Quest for the Secret Keeper

by Victoria Laurie

  All about her, people were rushing to pack and flee the city. The Germans were heading straight for Paris—of that there was no doubt—and those close to the capital city were certain to be caught up in the net of French defeat.

  She’d heard that Germans had no stomach for those who were different, and the Witch of Versailles was most definitely different.

  With a sigh of relief the witch reached her front door and inserted her key, mumbling reproachfully to herself as she stepped across the threshold, leaving the door open to make as hasty a departure as possible.

  She’d seen this coming. Many a night she’d peered into her crystal and seen the certainty of France’s downfall, but the thought was so unfathomable that she had doubted the visions and convinced herself that it was only her fear reflected in the fissures of the crystal.

  Soon the streets would be overrun with German invaders, and those who did not fit the Führer’s idea of what a “proper” citizen should look like were certain to find no safe haven within the newly occupied land.

  The witch had heard rumors of what the Nazis were capable of. Her own visions had confirmed that they could commit unspeakable acts of torture and inhumanity. She’d seen things in her crystal ball that had frightened her straight down to her toes, and the Witch of Versailles wasn’t easily frightened.

  At least she had a plan, she reasoned as she gathered various odds and ends. She had a niece in Bayonne, and the witch thought that if that small city was not far enough south for her to disappear into, then she could easily slip over the border into Spain. She spoke a bit of Spanish; perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible.

  The witch moved quickly and efficiently about her humble home, tucking her meager belongings into a small satchel. She paused to look for the silk scarf she wrapped her crystal in, and noticed it on her small table in the corner. A gust of wind entered the flat and blew the scarf out of her reach. Muttering to herself, the witch bent to retrieve it, but another gust sent it scuttling under the cot.

  It was then that the woman realized she was no longer alone in her tiny flat. Jerking up, she whirled around and faced the open door. The temperature within the room—which had been nice and cozy a moment earlier—plummeted, and the witch began to shiver, and not just from cold.

  Standing in the alley were two of the most frightful creatures the witch had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Caphiera the Cold and her sister Atroposa the Terrible hovered in her doorway.

  “Good evening, mistresses,” she said with a deep bow to the two sorceresses stepping over her threshold.

  “Witch,” said Caphiera, adjusting the dark sunglasses she wore. The witch didn’t know for sure why Caphiera wore the glasses, but she suspected it was because of the effect the sorceress’s eyes had on those who got caught gazing into them—something the witch was careful to avoid.

  In fact, the witch thought it wise not to stare too long at either sorceress, as the view was most distressing.

  Caphiera the Cold was quite tall—at least six feet, possibly an inch or two more. She had blue-tinged skin and elongated limbs adorned in fine, expensive textiles. Her fingers were long and talonlike, and her face was the most frightful of all. White hair tipped with icicles capped a long countenance with high cheekbones, an exaggerated nose, and full blue lips. Behind those lips were two rows of sharply pointed teeth, exposed fully when Caphiera smiled wickedly—which was often.

  The witch worked to control her shivers and focused on the other sorceress—whom, by comparison, was nearly a beauty. Atroposa was shorter than her sister, but not by much. Her limbs were also long and reedlike, and adorned in rags, which, along with her hair, fluttered unceasingly about her. Her skin was so pale it appeared diaphanous, and her face was unremarkable except for her long tendrils of translucent locks and the two hollow eyes that stared out hauntingly at the witch.

  “Going somewhere?” asked Atroposa in a voice that moaned like the wind on a cold lonely night.

  The witch attempted a smile and failed. “Off for a visit with my niece, mistress,” she explained, hoping these two would not cause her to be late to the station.

  Caphiera crossed her arms and looked about the flat distastefully. “We have need of your services, witch.” Her icy tone brokered no arguments.

  “Of course!” the witch agreed, and shuffled over to the table with two chairs. Taking her seat, she retrieved her crystal and its stand from her satchel, placing them on the table. “What is it you wish to know, mistresses?”

  Atroposa stepped forward, and the witch felt the bite of the cold wind. “Our brother is missing,” she said. “We wish to know what has become of him.”

  The witch was surprised. She’d made the acquaintance of Magus the Black only the year before, when he was searching for his third sister. The witch had helped him then, and he’d shown his appreciation by being most generous with a few gold coins. “You search for the sorcerer Magus?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Caphiera, still standing near the open door.

  The witch rubbed her cold hands together and peered down into her crystal. “I see him,” she said after a moment. Dread filled her heart when she realized what had happened to the great sorcerer. “He is deep belowground. He has been captured and is being held prisoner in a small dark room of four stone slabs, infused with magic. This magic is poison to him and I fear his strength is draining slowly away.”

  The witch was tempted to look up at the two sorceresses to gauge their reaction, but she decided it would only distract her, so she continued to tell them what she saw. “This prison is your sister’s doing. It seems as if they’ve had a terrible fight, and even now she stands guard over him in the ground just beyond the walls of the prison.”

  The witch did look up at this point, and she saw that Caphiera and Atroposa were exchanging knowing looks. “He has bungled things again,” said Caphiera with a sneer. “As I was certain he would.”

  “We must make haste to rescue him,” said Atroposa. “Lachestia will surely kill him if we do not intervene.”

  But Caphiera was unmoved. “Why should we risk our own lives to save our incompetent brother?” she snapped. “Lachestia has always been unbalanced, and Magus knew of her mental condition well before he went in search of her. It’s no wonder, given her incredible power and unpredictable nature, that Magus got himself in trouble. I say that if he wasn’t clever enough to keep himself out of danger, then he should suffer the consequences.”

  Atroposa opened her mouth to speak again, but Caphiera cut her off. “We have another mission which must take precedence, my sister!”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Atroposa reluctantly nodded and turned back to the witch. “We wish to know of the Secret Keeper,” she moaned.

  The witch now remembered that the last time these two had visited her was to inquire after the mysterious man called the Secret Keeper, and again the witch wondered what secrets he might be keeping. She peered back into her crystal and saw a tall man powerfully built with broad shoulders and arms corded with muscle. He had dark curly hair and deep brown eyes; everything about him was quite striking, in fact. “He is somewhere in the South of France, mistresses, but soon he will be very close indeed,” said the witch.

  Caphiera stepped nearer to the table and the temperature around the witch dipped several more degrees. “Where is he going?”

  The witch’s teeth began to chatter. “Paris,” she told them, hoping the pair would soon be satisfied and depart. “He is coming to the capital to hide something.…”

  “What?” asked Atroposa.

  The witch closed her lids and concentrated on the image forming in her mind’s eye. “A small box,” she said. “Made of silver.”

  When the witch opened her eyes, Caphiera was smiling wickedly, exposing those frightening teeth. “When will he arrive?”

  “Within a week, I believe.”

  “What part of Paris will he venture to?” Atroposa pressed. “The city is very large and we will need
to find his location before the Germans arrive and begin meddling in our plans.”

  The witch frowned. The images floating in her mind were quickly becoming jumbled. “I cannot see his destination clearly,” she complained. “It seems he is working to conceal himself and his mission.”

  The witch knew immediately that her answer did not please the sorceresses. “When will it become clear to you?” Caphiera asked, her tone frigid.

  The witch blinked and focused again on her crystal. “He will be near a green door,” she said at last, allowing a small sigh of relief.

  But again she could tell that her answer hardly satisfied her guests. “Paris is full of green doors!” bellowed Atroposa. “How can we possibly find which green door the Keeper will visit?”

  The witch concentrated as hard as she could on the slippery man in question. But try as she might, she could not decide which section of the city he would be headed toward, and then, as if he was aware that he was being watched by an unseen presence, the Keeper darted straight out of her vision. “I’m sorry, mistresses,” she said wearily. “He is gone from my sight.” But then something else within the ball caught the witch’s attention. “You are not the only ones searching for this man,” she said. “A group of children search for him too. And a woman. Separate from the children, but with a close connection to this Secret Keeper all the same.”

  Caphiera and Atroposa exchanged meaningful looks. “You say the Keeper will appear in Paris within the week?” Caphiera asked.

  The witch nodded vigorously. Of that she was certain.

  “Then I trust that it will not be too much of an inconvenience for you to postpone your visit to your niece,” the sorceress said easily.

  The witch caught herself before a protest could leave her throat. She knew that to refuse either of these women would surely lead to death. Still, she couldn’t help attempting to argue a little. “Kind mistresses,” she began. “Surely I would only be a burden to your quest? An old woman like me would slow you down. And both of you are certainly clever enough to discover the Secret Keeper on your own. My second sight confirms it!”

  But Caphiera was far too intelligent to fall for the guise. “You will accompany us, witch, and when you locate the Keeper, be grateful that we will allow you to live.”

  The witch thought of something just then, part of a vision she’d already had in fact. She pretended to give a small gasp as she peered into her crystal. “Oh, my!” she said.

  “What is it?” Atroposa demanded.

  The witch made a bit of a show of looking alarmed. “It’s the Germans, mistresses! They will invade Paris on the day the Keeper arrives! Oh, I fear for both of you if the Germans should encounter such powerful women! What they would try to do to you! The horror!” And with that the witch fell out of her chair and onto the floor, pretending to faint from the awful image.

  “What’s happened to her?” she heard Atroposa moan.

  Caphiera’s silver boots clinked loudly on the cement floor as the sorceress approached. In the next instant the witch was kicked soundly in the stomach, and she gave a sharp cry as the air was thrust right out of her. “I thought she might be faking,” Caphiera snapped.

  The witch rolled onto her knees and worked to pump the air back into her lungs, all the while silently cursing herself for not getting to the train station ten minutes sooner.

  “When she recovers,” said Caphiera to her sister, moving over to lift the witch’s crystal ball from its pedestal, “bring her along.”

  A few moments later—well before the witch had recovered her normal breathing pattern—her arm was gripped as if by a vise and she was dragged from the flat, leaving all her other possessions behind.

  A DREADFUL NIGHT

  As the party walked across the downs toward Castle Dover—the earl having left his motorcar at the keep because they couldn’t all fit in it and Argos had eyed the thing as if it were a small monster—Ian took in the earl’s posture. He had seen how weary the earl had been of late; he had so much to worry about with the news from the front lines always seeming to be terrible. Their forces were in full retreat at present, and Ian knew the earl was especially worried about an invasion from the sea.

  To top all that, the earl’s dear headmistress was clinging to life, and the earl had just learned that another close friend had recently been taken captive by the enemy.

  Ian couldn’t fathom what kind of a toll that took on a man, but he suspected it was great. Beside him Theo let out a gasp, spinning round to stare at the keep, which, Ian could see over his shoulder, was aglow with soft lights from the inside.

  “Theo?” Ian said, knowing she was having one of her visions.

  But Theo seemed not to hear him. Instead, she let out a bloodcurdling scream, cried out, “Madam!” and dashed off down the hill, running as fast as her feet could carry her.

  Ian was too stunned to understand fully what had just happened, and a moment later he felt Carl’s hand on his arm. “It must be Madam Dimbleby!” Carl said.

  Ian closed his eyes and whispered, “No!” as a terrible ache settled firmly into his chest. He opened his eyes, ready to go chasing after Theo to offer her comfort, when a faint buzzing sound came to his ears. The noise was so odd that it caused them all to pause and look about.

  “What is that?” Carl said, his chin slightly tilted as he searched the dark sky.

  Ian realized that the noise was indeed coming from above. It sounded like a very large hornets’ nest getting closer and closer. “Look, there!” Jaaved said, pointing at the horizon just offshore.

  “What?” Ian asked, his voice now raised above the din.

  “Those dark shadows!” Jaaved said. “I think they’re planes!”

  “Good heavens!” the earl exclaimed. “Everyone! Get down!”

  No sooner had the earl spoken than a whistle pierced the night sky, and seconds later an earth-shattering explosion sounded down by the harbor.

  Ian was pulled roughly to the ground by the earl just as a second whistling and explosion sounded, and then another and another. Ian could barely think past his own fear and the events taking place around him.

  But then his eye happened to catch a glimpse of white moving across the downs and he jumped to his feet and shouted, “Theo!” He burst into a run as if his own life depended on it, and it wasn’t long before he was gaining on her. “Theo, stop!” he shouted, but either she could not hear him above the noise from the planes or she was ignoring him completely.

  A whistling noise pulled his attention skyward again just as an alarm was sounded down at the wharf, echoing across the downs too late to do any good.

  Another bomb went off, lighting up the night sky with fire, and Ian twisted his head, knowing it had come from behind him. He gasped when he realized the bomb had hit Castle Dover, and the sight so shocked him that he tripped over his own two feet and went sprawling to the ground. For a moment he lost all orientation, and then the shadows overhead seemed to be right on top of him.

  “Oh, nooooooooooo!” Ian cried just as another explosion blew more of the wharf apart.

  Adding to the cacophony were screams and shouts of panic. Ian scrambled to his feet but he was now shaking from head to toe. Another blast to his right lit up the area all around him, and with no small amount of horror, he realized the Nazis were dropping their bombs everywhere from the harbor to Castle Dover. At any second, they would strike the keep!

  As if she were immune to the chaos and horror around her, Theo continued her mad dash across the downs, her small figure vulnerable to the murderous horde above her. Ian set off after her again, but this time, he didn’t bother shouting; he knew his voice could never rise above the noise. Instead, he put every ounce of energy into reaching Theo.

  And then, as if things weren’t bad enough, small explosions sounded just to his right, and clumps of grass and dirt flew up into his face and against his clothing. He knew that at least one of the pilots had seen him and was loosing his machine gun on him
. The shock of being shot at was enough to cause Ian to lose his footing yet again, and he crashed to the ground, covering his head and trying in vain to make himself disappear.

  More gunfire erupted, but in the chaos, Ian couldn’t tell where it was aimed, and he shivered all over, waiting to feel the bite of the bullets—but none came.

  And then something tumbled to the ground beside him, and he heard Carl’s cries. “Ian! Ian! Are you hit?”

  Ian lifted his chin and stared at Carl. “I’m all right!” he shouted, staggering to his feet. Desperately he searched the dark terrain for any sign of Theo.

  Finally, he spotted her, facedown on the ground, and after crying out her name with such force that he felt a searing pain in the back of his throat, Ian raced to reach her. At last he got to her still form, dropping to his knees a few feet from her, unable to touch her for fear he’d know for certain that she was gone. His chest heaved, and his fists clenched, and an anger so keen that he thought he’d never feel anything else formed inside him.

  The planes were moving off now as sirens continued their mournful wail, but Ian paid the departing planes no attention. “Ian!” he heard Carl gasp as his friend approached and sank down beside him. But Ian couldn’t even acknowledge him. He was focused on Theo, willing her to move.

  To his utter amazement, a moment later she did. First her head lifted, and she looked about; then, pushing up onto her knees, she looked behind her. Ian’s shoulders sagged with relief and he reached forward to gather her close. “Thank heavens,” he whispered hoarsely.

  In the next instant Theo was sobbing so hard he thought she’d pass out. Ian hugged her fiercely and patted her back. “There, there,” he whispered, unable to get his injured voice to a higher volume. “You’re safe, Theo. Everything’s all right.”