Vespers Rising

  She was not completely surprised to see it was the king himself, Henry VIII. He was known as a champion jouster. But even he, the most powerful man in Great Britain, feared her brother Luke.

  In moments, young Master Winthrop would be arriving for his first lesson, and she needed to prepare. Williams had suggested tin flute lessons, “a taming influence for the little beast.”

  Madeleine looked forward to that. Olivia had taught her to play. You’ve a jot of Jane in you, Mother would say after a particularly fine lesson. Madeleine cherished that comment. There were other compliments, too — a cut of Katherine, a touch of Thomas, a lick of Luke — for her technical skills, athletic victories, strategic thinking. She was a bit like them all, Olivia had said, but with an extra quality all her own. Do not let the meekness swallow you, Madeleine, for someday people will see you for who you are. You are strong yet with the soul of a peacemaker. You bring people together. Call it a magnificence of Madeleine.

  She hadn’t been feeling very magnificent lately. But with a roof over her head and food in her belly, she could think clearly now. And plan. She would win over Winthrop first. Work her way into Luke’s trust. And when she felt comfortable, she would reveal her identity. That would be the “right time” to begin fulfilling Olivia’s dream.

  A united Cahill family.

  Madeleine picked up the tin flute and played a bit. The instrument was rusted and sounded like a dying weasel. She suspected there was a hole and found one at the bottom of the instrument. She looked around for something to plug it. Horsehair? Too flimsy. A ripped piece of fabric? Too bulky.

  She checked the hallway — empty. Reaching under her blouse she unhooked the pouch and peered inside. Hooks and darts? The wrong shape.

  Then she held up the ring.

  The flute tapered to a tip narrow enough to slip the ring over. Carefully, she slid it up the instrument. It fit snugly over the hole, as if it were meant to be there.

  Madeleine played a C major scale, which floated through the room, clear and sweet. She smiled. If only she could afford to expose the ring like this! Naturally, that was impossible. It would be violating Olivia’s promise.

  Or would it?

  Professor Xenophilus liked to say that the best hiding places were in plain sight. Only Mother and Father knew about the ring. Vesper was chasing her for the serum formula and knew nothing about the ring. If Madeleine were to be captured, it would make sense for the ring not to be on her anyway….

  A loud burp at the door made her jump. She turned to face her scowling charge, who stared at her with folded arms.

  If you let him control you, Williams had warned, you will lose both this job and your sanity. “You are seven minutes late,” Madeleine said. “I trust that will not happen again —”

  “I know who you are,” the boy interrupted.

  Madeleine’s heart began to pound. Had she been followed? Had Luke recognized her? “Kn-kn-know me?” she said.

  “You’re the thief!” Master Winthrop blurted out triumphantly. “From the market! I saw you on the back of the royal carriage, with a mask!”

  Relief washed over Madeleine. Dealing with a mischievous child was one task she was sure she could handle. “Well. I guess you’ve flushed me out….”

  “Like a pheasant!” Winthrop crowed. Hands on hips, head cocked, he began circling Madeleine. “But we are not without mercy. I will spare you, but I have some demands.” He began counting off demands on his stubby fingers. “Five minutes of memorization per week. Latin only on Tuesdays. No mathematics ever. Three hours for lunch. Vegetables forbidden. I eat and drink what I want. And no wooden paddle.”

  “You are a clever negotiatior,” Madeleine said.

  “I am the son of Luke Cahill.” Master Winthrop preened as he sat on the edge of the bed. “And I have decided that I shall not learn today.”

  “Oh?” Madeleine nodded. “Well, then, fine.”

  “Because I have too much gas, and the flute will make me …” Winthrop’s voice trailed off. “Did you say … ‘fine’?”

  “This hour belongs to you. If you choose not to learn, then I will play and you can listen.”

  She lifted the tin flute to her mouth. He looked away, already bored. Eyeing the ring, Madeleine realized it resembled no more than a grooved collar. With its cogged design, it could have been found on the floor of the smithy’s shop. No one would take it for a valuable secret. And it certainly made the flute sound magnificent.

  As she played a country air, Master Winthrop’s expression began to soften. His body swayed when she followed with a sad ballad. Before long, he and Madeleine were dancing to an Irish reel, both of them collapsing with laughter on the bed.

  “Well,” Madeleine said finally. “Shall we move on to a history lesson?”

  “No!” Winthrop snapped, grabbing the tin flute. “Teach me!”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  He smiled meekly. “Please?”

  Who would have thought Master Winthrop had a jot of Jane?

  To Madeleine’s surprise, he was a wonderful musician, a natural. Which played right into her plan. She would stage a recital. Luke could not help but be impressed with her skills as a governess!

  One week later she stood before the king, Luke, and assorted courtiers.

  “M-may I have your attention, lords and l-ladies.” Madeleine shook as she looked around the music chamber. She eyed the tin flute. Gideon’s ring still covered the hole. In a fit of nervousness, she had tried to remove it, but Master Winthrop had screamed at her. He’d claimed the flute sounded “odious” without it. And young Winthrop did not take no for an answer. “We h-h-have a very s-s-special musical p-p-performer —” she continued.

  Master Winthrop yawned loudly, twirling the tin flute. Madeleine prayed the ring stayed on. She vowed to remain calm about it. After the recital, the king would surely allow the court to buy a new tin flute. And she would pocket the ring again. “M-may I p-present the very talented Master Winthrop Cahill!” she declared.

  The king clapped his beefy hands.

  As Winthrop began playing, Henry VIII smiled sleepily. Luke stared at his son with intensity.

  What is he feeling? Madeleine couldn’t tell. Luke looked at everything the same way. Like a viper eyeing its prey.

  As the recital ended, the king shouted, “Bravo, boy! Excellent!” Master Winthrop took a bow, and another, and another.

  By then, even Luke was smiling. The expression softened his face, made him look more Cahillian than ever. But as the court all gathered to praise the boy, no one said a word to Madeleine. Not even a curt “thank you.” Not even Luke.

  She bowed, exited the room, and sat on a banquette in the corridor, waiting for Master Winthrop to emerge. This was not what she had planned.

  She was a nobody here. To break through to her brother, she needed to be a presence. She closed her eyes, trying to picture Olivia’s face. Guide me, she thought.

  A moment later, a gangly, sooty-faced young man came skittering down the hall. He leaned toward Madeleine, panting. His breath smelled of goose liver. “Bobbitt?” he said, sending a rotten blast that nearly made her gag.

  “Please keep a gentlemanly distance,” Madeleine said. “And it’s Babbitt.”

  “Oh. Right.” He lurched forward, taking her by the arm.

  “I beg your pardon!” Madeleine cried. “Unhand me or I will call for Luke Cahill.”

  The man grinned and tightened his grip. “The Lord Luke’s what sent for me! I’m under personal orders to escort Madeleine Bobbitt meself!”

  “Escort?” Madeleine said. “Where?”

  “Where do you fink, mum? The royal counting-’ouse?” The man laughed hysterically. “Come along — you are under arrest!”

  Madeleine hadn’t expected King Henry’s prison to be so like her maid’s quarters. The big difference was the metal bars, the unearthly stench, and the granite bench that numbed her rear end.

  Why?

  No one had given her
an explanation for being here. She could barely understand the guard’s accent. Was it something Master Winthrop had told them, some dreadful lie?

  It took her hours to fall asleep against the cold stone. She dreamed longingly about the horsehair bed.

  The voice of Luke Cahill jarred her awake. “Well, who knew my little boy had such a gift for music?” he rasped in the darkness. “My compliments on the tutoring.”

  Madeleine sat up with a start. She shivered as his silhouette drew closer, lit from behind by the guard’s lantern. Dressed in a full-length fur coat, he resembled some kind of ghoulish beast, half man and half bear. The day’s events rushed over her — the bruises, the unfairness. “This s-s-seems an unlikely form of g-g-gratitude.”

  Luke sat next to her, his features inches away yet mere shadowy blots in the darkness. “Well, then, you will no doubt have a satisfactory answer to this question: Where did you get the ring?”

  She felt the blood draining from her face. “You — you know about it?”

  “My father wore it every day. I would tease him about it. Such a crude thing. It was one of a kind, he said. That was all.” Luke leaned closer. “He died in a fire. Everything he had — his clothing, his jewelry, his life’s work — destroyed. And yet, his ring appears on a tin flute.”

  As Maddy Babbitt shrank in fear, Madeleine Cahill sized up her brother. She had to remain calm. To follow through in her plan despite the setback. “May I see the ring?” she asked.

  “Do you think I would be so idiotic as to have it with me?” Luke snapped. “Perhaps you can begin by telling me who you are, and why you had it!”

  Madeleine’s heart sank. He had probably put it in a safe place, or given it to one of his trusted courtiers. They all lived in fear of him and would do whatever he asked. He was too cagey to carry it around.

  Which meant that Promise Number One — Keep the ring safe — had been broken.

  Her only hope was to force Promise Number Three.

  She could no longer wait to win his trust. She had to reveal her identity. The reuniting of the Cahills must begin. Now.

  “B-b-before you fled,” she said carefully, “your mother had neglected to mention something about her c-c-condition.”

  Even in the dim light, Madeleine could see the knife-sharpness of his glare. “I will listen to you for precisely one minute. I advise you — no nonsense.”

  “Luke …” Madeleine took a deep breath. “My name isn’t Babbitt. Mother was with child on the last day you saw her. I was that baby.”

  Luke did not move for a good twenty seconds. She tried to read the expression on his face but couldn’t. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped her chin gently in his hand, moving her face right and left.

  “’Swounds …” he said. “Good grief, yes … the resemblance …”

  This close, she could see the icy veil over his eyes disappear, as if Olivia herself were peering through. In a flash, Madeleine sensed that her long trip — through fear and sickness, disguises and lies — hadn’t been a waste after all.

  She wanted to throw her arms around him. But it was too early for that. The bond was new and fragile. One step at a time. As tears streamed down her cheeks, she felt herself laughing, overcome with joy and relief. “I — I have so much to tell, my brother.”

  “I know you do.” Luke took her hand and stood.

  Where to begin? She would save the sad news of Mother’s death till the end. There were nearly two decades of catching up. “Mother and I … we were living in exile. Under invented names. Babbitt — can you imagine? Not even a name with a bit of … flash, such as, I don’t know, Ravenwood. Or Lancelot! I had to become quiet, to deflect attention. Like a scared little mouse! Anyway, Mother secretly trained me all my life for this final mission—”

  “Shhh, my dear,” Luke said. “Please. Don’t rush. It is an emotional moment, I can see. I will give you time to put together your feelings and your story. But if it comforts you any, please know I have heard it all already.”

  Madeleine wiped a tear. “You have?”

  “Oh, yes, many times.” Luke chuckled. “The details are different, but the broad story is the same.”

  “I — I’m afraid I don’t understand …” Madeleine stammered.

  Luke stood at the door, signaling the guard to open it. “I daresay you’re far more talented than the last one who claimed to be a sibling. My long-lost brother Nigel — lived in hiding under a false identity and so forth. And before him was sister Gladys, aunt Puff, and cousin Quincy —”

  “But — there is no Nigel Cahill, or any of the others!”

  “Or Maddy Cahill!” Luke’s voice was more of a slap than a sound. “Why did you display the ring? What on earth is your plan?”

  “I did it to p-p-plug a hole!”

  Luke turned in disgust. “No matter. If you have other agents in this palace, they will be routed. If you have thought to flush me out by the sight of this ring — if you are planning an ambush — your people will find nothing on me. Before long, your employer will know that after all these years, his plans have failed. And revenge will follow.”

  “Employer?” Madeleine shrank back into the cell. She wasn’t understanding a word of his rant.

  “Do not take me for a fool. Only one person could have had possession of this ring. The one who watched my father die. The one whose blindness and greed have just ensured his own defeat.” Luke turned to the guard. “Simon, prepare the prisoner for public execution in two days. Send an invitation far and wide, and be on the lookout for a man named Vesper.”

  “Vesper?” Madeleine said. “How can you possibly think —?”

  “I shall send for the hangman right away!” Simon replied.

  “Not a hanging,” Luke replied with a slow smile. “I would prefer a slow burning at the stake, and a front-row seat.”

  “CCCHHHH … HELP!”

  At the noise, Simon fell off his chair, ending a blissful dream. “Whaa? Szzzzm? Oh, for the love of ’Enry …”

  The choking was from the new prisoner. The young girl. Bobbitt. The spy. He shook himself awake and rose.

  Lighting a lantern, he approached the cell. “Wha’ then?” he called out. “Roast pheasant caught in yer froat?”

  He snickered. The prisoners always liked a bit of humor.

  But the choking now sounded like vomiting, which made the guard blanch. Last time that happened, the prisoner died before he could have a proper beheading. And there went an honest day’s pay. “’Old yer puke, will ye, and I’ll fetch somefing to drink.”

  He returned to his station, a hard seat by the hallway wall. On the floor was a chamber pot, a spittoon, and a jug of cheap beer he’d been sipping for hours. All day long he’d been confusing them. “S’pose it don’t matter which …” he murmured to himself with a chuckle.

  The jug of beer smelled a bit off, but he brought it down the hallway and fumbled with the key. “’Elp is ’ere!” he said, opening the gate.

  Simon felt a tiny sting in his neck. And all went black.

  Madeleine tiptoed past the guard. He was fast asleep.

  She managed a smile. The sleeping potion had worked, and the dart had held just enough of it to knock him out.

  “I enjoy rainy days …” Simon said. “And I miss my little doggie….”

  Madeleine realized the dose must have been a bit too weak. Too little, and the victim will begin revealing his innermost thoughts, Professor Xenophilus had said.

  This meant she didn’t have long to make her escape. Maybe fifteen minutes.

  In the darkness, she had managed to change clothes. Simon’s uniform was filthy and far too large for her frame. She couldn’t do much about the aroma, but at least the hooks from Olivia’s secret pouch held the material together adequately.

  As she began climbing a set of steep stone steps, Simon was confessing his fear of bunny rabbits. He would be awake soon, but the fact that he was wearing a governess’s dress meant he might not call for help quite so
quickly.

  She tried to look on the bright side. But the ring was lost, Luke thought she was Vesper’s spy, and if she were caught, she would die. Her best hope was escape, from one of the most heavily guarded palaces in the world.

  She had made stupid, unforgivable mistakes. Putting the ring on the tin flute. Allowing Master Winthrop to convince her to keep it there. Expecting that no one would recognize it.

  As she neared the top of the stairs, she made a vow.

  She would escape and regroup. She would use every ounce of her skill and cunning to find the ring. Somehow. And when she did, she would never let anyone, or anything, block the fulfillment of the promises.

  From this point on, if she survived, the plan would be radically different. It would involve infinite patience. Observation. And more patience. If it took her lifetime — her children’s lifetime, their children’s — if it took the creation of a secret family within the family, so be it. The 39 Clues would remain secret for centuries if necessary. Until the moment when the families were ready to unite.

  From this point on, Maddy Babbitt was dead.

  Long live Madeleine Cahill.

  At the landing, she inserted a large skeleton key into the thick, brass-plated wooden door. It creaked loudly as it opened.

  “Wha? Hrrrrumph!” a gruff voice shouted. Another guard.

  Madeleine’s legs locked. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice as far as it would go. “Go back to s-s-sleep,” she grumbled.

  “Right, then, Grandmother …” came the answer, followed by a snore.

  She stepped out into a narrow hallway. It led past a row of small warrenlike rooms, the living quarters for the kitchen maids. They were already awake, baking and preparing the day’s meals. As Madeleine darted past the kitchen, the scent of warm bread made her mouth water.

  She followed candle-lit sconces through a long corridor. The palace was a maze, but at some point, if she walked far enough, she’d reach a door. She grabbed one of the sconces and held it like a torch.

  “I beg your pardon?” a voice called from behind her. “May I ask what business you have here?”

  It was Williams, the boy’s valet.

  Madeleine’s mind raced. Luke had said he did not have the ring. Which meant he had given it to someone he trusted. Could it be Williams? “Hrrrm … Lord Cahill has sent me to fetch the ring,” she said in her guard voice.