Flight Into Darkness (56 page)

“Thanks to you, my dear Kaspar, we hold a trump card in our hands.”

Linnaius nodded. He was very weary. The long journey back to Swanholm had been difficult—partly because of his concerns over Enguerrand's frail state of health, and partly due to his own failing powers. But Eugene seemed even more energetic than usual, pacing his study restlessly as he outlined his plans aloud.

“I've given orders that no one is to leave the estate. Our royal guest's identity must remain a secret until we are ready to act. The element of surprise is still ours, and we must use it to our best advantage.” Linnaius recognized that crafty gleam in Eugene's eyes; the Emperor was in his element, devising a strategy to outwit the Francian government. “But what happens next depends largely on Enguerrand.”

The inner door opened and Astasia came running in.

“Where's Andrei?”

“He's safe and well in Serindher, imperial highness.”

“He's alive? You've seen him?” Astasia's eyes brimmed with tears. “But why didn't you bring him back, Magus?” she cried accusingly.

Linnaius sighed. He had not been looking forward to breaking the news to the Empress. “He chose to stay behind and help the priests rebuild the mission.”

“He—?” Astasia stopped, obviously at a loss for words. “My brother?”

“It's an admirable choice,” said Eugene, slipping his arm around his wife's waist and steering her out of his study. “I can't think of a better way for him to employ his time productively. Perhaps we should appoint him as our next ambassador to Serindher…”

When he returned a few minutes later, he said quietly to Linnaius, “She's not been sleeping well of late. She claims to… have seen a ghost.”

“What manner of ghost?” Linnaius inquired, puzzled.

“Valery Vassian. The one who died protecting her from her brother's Drakhaoul. Of course, I'd normally say that it's just her imagination if it weren't for the fact that…”

“That you've seen the ghost too?”

“Not Vassian. But Margret. Here, in this very room.” A distant, troubled look had come into Eugene's eyes. “You know me well, Kaspar, you know that I'm a rational man who doesn't believe in ghosts and such superstitious stuff. I haven't told Astasia, of course, I don't want to alarm her.”

Linnaius remembered how much Margret's early death in childbirth had afflicted Eugene. “And what did the ghost say to you?”

“She said she was lost. She asked me to help her to find her way back. But back where? I thought I was dreaming the first time. But then it happened again. What does it mean, Kaspar? Am I hallucinating? It's… upsetting.”

“Lost souls,” Linnaius muttered under his breath. All the while he had been in the Spice Islands, the Rift had continued to widen, and the borders between the living and the dead must have become unstable. “This doesn't bode well.”

“So I wasn't dreaming!”

Linnaius paused a moment, wondering how best to frame his request. “There is one person who holds the key to this mystery. But she's a fugitive, on the run from the Francian Inquisition. If your imperial highness were to secure a safe passage to Tielen for her, I believe she might be able to put this matter to rights.”

“I'll get Gustave on to it straightaway.” Eugene gave the bellpull a brisk tug. “What is the young woman's name?”

“Celestine de Joyeuse.”

Eugene caught Gustave trying to smother a yawn as they went through the morning's correspondence together.

“Late night, eh, Gustave?”

“Please forgive me.” Gustave blushed to the roots of his hair. “It's just that—” He broke off, shaking his head. “No. I don't want to waste your time with such a trivial matter.”

“I know you too well, Gustave.” Eugene was intrigued. “For it to have kept you awake, it can't possibly be trivial.”

Gustave seemed to be struggling with himself as to how to proceed with the conversation. “I'm sure it was a dream. I should never have drunk that second glass of aquavit just before bed. Indigestible stuff. But… I thought that I saw my father. Or
something
that resembled my father.” His voice had become very quiet, very flat in tone. “It spoke to me. But how could it be my father? He died five years ago.”

“Last night?” Eugene felt his skin crawling.

“An hour or so after midnight. About the time the moon was setting…”

Gustave, the most imperturbable, rational member of the imperial household, was confessing that he had also seen a ghost?

“Is that special safe-conduct order I asked you to prepare ready?” Eugene asked. “The one for Celestine de Joyeuse?”

“I have it here, ready for you to sign and seal.”

*#x00A0;*#x00A0;*#x00A0;

When the Magus was admitted to the King of Francia's chamber, he was surprised to see Enguerrand out of bed, and sitting by the window, a rug over his legs. The feverish glitter in his eyes had gone and his skin already had a healthier glow.

“I'm glad to see your majesty looking much better.”

“I owe you my life, Magus,” said Enguerrand earnestly. He hesitated, then said, “Francia has treated you shamefully. I don't know how I can begin to make it up to you. But perhaps granting you an official royal pardon might be a good way to start?”

Linnaius paused before he replied. “What has brought about this change of heart, sire?” He chose his words with care. “Your Inquisition has treated me and my kind with the utmost barbarity—torturing and executing us, and burning all our books. The accumulated wisdom of many centuries has been lost on the Inquisitors’ fires.”

“What made me change my mind?” A distant look clouded the king's eyes. “Nilaihah? A glimpse into the Realm of Shadows? Most of all, I think, it was Abbé Laorans. I intend to dissolve the Inquisition just as soon as I have taken back my throne. And that's just the first of many reforms that I will be initiating.”

Linnaius looked at the young king with genuine surprise.

“And I look forward to a new and mutually beneficial alliance between our two nations.” The Emperor came in, rubbing his hands in a gesture that Linnaius recognized of old; Eugene was scheming again. “But first, we have to get you your throne back!”

“You think there may be resistance?” Enguerrand said with a touch of his old timidity.

“Your brother-in-law has the might of the Order of the Rosecoeurs behind him. We mustn't underestimate their influence. However,” said Eugene, grinning, “we have a significant advantage: the element of surprise!”

CHAPTER 3

The curtain came down on the final performance of
A Spring Elopement
to rapturous applause and many encores. Gauzia departed the next day for Tourmalise, with her dresser and her coiffeur in tow, leaving Grebin exhausted but content as he counted the month's takings.

Celestine tapped on his office door and saw him writing columns of figures in a ledger. He took one look at her and said, “Don't tell me that you're leaving us too, Maela?”

“How can you tell?”

He sighed and laid down his quill. “It's that florist of yours. Or whoever he is. Ever since he appeared on the scene, you've not been the same. There's been a sparkle in your eyes, a little smile on your lips. I've seen it a thousand times before. Oh, if I could tell you the number of promising singers lost to the stage, and all in the name of love…”

“I don't intend to give up my singing career!” she said indignantly. “But I need to go away for a short while. Please don't take me off your books, Manager. I intend to come back.”

“That's what they all say.” He waved toward the door with his pen. “Off you go, then, have a wonderful life…”

She hesitated, then darted forward and planted a little kiss on the top of his head. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “For everything. You saved my life.”

“Don't talk nonsense,” he said gruffly, dipping the nib in the ink and staring intently at the ledger. “Take your wages and go.” As she
left the office she heard him mutter, “And the latrines have never been so clean…”

“What do you mean she's not here?” Kilian had run all the way from Jagu's lodgings to Celestine's and he was having difficulty making the landlady understand him. Like many Muscobites, she had only a rudimentary grasp of the common tongue.

“She is gone,” repeated the landlady, retreating and slamming her door in his face. Kilian swore. He was hot, out of breath, and frustrated. He had Jagu—so why was it proving so difficult to track her down? And how long could he trust the captain and crew to keep Jagu confined to his cabin? He tugged open his jacket and undid his shirt collar as he set off for the Imperial Theater, not caring if he was not at his regimental smartest; who was there to see him?

A bribe to the old man on the stage door got Kilian backstage a second time. There was much cursing and shouting coming from the wings. The stagehands were striking the set of
A Spring Elopement
and Kilian had to keep dodging out of the way, flattening himself against the peeling wall as huge canvas flats were carried past in the narrow passageways.

“Demoiselle Cassard?” said a stagehand with a shrug. “There's no singers in today. Rehearsals don't start again till tomorrow. Stage Manager Grebin might know, but be warned—he's not in the best of moods.”

“I haven't got time to chat to visitors!” came an irate voice. “There's work to be done.” The stage manager appeared, a pencil stuck in his wig, brandishing another as he ticked off items on a long list with a flourish.

“I need to contact Maela Cassard,” Kilian said. “Urgently.”

“Wouldn't we all?” Grebin said brusquely. “But you're too late. She's gone.”

“Gone?” Kilian had difficulty controlling his temper. Had Jagu deliberately agreed to that “one last drink” in order to give Celestine the time she needed to disappear? “Gone where?”

“Young man,” said Grebin, “you can either move now, or be crushed to death by a twenty-foot replica of a rustic cottage.”

Searching blindly for her would lead nowhere. Outside in the busy square, Kilian heard a church clock striking. She had outwitted him. The ship was due to sail in an hour and she had vanished.

There was only one alternative left.

*#x00A0;*#x00A0;*#x00A0;

The first thing that Jagu became aware of was the pounding in his head; then a lurching, rolling sensation made him feel violently queasy.

How much did I drink last night?
He made an effort to sit up but dropped back, groaning, shielding his eyes against the painful brightness. Even though he lay still, the room seemed to be moving. There was a foul taste in his mouth and his tongue was furred and dry. He craved water. He rolled onto his side, trying to reach the floor. If he couldn't stand, he would crawl…

But even the floor was shifting beneath his hands and knees, slowly rising and falling with the regular motion of a ship under sail.

Under sail? He tried to focus his bleary eyes on his surroundings. This wasn't his room in Mirom. He could hear the sloshing slap of water against the wooden walls. Looking up to the single source of daylight, he saw a porthole. It took him several attempts to stand upright for long enough to peer out. What he saw made him swear under his breath.

The ship was moving slowly away from the quay and the tavern where he had taken that fateful drink with Kilian was already receding into the distance.

“Damn it all.” He tottered toward the cabin door and tried the handle, but it was securely locked.

Exhausted by his efforts, he dropped to his knees again, pounding his fists against the wood. “Kilian!” he yelled. “Let me out!” But no one came.

They were heading toward the Nieva Estuary. Each fresh gust of wind filling the sails was taking him farther away from Mirom—and Celestine.

CHAPTER 4

Celestine began to sing softly to herself as she moved about the room, collecting her belongings, and realized that the persistent melody was the opening phrase of Jagu's Vesper Prayer. She stopped, smiling to herself, still delighting in this unexpected discovery: Jagu had a real gift for writing music.

He must have absorbed something of your skill, Henri,
she thought fondly as she placed the score of the Vesper Prayer carefully on top of the folded dresses in her traveling bag with her father's gri-moire.