Spell of the Dark Castle (Chronicles of Zofia Trickenbod Book 2)

by Lorelei Bell

  A hoarse screeching noise startled her out of her thoughts. She searched the night sky. Into her scope flew a winged creature. It was a large bird sailing in on large, black wings. The moon's light helped her track it. Finally it landed with a graceful swoop on top of the gates and made with the terrible call. A night hawk.

  Mind shifting to why she was here, she remembered she had to send word back to Stephen, so that he would know she had made it to Dark Castle, and give it to the bird to take back to him.

  Holding up her hand, she called to it, “Just hold on. I'll be right back!”

  Running back through the hall, through the tapestry, and the gigantic fireplace, she halted at the dining table. She looked around for something to write on and with. Of course, all that was there was the letter and envelope the count had left her. Succumbing to the fact she would have to dig out her own writing supplies, she jogged up the hallway, which Myron had gone through, to her bedroom.

  Harp music still played, coming louder, funneled down the tight corridor. She came to a door made of dark lattice-worked panels. Opening it she found a few lovely lamps illuminated the room and the large harp was stationed just beside the door, playing by itself.

  “Biddle?” she called.

  No answer.

  Shrugging, she had only a moment to study the instrument, realizing that some mechanical device actually plucked and strummed each string. She'd never seen such a thing on this world or First World, but it didn't mean someone hadn't invented it. She thought it was quite clever, and still didn't understand how it was powered.

  Her curiosity over this oddity made her forget why she had come in here in the first place. Then her gaze ran across her surroundings. Gold and black carpet, crimson walls with black diamond designs and an upholstered black ceiling encircled her. In a corner was a small brass bed with a scarlet comforter and lots of tiny pillows decorating the thing.

  Wowie zowie. That's what Tillie would say if she saw this.

  To one side of the bed stood a statue holding another stained glass lamp. Two more colorful lamps in the room—thankfully not red—lent plenty of light here. A ceramic wash basin and pitcher resided on a dry sink before a mahogany-framed mirror. She thought to wash up for bed would be a welcomed treat.

  An armoire was tucked in another corner. Her gaze fell on her bags, as well as the large trunk at the foot of her bed. Thankful, but not quite understanding how they got here, and not dumped in the front room, as she and Myron had been, she remembered why she'd come in here. Her writing things. She needed to write the note to Stephen and get it out to the night hawk, so it would get back to him by morning.

  The sound of water rushing through pipes caught her in mid motion toward her bags. She knew that sound, but—here? It was most definitely the sound of a flushing toilet.

  A sudden laugh emanated from a small curtained-off room beyond the bed and armoire.

  “Biddle?” She stepped through the room toward the red curtains. Pushing the panels aside, she was met with darkness. “Biddle? Are you there?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “What are you—”

  The toilet flushing sound came again.

  “Biddle?” She automatically tried to find a wall switch, but there was none. “Where's the light? I can't see!” she said. “There isn't really a toilet with a flushing device in here, is there?”

  A light flicked on. It was on a small table, similar to others throughout the Nest. She found a ceramic toilet—not a modern one by any means—but something perhaps out of the nineteenth century. Although a relic with a wooden seat, it appeared in mint, working condition. Above was the holding tank, a little ceramic handle on the end of a chain flushed it. The chain was pulled by Biddle's unseen hand. Again came the sluicing of water, down through the toilet.

  Biddle's laughter reverberated in her ears.

  “Stop it, Biddle.”

  “But, madam has plumbing!” Biddle shrieked. “Here on Euphoria? It's unheard of! It's amazing! It's wild!”

  “All right, Biddle. That's enough,” Zofia said, moving out into the bedroom. “Turn off the light and go to bed. That's what I'm going to do, after I write my letter to Stephen.”

  She paused near the bed, and bent toward her bags. She didn't remember which one had the writing materials in it, so she would have to dig through both.

  The harp made a few final, lovely notes, and then silence.

  Lower back beginning to ache, she sat on the bed and began looking through her things. Curiosity got the best of her. She pulled back the covers on the soft bed. She expected to see more red. Black satin threw an unexpected contrast into the works. She frowned.

  What sort of man was this Count Saint Germain? Hiring vampires to make certain his newest employee arrived safely, and leaves him ample blood, and for her an excellent meal and bed with black satin sheets in a room full of red. Electricity, and a toilet that flushed.

  “Madam has plumbing,” Biddle whispered on his way out.

  PART THREE: Count Saint Germain

  King Vlad

  Stands of candles blazed, making the light pulse across the golden-colored stonework all around us as Brother Ivan marched in, and bowed to King Vlad.

  “He is here,” Ivan announced.

  “Who?” King Vlad asked warily.

  “The one who calls himself Count Saint Germain, the Deathless,” Ivan replied, still in a bow.

  “Send him in, then.”

  Ivan did so. To say we were interested in this man was brushing the surface. Count Saint Germain had offered to pay the king well for his castle on top of the ancient menhir. A number of stories surrounded the man, one of which had said he was not from this planet, but from First World. Another told that he had been alive for at least a thousand years. Yet another one claimed that he could grow his own diamonds, as if by magic.

  We were all skeptical to say the least.

  Yet, when he entered the room, there was an unmistakable thrill that went through us all—which is something to note, since all of us present were supernatural. To say he was, was yet to be seen. But, there was something about the man even Ivan felt slightly in awe of.

  Count Saint Germain was not tall, but he was not squat. He had an air about him of unequaled quality—yes, perhaps of immortality—and carried himself like a man who was sure of himself and unafraid. His attire was entirely of black; cloak, pants, jacket and shirt, wearing gems so brilliant they sparkled like stars against a black sky. His shoes were, I recall, of an older style with buckles, but the buckles themselves were entirely covered in diamonds.

  He introduced himself, bowing deeply to the king, stating he had brought something he felt that would pay handsomely for his castle (for the king wanted to move further north closer to his realm). When the king asked the count to show him what he'd brought, we all stepped a little closer. The count held up a black velvet bag, which looked to be weighed down by something quite large and heavy. He asked if he could approach the throne. King Vlad allowed it. The count stepped up within several feet of the king's throne, and with one hand holding the bottom of the bag, undid it and let the velvet slip away, revealing what was inside.

  A gasp went through the room as he unveiled what must have been the largest uncut diamond I have ever seen before or since then. It was larger than my fist—I dare say it was the size of a melon!

  Needless to say, King Vlad was happy to sell his castle to Count Saint Germain, in that year, and there the count has remained ever since.

  —Memoirs of Albus Chi Kozan, Second Commander to King Vlad

  Chapter 16

  Zofia awoke feeling wonderfully rested. The bed was comfortable, and all was quiet—after Biddle stopped flushing the toilet.

  Yawning, Zofia lay in bed thinking about last night, and Myron. So, Saint Germain had actually hired Myron to get her safely to the castle? For all she knew, he may have also given Myron the gold it took to hire the Gypsies. What would Myron be doing with so much gold on him, u
nless he was a rich vampire, or a vampire who riffled through his victims pockets after he drank their blood? (Which was against Code big time and he could go to Hamparzum's for it.)

  Checking her neck with her hand, she felt for her vampire scars. She'd taken the heavy silver and amber necklace off, as it simply was too uncomfortable to wear to bed. She had found a spot to wear the Goddess Stone, however, after much experimenting. She'd wrapped it around her left wrist, like a treasured bauble, using the length of the leather cord to conceal what it was. Her mental and physical check of herself in the morning, now her third day on her planet, was becoming habit. On Euphoria, where things really did go bump in the night, and knowing that Myron already had been invited inside—in an obtuse way—he could return at any time he wished. That didn't help matters any. Especially since he had not been honest with her in the beginning. Instead of just telling her he was there to escort her to the castle safely, he'd pretended to be some gentleman simply looking out for her. It wasn't until he became overly excited about being alone with her that the truth came out.

  But now that he knew she was a sorceress, she hoped he wouldn't reveal this to the count, or anyone else, for that matter. She was actually surprised he didn't try and blackmail her. Probably that would come later, when the opportunity was ripe. Your blood, or I'll tell.

  Zofia flounced out of bed, brushed her hair, tied it back and washed her face in the basin. She'd been too tired to take a bath last night. There was a lovely claw foot bathtub in the water closet, but she was simply too exhausted.

  She spent a good deal of time folding and placing her clothes and things into drawers and the armoire. Slipping off her loose chemise (the one she'd worn all yesterday and to bed), she chose the nicer, white chemise. This wasn't your typical loose chemise that barmaids and peasants wore. The sleeves were wider at the top and tightened further down using drawstrings in the middle and three buttons near the wrist ending in small ruffles. There was a drawstring at the neck so that she could loosen or tighten it as the need arose. Her shoes were simple, black leather with silver buckles, and a three inch heel. She'd brought these from First World, where she had stored them, and at the last moment, decided she should bring them along. Elton had called them her elf shoes, because they were really pointed and came to a high point at the back. She chose black stockings, which wouldn't be seen, but it was part of how women should dress. They were thick, warm, and durable—good for all the work she knew she would be doing here at the castle. She'd decided on the heavy brown seven-paneled skirt which Tillie had bought her, and over it all she laced up the black bodice, making sure the strings would be loose enough for her to sit and work at a table, but not so loose she looked loose. There was nothing she could do about it. Even her breasts were tender. Lovely.

  Checking herself for the umpteenth time in a full-length mirror, she grimaced at the terrible redness of her lower lip where Myron had attached himself like a lamprey eel, last night. There was nothing she could do about that either. She had nothing to put on it. She had very little make-up. Only the kohl that she would put around her eyes.

  Pulling her hair back with silver combs, she felt she was ready to face the world—whatever this one held for her.

  As she swept from the room, her nerves were tight, stomach tied in knots. She had tried to invent what Saint Germain would look like in her head. She had settled on him being tall, dark and handsome—of course. Just his name implied it. By the way Doreen had fluttered her eyes, and became all wildly interested in how Zofia had gotten such a job, she determined Count Saint Germain would be handsome, at least.

  Upon exiting her bedroom, she smelled something quite delicious, and realized someone had brought her breakfast. There, on the high-polished table was a table setting, and something under another silver dome. She had to presume this was a different one from last night, as she could detect breakfast smells coming from it. It was nice having an invisible servant like this. Perhaps the count had at his service a Ghogal, like Biddle. But she highly doubted it.

  Peering around, she could see no one, and so presumed that this servant had left the food, and would return for the empty dishes later. She sat at the table, lifted the dome and was greeted by those wonderful smells and a full complement of eggs and some sort of sausage and fried potatoes and sausage gravy. She had remembered to take Baruche's potion last night, after she began to feel ill. If she hadn't had that potion with her, she'd be sick as she had been on Induction night.

  She enjoyed the meal before her, and ate until she was bursting—almost—out of her bodice.

  “Good morning, Miss Trickenbod,” someone said in a very rich Ogenthow drawl, and she knew right away it wasn't Biddle.

  Zofia jumped as she looked up to see a slim, medium-tall man, who looked between the age of sixty and a hundred, in full butler attire, standing at the hall entry, next to the fireplace.

  “Oh! You startled me,” Zofia said, her hand going to cover her throbbing heart.

  Small gray eyes stared back at her out of a face made up of a network of wrinkles. A large hooked nose, earlobes that drooped nearly to his shoulders, and a bald pate rounded out the look of someone who had come up short in the gene pool, and had lived a really long time.

  “My apologies, miss,” he said, wearing the same severe look upon his face. He reminded her of a very stern professor. “The master has sent me to see to your comforts and to see if you are ready to go on to the castle.”

  “Oh,” she said and threw a confused look onto her face. She wasn't supposed to know anything about the castle, and eased into the little white lie effortlessly. “I thought I was in the castle.”

  “No, miss. This is merely what the master calls The Nest. The main castle is across the bridge.”

  “I see,” she replied, giving him a little confused look.

  “Are you ready, then, Miss Trickenbod?” he asked.

  Slightly irritated that he called her 'miss', she stood. She wondered how he would confuse her with a miss. Certainly having just had her fortieth birthday had not turned back the clock, any. Possibly she could get the matter straightened later. “Yes, I'm ready.” She had brought her wooden box out with her and now picked it up. Inside were her pens and ink bottles, binding tape, sewing supplies and pretty much anything a librarian's assistant would need to mend books.

  “Your cloak, miss,” he said, holding it out for her to step into. She thanked him as he held it for her.

  “This way,” he said and turned on his heals. “Through here.” He held up the tapestry for her to pass through. She knew that the tapestry was to keep the colder air out of the living quarters. A warm fire was still burning and licking whole logs in that huge fireplace. Probably enough wood in it to burn for days.

  Once again, her stomach did a few somersaults as she passed into the outer section of the Nest.

  The butler moved ahead of her in a few quick steps and yanked open the door and stood, waiting for her to exit.

  “This is the strangest castle I've ever been in—um—I'm sorry, but what is your name?” she asked as she paused before stepping across the threshold out into the cool air.

  “Percival, miss. You may call me Percival,” he said, still unsmiling, and once again, taking quick, rather stiff steps to take the lead.

  “Percival, yes. This is the strangest castle I've ever seen. It seems to be built inside a large rock?” She did her best ditsy act. Having had an Ugwump friend who was quite scatterbrained, and having been friends with her for more than two years, she knew how to imitate her well.

  “It would appear that way, miss, but actually it was built on top of this monolith, using portions of the rock for walls,” he explained. “This one we are on stands nearly sixty meters high and the other is colossal. It stands well over one hundred meters to the very top.” One hundred and fifteen to be exact, she thought. And it sits on top of several ley lines. Funny how he didn't mention this, or the Portals that sucked you in when you least expect it.
>
  Zofia did her best to sound amazed. It was amazing. Especially now that she was here and could see it much better in the daylight.

  “Did the count build the castle?” she asked, continuing with the dumb act. In her Book of Codes for Knights there was a whole chapter on how to engage your targets in small talk to gain their confidence so that they would reveal things to you. Acting dumb wasn't suggested, exactly. But she was making it all up as she went along, anyway. And she knew that the count hadn't built it.

  “No, miss. To my understanding, much of the structure was here before my master came to own it. He did do some of the more elaborate re-construction on the main castle, however.”

  “Reconstruction?” Toad spawn. She had read and studied the section in the book where Barty had described the main rooms of the castle. Even so, the configurations of it had baffled him, and she was certain they would confuse he heck out of her, and she would get lost, unless she had a map. That thought lingered for a while until Percival said something.

  “Before that,” Percival continued, “the Helsingas once dwelled in this valley, and it is believed that they actually erected these stones on their ends.”

  The Helsingas had, as a matter of fact. She, and any first-year student, was taught the history of their world, and how the Immortals had finally battled the monsters, and had to send them to another realm all together, since there was no way to control them—that is, keep them from eating people.

  Zofia nodded while gazing at a nicely maintained garden while passing one colossal planter after another. All taller than a man, they were similar to the much smaller strawberry jars on First World, but more urn-like. Each one had some odd creature depicted crawling around it. Once it became warm enough, she could see that this garden would be bursting with beauty.