Dark Splendor (3 page)

Today was a new beginning, one she had
dreamed of many stormy nights at sea. Today she would begin her
term as an indentured servant to Wilhelm Schlange. Anxiously she
looked past the sturdy, weathered timbers of the pier to view a
land like none she had ever seen.

Rapping her fingers anxiously against the
rail, she gazed at a square tabby building not fifty yards from the
dock. Beside it spiky green plants fanned leaves sharp and pointed
as knife blades above the dense underbrush. The gnarled and twisted
trunks of trees had edged their way toward the sea. Long branches
dipped to the ground like huge tentacles waiting to snare unwitting
prey, and from the lichen-covered bark hung strands of limp gray
moss swaying lightly in the constant wind that swept in from the
ocean.

Silvia shuddered, feeling as if she had
arrived on the shores of a primeval land. Even the air felt
strange, as if a smothering heaviness could invade her lungs. She
detected the mingling scent of two worlds, the salty smell of the
sea mixed with the lush smell of vegetation.

A shout cut through the air, issuing Captain
Langham’s orders to begin unloading cargo. The loudness of his
voice startled Silvia as she reflected on the newness of the land
and her prospects for the future. Turning, she saw the approach of
a dozen men and one stout woman, all looking pale and weary from
the voyage. She recognized them as fellow bond servants entering
the service of Wilhelm Schlange, just as she was.

With a word of thanks to the captain, Silvia
hoisted her bulging carpetbag and joined the group as they followed
the first mate toward the tabby building. The sand was soft and
deep; her boots sank in past the heels, making the going slow. A
swarm of pesky insects buzzed relentlessly around her face.

People rushed by, shouting among themselves,
carrying bundles, pushing drays, all looking but none speaking to
the line of bond servants strung out behind the mate. A tug to her
skirt stopped Silvia’s progress. She turned back to find a thorny
bush had hooked the hem of her skirt. Not wanting to be left
behind, she kicked the snag loose with her foot and hurried after
the group.

A moment later they were all inside a
sparsely furnished room which, though clean, was hot and stuffy.
She seated herself on a backless wooden bench as she saw the others
doing, taking a place beside the stout woman. It was a poor welcome
considering the journey they had made. As her eyes warily scanned
the room, taking in the huddled bodies and awed faces, she could
not help wondering what would happen next.

“It’s a strange place,” Silvia whispered
tersely to the woman at her side.

The old woman merely nodded and closed her
eyes as she rested her kerchiefed head against the rough surface of
the wall.

Across the room, the mate paced restlessly
until all were settled. Once the bundles had been put aside and the
anxious rumble of voices quieted, he cleared his voice and strode
to the door.

“Cap’n Langham says ye’re to wait here for
the overseer and wagon to take ye to the quarters,” he said, and
left hurriedly to return to the ship.

Langham had told Silvia the
Eastwind
would spend a few days at dock to take on cargo and then continue
to the West Indies before returning to England. She wondered what
her living arrangements would be on Schlange Island. Better than
the tiny cabin aboard the ship, she was certain. And here at least
she would not live in constant fear someone might burst in on
her.

Roman Toller’s arrogant face flashed in her
mind. She had not seen the Toller brothers the last two days of the
journey, and now as she sat in the windowless room and closed her
eyes, she was annoyed that thoughts of Roman haunted her
memory.

Somehow when she pictured his face in her
mind it was always as it had been the first time, with a gentleness
in his eyes and a slight smile on his lips. Only when she thought
of his mocking laugh and taunting words could she push away his
image and not feel a little longing in her heart. Her brow wrinkled
in a contemptuous frown. He was undoubtedly traveling to the West
Indies and would exit her life as hastily as he had entered it.

She looked up. The dull thud of horses’
hooves on the sandy soil and the rattle of a wagon turned her
attention to the door. A moment later Langham entered, followed by
the overseer, a heavyset man who seemed to swagger rather than
walk. The man had a pockmarked square face and pitted skin tanned
to mahogany color. Silvia felt herself tightening at the sight of
him. His squinty eyes were summing up the bunch that had arrived on
the
Eastwind
and his eyes had noted Silvia in particular. He
stared at her so conspicuously that Silvia ultimately looked away,
turning her gaze to those around her. They were all staring at her
as well. From the corner of her eye she saw the overseer move
towards them.

He had the sour smell of sweat, and as he
walked past her she held her breath a moment. His white shirt was
rolled to the elbows and wet through; the worn black trousers
showed the dusty marks of his labor. He carried at his side a whip
coiled neatly in three rings he held tightly against the leather
handle. Before he spoke, he pulled a grimy handkerchief from his
pocket and wiped the drops streaming from his temples.

“All ye bond servants follow me,” he said
brusquely, gesturing for them to stand and pointing to the door. A
murmur rose from the group as they collected their meager bundles
and hurriedly moved out toward the wagon.

“Miss Bradstreet.” Nodding politely, Langham
called to Silvia before she could exit. A deceptive lightness shone
in his eyes as he continued. “Mr. Schlange wants you to come
directly to the main house.” He motioned for her to sit. “Wait
here. Schlange’s man Odin will come for you.” He gave a gleaming
smile and added in a lowered voice. “I trust Schlange Island will
fill all your expectations, Miss Bradstreet, and prove to be a
haven for you.”

Silvia took her seat again and fretfully ran
a finger inside the high collar of her dress. She was tempted to
loosen the first few buttons, but decided against it.

“Thank you, Captain Langham,” she said,
sighing ever so slightly. She was disturbed by the mocking tone of
his voice; it made her uneasy and she would be glad when he was
gone. “I am anxious to meet Mr. Schlange and learn the nature of my
duties.” Silvia quickly lifted her brows. “Will I see you again,
captain, before you sail?” she asked, uncertain whether or not she
would welcome another meeting.

“No, Miss Bradstreet, I’ll stay with the
ship. I dare not leave when there is cargo to be attended to.
Again, my best wishes, and I bid you farewell.”

May you have a safe journey and fair
weather, captain,” Silvia said politely, all the while remembering
the cool blue of Roman Toller’s eyes and the episode that had
marred her journey more than the storms at sea.

When Langham had departed she smoothed a few
rumples from her skirt. Every wool fiber in her dress seemed to be
scratching at her skin. The first order of business once she got
settled would be to find a cotton fabric and sew a dress more
suited to this climate.

Suddenly the room grew dark as if a door had
closed, shutting out all light. But there had been no sound and
when Silvia looked up she saw that the doorway was filled with the
bulk of a man dressed from head to foot in black. A sensation like
ice touching the back of her neck accompanied her alarm and she
wished she could flee. Yet there simply was no where to go.

With a closer look she saw that not only
were his clothes black but that his skin was also the shiny color
of coal. Startled, she gasped and stood quickly, taking a hasty
step back. Without a sound, he moved his cumbersome body inside,
and light again flooded through the doorway.

He was the first black-skinned man she had
ever seen, and she could not help but stare openmouthed when he
stopped just inside the door. His hair was a wiry black mat like
sheep’s wool, his nose wide and flat. He wore the livery of a
footman, which added to the strangeness of his appearance. His
heavy features gave no hint of welcome above the large white teeth
exposed when he spoke. For a disconcerting moment, Silvia doubted
her safety. This man seemed as strange to her as this new land, and
she wondered if she had made the right decision in leaving
England.

“Excuse me, Miss Bradstreet,” he said with a
careful pronunciation of her name. Her eyes widened in stunned
wonder at the educated manner in which he addressed her. “I am
Odin. Mr. Schlange sent me to bring you to the house.” Bending low,
he lifted her bag and walked out the door.

Silvia hesitated a few seconds before
collecting her wits and following. Outside, the setting sun glowed
a flaming red above the treetops and gave an orange glow to the
landscape. Silvia looked around for a carriage or wagon, and seeing
none, quickly searched for Odin. She located him following a path
that led into the forest. He showed no sign of slowing or waiting
for her to catch up, so hoisting her skirts, she began a brisk walk
to overtake him.

By the time Silvia reached the tree line,
Odin was almost out of sight. To her relief, she noted the path was
plainly marked, but once she stepped beneath the leafy canopy of
the trees, she could not see very clearly. Eerie ribbons of light
that had found a narrow opening in the leafy awning overhead cast
strange shadows on the ground and scarcely provided enough light
for her to follow the walkway. She hoped the house was not far, for
the sun would soon pass beyond the horizon and she would be
enveloped in a cloak of darkness.

Apprehension coursed through her. She sensed
the presence of someone moving parallel to her but hidden in the
cover of the foliage. Images of unknown creatures raced wildly
through her thoughts. She swallowed at the tightness in her throat
and scoffed at her imagination. This was an inhabited island and
estate, not a dangerous jungle. But even with her own reassurances,
she stopped abruptly on hearing a sudden crackling sound followed
by the definite thud of footsteps. Fear spurted through her and she
broke into a run.

“Odin,” she called to the monstrous shape
barely visible ahead of her. “Odin, wait,” she cried frantically.
But if Odin heard, he did not acknowledge her with even a break of
his gait.

Another sound echoed from the trees and
Silvia began to run faster. In a few moments she overtook Odin and
breathlessly took a place by his side. Even then he did not turn
his head to look at her but continued along the path at the same
pace. She fell in step beside him, straining to match the length of
his stride, looking neither left nor right until they entered a
clearing from which loomed the enormous gray stone walls of a
castle.

Silvia breathed a sigh of relief. The craggy
facade was a welcome sight, though it looked as if it did not
belong in the near-tropical setting. Nor did it appear
inviting.

She paused and lifted her eyes to follow the
lines of a single tower that rose high above the treetops on the
right side. The main body of the castle swept to her left with
walls half as high as the spiraling tower. The irregular angles of
the roof were of the same gray color. A massive wall continued
beyond the structure itself, and to Silvia the building looked like
a stone island set in a sea of trees.

In the hazy light of dusk she could make out
the turreted walkway at the top of the tower. Briefly she thought
she saw a small flame, as if from a candle, a sparse glow of light
in a high tower window. But it was gone so quickly there was no way
to be sure.

Like a lumbering giant, Odin climbed the
wide stone steps that led to an arched doorway. On either side,
torches hung from chains and lit the entry, their billowing flames
creating a warm light. Thunderously Odin dropped her bag in front
of the heavy paneled door and with his enormous hand lifted a large
iron ring. She heard the metallic knocking as he forcefully rapped
it three times against the iron plate underneath.

“Wait here,” he said flatly, and with that
descended the steps and disappeared into the darkness.

Silvia watched him walk away. When he was
out of sight, she turned to the door. A sense of uneasiness
tightened the skin at the back of her neck. An innate apprehension
of the serpent in the carving on the wooden door panel invaded her
thoughts. The serpent figure was nearly as tall as she was, with an
evil-looking head as large as her own. A forked tongue flashed from
the open mouth, and its body wrapped ominously about the trunk of a
tree. The design was the same as that of Mr. Schlange’s seal on her
bond paper, but somehow, in the gloomy flickering light of the
torches, it was far more frightening. It seemed to stare directly
at Silvia, and she sensed the pressure of its coiling body.

The door swung open, soundlessly it seemed,
leaving Silvia face to face with a tall, thin woman whose currant,
black eyes held a spark of some undefinable emotion.

“Miss Bradstreet, we’ve been expecting you.
Come in.” The woman made a slight gesture with her right hand.
“Don’t bother about the bag. I’ll have it sent up to your rooms.”
Her words gushed out without inflection. She had a husky voice, and
though she tried to mask it, the tone held a hint of cynicism.

“Thank you,” Silvia responded weakly as she
entered and stepped aside for the woman to shut the door. Her eyes
swept the enormous foyer and she took a quick breath of
astonishment. The interior of Serpent Tree Hall was not the dark,
drab place she had expected. Nor was it at all like any castle she
had heard described.

The floor in the entry hall was of polished
pink marble and at the far end double staircases of the same
gleaming stone curved up like giant wings. At the next level, the
staircases joined and formed a spacious landing bordered with the
ornate gilt railings that also ran the length of the stairs. On
each side of the staircases arched doorways led to wide halls which
appeared to run deeply into the building.