Quest for the Secret Keeper (7 page)

The earl regarded Ian soberly. “Yes, Ian, and my associates at British intelligence suggest that King Leopold will declare his surrender the day after tomorrow.”

“But what about your friend?” Jaaved asked.

Ian glanced at him and noticed the worry creasing the young Moroccan’s face. Theo stared intently at the floor for a moment before letting out a small gasp, and immediately she began to cry. “Monsieur Lafitte!” she whispered, and covered her face with her hands.

Ian hardly knew what to do. He didn’t know what Monsieur Lafitte had to do with this tale … and then it struck him like another blow to the chest. He looked up at the earl and asked, “Your friend in Antwerp. It’s Monsieur Lafitte?”

The earl nodded gravely. “Yes,” he said. “I’m afraid so.”

Carl pointed to the yellow telegram still clutched in the earl’s hand. “But you’ve had word from him, right, my lord? He’s hiding somewhere, I’d wager, and he wanted you to know he’s safe. Is that right?”

The earl considered the folded piece of paper in his hand. “No, Carl, I’m afraid not. This telegram was sent by Leopold’s most trusted aide, a man named Antoine, who traveled with Monsieur Lafitte to Belgium. Antoine has escaped the German guard by way of a fishing vessel, which took him to Norway. He was able to wire me from there. My dear friend Leo was betrayed by the very men he hoped to trust in the Belgium royal court, and was turned over as an Ally spy to the Germans three days past.”

Ian gasped. Monsieur Lafitte had shown them all considerable kindness a year before, and his daughter, Océanne, was someone Ian had great affection for.

“What do you think’s happened to him?” Carl asked, clearly shaken by the news.

Theo began to cry in earnest, and Argos got up to go sit next to her and hold her hand. Ian gave the soldier a grateful smile and turned his attention back to the earl, whose distress was etched into every line on his distraught face. “I’m afraid I have no way of knowing,” the earl said somberly. “But the Germans are not known for their leniency or mercy when it comes to suspected spies.”

“But Monsieur Lafitte will surely talk his way out of it,” Carl insisted.

The earl got up and moved to look out the window. “It
is a very bad sign that Leo has not been heard from in several days,” he said. “Antoine believes my dear friend is already dead.”

Ian couldn’t process that. Monsieur Lafitte had been a jolly, affable fellow. How could he be gone?

“And if it is the case that it is too late to save my friend,” the earl added, his voice hoarse with emotion, “then Madame Lafitte and Océanne are in very grave danger indeed.”

“Were they with Monsieur in Belgium?” Ian asked, his heart pounding with renewed fear.

The earl turned from the window and looked again to the telegram. “No,” he said, and Ian felt a flicker of relief. “Leo had moved them to a secret location in Paris. He told me that he would send word to me of their location should he suspect he might be discovered by the Germans and the worst happen, but that telegram has not arrived. I know that Leo would have sent it if he could, and I can only imagine that if he did send word of their location it was intercepted by the Germans and they may very well know exactly where to find Madame and Océanne.”

“But France is still holding the line!” Carl exclaimed, his own emotions getting the best of him. “They’ll be safe in Paris as long as the Allies keep the Germans at the Belgium border.”

The earl turned back to the window, which had a beautiful view of the sea. It was growing dark outside, but Ian thought the earl might still be able to see the ships coming one by one into the port.

“The Allies are pulling out of France,” the earl said. There’d been no formal announcement yet, but the massive gathering of their troops on Dover’s shores told them of the certainty that Churchill had ordered them to return to England. “It’s only a matter of time before all of France falls.”

Carl was on his feet now, pacing back and forth in near panic. “We’ve got to find them!” he said. “My lord, we’ve got to get to Paris and rescue Madame and Océanne!”

The earl turned back to look at Carl and there was such sadness in his eyes that Ian had to look away. “It’s impossible, Carl,” the earl said. “We’ve no way of locating Madame Lafitte and her daughter, and France is far too dangerous a place for us to linger while we look.”

All of a sudden Theo lifted her tearstained face to meet Ian’s eyes. He knew immediately that she was thinking the same thing he was. “The prophecy,” she mouthed.

Ian fished it out of his pocket and hurried over to the earl. “My lord,” he said in a rush. “I believe we
must
go in search of Madame and Océanne! And I believe that Argos’s appearance signifies that very thing!”

Ian pointed to the second set of verses within the prophecy, even reciting them aloud to prove his point.

“ ‘With his coming, time is near; travel soon to save your dear. One with name of open water, perfect tribute to her father. He will join another realm, as duty calls you to the helm. Cross the water, save two souls, learn from me within these scrolls.’ ”

“Ian’s right,” Theo said. “My lord, we
must
go in search of Océanne and Madame Lafitte!”

Before answering, the earl lifted the paper containing the translated prophecy from Ian’s hands and read it for himself. He paused only once, to look up at Argos, still seated next to Theo, holding her hand and trying to take it all in.

Finally, the earl passed the prophecy back to Ian and crossed his arms over his chest. “It will be a very harrowing journey,” he told them. “The admiral has instructed all commercial and luxury vessels not to leave port, as there have been a few German U-boat sightings of late.”

“We’ll have to risk it,” Ian said firmly. “My lord, we cannot leave the Lafittes to the Germans!”

The earl nodded. “I agree, Ian. Especially not as it now appears to be critical to fulfilling Laodamia’s prophecy.” He then eyed Argos again uncertainly. “And what of our guest?” he asked.

Theo answered right away. “He must come,” she said firmly. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t be in the prophecy above the rescue of the Lafittes. He must have some purpose to fulfill with us in France.”

The earl addressed his next question to Argos. “Will you journey with us across the water, my good man?”

“Of course,” Argos said easily. “I’m perfectly comfortable on the water.”

“Then it’s settled,” Ian said. “Shall we leave in the morning?”

The earl pulled at his beard. “There are many details to work out first, Ian. And supplies to be gathered.” Ian looked at his patriarch expectantly. “And I gather by that look on
your face, my good young man, that you expect to work out much of that this evening?”

“No time like the present,” Ian replied with a grateful smile.

The earl grunted. “Very well. Why don’t you four and our dear guest, Mr.… er … Argos, accompany me back to Castle Dover and we can at the very least get him some clothing that fits him a bit better, hmmm?”

A
haggard-looking woman dressed in little more than rags shuffled quickly down the smelly cobblestones to her flat. In her gnarled hand she clutched a train ticket, and she cursed herself anew while she hurried along, anxious to pack and be on her way. The ticket had come at a dreadfully high price and had used up almost all her savings, but she’d not argued with the collector, lest he would deny her the passage she so desperately needed.

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!”