by Holly Webb
Rose nodded emphatically. “Yes, it was like that for me too when I tried to stop Princess Jane being kidnapped. And the cold burned.”
“We searched for you, sir,” Freddie told him. “You weren’t in your room, and Gus couldn’t feel you anywhere.”
Mr. Fountain smiled at them. “I don’t know how many of those snow globes there were, but they were the seeds of the spell. Pretty little things in houses all through the city, spreading the cold. He was very clever.”
“But Rose beat him,” Freddie objected. “I don’t mean it like that,” he added quickly. “Venn just didn’t seem all that clever when we fought him at the banquet.”
Mr. Fountain shook his head. “It wasn’t him.” Gus laid his ears back and shivered.
“Venn was only the front man,” Mr. Fountain explained. “I’ve met him, and that winter magic wasn’t his. You can tell. The feel was wrong, the taste of it. It was the other one…”
“The ice-eyed man,” Rose whispered. “I thought so. He made them, didn’t he? It was him who gave me that one, at the Frost Fair. Who is he?”
“I don’t know.” Mr. Fountain sighed. “I thought I knew all the most powerful magicians in Europe, but I’ve never met him. I think we may have to find out. They ran, Rose, but they aren’t beaten—although Venn may never be the same again. They won’t give up, and that spell wasn’t just about stealing a princess. It was power they wanted. Venn must have worked his way into the emperor’s trust, and that would have taken time. I’m sure if their plan had worked, the emperor would have been delighted to take advantage of it. But I shouldn’t think the emperor would have lasted very long after that—or only in name, anyway. Venn would have been his closest counselor, and the ice magician would have been controlling Venn. The strength of that spell…it was incredible. The snow globe held me for half a day, and for much of that time I couldn’t even think, even after they’d fled.”
“What happened to it?” Rose asked.
Mr. Fountain reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a glittering glass ornament, specks of silvery snow whirling inside it. “It isn’t the same, I’m afraid,” he told her.
He was right. It was only a trinket now, a toy. The skaters didn’t move, and the snow was only glitter. But if Rose half closed her eyes, she could remember how it was before, and it was very, very beautiful.
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Even after living there, the palace was still a breathtaking sight. It reminded Rose of a cake—the sort of fine white wedding cake that the smart confectioners had in their windows, all crusted with swags of sugar icing.
An anxious-looking young man in an ornate uniform was pacing up and down the mews, clearly waiting for them, and Freddie moaned at the sight of him. “Oh, no. Raph’s done something awful again. Look at him, he’s almost green.”
Raphael Cressy was Freddie’s cousin, an equerry to the king. No one was quite sure how he’d ever been given the post, but Freddie believed it was because his regiment were prepared to lie through their teeth to make sure he never went near the front line.
Raph was startlingly beautiful, and so he was useful at the palace in a decorative sort of way—all Princess Jane’s older sisters were in love with him. Quite unfairly, his good looks often got him out of trouble, but he was terribly dim most of the time.
Raph dashed to open the carriage door, almost colliding with the coachman, who retired to his box, muttering.
“Please hurry, sir,” he begged. “His Majesty is beside himself with worry.”
“What did you do, you idiot?” Freddie hissed, jumping down, and handing Rose out.
“It wasn’t me!” Raph protested. “Really, I never went anywhere near the thing. His Majesty’s waiting in the throne room, do come on.” He seized Rose’s sleeve, and actually pulled her inside past the guards, hustling the party up an enormous staircase, the banisters held up by plump and winsome cherubs that had Mr. Fountain wincing. He strongly disapproved of many of the king’s renovations. “The throne room,” he was muttering. “It would be. All that scarlet carpet gives me such a headache, and the statues are absurd.” Gus ran ahead of Raph, his tail waving high. He adored dramatic situations, and Rose suspected he was also hoping to finally have a chance to terrorize Queen Adelaide’s lap dog. Gus had been in disguise during most of their previous visit, and had been forced to control his natural instincts.
The king was pacing up and down the scarlet carpet that had so worried Mr. Fountain. Rose agreed—the carpet was blood-colored, and the walls were a shade darker. It was like being inside a bag of liver, which had been liberally dotted with gilded marble statues. It was also unfortunate that the king was wearing a crimson Guards’ uniform which clashed, subtly and dreadfully. He looked haggard, his face grayish pale, and his eyes haunted.
“At last!”
“I’m so sorry, Sire, we came as soon as the message arrived. It’s really gone?”
“Look!” The king wheeled round and pointed dramatically at a display of weapons on the wall. Even Rose could see that there was a rather unfortunate gap in the middle.
“Is this mask supposed to be there?” she hissed to Freddie.
Freddie shrugged. He looked put out, as he prided himself on knowing more about the palace than Rose did.
“Why are those children here?” Queen Adelaide was sweeping down the room toward them, the train of her velvet dress trailing across the red carpet. Behind her trotted a grumpy-looking pageboy, carrying her fat little Pekingese dog, its eyes bulging at the sight of Gus.
“We need their help, my dear,” the king reminded her curtly.
Rose bent her knees slightly, hoping to hide the inches of leg that showed under her outgrown dress. But she could tell that the queen could see what she was doing. Queen Adelaide looked down her rather long nose at the two children. “Do they have to look quite so disheveled?” she asked in a stagey sort of whisper.
Mr. Fountain bowed. He didn’t like the queen, it was quite obvious—though he was far too much the courtier to admit any such thing. “We obeyed His Majesty’s summons in rather a hurry, ma’am.”
The queen’s “Hmmm” was masterly, and Rose and Freddie both attempted to hide behind Mr. Fountain. This meant that Gus came out from around his master’s legs, and leered at the Pekingese. The Peke stood up in the pageboy’s arms and barked itself silly, while Gus merely stared demurely at it, standing decoratively next to Rose and opening his eyes very wide. He knew that made him look innocent, but Rose could tell from the twitching of his tail-tip that he was enjoying himself enormously.
The queen seized the Peke from the pageboy and cooed lovingly at it, but the little creature fought and scrabbled, yapping hysterically.
I think he is being terribly rude in Chinese, Gus told Rose admiringly. I wish I understood.
At last the queen handed the dog back to the pageboy, still wriggling frantically. “I shall have to take Flower out of here,” the queen pronounced, frowning. “He cannot stand to associate with such an underbred animal. I will speak to you later, my dear.” She processed out, with the pageboy following her, stuffing Flower inside his gilt-encrusted jacket, and glowering at Rose and Freddie, who were stifling giggles.
“Did she mean me?” Gus was staring after the queen, an expression of amazement and dawning horror in his eyes. “Underbred? Me?”
The king had heard Gus talk before, but he still jumped slightly as the voice echoed from around his feet. “I’m so sorry,” he said awkwardly—clearly finding it hard to address a cat, even one as grand as Gus. “My wife is not fond of cats. I am quite sure you have a magnificent pedigree.” Tentatively he reached out to pat Gus’s head, but something about the way Rose, Freddie and Mr. Fountain all sucked in a breath made him withdraw his hand again.
“I am descended from an Egyptian god,” Gus snapped, his tail lashing
to and fro.
“Sire, what is the magician’s mask?” Rose asked, bobbing a curtsey in the direction of the king. Showing her ignorance didn’t weigh against distracting Gus from clawing the reigning monarch.
“An heirloom…” King Albert gazed at the space on the wall, a dazed expression settling in his eyes. “A mask, made of gold, and inlaid with enamelling and gems. Unbelievably precious, even as a jewel…”
“Except it isn’t just a jewel,” Mr. Fountain sighed. “It’s a magical tool, a Venetian mask. It’s well known that the Venetians have strange powers, and they hold magical festivities, with interesting dancing. Rituals, you know. Foreign cults are mixed up with it all,” he added vaguely. “Priests travel from the far Indies to be there, so I’ve been told.”
“Probably the ones that worshipped me,” Gus snarled.
“Mmm. I’ve often wondered about going to Venice. Masks, most fascinating things, and the Venetian masks are known to have incredible powers for the wearer… And as if that isn’t enough, this particular mask belonged to Dr. Dee, Queen Elizabeth’s court magician. He was said to have learned many of his strange powers in Venice. Who knows what spells he imbued it with, besides its own secrets? It’s an invaluable magical artifact.”
The king, flushed spots burning along his high cheekbones, drew something out of his waistcoat.
Everyone stared at him politely. Eventually, Freddie ventured, “That’s a teaspoon, Sire.” He exchanged a worried sideways glance with Rose. Missing princesses were one thing—an insane king was quite another.
“I know that,” the king murmured patiently. “Earlier this afternoon, one of the butlers discovered that the display above you now contained a teaspoon—this teaspoon—instead of Dr. Dee’s mask.”
Mr. Fountain took the spoon, weighing it in his hand. “It’s been glamoured,” he said, tapping it against his teeth, and then biting it gently. “The theft didn’t happen yesterday.” He eyed the king thoughtfully, obviously wondering if he needed to explain.
“Well, of course it didn’t!” the king exclaimed irritably. “It was that cad Venn and his accomplice. Obviously! Who else has been dallying about the palace with unlimited magical powers? And look at the handle. Unbelievable conceit. The gall of it. They left their calling card.”
Rose peered over at the teaspoon, and Gus, curiosity winning over dignified fury, leaped into her arms to see too. Delicately etched into the silver handle of the spoon was an intricate snowflake.
Rose frowned. It seemed a lot of effort for Gossamer and Lord Venn to go to. All this for something that was just for dressing up?
“What will they do with the mask?” she asked, nibbling at one of her nails. “Does it—does it do anything?”
“If they can unravel the secrets of its spells, they can do whatever they like,” Mr. Fountain muttered, slumping onto one of the spindly gilt chairs, and wiping a silk handkerchief across his forehead. “It’s terribly powerful. But then, no one since Dee has really known how to use it. No one has dared to wear it, not knowing what would happen.” There was a strange longing in his voice, and his eyes were hidden by the handkerchief. “I need to go home and look it all up—I have a history of Venice somewhere. There are rituals. Certain days when everyone wears masks. But this mask—the right person could wear it to wreak havoc, and remain a secret. Or, even worse, he could use it to create. To build.”
“To build an army,” the king said in a low voice. He didn’t even bother with a chair, just sank down on the pedestal of one of the ugly gilded statues. “An army of magicians, following the power of the masked man.”
“We wouldn’t…” But Mr. Fountain sounded doubtful, and he shivered, and smiled faintly, one hand stroking across his cheek, as though he was smoothing on a mask.
Mr. Fountain stayed silent for almost the whole of the coach journey home. Freddie and Rose exchanged curious glances, but somehow the silence infected them too, and they didn’t dare to break it. Even Gus perched on Mr. Fountain’s shoulder and glared out of the window at the darkening streets.
About the Author
Holly Webb was born and grew up in southeast London but spent a lot of time on the Suffolk coast. As a child, she had two dogs, a cat, and at one point, nine gerbils (an accident). At about ten, Holly fell in love with stories from Ancient Greek myths, which led to studying Latin and Greek, and eventually to reading Classics at university. She worked for five years as a children’s fiction editor before deciding that writing was more fun and easier to do from a sofa. Now living in Reading with her husband, three sons, and two cats, Holly runs a Girl Scout unit. The Rose books stem from a childhood love of historical novels and the wish that animals really could talk.