"I beg your pardon," said Sera, dropping Budge's arm and rushing off to offer her assistance.
But by the time Sera arrived, the attack had already passed. Elsie was sitting on a marble bench beside Jarl Skogsrå, with a weary little smile on her face and an expression of deep contentment in her eyes. That contentment quickly faded when Sera knelt down beside her.
"I am perfectly well. You are fussing again, and it is very tiresome. Haakon takes excellent care of me, as you ought to know by now. He can soothe my fears with a word and a smile."
Sera stood up again, blinking back tears. That Elsie should speak to her so reproachfully, and before Lord Skogsrå, too! She felt bitterly mortified.
Mr. Budge had followed her across the garden. "I think," said the tutor, "that you would benefit from that glass of lemonade that I offered you earlier."
"Yes," said Sera, and allowed him to lead her over to the refreshment table.
"How very extraordinary," said Budge, as Sera sipped her lemonade. "This is the first time that I ever witnessed one of Miss Elsie's attacks, though I have heard them described. Perhaps you can tell me, is Jarl Skogsrå actually able to bring her out of them with a few spoken words?"
"Always," said Sera, with a catch in her voice. "He is always able to do so; while I, who have cared for her all of these years, am totally helpless."
"How very extraordinary," the tutor repeated thoughtfully. He stood in silent contemplation for several minutes. "Miss Vorder," he said at last, "perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me, have you received any communication from your . . . friends in Thornburg, since you arrived here?"
"No, I have not," Sera said, more sharply than she had intended. The question, coming when it did, had surprised her. It sounded almost as though he knew of her arrangement with Lord Skelbrooke. But that was highly unlikely; certainly, she had said nothing to anyone, and (at least so far as she knew) Skelbrooke and the tutor were not even acquainted.
Yet why else should Budge have asked with such a look of interest? And why, in any case, should he frown and shake his head, as though he found her denial so particularly disturbing?
It was the following afternoon—when Elsie and Skogsrå were walking in the gardens, the Duchess was upstairs in her bedchamber resting, and Hermes Budge had gone into Pfalz on some unnamed errand—that Sera, feeling at loose ends, wandered into the vast library in the west wing in search of amusement. There were a great many rooms in the mansion devoted solely to books, for in addition to inheriting many volumes from his ancestors, the Duke was a great collector of scholarly tomes, but only in this room had Sera found any of the plays or the histories which were her particular delight.
Lord Vodni was in the library when she arrived, seated in a comfortable armchair, with a volume of poetry lying open in his lap. "Miss Vorder," he said, putting his books aside and immediately rising to his feet. He had been out riding earlier that day, and he still wore buckskins and a scarlet coat, a pair of highly polished black boots—a costume vastly becoming to a man with his fine figure and his restless, romantic appearance.
"I wonder, sir," said Sera, "if there was a letter for me today?" It was Vodni, as the Duke's secretary, to whom the butler brought all of the mail to be sorted.
"That is the second time this week you have asked me that question," said Vodni. "I begin to suspect some secret attachment. I believe that I am growing jealous."
Sera felt the hot blood rising in her face. "I can assure you, my lord, that it is nothing of the sort," she answered sharply.
"I beg your pardon," said the secretary, growing suddenly very earnest. "I am wrong to tease you. Your correspondence is no business of mine."
Sera turned around to examine the nearest bookshelf. Locating a volume of ancient history, she took a seat opposite the Baron, and opened her book.
"You have not yet paid a visit to the Duke," Lord Vodni commented. "Though he lives very retired in his own apartments and many days he is not well enough to receive visitors, he has expressed a desire to meet you—motivated, it seems, by a previous acquaintance with your grandfather."
Sera looked up from her book.
"Perhaps you might be willing to visit him soon," said Vodni. "I fear that His Excellency is not always lucid, but when he is, he can be a fascinating companion. Yes, he is really a most interesting old man."
"I should like very much to become acquainted with the Duke," said Sera.
The Baron rose to his feet. "Then come with me, now. This is one of his better days, and we might do well to seize the opportunity."
Sera accepted readily, very eager to meet the learned old man.
"I daresay," ventured Vodni, as they left the library, "that you have not yet explored the entire house. The Wichtelberg has a long and fascinating history . . . Do you know when and how it was built?"
"I know that it was built by dwarves, many hundreds of years ago," said Sera. "That, of course, explains the name."
"It passed through many hands—many, many hands—before it came to the ancestors of the Duke. And every new owner made extensive modifications. Some of these modifications did not survive, and it is principally the dwarf work which you see now, for stone endures, and the wichtel are meticulous craftsmen. Yet the frescoes on the third floor are accounted very fine, and the chandeliers in the dining hall—I beg your pardon, I do not mean to lecture you. It is just that I have such enthusiasm for this fine old house.''
"But please continue," said Sera, who had been listening with pleasure. "Your enthusiasm is contagious."
They walked down an empty corridor. "I will show you a curiosity," said Vodni, pausing before a long expanse of wall. There was a decorative molding near the ceiling and another near the floor, but the wall was otherwise blank. The Baron bent down and pressed one of the carved rosettes on the molding, and a section of wall slid aside, to reveal a hidden staircase. "It is a pity that I did not think to bring a light, for then you might have inspected the mechanism, which is very elaborate—rather more elaborate, I believe, than is strictly necessary to perform such a simple task—but very ingenious, oh, remarkably ingenious.
"We believe that the Wichtelberg was once occupied by gnomes; they have a fondness for these devices." He pressed another rosette to close the panel, but the section of wall refused to slide back into place.
Vodni aimed a kick at the secret door, as if by doing so he hoped to jog something loose. But when the panel still refused to move, he kicked it again and yet again much harder, evidently angry because the mechanism did not appear so impressive as he wanted Sera to think. Then, with a visible effort, he regained his composure.
"We will leave it open; it scarcely matters. I beg your pardon," he said, with an apologetic laugh. "As you can see: I possess a wicked temper, a vile disposition. I do not doubt that you are shocked."
Sera, who so often felt the urge to vent her rage in the same fashion, was not at all shocked. "Pray kick the wall again, Lord Vodni, if it affords you any satisfaction. I find myself in complete sympathy with you. I can assure you, sir, that my own temper is a match for yours
Vodni laughed again. "And yet, Miss Vorder, you contrive to control that temper. You invariably display an admirable self-restraint."
"Ah . . . but I have so very many opportunities to practice that self-restraint," said Sera, "it is little wonder I have mastered the art."
They continued on toward the Duke's chambers, both of them in high good humor. Sera realized that she was enjoying herself—she, who rarely cared for the company of young men. Oh, to be sure, she was fond of Jedidiah—but he was only a boy—and Hermes Budge was old beyond his years. As for Francis Skelbrooke . . . no, she could not say that she liked Lord Skelbrooke; the effect he exerted on her was far too disturbing. Yet here was Lord Vodni, fully as handsome and quite as courteous, and she found that she liked him exceedingly.
After much navigation of marble halls, Sera and the Baron reached their destination. "I will go inside and announce you to the Duke," said
Vodni, opening a door and disappearing inside.
He reappeared a few moments later, and ushered her across the threshold. "His Excellency is delighted to receive you."
Sera, who had spent a good part of her life in the company of her elders, discovered that the Duke was considerably older, even, than she had anticipated: a frail wisp of an elderly gentleman in an antique periwig and a brocade dressing gown. He sat in an oak armchair of medieval design, by an open window.
"Miss Vorder, your servant. I am informed by Lord Vodni that you are the granddaughter of Gottfried Jenk. Yes, indeed . . . indeed you do have a great look of him. I like the way that you hold yourself," he said, with an approving nod. "And am I to assume that your grandfather, Mr. Jenk, took an active interest in educating you?"
Sera sat up a little straighter. "When I was younger he educated me himself. But I have lived with my father's relations these last five years, and they do not approve of scholarly young women. My Cousin Benjamin, however, possesses an excellent library, and I continue my studies as best I can."
The Duke directed a mischievous glance in Vodni's direction. "And how old is she now, d'you think?"
The Baron made a humorous face. "I would not presume to guess. Why do we not ask the young lady herself?"
"I am eighteen," said Sera. "I shall be nineteen at the turn of the year."
"Eighteen years old, and five years in the house of your cousins," said the Duke. "And I do not doubt that your grandfather was educating you in your cradle. That would make thirteen years as Jenk's pupil. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss . . . I do crave your pardon. I have forgotten your name."
"Miss Seramarias Vorder," said his secretary.
The Duke bobbed his head. "Miss Vorder, yes. It is not often that I am so fortunate as to encounter an educated woman. The Duchess, of course, is a notable exception. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Jenk. Pray stay awhile and visit me."
CHAPTER 32
Which transports the Reader to the High Seas, and then
Back again to Thornburg.
Skelbrooke soon lost track of the days he spent in the dark hold of the ship. It was all ceaseless motion, and foul smells, and the endless throbbing of his left foot. He tossed and turned, alternately burning with fever and shivering with an ague. They had robbed him of the Sleep Dust to which he was addicted, and without the drug in his system true rest eluded him. He spent his nights and his days, too, in a kind of waking nightmare, the victim of terrifying hallucinations and agonizing sensations.
At length his mind cleared and his senses returned to him. His appetite revived and with it came a raging thirst. As the days passed, the water they gave him began to taste bad. And when he wanted to eat a piece of the ship's biscuit, he had to tap it against one of the beams to encourage the black-headed weevil maggots to crawl out.
Sometimes, he felt strong enough to speak to the sailor who brought him his meals and emptied his chamber pot. It was rarely the same man; two or three times it was the cabin boy, a skinny, toothless lad, slightly more garrulous than his mates, who told Skelbrooke about the other prisoners on board: two girls from the country, very young, very pretty, and exceedingly frightened. They were locked in a cabin up above, where the captain could keep an eye on them and prevent the men from molesting them. "Though why we shouldn't have our chance at 'em before the black men gets 'em . . . it don't seem right to me," said the boy.
"Merchandise," said Skelbrooke wearily. "The ladies are valuable merchandise, but you, my lad, are nothing. If it is any comfort to you, those poor girls would undoubtedly prefer to be in your place now, rather than their own."
The boy grinned toothlessly. "Guess you'd like to trade places, right enough. I may be nothing now, yet I'll grow to be a man. But you—"
"As you say," said Skelbrooke, leaning back on his bed of straw and closing his eyes.
It was the cabin boy, too, who told him the name of the ship. She was a small bark, the Black Bear, and the captain was Troilus Diamond. "A hard man, the Captain," said the boy, and Skelbrooke believed him. The youth was emaciated and bore marks of ill treatment: bruises and cuts and scars. He also dropped mysterious hints as to the fates of his predecessors.
His lordship had better hopes of the First Mate, a quiet man who had come in to speak with him once. His name was Kassien, formerly an honest trader and the captain of his own sloop (said the cabin boy), fallen on hard times due to an overfondness for the bottle and the machinations of enemies in "high places." Mr. Kassien, Skelbrooke decided, was a man to whose principles he might possibly appeal—supposing he could find a way to make it worth the Mate's while to act on them.
It was on this Mr. Kassien's authority that Skelbrooke finaIIy left the hold, escorted by two sailors. His boots and his stockings had not been returned to him, but another pair of boots, split at the toes and much too large, were provided. As his left foot was still bandaged, he donned only the right boot and rose shakily to his feet. The ceiling was low, not more than five feet under the beams, so he bent his head as he limped toward the ladder. He went up through the crew's quarters on the lower deck, past hammocks and sea-chests, and a group of sailors gambling by lanthorn light. He climbed a steep staircase and finally emerged into the sunlight and salt air.
For the first time—after how many days or weeks?—he was introduced to the Captain. Troilus Diamond glanced over him briefly. Skelbrooke had an idea that his appearance was not prepossessing; he was dirty and unkempt, he stank like a horse, and he still wore the costume he had affected in the persona of Captain Melville, expensive but somewhat gaudy: a blue coat and a crimson waistcoat, and a pair of striped trousers, all very wrinkled. Perhaps the bright colors served to enhance his pallor. "You look a mite peaky. Don't know if you're worth your keep. Even gelded, you're not like to fetch much."
"The crewmen who brought him in assure me that he is considerably stronger than he appears," said Mr. Kassien. "And in any case, Jagst made it quite clear that he expects this man to be delivered to his eastern clients exactly as arranged."
The Captain, after a little more thought, agreed that a healthful turn around the deck, every day or two, was probably in order.
Skelbrooke limped over to the rail and gazed out across the water. There was no land in sight, but this was scarcely surprising. A ship carrying contraband, a ship that did not wish to make contact with official vessels, would not hug the coastline.
He left the rail and sat down on a barrel by the mainmast. Captain Diamond, grinning broadly, reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a pocket watch: a very pretty affair, shaped like an egg and covered with a shell of painted white porcelain. Skelbrooke recognized it as his own. The Captain flipped open the lid and glanced at the watch face. "Real pretty, ain't it?" he said archly.
"Indeed," said Skelbrooke. "But if you will listen to a word of advice, the mechanism is rather delicate. You might wish to handle it with extreme care."
Captain Diamond snapped the watch shut and thrust it back into his pocket. Skelbrooke opened his mouth to warn him. This watch had been especially designed; it had a hidden chamber in the upper half, which contained an explosive based on picric acid, many, many times more powerful than gunpowder; there was also a percussive device, to detonate the charge.
But then he changed his mind. So long as the device had not been set, it would take more than a bump to cause an explosion. And though the day must certainly come when some careless action on the part of Captain Diamond caused the charge to go off, it seemed unlikely that Skelbrooke himself would be on hand to share the consequences. That being so, there was really no reason for him to speak.
His lordship leaned back against the mast, closed his eyes, and contemplated, with great satisfaction, the Captain's explosive demise.
It was the cold hour before dawn. In Jenk's laboratory behind the bookshop, the two old men were nearing the limits of their strength after a long, sleepless night spent in fruitless experimentation.
The appearance of the laboratory had changed during the last several weeks; indeed it had become quite cluttered, for Jenk had been spending heavily to acquire new equipment. There was a second and more elaborate still, a number of vats in graduated sizes, a new set of scales with precisely measured brass weights, and all manner of funnels, flasks, tongs, irons, and crucibles recently purchased. Yet Jenk was no closer to compounding the Stone than he had been two seasons past.
The bookseller sighed and seated himself on one of the stools. He was keenly aware of his years, of late. He felt old and heavy and bent, weighed down by disappointment. The fact he was exhausted almost to the point of illness did nothing to lighten the load.
"Our funds are dwindling," he said. "Soon, the Duke's gold will all be spent. The Duke's gold . . . and all my savings."
"Write another letter, asking for more," said Caleb, who was busy stoking the furnace. "Seems to me that's simple enough."
But Jenk shook his head. "If I were to write and beg the Duke's indulgence, he would insist that we receive his man and allow him to observe Eirena. That I am not prepared to do. I must confess that I am disappointed with her lack of progress."
Caleb slammed the door of the furnace shut. "Lack of progress? How do you mean her lack of progress!" he asked indignantly. "Don't she dress herself, and feed herself, and tend to her own private needs? Don't she walk about as easy and natural as you and I? And ain't she entertained us, time and again, with all her pretty little gestures and her dainty little ways?"
"Yes, yes," said Jenk, beginning to fuss impatiently with the equipment on the table. "In some areas her progress has been amazing. A natural child of the same age could not do any of the things that you mention. But it is all mimicry. She has only to see a thing done once or twice, in order to copy it exactly. It is the quality of her intelligence that I question. She does nothing that an ape or a hobgoblin could not do fully as well—given the time for proper training—and still she refuses to speak.
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