Coronets and Steel

by Sherwood Smith

  “This will only be for seconds. The road is almost directly below the castle. It’s unlikely they would hear the engine even if we were to drive directly to it, but we will use this precaution. We will also hide the car in case anyone comes up or down.”

  “Give me the word,” I said.

  Another mile or so along she said, “Now,” as we rounded the crest of a particularly sharp hairpin turn. I cut the engine at once and shifted into neutral. The car rolled heavily and bumpily downward, the tires’ rumbling sounding loud and sinister.

  “Prepare to turn hard to the right . . . here.” She pointed into a black space between some shrubs. We bumped sickeningly through looming branches, then at last she said, “Stop.”

  I hit the lights, and utter blackness slammed down on us.

  “Leave the keys.” Her tense voice sounded loud in the silence.

  My neck was stiff with tension, and my hands and arms ached from the effort of driving. Aunt Sisi climbed out. Her feet crunched on pine needles. She opened something, and pulled a bulky thing out that crackled like a plastic tarp. “We must make haste.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Setting a tarpaulin against the back of the car so the lights won’t reflect if someone passes.”

  “That’s clever. So you’ve used this spot a lot?”

  “During the days of Russian control.”

  I climbed out of the car and swung my arms in wide circles, trying to loosen the stiff muscles. I stumbled on the uneven ground, but once we were past the shelter of the overhanging trees, the brilliant canopy of stars overhead revealed the pale oval of Aunt Sisi’s face, the narrow track of the road hugging the sheer granite cliff, and beyond another long drop into a shadowy valley. Somewhere below was the muted thunder of a waterfall, and night birds sang, heedless of the human drama intruding on their world.

  Aunt Sisi walked close to the face of the cliff with quick, sure steps. The straight section of road we walked on would have been a few seconds’ relief from the hairpins if we’d driven it; now it seemed as long as Highway 5 back home.

  Our feet crunched steadily. The fresh air was waking me up, clearing my head more thoroughly all the time.

  The road swung away from the granite cliff as the slope widened. We stayed next to the cliff face, though, Aunt Sisi pushing her way through shrubs with hands that looked even more fragile in the starlight.

  Beneath the cover of a tall fir, she stopped. “This is it.”

  She slid a hand into a pocket of her jacket, and extracted a medieval-looking key with six or seven teeth. “The stairs are steep for a long way, then there is a sharp right-hand turn. More stairs. You’ll feel two wooden doorways on the left. Pass those. They open onto the wrong levels—the kitchens and the main library. The last opens into the sky-suite bedrooms, which is where my daughter is being kept. The first room is probably where my son sleeps, but no one should be there now. The intervening door can be opened with this.” She pressed what felt like a regular door key into my hand. “It opens all the sky-suite doors. The passage door has a latch on this side, and on the other side a button hidden in the paneling. You would do best to leave the passage door propped open.”

  “Ruli doesn’t know how to trigger the passage? In case?”

  “I don’t believe she does. She has not been at the castle except for brief visits since she was little, and I do not think Anton would teach her the passageways now.”

  “She’s definitely in that room? How’d you find that out?” I asked.

  “One of the house servants sought me out this evening, in order to tell me.” She pushed aside a heavy bough, and felt along the rock of the cliff. Then she inserted the medieval key into a lichen-choked crack. I heard several metallic clunks, then a graunching sound, as part of the cliff swung out. It was a disguised door, and beyond it was a lightless hole.

  “Do you have a flashlight?” I could not help asking.

  “I do not. There will be spiderwebs, but nothing else. No one has ever been hurt in there. Please, be hasty. And when you find her, warn her what to expect in this passage. She has a horror of spiders. Send her down before you, so she won’t panic and run back up if she encounters one.”

  “Okay. Back as soon as I can.”

  I ducked past the fir bough and marched into the pit.

  Immediately I saw why Aunt Sisi did not attempt it. Felt, rather, as sight was completely impossible. The steps were rough-hewn from stone so each was a different size and shape, and steep was an understatement bordering on euphemism. The only thing these steps had in common, besides being nearly on top of one another, was their thick covering of moss. Slimy moss. With a phosphorescent glow in patches, light enough to make one think one was seeing spots before one’s eyes, but not light enough to be the least use in navigating steps.

  I had to crawl on hands and knees, therefore, and I patted with my right hand at the growth-smeared wall every few feet, hoping for that turnoff. There seemed to be a slight but persistent veering to the right as I climbed upward for what was probably no more than five minutes, but seemed ages. Soft things brushed my hands and face and I frequently stopped and flung myself flat on the steps when taken by violent sneezes. I was terrified of jerking over backward. I didn’t think I could recover from a fall down those stairs, either physically or mentally.

  Once I had to clench my teeth on a scream when something with a lot of legs dropped onto my head, skittered to my neck and then fell off. I shuddered so violently I nearly lost my balance, but this heartening episode provided the burst of adrenalin I needed to send me scrambling top speed the rest of the way.

  Encountering the sharp right encouraged me further; also, the incline leveled abruptly about fifteen degrees which enabled me—cautiously—to stand up. The webs overhead here were fewer. A more traveled passage? What lay in the direction she had not told me about?

  I was not about to explore.

  It seemed a long way to the first door because I expected it at any moment. But I found it, passed it, then found the second and the third. I heard muffled voices behind the second and passed on quickly, my heart banging up near my throat.

  I listened for a full minute at the third before I brushed my fingers over it in search of the latch.

  The door opened soundlessly. I peered into a huge, chilly room. The windows were clerestory style, high in the opposite wall. The starlight was weak, but after the Stygian totality of that passageway the pale light greeted my eyes with the strength of a 100-watt bulb. There was a grand, canopied bed, a hand-carved teak rolltop desk most of the people I knew would have to pay a year’s income to buy, and some other handsome antique furniture. I propped the panel open with a footstool and walked cautiously in.

  Then I saw doors on the adjacent walls. Both had yellow lines of light at the bottom. I picked one, put my ear to it, then jumped back: music! Over voices!

  D’oh! A television!

  Once again my heart thudded painfully as I shakily inserted Aunt Sisi’s key into the lock. The door opened, whapping me with the sharp scent of fingernail polish remover.

  Curled up asleep on a big bed was someone enough like my mirror image to seriously weird me out. She wore a dressing gown over wool slacks and a matching sweater. On a side table lay neat rows of cosmetic items, including fingernail polish lined up according to shade. The only open bottle was the polish remover.

  Clothes were piled everywhere, but in a kind of desperate order: slacks draped neatly over chairs, blouses folded and stacked on the bureau, sweaters on the floor. Next to the TV sat a couple towers of videocassettes and DVDs, perfectly squared. A quick glance showed an amazing array—from sophisticated French films to all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Stacked below the TV table was a mixture of glossy-covered fashion magazines, French, English, and American titles.

  The persistent stink of the polish remover clobbered my senses into awareness, echoing that horrible stuff I’d been drugged with earlier. I breathed
out sharply, then moved to the bedside and reached to cap the bottle. Why would she leave that open? She couldn’t possibly find the smell pleasant. Maybe antiseptic?

  The loudness of the television masked my movements; I thought I recognized Fellini’s Amarcord. I pressed the off button.

  Then I turned back to my twin.

  The light came from electrical bulbs in wall sconces. I stepped toward the bed and studied Ruli’s profile. This time I looked for differences between us. She had high arched brows, beautifully plucked like her mother’s. Her lower lip had a suggestion of a pucker.

  Her eyes opened. She saw me and sat up, staring. Despite the shoulder-length hair, the makeup smudges below red-rimmed eyes, and the subtle differences I’d already marked, it was enough my own face to give me a sickening second or two of vertigo.

  What did Alec think when I did not show at midnight? Now I will never know.

  I drew in a shaky breath and said in French, “Your mother is waiting at the other end of a secret passage. I think we had better hurry. There’s something weird going on.”

  Neither of us stopped studying the other’s face. Even as I spoke I was noting further subtle differences between us: her forehead was slightly higher and more narrow at the temples than mine; a hint of point to her chin. She was fashionably thin, with no muscle tone.

  She cleared her throat. Her voice sounded higher than mine to my ears. “Are you Kim?”

  “Yes.” And as she had not moved, I added, “Best hurry.”

  She got up then, and stood beside the bed, looking about wildly. “Oh, God . . . It’s been so horrible . . . Where’s Anton?”

  “Somewhere in Riev, according to your mother.”

  She winced. “I thought you’d be Dieter. He’s been threat—oh, I’ll never get over this. Never.” Her voice rose at the end.

  “I think you should wait to talk about it until we get out,” I suggested nervously.

  She pressed her lips together. “Yes. Please.”

  I locked her door behind me. In Tony’s starlit room she stood right at my shoulder, looking back frequently toward the other door.

  At the black passage door, she stopped. “I can’t go in there.” Her whisper was tremulous with terror.

  I said, “I came up that way, and nothing happened to me. You go first. I’ll be right behind you. If someone comes after us, I’ll deal. You go, and think to yourself, Cousin Kim was here, so there won’t be any spiders. Can you handle it that way?”

  She stilled, except for the tremble, her eyes closed. Then, “To get away from Dieter. I will. Do anything.”

  “Great. Then the faster you get down, the sooner it’s over. It’s steep, and you’ll have to be careful, but think about the end—and freedom.” I was going to have to talk her through it. “Remember, I was there a minute ago. Repeat, freedom, freedom, freedom.”

  “I’ll be free when I’m home again,” she said softly. It was clear home was not here in this castle.

  She said nothing more, but I heard the harsh breathing of effort and fear, so I kept on gabbling encouragements and jokes, interspersed with warnings of what to expect ahead.

  When we got to the super-steep down-drop she whimpered once, then began her descent. Hesitant at first, from the sound. “Not far,” I called. “And your mother is waiting. And at Mecklundburg House a nice hot bath . . . tea or coffee or whatever you like to drink . . .”

  It was far worse going down. I caught myself nearly slipping on the moss, so rather than risk crashing into her if I fell, I let her get well ahead. When it sounded like she was about fifteen feet below me I started down again little-kid style, that is, bumping down gently, heels then butt.

  “Oh, I see the door,” Ruli cried happily, at long last. Then, “Yes! Maman?”

  “Aurelia?” Aunt Sisi’s voice was faint, cautious.

  “Yes!” Ruli laughed on a high, thankful note.

  I spotted the top of the door, and began bumping my way down more quickly.

  Ruli stumbled through the open door into the silver-glowing night, arms outstretched and her dressing gown flapping behind her. Then, with a graunching sound that seared from my heels to my teeth, the door swung shut.

  And—click-click-click—locked.

  THIRTY-THREE

  “AUNT SISI!” I SCREAMED. “Please, Aunt Sisi, please open the door!”

  I stumbled the rest of the way down, tripped, and caught myself against the door. It did not budge. I dug my nails in, trying to find a way to open it, and I have to admit I panicked there for a while, screaming and begging.

  Finally it occurred to me to shut up and listen—she might be out there trying to tell me something, or worse, some enemy must have appeared. Something had to have happened. It made no sense for her to lock me in after asking for my help. And getting it.

  So I pressed my ear against the wood, laboring to quiet my shaky breathing, but heard nothing.

  “If they were caught, it’s up to me to rescue them,” I whispered, my cheek grinding against the granite-hard wood of the door. “Right. It’s up to me.”

  I pushed away from the door with both hands, and swung wearily about, doing my best to ignore my own trembling until two things with a lot of wiggly legs dropped on me. I batted at myself crazily, knocking them off. One crunched as it hit the step. The result? A five minutes’ climb was done in about two minutes flat.

  When I reached the platform, panting like a marathon runner, I felt at the two adjacent doors and found cold metal keyholes on both. I tried my key as quietly as I could, but it fit neither. So I turned up the right-hand passage again, and this time listened at each door.

  The kitchen sounded like a hub of activity, so I passed on.

  The library had at least three men talking in it. I pressed my ear hard against the door, heard Dobreni words . . . and finally deciphered enough to realize what was going on in there was not a secret war conference but a card game peppered with reminiscences that made it clear it had been a looooong time since some of those guys had had a date.

  So I toiled on to the third door and listened. Like before, no sound. So I opened the door, and for a second I was so glad to see light that I forgot about danger.

  Not that it mattered. Tony saw the passage door open the second I lifted the latch, and even if I’d caught on quickly, where would I have gone? Still, it was a shock to have the door pulled out of my fingers and to find myself face-to-shirtfront with Tony.

  I recoiled back into the darkness of the passage but his hand snapped out and closed around my upper arm. He pulled me into the room. I flung his hand off violently as he shut the passage door beside my head. The edges disappeared seamlessly among the jointures of the wood panels. I stared at the now invisible door for a few seconds, rubbed my stinging eyes, then turned around.

  Tony was on the other side of the room, pouring water from a pitcher onto a white cloth.

  “Here,” he said conversationally as he came back toward me. “That passage is vilely filthy.” He held out a dampened hand towel.

  I rubbed the cool wetness over my face. When I pulled it down the hand towel was grayish black with grime, but my face felt better. I started cleaning my fingers as he smiled at me and leaned against his bureau.

  “Charming,” he went on, his indolent, slack-lidded glance moving slowly down my body. “Strange, you have my sister’s features but you don’t look at all like her. Not at all,” he added, his gaze drifting back to my jeans, and when I scowled, he smiled. “What can I do for you?” And with an ironic echo of the point-and-shoot, “I’m at your service, my dear Kim.”

  Despite the cold of the room he was wearing only the frilly white pirate shirt, half-unbuttoned, and the black trousers of his costume. Bare feet, even. I had interrupted him in the homely and everyday task of getting ready for bed. Which might be expected at . . . what was it, two? three? in the morning. But common sense did not prevent me from flushing neon-red right up to my itching scalp.

  Tony had been
watching comprehension work its way into my brain, and now his amusement intensified in proportion to the crimson in my face. “A couple minutes more and I would have been very much at your service.” He laughed at my embarrassment.

  “If you want to help me,” I said sourly, “you’ll show me the quickest way out of this dump.”

  “I noticed Ruli’s taken off,” he commented. “As yet I’m the only one who knows. What happened? She’s not in the passage, is she? Did you lose the base-door key on the stair?”

  “No, she’s safe. With your mother. The door shut in my face,” I said reluctantly. “I thought maybe they were caught by some of your goons lurking out on the road.”

  “The door shut?” he repeated with mild interest.

  I finished wiping my hands, and put the filthy towel down on an exquisite side table. “Yes. When I had only a few steps to go.”

  “Ruli went first?”

  “Yes. Which suggests to me there might have been trouble . . .” I began. He seemed disposed to stand around and chat. Fine. I would respond, but my mind was on the door on the other side of the room.

  “At—my mother’s request, perhaps?”

  “Yup,” I said agreeably, hooking my thumbs in my belt loops and sauntering a step. Another step. “Sure wish I knew what happened. Everything had gone so well until that point, too.” I shrugged as carelessly as I could while gripping the key against my palm. “So, if you want to help me, you might point me toward the front door in this pile so I can be on my way.”

  “No, because that won’t—”

  As soon as I heard no I snapped out a side kick, sending the marquetry table crashing toward his knees, and vaulted over a hassock.

  Tony laughed.

  I grabbed a bedpost, propelled myself around the corner, and lunged toward the door. One step, two, key outstretched—

  And as usual the difference between 5 foot 8 and 6 foot 3 worked out to 5 foot 8’s disadvantage. When he grabbed me, I whirled around and began to fight.

  The struggle was short. I thrashed wildly, which almost worked only because Tony was trying to gain control without hurting me. I nearly wrenched free once, then he increased his efforts, catching hold of my wrist. I yipped in anger and kicked him. His grip shifted, and I flew through the air to land with a splat on the bed.