Prospero Regained

by L. Jagi Lamplighter

  This revelation brought understanding, but not sympathy. Cornelius was a cold, calculating man. I respected him, but I could not bring myself to like him much. I understood why he might value Prospero, Inc., but that created no desire to share it with him.

  As we neared him, his voice spoke from above us: They won’t come for me. No one in the family ever remembers me. That is the reward I have earned for all my years of selfless service. I’ll be all alone, forgotten. Forever dwelling in the dark.

  “Don’t be an ass!” Erasmus bent down and yanked him to his feet.

  “Erasmus? Is that you? Thank Heavens!” Cornelius, the calmest and least demonstrative of my brothers, grabbed Erasmus’s hand tightly. Titus rushed forward and grabbed both Erasmus and Cornelius in a bear hug. The three of them embraced, laughing. Cornelius reached up and touched their faces.

  I looked around but could see neither an indication of how he came to be dressed in out-of-fashion garments nor any sign of his original belongings. That was too bad. We had all been hoping Cornelius might have some food left among his things.

  My brother stooped and picked up his staff, a slender blind-man’s cane with a sphere of amber set into the top—its white length was still tied with a black warding ribbon Erasmus had placed upon it to keep the dangerous King Paimon from influencing us without our knowledge—and set his bowler upon his head.

  “Ready when you are, Brothers,” Cornelius spoke with a note of cheer I had seldom heard in his voice.

  I looked around at the group of us, and it struck me. We were all together! I paused a moment and glanced at each sibling, drinking in their faces. If, in the troubles to come, anything should happen to some of us, I wanted to be able to remember the family at this moment.

  Gregor stood in the midst of the Exchange. Without his red robes, the difference between his lithe present self and the stockier physique of his past was more pronounced. He held his new staff before him with both hands, as a priest might carry a cross, his expression calm and prayerful. To his left, Ulysses sat upon Caliban’s shoulders with Mephisto standing just beside them. Ulysses and Mephisto both seemed to be in good spirits. The former usually took things lightly, but he had seemed particularly cheerful since Logistilla had restored his true shape. The latter had a distant wistful smile. Funny to see the two of them together, both slender, wiry, and light-heartedly. I had never before noticed how similar they were.

  Erasmus was still grinning at Cornelius. He took Cornelius’s arm and hooked it over his own. The two of them looked so natural together, with Titus, Cornelius’s full brother, smiling beside them. Theo waited stalwartly beside me, his eyes alert, keeping watch for dangers. He had not forgotten that we were in Hell or that Ulysses had originally been captured by demons not far from here. Mab stood beside him, scratching his stubble. Next to him was Logistilla, who had been staring down her nose fastidiously at the men who stood frozen in the exchange around us. As Titus came to stand calmly beside her, his hand resting protectively upon her shoulder, Logistilla shrieked. A moment later, she covered her mouth with her hand, but her eyes were peering fervently upward.

  I looked around, seeing nothing. Then, listening, I heard it, too. As if from the air above our heads, our own voices were speaking.

  Logistilla’s voice said: So, Big Sister lived like a prisoner in her own castle? Why does that make me feel sooo good?

  Titus’s voice growled: If Caliban looks at her that way again, I don’t care if he’s Mephisto’s man, I’m going to crack his skull, squeeze it like an orange until the juices run out!

  A rich bass spoke that sounded familiar. It took me a moment to realize it was Gregor’s real voice, not his damaged gravelly whisper: What a sorry lot we Prosperos are. How many of us, by right, deserve to remain in this God-forsaken place? Maybe I should slay us all and do Heaven a favor.

  Caliban’s voice mused: My nose is stuffed up again. Wonder if I could pick it without anyone noticing?

  Ulysses’s spoke idly: This robe really doesn’t suit me. Wonder if Gregor could be conned into giving me his turtleneck and slacks. I’d look far better in them than he does. Or better yet, Cornelius’s suit. Now that’s sharp!

  Cornelius’s voice was repeating in a soft, stunned tone. They’re here. They came. I can’t believe it!

  Erasmus’s voice cried in despair: My life is a field strewn with ash, like that wasteland we crossed. Oh, Maria, how I have failed you!

  Theo’s voice chuckled: Boy, I looked fine when I fired my staff! Wonder if Miranda noticed?

  Mab’s voice said: What the…?

  Mephisto’s voice chirped: I’m hungry. Wonder if anybody brought cheese?

  And my voice … To my dismay, I heard my own voice repeating aloud the dour thoughts running through the back of my mind—the kind of thoughts I usually dismissed: First Father, now these Voodoo dolls. Do I have any thoughts of my own? Oh, my lost love! Would that you had not been cruelly murdered!

  Beside me, Theo’s face slowly turned red. Mephisto lowered his head, concentrating. He hugged his arms and hummed a song. Above us, his voice fell silent. Noticing this, a panicked-looking Gregor immediately began to pray. His voice stopped as well. Logistilla tried to pray, but her voice-over continued:

  Our Father … Darn! How does that prayer go? What’s the point of praying anyway? God never listens or answers. If there even is a God. Would a God of Goodness leave Galeazzo in that forsaken hellhole? I wonder if he was happy to see his mother. Oh, wait! I’m supposed to be praying! Oh, how my mind does wander!

  Then, Titus touched Gregor’s shoulder. Gregor tapped his new staff. Blessed silence fell.

  The souls of the damned in the range of his staff’s effect stirred and looked about. Several approached us, attempting to join our group. They tried to speak to us or gesticulated imploringly, two of them doffing their black bowlers and holding them meekly before their chests. But, of course, we could not hear what they said. Gregor threatened them with the Seal of Solomon, and they quickly retreated. As we moved toward the door, and the effect of the Staff of Silence passed beyond them, they froze again and stood motionless listening to the Voice.

  The eerie thing was that Gregor’s staff did not silence only the outside voices. The monologue that had been berating me both in my head—the voice I had assumed was my own—fell quiet, too. I could think positive, practical thoughts and could consider negative consequences, but no self-effacing repulsive thoughts rose to confound me.

  The Staff of Silence may always have had this effect, only I had never had a reason to notice before.

  As I wound my way through the finely dressed locals, who milled about, bewildered, within the effect of the silence, I thought about my voice-over. Lost love? Since when had I began thinking of Astreus as my love?

  I blushed a dark crimson. A better question might be: Why had I assumed that I had meant the Elf Lord instead of Ferdinand?

  Then it struck me. The demons were affecting our thoughts.

  Our very minds were not our own. What actions we had taken in our lives, what mistakes we had made, had been at their urging? I knew my anger at Erasmus was fanned by them, but what else? Had it been my idea to stay at home when London was burning, back in 1666, or was that thought caused by demons? Had it been my idea to play my flute on the bridge, or had that come from them, too?

  The whole subject made me feel as if something were crawling on the inside of my skin. I shivered and shook my head as if I could shake out the bad thoughts. The others must have come to similar conclusions, for their faces were pale and their expressions ranged from baffled to disturbed.

  As we reached a sparsely populated area near one of the bronze-colored round booths, Ulysses gestured from Caliban’s back for everyone to come together. We began gathering about the Staff of Transportation, preparing to depart.

  A pile of colored tickets near our feet burst into flame. It burned without a crackle, though the scent of burning paper grew stronger. Erasmus blithely steppe
d over it and put his arm on Ulysses’s shoulder. Then, he abruptly pulled back and motioned to Gregor, moving his finger across his throat and pointing at the Staff of Silence. Gregor nodded and tapped his staff. Sound came rushing back.

  “This is too good an opportunity to miss.” Erasmus pointed at Mephisto, who was lounging against the booth, clicking his fingers in his ear to hear the noise of it. “Are you the family traitor?”

  “No, you dope!” Mephisto exclaimed. From above, a voice that sounded like Mephisto’s replied: No, you dope. I’m the family savior.

  “Bit of a savior complex, perhaps, but no guilt.” Erasmus spun nearly sliding on the polished wooden floor and pointed his finger at Theo, who stood nearest to Mephisto. “Are you the traitor?”

  “Don’t be an ass.” Theo repeated the words Erasmus had just spoken to Cornelius. Above, his voice said: I have failed my family. I allowed the demons to trick me and sway me from my duty. What greater treachery could there be?

  Erasmus snorted. “Right! Next?”

  One by one, Erasmus called upon each of the others, Caliban and Mab included, and Mab questioned Erasmus as well. While one or two voice-overs were embarrassing, no one revealed treachery. Erasmus and Mab both grilled Gregor, questioning him about the comment we had heard overhead about him killing us all.

  Gregor’s face reddened, but he replied fiercely. “I would never harm any of you! Those thoughts of mine you heard—they were the sort a man knows better than to listen to. When I was in constant prayer, back in my cell, I had rid myself of such thoughts. Here in the heart of the Inferno, it is harder to discipline one’s mind…”

  “We know,” Mephisto replied cheerfully. “Didn’t you notice all these evil thoughts went away when Titus did his silence thing? That means they aren’t even our thoughts, They are evil thoughts sent by bad demons. For instance, I’m sure Calvin would never think about picking his nose, were it not for bad demon thoughts,” Mephisto said, using Caliban’s modern name. He slapped his Bully Boy on the back, and Caliban’s face grew rather red. Then, Mephisto paused and tilted his head. “But I really would like some cheese.”

  Overhead, Gregor’s real voice cried: What if they don’t believe me? What if they think I am the traitor and lock me up again? and Mephisto’s said dreamily: Maybe with some salami.

  Erasmus finished with the others and turned to me, an unpleasant gleam in his dark eyes. From his air of suppressed glee, I realized this was the moment he had been anticipating. My brother truly believed I was the traitor, and he thought he was about to prove it to everyone.

  “Finally, the truth, Dear Sister!” Overhead, Erasmus’s voice chortled: At last!

  “It’s not me,” I replied. “Why would I cast a spell on myself?” Above us, my voice said: Hurry! We’ve got to hurry, or Father will be dead! Unless Father is the traitor!

  I blushed to have the others overhear me doubting Father. Theo and Titus both frowned severely at me, and Logistilla gasped in outrage at the very thought. Erasmus merely grinned wolfishly and stepped closer. As he opened his mouth, however, all sound fled.

  Frowning with great annoyance, Erasmus gestured to Gregor to cut the silence again. This time, Gregor shook his head, indicating again that we should all gather together by Ulysses, and tapping his left breast. It took me a moment to realize that he was making a gesture to indicate a pocket watch. He was trying to say that we had to get moving and save Father.

  Relieved, I stepped obediently toward Ulysses. Erasmus was far from pleased. He stomped forward, frowning angrily. Then, he changed direction and charged at me.

  Striking my stomach with his head, he threw me over his shoulder, then, as I gasped, he sprinted across the chamber until we were outside the effect of the Staff of Silence. Throwing me to the smoldering floor, he grabbed me by the throat. “Here, of all places, you cannot lie! For God’s sake! Tell me the truth! What are you?” Above him, his voice-over cried out plaintively: All this time, they’ve been taken in by her, believed her lies. Finally, we shall learn the truth!

  Coughing, I tried to tear his hands from my throat, but he had the same advantages of extraordinary strength as I did, and he was the stronger of us. The heat of the floor scalded my back. I kicked at Erasmus, trying to lift as much of my body off the wood planks as possible; however, he quickly knelt atop me, pinning my legs. Above us, to my dismay, my voice cried out pathetically: Erasmus, can’t you see that I am innocent? I am nothing but a pawn to whom Father told lies. Stop hurting me!

  “No!” he cried. “You lied about Ferdinand. You’ve kept the Water from us. You killed Maria. You chortled, laughing as you lauded your victories over us!”

  The same words were repeated in the air above his head.

  My vision was growing dark around the edges. I struggled, desperate for air, pulling on my brother’s hands. My voice-over cried:

  I am innocent! I shall die having failed my father … having failed my Lady … and never having known love.

  “Stop!” Theo charged toward Erasmus like a knight on horseback. Mephisto’s face bobbed over Theo’s shoulder, his staff swinging about as if ready to strike. Before they arrived, however, Mab appeared and hit Erasmus over the head with his lead pipe. The great chamber resounded with the loud whack.

  Erasmus released me and grabbed his head, yowling. Theo tackled him, knocking him hard against the floor. Theo knelt on Erasmus’s chest, shouting, “Stop hurting her! Can’t you see she’s just a victim?”

  Above, Theo’s voice-over cried: If he kills her, after she saved me, brought me back to life … Oh, please live, Miranda! Please live!

  “Ow! For Heaven’s sake! I’m not going to kill her!” Erasmus shouted back. “I just want to know the truth!”

  Reluctantly, Theo released Erasmus and stood, glaring down at him. His face ashen, Erasmus held his head where Mab had struck him and rocked back and forth, his features contorted with pain.

  “Ouch! That hurts!”

  “Serves you right, bothering Miss Miranda like that when she’s never done anything to you,” Mab growled.

  Erasmus scooted backward, away from Theo, and rose to his feet. “But that’s just it! She has harmed me. She’s harming us all. She’s lying! She’s a fake like … like those false wings she’s been parading about,” Erasmus spat, turning on me as I rose shakily to my feet, my hands pressed against my throbbing throat. “Prancing about as if you’re an angel, when we all know you’re nothing but a witch’s bastard! See!”

  Overhead, his voice cried: She’s lying. She has to be. I will prove it!

  Crossing the distance between us again in two large steps, Erasmus grabbed my shoulder and spun me around so that my back was to my family. As Theo bear-hugged him about the middle and dragged him away, Erasmus unlatched the enchanted clasp that released the fastenings on my enchanted dress. My gown fell open in back, baring my shoulders before my family and the population of the Exchange.

  Theo swung Erasmus around, knocking the latter’s head into the nearest circular booth. My gown began sliding off my shoulders. Crossing my arms to keep it from slipping further, I noticed that no wisps of emerald light sprang from the loose flaps of enchanted cloth now. Opening the fastening must have broken the spell that had produced the wings.

  Overhead my voice exclaimed: I hope they reappear when I close my gown. They were useful!

  At the same time, Erasmus’s voice-over cried shrilly: No! I don’t believe it! How can this be?

  To my left, Theo had forced Erasmus to his knees, his hands gripping Erasmus’s shoulders. But he was no longer looking at Erasmus. Instead, he stared at me. Erasmus stared at me, too, ignoring the trickle of blood running down his temple into his eye. Caliban, Mephisto, and Mab stood about them, ready to jump in if necessary. Yet, they were gawking at me, as well. Farther away, the rest of my family also stared in astonishment.

  The floor had been very hot. Perhaps my skin had blistered, and they were aghast at the horror of it? I grew faint with shame. How mor
tifying that I—who would not even swim without a proper bathing costume—was now so flagrantly exposed.

  No man, save Father, has ever seen my back. I shall die of shame!

  Bracing myself, I twisted, resolved to see what held their attention so raptly. And then, I, too, gaped in wonder.

  Wings of emerald light flared behind me as brightly as ever. Only they did not come from my enchanted gown. They sprang directly from my shoulder blades.

  Overhead, Erasmus’s voice cried out: This cannot be! Can I have been wrong all this time? But your mother was an evil witch! Why else would Father have put you under a spell?

  Like the traitor Erasmus accused me to be, the overhead voice that sounded so deceptively like my own betrayed me. It blurted out my secret fear. It did not do it meekly or with shame, as I might, but in a most blatant and arrogant fashion: Fool! That wretched witch was never my mother. My mother is the Queen of Air and Darkness!

  Oh, no. My heart stopped beating. My chest froze. I opened my mouth, gasping for air that did not come.

  Erasmus’s jaw dropped open so far that I feared it had become unhinged. He looked at me with a mixture of astonishment and triumph. Theo took a stumbling step back. Caliban, who had just arrived, went pale. Even Mab’s face scrunched into an incredulous grimace.

  From down the street came the tromping of demon feet.

  “Okay, let’s skidaddle! We can discuss this later.” Mephisto yanked Ulysses toward me and grabbed my shoulder. “Everyone hold on!”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Sycorax’s Child

  “Snakes!”

  This time, the serpents were waiting for us. We arrived in a flash of light back at the foothills of the Mountains of Misery. The rock we had marked with the Staff of Transportation had been far from the snakes the first two times. The locals had caught on to where we appeared and disappeared, however, and had slithered over to wait for us.

  They swarmed over our feet, biting us mercilessly. Caliban and Mephisto wore boots. Ulysses still sat on Caliban’s shoulders. Mab made quick use of his trusty pipe to send snakes flying in all directions. Cornelius, who had missed all the recent family drama because he had been within the effect of the Staff of Silence, and Logistilla, who had immensely enjoyed the spectacle of Erasmus attacking me, both were in such good moods that—true to Malagigi’s predictions—the snake bites could not affect them.