“That’s contrary to reason. The castle is new.”
“New to Tuscany,” she agreed. “But from the old days.”
“What days are those?”
Lorelei grinned. “When the gods were young.”
“Madam, I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”
“This is an old game,” she said, “and some of the players have gone mad. You’ve undoubtedly heard the term ‘let sleeping dogs lie.’ Well, dog spelled backward is god. Do you see what I mean?”
“When were the gods young?” I asked.
“It’s a matter of perspective. Now you must keep quiet. We’re near the pool. I suspect guards, traps or hidden alarms. We must be alert.”
That amounted to standing motionless for a time. When the gods were young, what had she meant by that?
Lorelei pinched the wick. “Can’t let them smell the smoke,” she whispered. She pressed her hands against the wall. Something clicked. She pushed open a hidden door, wiped her feet and stepped through.
My gut clenched as I followed her into a corridor that glowed with eldritch light. I expected a waiting throng with capture nets, and knew sick relief that it was just her and me. Lorelei pushed the door shut and it was impossible to tell it was there.
“That’s excellent craftsmanship,” I whispered.
“Coming from a Darkling, that’s praise indeed.”
“Do Darklings normally sulk through secret passageways?”
She smiled knowingly. “Darklings are the prince of Shadows.”
“You mean they’re assassins?”
“A crude word,” she whispered. “Come.”
We crept through the corridor, entered another. From far down the other way, maybe two levels, I heard marching soldiers.
“The priestess has called out her guard,” Lorelei whispered. “That might be good for us. If my invisible friend has spoken, I think they’ll hunt in the warrens first. We must hurry.”
We soon reached the threshold of a strange place. I glanced through and spied a steeply sloping floor. Torches crackled along the sides. Lorelei studied the threshold and finally moved her hands an inch from the frame, seeming careful never to touch wood. She stepped back and took a deep breath.
“I can’t tell for sure,” she whispered. “The priestess could have employed a hidden guardian. But calling forth such a one is difficult. I suspect she would first let the guards search for you. Are you willing?”
“I want my memories,” I said.
“Watch your step. Keep your hands out of the water. It’s…well, don’t let even a drop touch you.”
She tried to send me in first in case an invisible guardian waited, or so she wanted me to believe. I listened. It felt more like a cave than a room. I hated caves, and I hated traps even more. I grasped her elbow. She tried a cunning twist to free herself, but I clamped harder.
“We’ll both go,” I whispered. And I marched in with her.
She cringed. I looked right and left. The pool was a sunken pit of oily water, a small patch at the bottom of the room. Droplets formed on the ceiling and a drip plunked into the pool. The torches hissed, until slowly they flickered as before.
“That was a foul thing to do,” she whispered.
“Will you forgive me?”
Her mouth lost its tightness. She even managed a wry smile. “There’s a needed spell. Without it, the water merely remains poisonous.”
“When were you going to tell me this?” I asked.
“There’s a price for its casting,” she said.
“I have three thousand florins in the courtyard.”
“You offer me silver-colored dirt?” she asked, offended.
“Florins are coins,” I said.
“And coins are fashioned out of veins in the Earth. My price is greater. You must answer three questions.”
“Done,” I said.
She gave me a pitying smile, as if I could have whittled her down to one or two questions. “You must answer truthfully.”
“Of course,” I said.
She gave me a level stare. “Why did you take so long coming to the castle?”
I suspected she wanted to hear something other than my wagon ride with Ofelia. Why was the answer important? I shrugged. I wanted my memories and here was the pool. So I told her how I’d awoken with grass sprouting through my chainmail.
She muttered to herself before asking, “Was…was the circle tampered with?”
“What circle?” I asked.
She stared at me and soon became thoughtful. “I’ll save the last question.” She drew a pocketknife and shuffled down the steep incline. She spoke softly, cut her palm and squeezed out several drops. The water rippled, became darker. She took a shuddering breath, folded her knife and took out a handkerchief. She wrapped it around her palm and used her teeth to help tie a knot. Then she trudged up to the level area beside me. “Go ahead,” she whispered, sounding winded. “It’s safe. You didn’t have to drag me in with you. I’d have given you away before now if such had been my intent.”
I crouched and slid my feet down the incline until the tips of my boots almost touched the water. A drop plunked from the ceiling. The oily water stirred. I stared greedily into the waters.
…Images slowly formed under the rippling surface. I saw myself ride out of mountainous Perugia. I rode with armored men-at-arms in the dark along the Via Lavicana. Our lanterns rattled and Tuscan cypresses lined the road. The trees sheltered us from a cold wind. We galloped for the coast. Erasmo rode beside me. His father had been loyal to House Baglioni since before my birth. The underwater images blurred. They turned into-
I saw myself wade through a swamp with a sword held in one hand and a torch in the other. Erasmo waded behind me, his cheeks slick with sweat. The soldiers had remained behind, frightened by Avernus’ wicked legends. Erasmo and I searched for deathbane. We sought it because-
In the Pool of Memories, in the images underwater, I climbed out of the swamp and strode among hangman trees. Erasmo struggled out of the muck and hurried after me. His jeweled fingers gripped a heavy bag. Ahead of him, I found a huge tree stump. It had iron bolts riveted into the ancient wood, with rusty chains attached to the bolts. On the ends of the chains were manacles. I remembered thinking that the legends were true. Sorcerers committed hideous sacrifices in the grove of hangman trees. Here was an ancient altar of wood.
Standing above the Pool of Memories, I clutched my head and moaned. Dizziness gripped me. I lost my sense of perspective. It seemed as if the “I” of myself whirled around in a mental twister. I lifted out of my body. I plunged down into those images in the water, down into lost memories.
— 11-
I had the sense of falling, and then grew aware of new surroundings. I was young again, a nine-year-old lad. I ran upslope among towering pines. I slipped and slid over a carpet of brown pine needles.
“Come and look, Gian. You have to see this. It’s lost treasure.”
I ran after Erasmo della Rovere. He was young again like me, nine. My father the prince of Perugia had taken us with him as he inspected country estates. Erasmo sprinted up a steep slope. He was a reed of a boy and wore a costly tunic with black leather boots.
“Wait for me!” I shouted.
Erasmo slithered through a giant bush and disappeared. I barreled through a moment later, and twigs and branches clawed me.
“Look out, Gian,” Erasmo said with a laugh. He darted aside.
I stumbled out of the bush, past him and smacked my forehead against a granite cliff.
Erasmo laughed shrilly and slapped my back.
“That was a dirty trick,” I muttered, tasting bits of granite between my teeth.
Erasmo only grinned wider. He had sandy colored hair and bright blue eyes. He had a narrow face and was clever like a fox. His parents were nobles. His father was my father’s closest friend. Between us, Erasmo was taller, but I was stronger.
I shoved him, and thought about clouting him a good one.