Rose 3: Rose and the Magician's Mask (15 page)

Rose moaned in horror. Rising from the ship’s timbers behind Gossamer was another waterspout – or so it seemed at first. A black column of water and smoke, grown from Gossamer’s enchanted handful, and the fire of the ship, woven together by the power of the mask.

‘That’s not his work,’ Gus mewed, his claws scrabbling nervously on the deck. ‘That’s the mask, all by itself. There’s no smell of him in it.’

‘He should never have tried to use it,’ Rose whispered. ‘I don’t think he’s really there at all. Oh!’

‘What is that?’ Bill was behind her, his livery jacket charred by falling embers from the burning rigging, and a red streak across his face. He crouched next to her, one hand on Gus’s coat. The fire was all around them, but something far more dangerous was growing above Gossamer now.

The black shape dwarfed the magician it was draining. A huge dragon made of water and smoke and fire, and it was growing to the height of the mainmast. The creature roared a burning breath, then reached out one flaming claw and seized Gossamer, so that he hung limply, his legs faintly waving, the puppet of the mask.

‘I’ve changed my mind.’ Gus turned to Rose and Bill. ‘We jump. Now, while it’s occupied with him.’

He raced to the rail, the fire glittering on his white fur, so that for a second he was a glowing marmalade cat. Bill pulled Rose up, and they stumbled after him.

Rose’s head swam as she looked down at the water so far below, already sizzling as gouts of burning tar dripped from the ship’s side. Then Gus climbed onto her shoulders, and seemed to grow impossibly heavy, and she was falling, falling towards the blackness.

It was so cold it burned, more than the fire, and Rose sank under the water, her hair coming unpinned and floating in a cloud about her face. Strange creatures seemed to swirl around her, mermaids mingling their hair with hers, and a grinning, toothy water sprite, who resolved himself into Gus, his paws threshing frantically against the water.

Rose felt a sudden and horrible aching inside her as her body fought for air, and she twisted in panic, her fingers clenching desperately around the doll. The chill of the china skin softened in the water, and now the hands were bigger, and they were holding Rose’s, not the other way around. It was pulling, pulling, dragging Rose towards the flickering lights above. Gasping and spitting Rose fought herself upwards, the delicate little hands of the doll leading her on.

But when she splashed out of the water, shaking herself like a half-drowned dog, there was no
china-white girl there with her, only Gus, coughing furiously. Rose gazed around her, bewildered. Had she imagined it? The tiny creature in her hand was only a porcelain doll again, and there was no sign that it had been anything else. Except perhaps that its painted smile seemed wider in the starlight.

Somehow it seemed colder than ever now they had broken the surface at last, and Gus’s claws tangled in her hair. He looked half-drowned, and huddled against her coughing.

‘Bill! Bill!’ Rose had never swum in her life, but she seemed to be able to float, although she had no idea how they were to get to shore. The burning ship was some distance away now, but the lights of the city were even further.

‘I’m here,’ someone spluttered, and a bedraggled pile of rags, clutching a half-burned spar, kicked towards her. Bill’s hair was lying flat for once, plastered to his forehead with water. ‘The ship’s breaking up. Look! There goes that thing!’

Spiralling into the night sky went the fire dragon, and the ship exploded as it left the deck.

‘It still has Gossamer, I think,’ Rose murmured, gripping tightly onto the spar with Bill.

Gus, now balancing on her shoulder out of the water, craned his neck around, and nodded. ‘I can see
him in its claws. But – he looks dead. Ah! It’s dropping him!’

There was the faintest splash, and the limp black bundle slid horribly quickly under the water, and was gone.

The boy poled them swiftly through the water, every so often casting wondering glances back towards the burning ship.

The gondola had come gliding towards them a few minutes after the dragon had disappeared. The boy had obviously seen it – the whole city must have done – and he had come back for them, muttering prayers of relief as he hauled them out of the water. Hehad forced them to drink out of a small black bottle that he had concealed in an inside pocket of his jacket, spirits that burned Rose’s throat wonderfully as she swallowed and coughed.

They scrambled out at the quayside, and Gus, looking half his usual size, purred loudly at the boy. He
glanced up at Rose, and whispered, ‘Pull out one of my whiskers, and give it to him.’

Rose winced, but did it anyway, passing the thin white wire to the staring gondolier. ‘Keep it safe,’ she told him, folding his fingers around it, and pressing his hand against her own heart. ‘For luck, you see?’ And he nodded, wide-eyed, and kissed his fingers to herand Gus.

Then they slipped through the muttering crowd, all watching the ship as it burned down closer and closer to the water line.

The masquerade was over, and no music came from the palace windows. Half the lights were out, and a yawning guard was more interested in gazing out at the fire than he was in them.

‘We missed that ceremony, then, I reckon,’ Bill murmured, as they slid past the guard.

Rose nodded. She wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry. They had stopped Gossamer joining himself to the mask, at least. She had a feeling that if he’d tried to take part in the ceremony, the power of the mask might have swallowed up the whole palace, and them with it. But she wished she’d seen what happened, after all those strange stories.

They crept back through the palace, making for the staircase, and dreading what they would find. They had
beaten Gossamer – there was no doubt in their minds that he was gone, and the mask had gone with him, dragging him down into the water. It was back where it belonged, at least, and the bottom of the lagoon seemed the safest place for it to be. But that triumphseemed useless now, when they were going back to find Mr Fountain’s body.

Rose felt deathly tired as they stumbled along the passage to the staircase. Her soaked dress clung to her, and she was so cold. The brilliant lights of the palace seemed only to make it worse, and Gus was trembling.

When the duke walked up from the head of the staircase, Rose thought he might be a dream, some sort of odd vision that her cold mind had conjured up. But when Miss Fell followed him, and then a pair of servants carrying Mr Fountain in a litter made out of atorn-down tapestry, she blinked and realised that this was real. Gus leaped out of her arms, and went running towards his master, as Miss Fell directed the servants with her cane.

‘Here, lay him down here, where the light is better. I cannot work in that gloom you keep in those lower passages, Your Grace.’

The duke bowed, almost apologetically, and Rose glanced at Miss Fell, wondering if he’d been set free from his enchantment.

The old lady continued. ‘Really, I don’t know what you think you were doing, letting those dangerous criminals lurk about the city. And even in the palace! I know the history of the place is picturesque, but surely we are beyond such things in these modern times. It was very lax of you.’

Rose kneeled beside the litter as Miss Fell continued to harangue the duke. Bella and Freddie held Mr Fountain’s hands, and he was deathly white, but she could see that he was still breathing.

‘We caught him, sir,’ she whispered. ‘The mask destroyed him, he’s at the bottom of the lagoon – the mask too.’

She was almost sure his eyelids fluttered, but he said nothing.

The cracked old voice went on. ‘You will have to deal with your brother, you know. You were quite bewitched! It was an attempt to seize the throne, you cannot deny it this time.’

The duke sighed, and shrugged very slightly. Rose had a horrible feeling that Girolamo might already have been dealt with.

‘Your hair now, Isabella dear.’

Rose blinked, wondering if she was imagining things again, but Miss Fell held out a tiny pair of golden scissors to Freddie, and he cut off a long lock of Bella’s
golden hair. Bella the vain hardly seemed to notice.

When Miss Fell pulled out a pair of white bone knitting needles, Rose simply leaned back against the wall and watched. She was no longer sure if she was asleep or awake. The old magician began to knit Bella’s hair, chanting the pattern of the stitches under her breath.

‘
Knit one, purl one, knit two together, slip, slip and
breathe. Cast on another year, and increase.
’ The needles clicked together busily, and Rose’s vision blurred. She watched Miss Fell lay her glistening knitting over the hilt of the knife, and then someone shook her.

‘Rose, you have to help hold the knife. We have to pull it out together, you, me and Bella. Rose, wake up!’ Freddie sounded as exhausted as she was, which was hardly fair – he hadn’t encountered any dragons, and he wasn’t all wet.

‘Wake up!’

‘I am awake!’ she protested. She was only cold, that was all.

‘Come, dear child.’ Someone lifted her up, and a rich, caramelly voice murmured in her ear.

‘You speak English!’ Rose stared up at the duke indignantly. ‘But you made us think you didn’t understand a word we said!’

The duke smiled. ‘You have work to do.’

Bella pulled Rose over to her father, and placed her icy hand on the hilt of the knife with her own and Freddie’s. ‘Why are we pulling it out?’ Rose whispered wearily. ‘Won’t he bleed to death? We said wemustn’t…’

‘But we have the spell now, Rose,’ Bella snapped impatiently. ‘Miss Fell is going to knit him back together. Come on!’

The knife made Rose even colder – the metal seemed to have sealed itself to her fingers, as though they would blister and tear when she tried to pull them away.

‘Now pull,’ Bella whispered, and Rose cried out as the bespelled metal bit into her skin, sending a thousand snowflakes whirling through her veins. But the blade was easing slowly out of their master’s chest, leaving a horrid unnatural hole. Dark blood began towell out of it immediately, but then that strange lacy knitting, hair-fine, slid down the blade and smothered the cut, the blood dying Bella’s fair hair pink. Bella’s tears fell and glittered on it like crystals, so that the whole thing resembled an expensive scarf that some rich Venetian lady would drape around her elbows for a ball.

‘Is it working?’ Freddie looked up hopefully at Miss Fell.

‘What do we do with this?’ Rose was holding the knife now, its blade no longer burning her, but glinting dully in her hand, like some ancient weapon chipped out of stone. A faint cast of red washed over it, as she turned it in her hand. Blood again, like the maskedboys’ knives. But this time she hadn’t done it, had she? She shivered, and figures swam to the surface through the redness. Figures in uniform. Men on horseback. Rushing towards each other, screaming. And then lying still, in a quiet field.

‘What was that?’ she whispered, but no one else had seen.

‘I will take it.’ The duke lifted it out of her hand. ‘It would be best destroyed.’

Rose nodded, although she wasn’t sure if that meant he was actually going to destroy it or not. The duke handed the knife to one of his lackeys, who disappeared with it rather quickly, in case anyone might be about to argue. The duke smiled like velvet atRose when he saw her watching, and gave her a slight, respectful nod.

‘A very valuable artefact, dear Miss Rose,’ he murmured.

‘Did you catch him?’ Mr Fountain’s voice was faint and whispery, but everyone in the passageway turned, transfixed.

‘Yes. Yes, we did. Well – he got dropped in the sea by a dragon, and we’re practically certain he’s dead,’ Rose added, wanting to be accurate.

‘He looked dead,’ Gus agreed, nudging Mr Fountain’s chin lovingly.

‘He must be.’ The duke nodded. ‘Our esteemed Miss Fell almost had me free, but traces of the enchantment were lingering. Until suddenly they disappeared, like
that
!’ He snapped his fingers, and gave them a wolfish smile. ‘When he died.’

Mr Fountain sighed. Then he added thoughtfully, ‘And I’m
not
dead?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Aloysius,’ Miss Fell snapped.

‘I was just checking,’ he told her humbly, and then he lay back, smiling to himself, and the hole in his waistcoat sewed itself together again, with even fancier embroidery than before.

The ship was far grander than the one they had sailed across the channel on, and even the sailors wore an elegant striped livery, and snow-white trousers.

It seemed to cut through the water at an incredible speed, running before the wind under full sail.

‘I had hardly believed these things existed,’ Mr Fountain mused, staring up at the full load of sail on the three masts. ‘A fairy tale, that’s all. No wonder the Arsenal has such high walls, with secrets such as this behind it. Twice as fast as it should be, at least. Whatthe Lords of the Admiralty wouldn’t give…’ He sighed. ‘I should think it’ll be gone in minutes, once we dock at Dover. They won’t be letting those nosy Royal Navy types get anywhere near.’

Talis was mobilising its troops, Venetian spies had told the duke. Grand military ‘displays’ were being held in every town, on the vaguest of excuses, and the reserves were being called up. It had not been thought sensible for the little English party to travel home over land, and the duke wished to make it clear that he wasgrateful. His Grace had been left deeply in their debt, after they rescued him from Gossamer’s spell. He had presented Mr Fountain with a heavily sealed document for the king, which Mr Fountain was keeping tucked inside his waistcoat. Every so often he slid a hand in to pat it lovingly, and a gloating little smile flitted over his face.

‘What actually makes it go faster?’ Rose asked, hanging over the side and staring at the wake creaming away behind them.

‘If I knew that I’d be the richest man in England.’ Mr Fountain coughed, and smiled to himself. ‘Well. I’d be significantly richer, anyway. For a start, Rose, every plank has been put together with magic. Every rope, every scrap of sail. Enormous task. The number of magicians they must have had working on it. And fully half the crew must be magic-workers of some kind.’

‘You would think that if they’re that clever they could make it a smoother journey.’ Miss Fell sniffed in a ladylike manner. ‘Don’t slop that beef tea, William.’
She refused to call him Bill.

‘Oh no…’ Mr Fountain stared at Bill, who was concentrating so hard on carrying the two-handled cup that his tongue was sticking out. But Bill glared back at him fiercely, and Mr Fountain sighed, and apparently decided it would be cruel to make him spill it.

‘You
will
drink this.’ Miss Fell eyed Mr Fountain beadily, and very much in the manner of an aunt. ‘I have spent considerable time explaining the recipe to the cook, and I had to prevent him from adding all sorts of unsuitable things.’

‘Flavour, possibly…’ Mr Fountain muttered, as he sipped the beef tea with his eyes screwed up.

Miss Fell diplomatically ignored him, and seated herself graciously in the basket chair next to his. They had been given a small area of the stern deck as a sort of outdoor drawing room, as Miss Fell insisted that fresh air was vital to Mr Fountain’s recovery. Accordingly, he was muffled from head to toe in blankets and made to sit outside even when it was snowing.

‘Rose!’ Miss Fell thumped her stick on the deck in a peremptory fashion, and Rose turned away from the rail at a run, before remembering and slowing to a decorous, ladylike trot.

Miss Fell watched approvingly. ‘Good girl. Now.
It seems to me that a long sea voyage is the perfect opportunity to make sure that your education is progressing properly. It would be so easy for Aloysius to forget those elements of magic that are so important to a young lady. Pass me that work bag, my dear.’

Rose cast an anguished look at Mr Fountain, but he appeared to be asleep, in the most cowardly way, and Bella and Freddie were watching for whales on the other side of the deck. With the quietest of sighs, she passed the bag to Miss Fell.

‘Now, have you been taught embroidery?’

Rose shook her head. ‘Plain sewing only, ma’am. I can manage cross-stitch, but nothing fancy.’

Miss Fell tutted. ‘I might have known. So short-sighted.’ She glared at Mr Fountain, who emitted a well-timed snore. ‘A young lady should always be able to embroider. And as a magician you will find it remarkably useful.’ She gave Rose a sharp look as shehanded her a piece of linen, and some rose-pink embroidery thread. ‘Try a flower, perhaps. And don’t even think of telling me that you are not a young lady.’

Rose shut her mouth with a snap.

‘You are. Who knows what happened – an accident, some dreadful mishap…’ She stared off into the distance, where grey sky met grey sea. ‘We shall find out.’

‘Will we?’ Rose ran the needle sharply into her finger, and gasped.

‘Tch. Don’t stain the linen, girl. Some common sense, please. Of course we will.’ She regarded Rose thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you want to?’

Rose sat staring at the drop of blood, rising like a jewel on her fingertip, and wondered. Whose blood was it, apart from hers? Did it matter? Did she even care? She had always promised herself she didn’t, but that had been a way to survive the orphanage, without pretending to herself that she was really a lost duchess, as half the other girls did. Then it had been a defence against Susan and her cruel teasing about charity girls and changelings. Rose had
not
cared, fiercely.

But now she did. Why not admit it? She wanted a family who could make ships full of magic, or see messages in the stars.

Miss Fell watched her expectantly, the glittery old eyes following every expression that crossed Rose’s face. She sat with her hands folded on her work bag, but one of the ivory knitting needles was twisted in her fingers, and it was starting to splinter.

Rose didn’t see any of this. She was staring at Bella, leaning over the side, and laughing with Freddie. Was that what she wanted? To be a little lady? She thought
of Bella, holding the hilt of the knife in her father’s chest, her face anguished.

‘I should like to know.’ She nodded decisively. ‘But whoever I really am, I shan’t be anyone else apart from me. They gave me up, however it happened. So I don’t belong to anyone, only myself, and I shall stay that way.’