
“Very well. The founding of the Order came about as a result of a terrible time in our country’s history, Jake. I don’t know how much you’ve learned about that, but before the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Catholics and Protestants were burning each other at the stake—and both sides ganging up on those of us with, er, unusual abilities. They were particularly hard on witches, good and bad alike. It didn’t matter. They were out to burn them all. Most people believed that all magic folk were evil—until the great wizard, Christopher Marlowe, proved them wrong.” Derek snorted. “And they thought he was just a playwright. Words are magical, all right… Anyway, England was on high alert, knowing the mighty Spanish Armada was sailing toward us, ready to invade. Marlowe went out and used a speaking spell to summon up that storm in the Channel, and the Armada was destroyed. Just like you see in the painting.”
“Christopher Marlowe did that? You’re barmy! Th
at’s impossible.”
“Really? You should hear what his colleague, Mr. Shakespeare, was capable of conjuring with his pen.”
“Oh, come on!”
Derek grinned. “The Marlowe part is true. He was one of our agents. Unfortunately, he wound up murdered, but he conjured that storm. What, did you think it just coincidentally came out of nowhere, like the history books would have you believe?” Derek sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s better if the rest of the world believes that. Only a few people, then or now, knew the truth about that storm. One of them was Queen Elizabeth. Finally, we had a monarch who got the point—that magical folk could be as loyal subjects as any Englishman, and that certainly, it was better to have us with her than against her.
“So Her Majesty put a stop to the persecution of Magic-kind and founded the Order of the Yew Tree, and we’ve been working together in secret ever since. They named it after the yew tree,” he added, “because it’s always been a sacred symbol of protection. For humans, it provided English longbows, and for wizards, it provides the choicest wands.”
Jake blinked in surprise.
“There were twenty-four members to start, twelve humans and twelve representatives from the world of magic—fey folk of various sorts. Queen Elizabeth herself became the nominal head and patroness of the Order, just like Queen Victoria is today.”
“Queen Victoria knows about all this?” he exclaimed. She seemed so stuffy!—the stout, unsmiling, old queen, always dressed in widow’s black, even though her royal mate, Prince Albert, had died ages ago.
“Of course,” Derek replied. “The royal garden fairies do an excellent job of keeping Her Majesty informed on all important news concerning her magical subjects throughout the Empire. She’ll want to meet you, by the way,” he added, and Jake nearly fell off his chair.
“Queen Victoria knows who I am?” he yelped.
“I should think so! You are her godson, after all.”
Jake stared at him, open-mouthed.
“Don’t worry, lad. It’s a formality more than anything. Whenever a child is born to two magical parents like yourself, he or she is always made the godchild of the Sovereign. It’s safest that way, for you and for England. Makes it easier for us to keep an eye on you. We can’t have children of your considerable talents going off on—how did that constable put it? A bad path?”
Jake remembered Flanagan’s warning in the courtroom. He smiled ruefully at Derek.
“One never knows how two people’s powers are going to mingle. Your parents had to get special permission from the Order to marry for just that reason. We were all very curious when you were born to see which one you’d take after. But getting both their talents? That’s as rare as a spotted marsh dragon, but perhaps it was because you were born on Beltane.”
“What?”
“You just had your twelfth birthday, Jake. One of the most sacred days in the magical calendar. May first.”
Jake just stared, hearing this. A breeze could have knocked him over. It was not just the fact of learning the date of his real birthday... but all those years of thinking not a soul in the world cared if he lived or died.
Meanwhile, Queen Victoria herself had been concerned about him?! Even knew his name?
Oh, this could not be true! This had to be a dream.
“Now your parents played a very special role in the Order,” Derek continued. “They were Lightriders, an elite class of agents who assist magical beings in distress. They have jurisdiction anywhere within the British Empire. These days their missions can take them as far away as Egypt, India, Australia. All the unique magical creatures of those regions of the Empire are entitled to our help if they request it.”
“Lightriders?” Jake murmured.
Derek nodded. “So named from their mode of transportation. They use the earth’s ley lines to take them by instantaneous travel to wherever they must go.” He pointed at the globe with all the points of light glowing on it. “Have you ever heard of ley lines, Jake?”
He shook his head.
“All the great ancient cultures had a name for them. The Chinese called them dragon lines. In the Dark Ages throughout Europe they were known as fairy paths. The native tribes in America referred to them as spirit trails.”
“Even in America?”
“Of course. Nobody really knows exactly what they are, but they seem to be a naturally occurring phenomenon of our planet. Lines of electromagnetic energy crisscross the earth in set, constant, geometric patterns. Where two of these lines intersect, an energy vortex is created in the earth’s magnetic field. Our scientists today refer to it as aether. It’s very subtle, but you can feel it. A strangeness in the air. Especially people like us can feel it.”
“Like us?”
“The gifted. These points of intersection, crossings we call them, are distributed all over the earth. Stonehenge has one. The pyramids in Egypt. The cathedral of Notre Dame, just to name a few. Ancient peoples sensed their power and built their sacred sites where these ley lines joined. In any case, at some point long ago, people began to realize that these vortexes in the aether could be used as portals.
“Much more recently, we have learned not only how to open a portal whenever we wish, but to enter the grid and ‘ride’ the energy stream to any other crossing, and come out moments later on the other side of the world. Our Lightriders—and only they—are authorized to do this when they are sent off on their missions. There are risks to entering the grid, and the ley lines are one of our most closely guarded secrets. I am only telling you because your parents, Jake, were two of the best.”
Jake was staring into space, rather entranced. He wasn’t too keen on being an earl, but this Lightrider business sounded all the kick. “What sorts of things do Lightriders do?”
“Anything from diplomatic missions, like settling disputes, to helping solve local crimes involving Magic-folk.”
“When do I start?” he asked eagerly.
Derek looked at him. “Jake, you’re twelve.”
“So? Are you a Lightrider, too?”
“No, I’m just a Guardian,” Derek said with a smile. “We’re warriors—obviously. Born this way. Enhanced senses, faster reflexes. That sort of thing. Glorified bodyguards, really,” he said modestly. “I sometimes went with your parents on their more dangerous missions to protect them.” A fleeting look of pain, or guilt, passed over Derek’s rugged face. “But I couldn’t protect them from everything.”
Jake took a moment to prepare himself before asking the obvious question. “So what happened to them?”
The Guardian looked away. When he spoke again, his gravelly voice was taut with buried anger. “You’re too young to have to hear about such things. But if you really want me to tell you—” he took a deep breath, “you are entitled to know.”
Jake nodded grimly. “I’m ready to hear it.”
“Your parents were murdered, Jake. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t there.”
Jake bowed his head for a minute. Of course, when you grew up in an orphanage, you sort of knew your parents were dead. But there was a small part of you that hoped, somehow, maybe, there had been a mistake… He swallowed hard. “How did it happen? Were they on a mission?”
“No. That’s the worst part.” Derek shook his head. “They were at home. You have no memory of it?”
“No.”
“Perhaps that is a blessing.” He shrugged. “You were just a baby, after all. Your parents had just returned from another successful mission. Some in the Order objected to your mother taking risky missions with a baby at home, but people with her gifts don’t grow on trees. She knew that she was needed. As far as we can piece together what happened, when they got home, they wanted to celebrate another job well done. And so, the three of you were having a little family picnic together out in the gardens behind Griffon Castle…when the killer arrived.”
I’m from a castle?
“This was a man who had argued with your father at a ball a few nights prior. Th
e drunk fool shot his mouth off, insulting your father in front of Society. This was very stupid of him, since he was no match for Jacob. To defend his honor, your father had no choice but to challenge him to a duel to answer for the insult.”
“A duel!”
“Yes. But none of us were worried. Well, your mother wasn’t happy about it, but your dad and I were sure the idiot would sleep it off, then come to his senses, and realize he was going to die if he didn’t apologize. That’s all he had to do to cancel the duel. Apologize to your father, and it would be forgotten. No doubt that’s what your father thought the man had come to do when he walked into the garden the next day. But he was wrong. The coward hadn’t come to apologize.”
Derek lowered his head. “That was the one mistake your father made. Assuming his enemy would be as fair and honorable as himself. Instead, the man pulled out a gun and shot your father in cold blood. Jacob didn’t even have time to use his powers. Your mother witnessed the whole thing,” he said grimly. “She put you in the basket and ran into the woods.”
Derek paused while Jake’s mind whirled. “No one could’ve predicted that the madman would go after her, too. He was half in love with Elizabeth. Maybe that was the problem. Jealousy. He couldn’t have her, so he shot her in the back. With her last breath, she summoned the water nymphs and put the basket in the brook. When they came, she begged them to protect you. And then she died as the water nymphs floated you off to safety.”
The room was silent.
“The brook that wraps around the grounds of Griffon Castle flows into the River Lea, and the Lea flows into the Thames. They watched over you all that way—which is very rare, you must understand. Water nymphs can be dangerous. They are not to be trifled with. They will drown a human who chances to see them bathing in their streams or lakes. But they had cause to admire your mother. So they took you away as she requested and sang to keep you calm.”
“Yes, I remember those songs… That’s all I can remember now. I’ve heard them lately in my head,” Jake said, then frowned. “But how did I end up at the orphanage?”