by Lorelei Bell
“Think I 'ave nothin' better ta do than ta walks back 'n' forth from 'is office…” she grumbled, a harsh scowl on her face. But as she approached the desk, the scowl disappeared. Suddenly a different emotion was contained upon that wide face as she smiled and in plain English sweetly said, “There you go, Lord Restormell. Ms. Trickenbod's files are on the top. The papers she needs to sign are all there, too.” She swung around with all the crass of a goose on land, those green balls at her ears bobbed and twirled again, they looked somewhat like little green apples sprouting from her pointed ears.
“'E tweaks m' buns again, 'm going' straight to the IDS, I will. Humph!” Eunice pounced out the door and slammed it closed, making Zofia jump in her seat again.
“Wow. She needs a little anger management,” Zofia commented.
“Hum? Oh. Eunice? Don't mind her,” he said. “She's over worked and needs a vacation. Needs an assistant, but that's hardly possible, since the dwarf strike. As it is, I'll have to kill her when she retires,” Stephen said as-a-matter-of-factly, opening up the file Eunice had plopped down on his desk. He studied it.
“Kill her!” Zofia was appalled. “You really don't mean that, do you?”
“It's an inside joke,” he said in a preoccupied voice, still looking over the files, his normally smooth, high brow bunched slightly as he lifted two parchments from the file. “I need you to sign these papers,” he said benignly as he turned the papers around for her and settled them at the edge of his desk.
Zofia leaned toward the desk. He plucked up his quill, dipped it into an ink well, and handed it over to her.
“What are they?” she asked, taking the quill from him.
His perfectly shaped, perfectly manicured finger tapped the top page. “This is your right to apprehend, right to question, and right to travel across provinces, if warranted, during your mission—which you will—and this one”–the finger tapped the document underneath—“is your official Knight of the Witenagemont form. It's standard,” he said. “Every wizard—and sorceress—who becomes a Knight fills one out. Just print your name here, and sign below. Oh, and I'll have to assign you a Knight Code Number by which you will be identified and that makes our system of payment a tad more simplified at the end of the month.”
She examined the documents. Both were in block print. At the very top of the Witenagemont form it began: I______ do solemnly swear to uphold the Common Codes and all the Knight Codes… There was a place for her to sign at the bottom where it said KNIGHT, next to Stephen's signature under CHEIF COMMANDER. She printed and signed her name, as asked.
“Knight Codes?” she said. “ I don't know any Knight Codes. I didn't know there were separate codes for the Knights.”
“Yes,” he said, snatching up the documents she'd just signed and tapped their edges sharply on his desk. Must have been quick-drying ink. He stuffed them quickly into the file and then pulled a thick book from a drawer and plopped it onto the desk in front of her.
“Knight Codes,” he said. “Every Knight has their own copy. This one is for you. Read and study carefully. There'll be some strict laws in there we have to obey as Knights.”
Zofia's eyes took in the thick, black leather tome. Possibly three hundred pages, she guessed as she hefted the thing into her lap.
“Also, I have another book you'll need to read,” he said. Swiveling his chair, he whipped out his wand, aimed it toward his bookcase, and a book sailed out and settled in his hand. He rotated back around to the desk with it. This book, thankfully, was not quite as massive as the first. Actually, it was thin, but taller and wider than the last one, bound in a tan vellum.
She caught the black lettering of the title.
The Wandering Traveler
by Bartholomew Ogden Langguth
Zofia frowned, slightly intrigued by the title. It sounded like something she might enjoy.
“This one I need you to read before you reach your destination.”
“Destination?” Her heart contracted with these words.
“Yes.” He stared back at her. “You'll be traveling to Ravenwood, and your final destination will be Dark Castle,” he said evenly. “This place resides in the northern most region of the Province. Practically on the border between the Province and the Oblast. The count has never allowed any of our Knights inside, nor agreed to an interview.”
She blinked at him. Dark Castle? She'd heard of it, but couldn't remember what she had heard about it, or who had mentioned it recently.
“The count is not a wizard. However,” Stephen's voice held an ominous tone, “there are rumors that he may be a vampire.”
Chapter 9
“A vampire?” Zofia wheezed, feeling her brow bunch in anxiety.
“Yes,” Stephen said, leaning forward, hands clasped on top of his desk. He took a deep breath and let it out on a small puff and went on. “It has been learned that people donate their blood to him.”
“A vampire?” she repeated. “And he takes donations?” It sounded absurd to her. Why would people donate blood to a vampire? A vampire had powers to subdue a human for that very reason. How very strange.
“There is more I must tell you, not exactly related to this, but then again we don't know.” His countenance remained very grave. The knuckles of his hands were turning white as he grasped the edge of his desk at either side. He had a long reach. “Five years ago, Dorian and three other Knights had been sent to this very same area.”
“Five years ago, did you say?” she asked, just to make sure she had heard him right. This was when Dorian had disappeared, and was turned into a vampire. He had lost his memory, too. Everyone had thought Dorian was dead. He was simply un-dead.
“Yes,” he said and she allowed him to continue. “Dorian, Phineas Gardner, Garrison Trueblood, and Keeler Paplebon were all sent to investigate a secret cult that had operations in, or near Ravenwood, which is just on the edge of the Oblast.”
Zofia nodded as a chill slid down her back. This was the first time Zofia had ever heard that three other sorcerers had gone with Dorian on his last assignment as a Knight.
“We don't know, of course, if the other men had died, or something else happened to them,” Stephen went on. “Dorian has never fully recovered his memory from this.” Stephen sat back in his chair, one hand still resting on his desk, the other on the arm of his chair. The fingers of his left hand worried the corner of a piece of parchment. “He's gone through a lot of pain—physical as well as mental—and guilt, I might add, over all of this. It's still a struggle for him.” Stephen glanced up at her briefly. He wasn't able to meet her eyes, and she felt something was up. “He requested that he be allowed to go and do a follow up investigation.” Stephen's eyes flicked up just then and caught her startled gaze.
“Surely, you wouldn't have sent him—“
“No. No,” Stephen said in a steady tone. “It wasn't something I wanted him to engage in so soon after… well, everything.”
She felt that he was hedging to tell her something important. “But?” she prompted.
“He left this morning. Every early.”
She tried to hide her shock, but wasn't doing a very good job of it and so turned her gaze to her limp hands in her lap instead. Dorian had left without so much as a good bye to her. She didn't know when she would see him again. Or would she ever? The way he'd left her so angrily yesterday.
“He and I had a heart to heart,” Stephen went on, his voice low. “I told him there was nothing going on between us, Zofia.”
“And did he believe you?” Zofia asked, lifting her gaze to stare back at him for several heartbeats.
“I think so. At least he didn't take a swing at me.” He smiled impishly.
“So, these other Knights were never seen again?” she asked, wanting to move away from this subject as quickly as possible. It was making her uncomfortable.
“Yes.”
And he wants me to go there? Things were moving way too fast.
“Wait a troll min
ute!” she said, realization thumping her on the head. “You mean to say you're actually sending me on a dangerous mission? One even top Knights have never come back from?”
Stephen swiveled in his chair. “Not at all. Your status is a non-combative spy, Zofia.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“You won't engage the enemy in any way, and especially not with your Powers. You're being placed there as a spy. That's all. You will report directly to me. A night hawk will be available to deliver messages back and forth between us. You'll send your reports to me every other day, but no more than three days time should lapse between messages, or I'll assume the worst and send in a top Knight. Do you understand? Oh, and you will not sign your name, as that will give you away, just in case someone intercepts it. Your code will be N-218.”
“Spy?” she said the word as though it were dirty. “You think I'm not good enough to do the job of a Knight?” She could feel anger had flushed her face suddenly.
“Not at all,” he said quickly. “First of all, you're an Neophyte. I never send a Neophyte out to engage, subdue, and capture the first time out.” He leaned forward, placing both hands on his desk, lacing those long fingers. “Understand, Zofia, your job is just as important as any other Knight's. You will need to pretend you are an Ugwump, you'll not use magic in any way while you're there at the castle, or even in the vicinity of it. I felt that since you had experience living on First World, you were perfect for this job because, well, you're used to keeping your magic—how do I want to put it? Bottled up, shall we say?”
“It's almost like the job was tailor made for me.”
“Exactly.” With a disarming smile, he went on. “This pays handsomely, I might add.” He reached into a lower drawer and pulled out a black lacquered oblong box. He opened it and looked contemplatively into it for a beat. “You'll need money to tide you over, of course.” He counted out several coins; ten gold Rothgars, twenty-five Obolus and a pile of copper Konks. Then, as if he reconsidered, he added two more Rothgars to the pile. “This is an advance on your fee. You may need to stay in a hotel, eat. I don't know whether the count will have you stay in his castle or not.
“I'm to travel to a castle with a count that you say is a vampire?”
“Might be,” he corrected.
“Might be,” she repeated. “I'm pregnant and you're sending me into a vampire's den to do what?” she frowned, waiting for his explanation. “You haven't told me what my cover is yet.”
“True.” He closed the black coin box and shoved it back into the drawer. He seemed to lock it, as she heard a distinctive click. “You'll be traveling to Dark Castle disguised as an Ugwump librarian.” He gathered up all the coins, dropped them into a leather pouch, closed and tied it with the leather thongs and tossed it to land with a jingle at the end of his desk.
“Librarian?”
“Yes. That is what you studied, isn't it?” he asked.
“Library assistant,” she corrected.
He inclined his head. “In any case, we need to send him your resume'.”
“What am I to do? Run his library?” she scoffed lightly.
Finger steepled before his face, Stephen gave a wry smile. “I've learned that the count has a huge collection of very old, very rare books, and he's looking for a librarian to mend and catalog them.”
Her brows furrowed. “How do you know this?”
“He's had a help wanted add out in the local papers throughout the Province.” He expelled a breath, sat up a little straighter and began to swivel slowly, side to side. “I've had some documentation drawn up, but my page hasn't brought them to me, as yet. I'm expecting him any moment.” He paused, looking past her toward the door, expectantly. But no one came through. He went on. “In any case, this much is known; the count is an Ugwump. We don't know where exactly he came from. At least, we can't seem to trace him to any royal lines.”
“What's his name?”
“Count Saint Germain.”
Her gaze dropped as she searched her memory banks. She'd never heard of him at all.
“Whether he is a real count, or not, he's very affluent,” Stephen said.
“Really?”
“Yes. He bought the castle from its previous owner, King Vlad, for a ransom,” Stephen continued swiveling in his chair while he spoke, hands still poised before his face. “The going price was ten million Rothgars. Rumors have it that the count payed the king in diamonds.”
“Wow.”
“One was as large in diameter as my fist.” He closed his fist to show her. “So I've been told.” Stephen straightened, hands went to the arms of his chair. He flicked his glance from her to the door and back again. The serious look on his face had vanished for the moment.
“By the by,” Stephen said in a more jocund tone. “Dorian has picked out a school for Eltony. He wanted me to pass this on to you.”
“How nice of him to wait around to tell me,” she said, sarcasm not lost on him. Of course, Dorian deciding where Elton would go to school didn't shock her all that much. The father always picked out the school for the son—usually his own alma mater. It would have been nice, though, if they could have discussed it together, like parents do. On the other, hand, it was up to Zofia to arrange a school for Blanche. Panic washed over her with these thoughts. Getting Blanche into a school wasn't quite so easy. It consisted of attending all the right balls, and the school would pick her, rather than the other way around. And the balls were only a month away. Goddess!
“He's sending him to Myrddin's School for Sorcerers, in Withergyld,” Stephen announced, bringing Zofia out of her murky thoughts.
“That's not very far from here,” she said, now unable to rein in her thoughts on what to do about Blanche. Would she even want to stay, now? Elton would adjust to going to a new school, being back to where he could practice this craft out in the open. But would Blanche?
There came a timid rap on the door.
“Come in,” Stephen said, sitting up and pulling himself up to his desk, his elbows flanking Zofia's folder before him.
The door opened and in flounced Nelms, in his usual garment of drab gray-green and goofy feathered hat. “Here are the papers you asked for, my lord,” he said in a voice that varied in pitch, as though he were going through the changes of puberty, yet. He paused halfway in the door to take Zofia in. Apparently he wasn't expecting to see anyone, let alone a woman, in Stephen's office. Probably when he saw that she wore the Initiate's robe relaxed him some. There was no funny business going on here.
“Thank you, Nelms. Just set them on my desk. That'll be all,” Stephen said.
Nelms walked in on ungainly feet that seemed too large for him, and set another leather-bound folder on the corner of Stephen's desk.
A growing boy. Zofia's thoughts went to her own son, Elton. She would see him going through this awkward phase as a boy turning into a young man, some day—well, not quite the way Nelms was going through it. She sensed Elton would be somewhat more graceful at it.
Excused, Nelms silently left the room. Stephen picked up the new file and paged through it, stopping now and then to study something.
“Ah, yes,” he said, his brow furrowed. “Did I mention that the castle sits on several ley lines?”
“Ley lines? No.” He definitely hadn't said anything about any ley line, and certainly not several.
“Yes.” His other hand came down on the book he wanted her to read, The Wandering Traveler, with a hollow sound. “It's all in here, but I best mention this to you. These ley lines, when they come so closely together—as you must know—create powerful Portals. Portals that pop in and out of existence. This is what we think may have happened to those three other Knights,” he explained slowly. “They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and were sucked into a Portal, and vanished. Somehow Dorian escaped this fate. He may have been somewhere else at the time.”
“That Portal that took my neighbor, her dog, and Perth and Argyll,” Zofia sa
id, staring at the book he had his hand on. “Was this where you think the Portal came from?”
“Paradeep had traced it from a source very near Dark Castle. But yes. It is one of only three possible sites where the ley lines come together like that, this one being the most powerful.” He pulled in a breath and let it out through the nose. “I won't lie to you, Zofia. This area, since it is so close to the Oblast, is very dangerous for a number of reasons.” He was in his drawer again. This time he pulled out another box. It was smaller than the last one, and painted decoratively, with inlay, and carved on the top. It looked to her like a jewelry box. When he opened it, she found her guess was correct. Within was a string of silver and amber. She said nothing and waited for him to explain. He pulled it out and held it out on two fingers. “This will be your only protection against vampires, since they can't stand silver, and the amber, of course, will protect you from minor sorcery against you.” He dropped it back into the small box, closed it up and pushed it forward to join her growing mound of things she was either to read, wear or carry.
“Because of the fact you are a sorceress, and you need no wand, as the male Knights do, you will not be at as inconvenienced if you get into a jam and need to use your Powers.”
“You told me to leave the Stone of Irdisi home,” she said. “Was this why?”
He nodded. “Yes. It would have been too much of a temptation for you to take it along.”
“I wouldn't have—”
“I know you wouldn't have. But it would have been tempting, don't you agree, knowing how dangerous it is?” he asked.
“Yes,” she relented. “So, you don't want anyone to have an inkling I'm a sorceress?”