“Does that mean you’re using the book right now?”
Elsa waved dismissively. “A simple spell I found in the Grimorium yesterday. I used it as you were climbing over the wall. No matter what the weather, it keeps you as dry as if you were standing under a roof. What do you think?”
“I think you shouldn’t use that book any more than you have to,” Lukas replied. “If you want to stay dry, just get under my coat. It’s less dangerous.” As he had so often lately, Lukas suspected that his sister was losing herself in the Grimorium more and more.
Elsa turned. “You’re only jealous that you’re wet and I’m dry,” she said as she walked away. “That’s magic, and I don’t need my mother talking to me to do it.”
Before Lukas could say anything in response, they had caught up to the others. The rain pattered down onto the black water in the moat before them, stirring up a foul stench that was probably from the many latrines along the wall-walk. Leaves and mildewed twigs floated in the dark sludge. Swimming in the Vltava, the way they had a few days before, suddenly seemed extremely pleasant and refreshing.
Gwendolyn led them over to a fallen tree trunk, and they ducked behind it. “I doubt anyone will see us in this wretched weather,” she said, “but better safe than sorry.” She unshouldered her bow and checked the string one last time. Then she withdrew a single arrow with a thin cord around it. The cord was rolled up into a spiral, and a thicker rope was knotted to the end.
She put her hand to her forehead and peered upward. Finally, she pointed the arrow toward the guard tower, which Lukas could vaguely make out through the rain.
“The White Tower,” Gwendolyn said. “Can you all see the individual windows?”
Lukas squinted, but saw only a few distant, blurry rectangles. How did Gwendolyn expect to hit one of those windows in the dark, with the rain pouring down—let alone a single hook and eye?
Zoltan looked skeptical as well. “Maybe doing our climbing excursion in this weather wasn’t such a good idea after all,” he grunted. “No human alive can hit such a target in this rain.”
“I can,” Gwendolyn snapped. “Just give me a moment to concentrate.” She closed her eyes and threw her head back, so that the rain flowed over her face. To Lukas, it looked like she was somewhere else entirely. “Weather like in Wales,” she said. “Wonderful!”
“How can anyone think this weather is wonderful?” Jerome complained.
Zoltan made a harsh gesture to silence him.
Gwendolyn nocked the arrow, drew back the string in a fluid motion, and then stopped for a moment. She cried out a few words in a strange, lilting language Lukas had never heard before. Then the bowstring hummed, and the arrow flew toward its target.
An eternity seemed to pass. The length of thin cord unrolled, winding and curling, as it shot farther and farther overhead.
Finally, the cord remained suspended in the air, where it gently swayed back and forth.
“The cord got stuck on something,” Jurek said in a scornful tone. “And we went out in this miserable weather just to watch her miss her shot.”
Zoltan tilted his head. “They’ll be changing the guard up there any moment,” he warned. “If it doesn’t work this time around, we’ll come up with another plan. That’s my last word.”
Gwendolyn made no reply. Instead, she marched off into the darkness until she was no longer visible.
“Look,” Giovanni said, pointing. In the air, the thicker rope rose like a snake and began a slow journey upward. “She’s hoisting up the rope!” he exclaimed. “It looks like she’s really done it.” Giovanni laughed. “A hell of a girl, that one!”
“That remains to be proven,” Zoltan muttered. But even he gave Gwendolyn an admiring nod when she returned, clutching the end of the rope in one hand. Her hair and robe were completely soaked—she had jumped into the moat to pull the cord that was threaded through the eye and raise the rope, not caring about the mud.
“I told you I could do it.” She smiled triumphantly. “Now all we have to do is climb. First to reach the top gets the crown!” She used the rope to swing across the moat, and then tossed it back to the others before dashing off into the darkness again.
Paulus groaned aloud, as though only now realizing that their plan involved climbing a wall fifty paces high. “Damnation, let’s get this over with, then.” He tugged on the rope, testing it. “This thing may hold a lightweight like her, but a fellow like me? Oh, to hell with it.” Still cursing, he gripped the rope with both hands, and soon he was dangling above the moat.
One after another, they climbed up. Bernhard carried Elsa on his massive back as she clung to his neck for dear life. Panting and gasping, the giant heaved them both to the top.
Lukas and Zoltan were the last of the group. The rope chafed Lukas’s hands as he pulled himself up, bit by bit, not daring to look down. The wall was slimy and smooth as ice, so he could barely use his feet to support himself. Wind and rain roared around him. He could just make out Giovanni a short distance above him, but the rest of his friends were no longer in sight.
As he climbed, the rope grew slipperier beneath his hands. Sweat and rainwater ran into his eyes and nearly caused him to fall once or twice. Just as he was starting to think he would never reach the top, he saw a bright rectangle shimmering above him.
The others had managed to get the window open.
Lukas scrambled toward the opening, and strong hands pulled him up. Zoltan came wheezing in after him.
Without a word, Matthias pointed toward the right, where the others were already waiting on the wall-walk.
The cathedral bells tolled the twelfth hour. If Jerome’s inquiries were accurate, they would now have precisely a quarter of an hour to get into the White Tower before the next guards came by.
Crouched and silent, they hurried along the narrow covered walkway, along which flickering pans of embers were placed at regular intervals. Their path ended abruptly at a heavy, copper-studded door.
Gwendolyn gestured to the entrance. “The White Tower,” she said almost inaudibly.
Zoltan signaled to Jurek, who stepped forward with his ring of lockpicks and bent over the lock. Lukas remembered how Jurek had nearly failed to open the door to the marquis’s palace last time around.
Was that deliberate? He couldn’t help but wonder.
It seemed to be taking an eternity this time around, too. As the minutes ticked by, Lukas listened for the watchmen’s footsteps—and indeed, after a while he heard the sound of voices rapidly approaching.
“Damn it, Jurek,” Zoltan whispered. “The guards are coming. Hurry up, or there will be a bloodbath here in a minute!”
“Almost got it!” Jurek hissed. “Just have to . . .”
“Let me do it,” Elsa broke in, pushing Jurek aside. She laid the first two fingers of her right hand on the lock, murmuring a single word:
“FORAMEN.”
There was a click, and the door swung inward without a sound.
“Damn witchcraft,” Zoltan muttered, wasting no time in stepping through the doorway.
The others followed him, slipping into the darkness one by one. Matthias closed the door behind them. Only moments later, Lukas heard footsteps out on the wall-walk. The sound of boots stopped for a moment . . .
. . . and then went past the door.
“What did your sister do just now?” Gwendolyn asked softly. She was standing so close to Lukas that her hair tickled his nose. “Was that more witch stuff? Are all of you magicians or something?”
“I’ll explain later. Let’s just look for that crown right now.”
A dim glow appeared as Zoltan lit a single torch on the firepot they’d brought along. They were standing in a small vestibule with tapestries, shields, and spears adorning its walls.
A narrow spiral stairway led down. Zoltan placed his finger to his lips before descending. The others followed him.
They had only taken a few steps when a loud hissing sound echoed in front
of them, followed by crashing and splintering noises as though something large had fallen to the ground. Bernhard and Matthias shouted. A black shadow rushed toward Lukas, seemingly out of nowhere.
And then chaos broke out.
The black, hissing shadows seemed to be flying all around them. Lukas held his hands up to protect his face, but something painfully scratched his skin. When he drew his fingers away, he saw a strange little creature fluttering just below the ceiling. At first he thought it was a bird, but then he realized to his horror that it was a black cat.
A black cat with bat wings.
Three of those cat creatures were assaulting them from above, trying to scratch out their eyes. The stairwell was far too narrow to fight in with longswords and rapiers, but Bernhard still tried to lunge at one of the cats with his two-hander. He stumbled and fell down the stairs with a loud crash.
Giovanni and Jerome drew their parrying daggers to fend off the attacks of the sinister hybrid beings. One of the cats fell to the ground, but then a second one flew screeching at Elsa. She froze in shock, gaping at the horror unfolding before her.
“Look out, Elsa!” Lukas shouted. He drew his weapon, but at the same moment, the creature let out a pitiful squeak and plummeted to the floor with a knife in its belly.
“Vile beasts,” Jurek spat. “Thrice-accursed hellspawn!” He bent over the creature and pulled out his throwing knife, which he wiped on his trousers with disgust.
Lukas stopped, amazed that Jurek had protected Elsa. Maybe he wasn’t a traitor after all?
Or is he only protecting Elsa because Schönborn wants her back alive? he thought.
Lukas could see a broken wooden cage on the steps.
“The cage was hanging from the ceiling here,” Zoltan panted, pointing upward. “In the middle of the hall, as if someone wanted us to run into it like a trap. Our shouts probably alerted every guard in the castle. Hurry, barricade the door upstairs!”
Bernhard stormed up the stairs, tearing two lances from the wall as he went, and used them to jam the lock. There was no noise on the other side of the door yet. Lukas breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they’d gotten lucky, and nobody had heard all the commotion. It was fairly improbable, though.
“What in God’s name is that?” Paulus nudged one of the creatures with the toe of his shoe. “Looks like it flew straight up from hell.”
“Probably one of Polonius’s experiments,” Gwendolyn replied. “They say he breeds chimeras.” She shivered. “I always liked cats until now. The ones without wings, anyway.”
“Wait a minute,” Lukas said. “I thought there were three cats. Two are here on the ground, but where’s the third?” He took a few more steps down until he came to a large arrowslit, through which wind and rain wafted. “Damn, got away,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t surprise me if the beasts are trained to warn their master.”
“Then we really don’t have much time.” Zoltan raised his torch, which had nearly gone out. “Let’s hurry.”
Cautiously, they made their way down the stairs until they came to another door. This time, they were more careful. Zoltan turned the knob and then immediately took a step back as the door swung open with a soft squeak. When nothing else happened, they went in.
The room was perfectly round, and filled with all sorts of strange equipment and utensils. In the torchlight, Lukas could make out tables and shelves lined with flasks, ampullae, and mortars. The embers glimmering in the fireplace bathed everything in a faint reddish glow.
“Mon dieu, what is that? C’est horrible!” Jerome approached one of the tables and lifted a lifeless rat gingerly by the tail. Crippled bird wings, probably those of a pigeon, grew from the rat’s torso.
“Another of the esteemed Polonius’s experiments, albeit a failed one,” Giovanni replied, clearly repulsed. “This must be his laboratory. Flying rats?” He rolled his eyes. “Rats on the ground are enough for me.”
“Hands off that infernal thing!” Zoltan snapped at Jerome. “Go on, see if you can find anything that will point us to the whereabouts of the crown.” The commander glanced over at another set of stairs, which seemed to lead to the cellar. “When we’re finished in here, we’ll look around down there.”
They made a careful search of the room, repeatedly discovering the remains of horrible animal experiments. The tables, drawers, and cages contained half-dissected amphibians, mummified snakes and mice, a taxidermied rabbit, and even dried frogs threaded on a length of yarn.
As Lukas shut another drawer, thoroughly disgusted, Matthias suddenly let out a whistle of surprise.
“A chest,” he called. “Seems pretty well locked to me.” He reached under the table and pulled out a heavy oaken chest about the length of his arm, secured with five padlocks and reinforced with thick bands of steel.
“Whatever is in there, it must be pretty valuable,” Paulus remarked.
“I can open it for you,” Elsa offered, stepping toward the chest, but Zoltan held her back.
“For the last time, I don’t want that magic nonsense,” he barked. “Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.” He turned to Jurek. “Can you pick these locks?”
Jurek tilted his head from side to side uncertainly. “Possibly. But it will take me a while. By the time I finish, the guards will probably be here.”
“I know how to get it done faster,” Giovanni spoke up. He went back to one of the shelves and returned with a glass bottle marked Aqua Regia. “The name means ‘king’s water,’” he explained. “It’s a mixture of nitric and hydrochloric acid, so it’s the strongest acid in existence. It can even dissolve gold. Alchemists use it quite often.”
Gwendolyn grinned. “I like you, know-it-all.”
Once again, Lukas felt a slight pang in his chest.
They watched Giovanni drip the aqua regia onto the padlocks, which hissed and gave off acrid smoke. Cautiously, Giovanni tapped one of the locks, and it crumbled like a dry leaf.
“Impressive. You may be worth keeping around.” Gwendolyn winked at Giovanni.
Lukas tried not to let his jealousy show. “Are we going to open this chest now, or what?” he groused. “We don’t have all day.”
“The boy is right.” Zoltan bent over the chest and pried it open with a dagger. “Let’s just see what’s in th—”
A huge cloud of green smoke billowed out of the chest. Zoltan stumbled back. “Get away from that thing!” he exclaimed. “It’s a trap!”
Hastily, they all took cover behind the tables as the green cloud slowly spread through the room. Lukas smelled something pleasantly sweet, like a meadow of flowers in late summer. At the same time, his legs grew heavy.
Poison! he thought, stumbling.
They coughed and clutched their throats, and one by one they fell to the floor. Jerome and Giovanni tried to flee, but the cloud had filled the entire room—green smoke swirled all around them.
Lukas held his breath as he crawled over to Elsa, who was leaning against a table. She had one hand in front of her nose and mouth, while the other reached under her dress for the Grimorium. Lukas could see that she was slowly beginning to fade.
This time, even the Grimorium won’t be able to help us, he thought.
Jerome, Giovanni, and Matthias were already lying lifeless on the ground, while Zoltan, Paulus, and Bernhard continued to stagger through the room, knocking over ampullae and flasks with every step. Gwendolyn and Jurek were nowhere to be seen beneath the spreading bilious green fog.
Now even the giant Bernhard collapsed, knocking over a flask filled with liquid. A red puddle spread around him like blood.
Lukas was still holding his breath, but he could feel that he had only a few more seconds before he’d have to breathe again—before the poison defeated him as well.
Elsa’s head slumped forward, and Lukas embraced her protectively.
Elsa! My little Elsa! he thought. Tears ran down his face—he didn’t know whether from his sorrow or the fog. In that moment, Elsa was once more the li
ttle sister he loved above all else. He wished so desperately he was able to take care of her now.
Once again, it was clear that they were powerless without Elsa’s magic.
Or are we . . . ?
Still desperately holding his breath, although he was already nearly unconscious, Lukas recalled his mother’s voice. His lungs were threatening to burst; his chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder. Elsa lay in his arms like a tiny dead bird.
Elsa, you can’t die! You’re my little sister, I love you more than anything in the world. Mother, please, please help us!
Just as everything was beginning to go dark around him, he heard that warm, familiar voice—slightly distorted, as though from the other end of a tunnel.
You have the power, too, Lukas.
There was a soft ringing sound.
Lukas closed his eyes and embraced Elsa like he’d never embraced her before. As he did, he felt a warm wave wash over them, like water. His entire body screamed for air. He couldn’t hold his breath even a moment longer. Lukas opened his mouth, expecting to breathe in the poisonous smoke . . .
. . . but nothing happened.
When he opened his eyes, he could barely make out a weak pulsing around him. The air surrounding him and Elsa seemed different from the rest of the room, more opaque somehow, with a faint pink tint. It was as though the siblings had been swallowed by a floating bubble.
Outside the bubble, Lukas saw his friends lying lifeless on the ground. He didn’t know if they were dead or unconscious. He didn’t have time to think about it. Footsteps echoed from the stairs leading to the cellar.
After a few moments, a terrifying creature appeared in the doorway.
At first glance, the being was a very tall, powerful-looking man wearing only a loincloth. His torso and upper arms were extremely muscular. But the creature wasn’t really a man—it had the head of a bear on its shoulders, and long, sharp claws grew on its fingers and toes.
Then Lukas noticed that an iron collar was fastened around the creature’s neck. A second man, who had been hidden in the dark stairwell until now, led the monster around on a chain like a puppy. The man was wearing a gray alchemist’s frock that was far too large on his pale, spindly frame. His face was as wrinkled as an old, dried apple. Only his eyes had an oddly youthful gleam. He walked hunched over, and his back had a slight hump to it.