“Will you …?” Ian asked softly, pointing to Theo.
“Yes,” Carl assured him. “I’ll look after her.”
Ian smiled gratefully and dashed down the steps. He found the earl standing in the foyer, addressing Thatcher. “You look a bit peaked, Master Goodwyn. Are you feeling all right?”
Thatcher put a hand to his head and attempted a smile. “I must admit, I’ve had a bit of a chill this evening, my lord. Nothing a good night’s rest won’t cure me of, I’m certain.”
“Yes, well, we’ll be off just as soon as I speak with Master Wigby.” The earl spotted Ian on the stairs then and added, “Ah, there you are, lad! I’ve heard from Madam Dimbleby that Theo has had a bit of an upset this evening.”
Ian nodded as he went the rest of the way down the stairs. “Yes, my lord. She’s been most distressed.”
“Ah, I should know better than to try to keep any recent developments from her. She’s always one step ahead, isn’t she?”
Ian had no idea what the earl was talking about, and wondered if by some coincidence he knew about the serpent too. “Er …,” he said. “Yes, my lord. She’s very adept at ferreting out the state of things.”
The earl sighed and wrapped an arm around Ian’s shoulders. “Well, I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t have bargained you two a little more time,” he said sadly. “But I’m afraid at the moment there is little I can do to halt these proceedings.”
Ian’s heart thumped loudly, a foreboding stealing over him. “My lord?” he asked. “I’m afraid I don’t know exactly what you mean.”
The earl looked taken aback. “Really? So Theo hasn’t told you?”
“She’s been a bit too upset to talk,” Ian said.
The earl nodded, as if he understood completely. “My barrister sent word yesterday, but I did not receive the message until just before supper. It appears that our Major Fitzgerald has a most influential friend in the courts, and he has been awarded custody of Theo. He will be here tomorrow afternoon, in fact, to collect her and take her to his home in Debbonshire.”
Ian felt as if all the blood rushed out of him at once. The world spun, and he was certain that if it were not for the earl’s arm about his shoulders, he would fall down. Through a muddled haze he noticed that the earl was looking at him with such sympathy it only made him feel worse, and he knew he should say something, but words refused to form.
“I’m terribly sorry, Ian,” the earl told him. “You have my word that I will do everything within my power to bring her back, but for now, I’m afraid we’ve no choice; we must comply with the court’s directive.”
Ian looked away. He felt almost faint, and he saw Madam Dimbleby across the room, her eyes red and watery. She knew too.
The earl gave a final squeeze to Ian’s shoulder and released him. Ian heard him say something about needing to be off, and Thatcher and Perry followed him, but not before each of them gave Ian a soft pat on the back and looked at him with care as they departed.
For what felt like an eternity, Ian could only stand there, too stunned to move or speak. Eventually, Madam Dimbleby got up and took his hand, leading the way out of the room to avoid the prying eyes of the others. In her private study she hugged Ian fiercely as a wave of emotion overtook him.
Much later that night Ian met with Carl and Jaaved in the tower. “It’s not right!” Carl said, his voice barely holding to the hushed tone Ian had insisted upon. Below, the rest of the keep was well asleep by then. “Isn’t there anything the earl can do to stop the major from taking her away?”
Ian stared forlornly at the floor. He was having difficulty putting his thoughts in order, as the news from the earl had rattled him to the core. After he’d left the study, Ian had gone straight back upstairs to talk to Theo, but Carl had told him she’d been exhausted by her cry and had retired to her bed. “He promised to try,” Ian whispered. “But for now, we’ve no choice but to let her go with the major.”
“Then we should leave tonight!” Carl announced, getting up from his seat to pace the floor just like Theo had done.
“And go where?” Ian asked, a desperate note in his voice. “Tomorrow is Sunday, Carl. There’s no way out of Dover on Sunday unless you’ve got a motorcar. Besides, we’ve barely collected half the things we’ll need to leave. There’s not enough time to make our escape.”
Carl stopped in his tracks, dumbstruck. “Blast it!” he growled, and returned to his pacing.
Jaaved wiped his brow; Ian noticed he was sweating. “We could wait until we’ve gathered all our supplies, then retrieve her from Debbonshire,” he offered.
And for the first time that evening, Ian had heard an idea that held a ray of hope. “Yes!” he exclaimed. “Jaaved, that’s exactly what we’ll do!”
Carl came back to sit down next to Ian. “We could have Theo write to us of her address, and when we get her letter, we’ll strike out to rescue her and make our way to Amsterdam.”
Ian smiled wisely and reached into his pocket, retrieving the sundial. “Waiting for a letter will take too long. If we simply follow the sundial once we take the train to Debbonshire, we’ll find her soon enough.”
“Oh, that’s a much better plan!” Carl said.
“We’ll go the moment we’ve got our supplies together. I expect that should only take another day or two at the most,” Ian said.
For the next few minutes the boys worked through the details of their plan, and when each knew his assignment, they stood and prepared to go back to bed. As they made their way down the stairs, Carl asked, “I suppose this business about the major taking her away was what Theo was so upset about?”
Ian paused on the stairs. “No,” he said. “She didn’t tell you?”
Carl shook his head. “She was too busy crying, mate. The most she said was something about the serpent and how Laodamia was right after all.”
Ian grabbed Carl and Jaaved by the arms, halting their progress down the stairs. “You know what’s strange?” he whispered.
“What?” they asked together.
“Theo didn’t mention the major to me at all this evening. She gave no indication whatsoever that she was about to leave the keep for Debbonshire.”
Carl’s brow furrowed. “Then why was she upset?”
“She kept insisting that Vanessa was the serpent from Laodamia’s prophecy.”
“Vanessa?” Carl and Jaaved asked in unison.
“Yes,” Ian insisted. “Odd, isn’t it?”
“But she’s harmless,” Jaaved proclaimed. “I sat next to her at the table, and other than being a bit shy, she’s really quite nice.”
“Perhaps Theo has misinterpreted things,” Carl said in that irritating way that suggested he thought Theo had gone off her nutty again.
“She’s perfectly sane, Carl!” Ian snapped. He was feeling particularly protective of Theo right then.
“Of course she is.” Carl was quick to reassure him. “But maybe this time she got it wrong.”
Ian said nothing more; instead, he motioned for them to continue down to bed. Still, the fact that Theo had been far more concerned with Vanessa’s arrival than her own departure troubled him deep into the night.
The next morning Ian and Carl were late to the breakfast table. Madam Dimbleby finally ushered them out of bed well past the time all the other orphans had been fed. “I’ve no time for your laziness this morning!” she snapped in irritation, which was highly unusual for Madam Dimbleby and caused Ian to quickly get up and promptly see to making his bed.
Madam Dimbleby fussed about the boys’ room, picking up laundry and such, while the boys went through their morning rituals, and the whole time, their headmistress complained about the state of things that morning. “Gertrude has taken ill and I’ve sent her to bed, and several of the girls have come down with a fever. And that new boy, Will, is quite sick,” she said. “I was so alarmed by his fever that I had to send Landis to fetch Dr. Lineberry, which has left only me to tend to everyone else!”
/> Ian paused in the making of his bed. “Did you say they’re all sick?” he asked.
“Yes, Ian,” Madam sighed, a note of exasperation in her voice. “There’s obviously some sort of influenza infecting the keep, and I’ve no time to chase the likes of you two out of your beds!”
With that she turned in a huff and hurried out of the room. Ian and Carl were left to stare at each other. “Looks like we picked the wrong day to sleep in,” Carl muttered.
“Come on,” Ian said. “We’d best get downstairs and offer her some help. We’ll also need to find Theo and tell her of our plans.”
Ian and Carl dressed in their lightest clothing, as the summer day had already warmed to an uncomfortable degree. “Landis said we’re in for a heat wave,” Carl told Ian as they descended the stairs.
They found Madam Dimbleby straightaway and she told them to help ready those children feeling well enough for church. “I will have to skip the services today,” she said. “I’ve just heard that Jaaved is also running a fever.”
Ian stopped in his tracks as he remembered Jaaved’s breaking into a sweat the evening before. At that moment, Theo entered the sitting room and their eyes met. He was about to motion her away so that he could speak to her privately when a series of urgent knocks sounded on the front door.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Madam Dimbleby. “What now?”
Ian followed the headmistress to the front door, which she opened to reveal Dr. Lineberry, wearing a surgical mask, and beside him, the village constable, holding a large sign and a hammer.
“Oh, my!” Madam exclaimed. “Dr. Lineberry, I’m so glad you’re here—”
Madam got no further than that. Dr. Lineberry held up his hand to silence her, and with the other he offered her a yellow telegram. “Madam,” he said formally, “I’m afraid the keep and all of its occupants are now under legal quarantine.”
Ian gasped, and now beside him, Carl and Theo did the same. Madam Dimbleby also appeared quite flustered and she hurried to read the telegram the doctor had given her. After a moment her hand moved to cover her mouth and she whispered, “Oh, my heavens! No!”
Ian leaned in to peer over her shoulder just as the doctor pushed past them on his way inside and the door was slammed in their face by the constable. Absently, Madam Dimbleby shoved the yellow telegram into Ian’s hands and said in a voice hoarse with fear, “Stay with the children, Ian, while I assist the doctor.” She then hurried after Dr. Lineberry.
From outside a loud tapping began to resonate through the wood door. “What’s it say?” whispered Carl, motioning to the telegram.
Stunned, Ian stared down in disbelief at the words across the page. “It’s from a doctor who’s just attended several sick children at the Cornwall orphanage,” Ian said as he skimmed the paper and his heart began to pound. “They’ve had an outbreak of polio. They believe they can trace it back to one girl named Vanessa, whose entire family recently perished from the disease. They believe she has spread it to several children there, and are most concerned about the welfare of anyone she has come into contact with.”
All around him there were gasps, and Ian turned to look at the stunned faces of the children who had overheard him. Only one person did not look surprised—Theo. She stood nearby with a sobering expression, and he now fully understood that her predictions had been spot-on after all.
THE WITCH OF VERSAILLES
Caphiera the Cold and her sister Atroposa the Terrible walked through a darkened and deserted alley in the poorest and most dangerous section of Versailles. It was late enough in the evening that most people were in bed, but a few opportunists had been lurking about in the doorway of a pub that the sorceresses had passed before turning into the alley.
Litter along the cobblestone shuffled noisily down the passage, blown by the constant wind that surrounded Atroposa. The distraction of swirling debris annoyed Caphiera, who was wearing her sunglasses and having enough trouble navigating the darkened streets. Caphiera knew that her sister had no control over the constant wind that surrounded her, but it was still a bothersome thing that never failed to set the wintry sorceress’s nerves on edge.
That was why she did not notice right away when two malcontents stepped into the alley just in front of them, blocking their way. “Look what we have here,” said one with a laugh. “Two old hags out for a stroll.”
“Got any gold on you, hags?” asked the other in a menacing voice.
Caphiera and her sister came to a stop and turned to each other. “Allow me,” offered Caphiera, removing her sunglasses as the two men approached.
“By all means,” moaned her sister.
“Allow you to what, hag?” snapped the first man. “Give over your gold?”
Caphiera smiled wickedly. She knew that the men couldn’t clearly see her; the alley was far too dark. “Yes,” she said coyly. “I’ve got your gold, but I’ll need a bit of light to fetch it from inside my coat. Might one of you have a match?”
Instantly, one of the men produced a lighter and flicked it open. A small flame cast eerie shadows along the walls, but the men weren’t close enough to illuminate Caphiera’s face.
“Step closer,” she said, encouraging them. But in that moment, the two mortals seemed to suspect something amiss.
“No tricks, hag,” spat the second man. “Give us your gold or we’ll have to hurt you.”
“Tricks?” Caphiera said in her most wounded voice. “Why, I would never think of attempting such a thing. I’m an honest woman, after all. Look right into my eyes and you’ll see I speak the truth.”
The man holding the lighter lifted the flame and took one cautious step forward. It was the last thing he ever did. Within seconds he had frozen solid. And he’d done it so quickly that the lighter remained stuck firmly in his hand. “Michele?” inquired his partner. “What’s the matter?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Caphiera asked him. “He’s so enchanted by my beauty that he’s forgotten himself.”
“He’s what?” the other demanded, taking a step forward. Caphiera lowered her face a little closer to the light of the flame and opened her eyes wide. A moment later the man was crashing to the floor, frozen solid, just like his friend.
Caphiera sighed in satisfaction and stepped over the dead man. “Come along, Atroposa.”
The two sorceresses continued through the alley to the last door on the right. Caphiera shielded her eyes with her thick glasses before giving the door three loud knocks. There were some shuffling noises from inside, and nearby a cat hissed at them before darting into a sewer grate. But soon enough the door was opened, and a middle-aged woman with pockmarked skin, deep-set eyes, and stringy gray hair looked up at them. “It is very late,” she said irritably.
“And yet, witch, you will see us,” said Atroposa, the howl in her voice echoing along the alley.
The woman scowled, but then she seemed to catch sight of the two unfortunate souls not far down the cobblestone street. The light from the doorway illuminated their tragic end, and the woman’s face changed immediately. Her lips parted in a weak smile and she bowed low. “Of course, mistresses,” she said. “Please enter and make yourselves comfortable.”
The sorceresses swept into the tiny one-room flat. It was cluttered with all kinds of horrifying odds and ends stuffed into jars of various sizes. One seemed to contain an assortment of dried bat wings. In another were the pickled remains of a two-headed snake. A third was filled to the brim with pigs’ eyes. And all about the small home was the cloying scent of incense.
Shutting the door behind the sorceresses, the witch waved them to two nearby chairs set in front of a tiny table, and hurried to take up her own seat opposite her guests. “How may I help you?” she asked, careful not to look directly at either.
Caphiera adjusted her sunglasses. She needed this woman’s services and did not want to risk turning her into an icicle prematurely. “We have heard from our brother that you have quite the talent for forecast,” she said.
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The witch chuckled. “I am a very gifted seer,” she assured them. “And is your brother the all-powerful Magus the Black, who did grace me with his presence some weeks past?”
“He is indeed,” said Caphiera. “He has yet to find all of your predictions true, but we hear he was most encouraged by his visit with you.”
“Excellent,” said the witch, wrapping the woolen shawl about her shoulders more securely. The temperature in her flat had plummeted with the arrival of her guests.
“We also have need of your sight,” moaned Atroposa, getting to the heart of the matter.
The witch reached behind her and brought to the table a small crystal ball set on a bronze pedestal. “Ask me your question and I shall divine the answer,” she instructed.
Caphiera said, “We seek an audience with the one called the Secret Keeper. We wish to know where to locate him.”
Their host lit a candle and brought it close to the crystal. The flame was nearly extinguished by the swirling air that blustered about the apartment, so the witch cupped her hand around it and focused on the fractures within the crystal ball. “This man is of great importance,” she said before glancing up to gauge the sorceresses’ reactions. Caphiera nodded and the witch continued. “You are in luck, mistresses. The one you seek is not far away. He comes to France on a most urgent mission. One I feel you will be wise to thwart. He carries with him a treasure of sorts with roots that trace back to antiquity. He seeks to hide this relic and will go to great lengths to protect it until he does. I see a path where you are likely to intersect with him and capture the treasure for your own.”
Caphiera smiled wickedly, exposing her ferocious teeth. The witch looked up again and started at the sight, which only made Caphiera’s smile widen. “Where in France might we find him?”
The old woman lowered her head again, peering into the ball. “Paris,” she said affirmatively. “Amidst great chaos he will be where others flee. But I warn you; there are more souls than you who seek him. And if they should get to your Keeper first, then your treasure will surely be lost.”