by Kyle Shultz
My stomach did a somersault. “Uggggh.” I slammed the car door shut and leaned against it for support. “Don’t mention food. Of any kind.”
“Oh, grow up.” Shivering as a chilly breeze kicked up, she pulled the belt of her grey trench coat tighter and straightened her cloche hat. “The flight wasn’t that terrible. Just a quick hop across the Channel. It’s not like we tried to cross the Sea of Whirlwinds.”
“Don’t mention wind, either.” Through bleary eyes, I looked up at the castle. Cordelia’s description was apt. The palace was made up of five concentric layers towering into the sky. Turrets jutted up from the edges of these layers, seemingly at random. The rough-hewn edifice blended seamlessly into the craggy mountains and untamed forests, as if it had simply grown out of the landscape.
Lord Whitlock emerged from the driver’s side door and retrieved the cardboard tube containing the map from the backseat. “Ready, Nicholas?” he asked me, with a cheerful grin.
I glared at him. “It’s ‘Mr. Beasley’ to you,” I corrected, “and yes, I’m ready.”
“I really wish we had discussed our route through the castle during the flight,” said Cordelia, brushing a stray lock of hair back under the brim of her hat.
I shook my head. “I wasn’t in any condition for that. Besides, I already have a plan. I just don’t like to explain my plans in advance.”
“No, I imagine you detectives never do.” She pulled out the map and handed it to me. “You prefer to wait until the very end and get everybody together in the drawing room so you can reveal that you’ve known who committed the crime ever since Chapter Three.”
I nodded. “Yes, that pretty much sums it up.” I tossed aside the cardboard tube and unrolled the parchment, now liberally marked up with my translations of the Soloveyan text. “Come on,” I said, beckoning to Cordelia and her father. Feeling more braced the longer I spent on solid ground, I marched toward the narrow stone walkway that led across the castle’s wide, cavernous moat.
“I’m surprised there’s no drawbridge,” Cordelia remarked, as we stopped at the edge.
“No need for one,” I said. “I think you’ll find this works much better than a drawbridge.” I bent down, picked up a pebble, and tossed it onto the walkway. The moment it landed, there was a loud rumble of stone scraping against stone, and the path sank down into the moat. Within a few seconds, it was submerged beneath the brackish water twenty feet below.
“Incredible craftsmanship,” I said, gazing down into the dark waters. “People always underestimate the genius of the ancients. So many things that get written off as ‘magic’ were really the result of clever scientific minds pulling off feats far ahead of their time.”
“That’s all very well,” said Whitlock, impatiently. “But how are we going to get across? Do we have to swim?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. First of all, I don’t fancy our chances of climbing back out of the moat.” I motioned to the slippery rock walls, totally devoid of handholds.
“Also,” I added, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there are things moving down there.”
Cordelia peered closer. As she did, a gust of wind tugged her hat free, and it fell toward the water. In the same instant, a large, reptilian creature leapt out of the moat, snapping the hat out of the air before diving back in with a tremendous splash. It moved too quickly for me to get a good look at it. All I saw was a brief glimpse of its scaly, reddish hide, gleaming fangs, and eerie yellow eyes.
“I’m not entirely sure what those are,” I said, stroking my chin in thought as I watched the water churning below. “The map mentions monsters called ‘deathjaws’; some hideous creation of the fairy who built this castle. It’s more likely that they’re some rare species of crocodile, though.”
“Point taken,” said Cordelia, paling slightly.
“Sorry about your hat,” I added.
“I don’t have the best of luck with hats. I accidentally set fire to the last one.” She glanced at me. “I must say, you’re remarkably calm about encountering a monster crocodile.”
I shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. Hamelin has rats bigger than that thing.”
“So,” said Lord Whitlock, rubbing his hands together, “what’s your clever plan for getting us across, then?”
I knelt down and began brushing away the dirt at our feet. “Should be around here somewhere—ah.” Gradually, I unearthed a series of stones with intricate patterns carved into them – Soloveyan letters. “Now, all we need to do is press these in the correct sequence, and…there.”
As I pressed on the last symbol, the rumbling began again, and the bridge rose back into place. Water streamed down the sides in tiny waterfalls.
“There,” I said, dusting off my hands. “Perfectly safe now.” To demonstrate, I threw another pebble onto the walkway. It stood firm this time.
“Lovely,” said Cordelia, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “Tell me, are we going to have to pause so you can gloat every time you help us evade a trap?”
“Absolutely.”
She sighed. “Lead on, Mr. Beasley.”
“As you wish, Lady Beaumont.”
“You are aware that it’s ‘Lady Cordelia,’ right, not ‘Lady Beaumont?’”
I nodded. “Yes, I am.”
We crossed the bridge and came to a massive portcullis that barred us from entering the palace courtyard. A series of chains hung down from the mechanism controlling the iron grate. These had to be pulled in a specific numerical sequence to open it. I had intended to give a fascinating explanation of this number’s historical significance, but Cordelia stubbornly insisted on the abridged version.
Soon, we stood in the courtyard, looking up at the castle’s great front doors. Stone gargoyles crouched on either side of the entrance, their faces fixed in eternal snarls.
“We’ll probably be seeing a lot of statues,” I said. “Legends say they used to be alive; more creations of the fairy that lived here. All the magical experiments that went wrong, or were too powerful for her to control, got turned to stone and used as part of the décor.”
“Up until the Beast Prince, of course,” said Whitlock. “He killed her before she could make him a statue.”
“According to legend,” I added.
“Of course,” he said, giving me an indulgent smile. “According to legend.”
Cordelia took a step toward the doors.
“Wait.” I grabbed her arm. “Don’t.”
She slumped her shoulders in exasperation. “Let me guess. Another trap, another opportunity for you to be clever.”
“Yes, but fortunately, this trap doesn’t kill you.”
“Really?” She peered into the courtyard. “What does it do?”
I motioned to the paving-stones, nearly hidden by the tall grass sprouting between them. “They all look the same. But step on the wrong one, and you get dropped down into the palace dungeon. I’m sure it’s not a pleasant place, but unlike the moat, it’s not supposed to have any man-eating animals in it.” I unfurled the map again and pointed to a picture of the courtyard, with various stones highlighted. “We can’t get across safely without this diagram.”
She glanced around the courtyard. “So where are the traps?”
“Well, there’s one right over there in front of your father,” I said, motioning to Lord Whitlock. He was preoccupied with the one of the gargoyles, gazing at it with an odd expression on his face. Adoration? Envy? I couldn’t quite tell.
“You might want to warn him to watch his step,” I said to Cordelia.
“Of course.” She went over to him while I continued to study the map, trying to match the stones to the diagram.
“Probably best if you follow in my footsteps,” I said, beginning to make my way forward. “Just make sure you—”
A startled, furious bellow nearly caused me to drop the map. I whirled around to see Cordelia staring down at the ground, a look of horror on her face. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed.
“I’m afraid I didn’t warn him in time,” she said. “He stepped forward and—” She pointed to the ground. A paving stone was sliding back into place to cover a large, gaping hole.
“Oh, brilliant.” I smacked a hand against my forehead. “Now we’ll have to get him out. I don’t suppose there’s any rope in the car? Plus, we’ll have to find a way to keep that hole open—”
“Let’s find the Rose first.”
I stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, it is the reason we’re here, after all.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Your father has fallen into an ancient dungeon, and you just want to leave him there? What if he’s hurt? Or dead?”
“He’s remarkably resilient,” said Cordelia. “And besides, he’d be the first one to tell us that the mission comes first.” She gingerly stepped over to my paving stone. “So, shall we continue?”
Whitlock shouted something from below, but I couldn’t quite make it out. “You see?” said Cordelia brightly. “He’s fine. Let’s go.” She bent over the paving-stone and called down to him. “Be right back, Father!”
“If you insist,” I said slowly, frowning. Lady Cordelia Beaumont was beginning to scare me. Just a little.
Cordelia hurried me through the next series of traps. I would have enjoyed lingering on them for a while, as they were all fascinating examples of ancient engineering. Corridors with spikes that plunged down from the ceiling, rooms that shrank down to uncomfortable sizes, doorways equipped with spinning blades. Wonderful stuff. I could have written a whole book on the murderous dining hall alone.
Granted, the thought that Cordelia might be struck with a sudden urge to shove me into one of these traps for amusement did cause me to quicken my pace. I wondered how Whitlock was getting on in the underground chamber.
“How many traps has it been?” Cordelia panted, as we turned a corner to find an oaken door with a carving of a rose on it.
“Only about a dozen or so,” I said with a shrug. “Apparently that ‘evil fairy’ really wanted to keep the Rose hidden. Though in my opinion, the fact that all these traps rely on machinery instead of magic argues against her actually being a fairy.”
“Unless,” Cordelia suggested, “she designed the traps with machinery deliberately, to target rivals who’d expect her to use magical defenses.”
“Interesting theory. In any case, we’ve arrived at last.” I motioned to a large oaken door before us. “Ta-da!”
Cordelia looked suspiciously at the door. “Are you sure we’ve arrived?”
“Of course.” I pointed to the rose carving. “Look, it’s labeled.”
“It could be a trick.”
I held up the scroll. “Not according to the map, it isn’t.”
“What if the entire map is a trick?”
I blinked. “You’re considering that possibility now? After we’ve already come all this way?”
“Well, I realize it hasn’t led us wrong so far, but how can we be sure?”
I sighed. “How about this: we step through the door, and if we don’t die horribly the moment we enter the room, we’ll be sure.”
“In that case,” said Cordelia, drawing back a little, “gentlemen first.”
I smiled, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
“See?” I said, spreading my arms. “It’s perfectly—”
“LOOK OUT!!”
Cordelia sprang towards me, knocking me to the floor, just as I noticed an ominous creaking coming from somewhere above me. A series of spikes plunged down from the ceiling, slamming with a deafening clang onto the spot where I had just been standing. The noise echoed through the chamber, gradually fading away until all I could hear was heavy breathing from myself and Cordelia.
“H-how—” I gulped briefly, then continued. “How did you know that was going to happen?”
“I paid attention,” Cordelia gasped. “And I have very quick reflexes.”
“Good thing those spikes weren’t any faster,” I remarked, as they slowly rose back into a rectangular hole in the ceiling.
“Perhaps the rest of that skeleton got tangled up in the gears or something,” Cordelia suggested, motioning to the dusty rib cage and skull dangling from the metal bars.
“Possibly.” I realized that she was lying on top of me. “Er—”
Our eyes met, then Cordelia blinked in surprise. “Oh! Oh, sorry.” She scrambled to her feet.
“No need to apologize,” I mumbled, pushing myself up off the floor. Was I blushing? Ridiculous. Blushing was for other people. Dusting off my vest, I took in our surroundings.
The little room was shaped like an octagon. It was completely empty except for a small table standing on a moth-eaten rug. My eye was immediately drawn to the markings all over the walls, floor and ceiling. At first I thought they were some sort of pattern, but a closer examination revealed them to be claw marks. There were hundreds of deep striations criss-crossing the stone, as if some creature of incredible strength had been desperately trying to tear its way out of the room. The remnants of iron bars protruded from the top and bottom of the room’s single window. Someone or something had wrenched them out.
But the real surprise was the object lying on the table – the last thing I had expected to find in the room.
“A rose?” I stared, open-mouthed. “An actual rose?”
“So it would seem,” said Cordelia, stepping closer to the table. “Or rather, what’s left of one.”
The flower wasn’t even in a pot. It seemed somebody had simply lain it on the table - a very, very long time ago. The rose was completely shriveled, and looked as if it might collapse into a pile of dust at any moment. Only a hint of faded red remained in the withered petals. A beam of sunlight streamed through the window and fell directly on the flower, glinting off off the razor-sharp, unnaturally long black thorns.
“This can’t be the Clawthorn Rose,” I said. “If that flower had been placed on this table two thousand years ago, there would be absolutely nothing left of it.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I tried to come up with an explanation. “This must be some sort of joke. Maybe somebody else got here before us, took the real ‘rose’, and put this thing here in its place.”
Cordelia reached out her hand and held it a few inches above the flower. “No,” she said in a hushed voice, as if afraid of being overheard. “I’m certain this is what we’re looking for.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I’m an expert on ancient artifacts, remember?”
She turned on me. “Look, Mr. Beasley, there are some things you don’t know. Quite a few, in fact.”
“Sounds unlikely, but let’s assume you’re right. What are you talking about?”
“This is the Rose,” she insisted, pointing to the flower. “Trust me, I know it is.”
I threw up my hands. “Whatever. I highly doubt it, but if you think your father will still cough up my fee if we present him with that shriveled-up little thing, I’ll be more than happy to go along with your view.”
“Right - about that.” She gave me an apologetic look. “Actually, we’re not taking it back to my father.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m going to destroy it.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “You didn’t mention that before. Is this part of the plan?”
“It’s part of my plan.”
“But not your father’s?” Though still baffled for the most part, I was beginning to get a rough idea of where this was going.
“No,” said Cordelia. “That’s why I shoved him into that hole.”
I shook my head. “You’re even more insane than I thought you were.”
“Wait. Just listen for a moment, please.” For the first time since I’d met her, there was an earnest look in her eyes. The Cordelia who treated the world as if it were merely a joke had disappeared entirely. The young wo
man standing before me now was deadly serious.
“My father told me not to try to convince you,” she said. “He needed your help. He thought it would be better to play along with your view. You might have been scared off if I told you the truth.”
“What truth?”
“Magic is real.”
“Oh, brilliant.” I squeezed my eyes shut in exasperation. “Please don’t tell me you’re starting this foolishness. Not now, not when we’ve gone to all this trouble.” Noticing her annoyed expression, I forced myself to use a more civil tone. “Look, I don’t mean to show any disrespect for your beliefs, but—”
“Don’t patronize me,” she shot back. “I don’t know what personal quarrel you have with magic, but perhaps if you opened your eyes for once in your life, you’d realize the world is a much more complicated place than you thought.” She held out her hand, palm upwards, fingers curved. “Watch.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not trying to—”
“Quiet.” Her eyes narrowed, as if she were concentrating very hard on something.
For a split second, blue light flickered above Cordelia’s palm, then faded away. She stared down at her hand in dismay.
“Not bad,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’ve seen better, though. How did you work it, exactly? Flash powder?”
“Excuse me?” She looked astonished. “I’ll grant that it wasn’t the most impressive display of magic, but all the same—”
“Take my advice. Don’t try to impress me. I’ve seen it all. Ever heard the expression ‘they do it with mirrors’? Trust me, you can’t even imagine all the things they do with mirrors. Not to mention wires, magnets, secret compartments, et cetera.”
Cordelia tried again. The light flashed between her fingers again, but even more briefly than before. She closed her hand into a fist. “It’s no use. I can’t cast runes in here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s the Rose. It may look withered, but there’s still an incredibly powerful enchantment on it. I sensed it the second I stepped into the room. I can’t form any spells while I’m near it; it’s like trying to light a match in a strong wind.”
“I see.”