Tara Duncan and the Forbidden Book (20 page)

“Oh, sorry!” she chuckled. “I always forget. One second; I must have something around here . . . Ah, here we go.”

A soft glow lit up the cluttered room. In her hand, Gelina held an illuminated globe, whose light didn't seem to affect her any more than the darkness had a moment earlier.

Before her was the dark entrance of a tunnel that sloped gently downward. Cal flashed a wicked smile.

“Cool, it slopes down! We can wheel-board again!”

Buglul turned a paler shade of blue.

Luckily for him, the tunnel didn't have enough of a slope for Cal to use his skateboard. Gelina wished them good luck and gave them a couple of light globes.

After walking for about an OtherWorld hour, they emerged at an exit hidden by a tangle of bushes.

“We are in the gardens of the wizard's castle,” the blue gnome whispered. “I wanted to show you the building from the outside, before you start searching the interior.”

Cal nodded without answering. The place was more a palace than a castle. And the architectural style was pure Omoisian: over-the-top ornate.

Purple- and gold-tiled roofs covered various parts of the building. Ridge lines curved upward slightly, reminding Tara of the palaces she had seen in documentaries about Asia. Downspouts were sculpted into fantastic animals, a pattern repeated in the gardens. Animated plants shaped like white vrrirs snapped harmless leaf teeth, and furious brrraaa bushes, pulling on their roots, threatened to stampede, but never would. Gorgeous banks of flowers waved their petals to attract pollinators, whether insects or Lilliputian fairies. As the dwelling for an evil wizard, it was surprisingly harmonious. Being a monster of cruelty apparently didn't keep one from having good taste.

Then Tara drew the group's attention to something. The gardens were patrolled by guards.

Worse, they were
imperial
guards!

Sparrow turned to the gnome. “What are imperial guards doing in these gardens? They usually only protect the imperial family.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” exclaimed the gnome. “The wizard who kidnapped our families—”

“Well, what about him?” she asked curtly, already anticipating problems ahead.

“—is the empress's uncle.”

T
he news left them speechless.

Sparrow was the first to react. “You mean Prince Bandiou, the empress's uncle? The man who served as her tutor after her mother died?
Are you kidding?”

The gnome turned a serious face to them. 

“That was also the empress's reaction when I told her about our terrible predicament. I also imagine that the hunter-elves were not very thorough because of their respect for the prince. But that is not the case with you, is it?”

You could hear terrible anguish in Buglul's voice.

But Manitou didn't like being manipulated.

“We're citizens of Lancovit,” he said coldly. “If we're caught snooping around Prince Bandiou's house or grounds, we could be executed as spies. You were very careful not to tell us this minor detail—that the wizard was Bandiou.”

Fabrice gulped, but Cal whistled derisively. “Well, we'll just have to not get caught, that's all. There are only two guards outside, and probably not many more inside. Given the prince's personality, he must not be the kind of guy to have many people around him.”

“You're right,” agreed the gnome. “With too many servants, someone might discover what he was up to and tell the empress. And he would be immediately executed, uncle or no uncle. So he compensates by using magic as much as possible: he has cleaning spells, maintenance spells, anti-pest and anti-insect spells, and spells for food and drink. His staff amounts to a team of six guards who work in rotation, a cook, two maids, and two handymen, one of whom mainly looks after the garden and the prince's ball orchid greenhouse. So you are not likely to run into many people. In addition, when searching his palace, we were able to steal copies of his accreditation cards and forged new ones. Which means that the spells will ‘see' you only as ordinary servants going about their work.”

“Okay, got it,” said Cal. “I have a pretty good idea of the palace's general layout. Let's go!”

While they were talking, Tara was thinking. There was something in all this that didn't add up, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

With the accredi-cards affixed to their clothes, fur, or feathers, they went back up the tunnel and took the branch that led to the house itself. They emerged in one of the palace cellars, where they were able to prepare their search discreetly.

Cal held a very handy crystal that could display the building's layout in three dimensions. It could also show the location of all sentient beings within a hundred-yard radius. Their little group appeared in blue, and the palace servants and guards showed up in yellow. This made it easy to keep track of where both groups were—and to make sure they didn't meet!

Cal was the only one with the skills to locate the hidden portal. Since the others couldn't share the task, they obediently followed him around. When the coast was clear, the little thief would slip into a room while they stood watch outside. He would measure, touch, look, touch again, smell, and then come out as quickly as possible.

It got late, and the servants eventually went to bed. The guards' patrols outside the building were pretty casual, which offended Robin.

“That's really no way to guard a place,” he griped. “You need soldiers in teams of two inside and out, on irregular schedules to throw off possible attackers, and constant communication between the teams!”

“Well, if you don't mind I'm just glad the guards are incompetent,” whispered Sparrow. “In fact, if they wanted to go to sleep I would be even happier. So there!”

“What I'd like,” interrupted Cal, who had just sifted through a half ton of dust in the library, “is for somebody to tell me how to find that blasted portal. This is the twentieth room I've been in, and I'm getting the depressing feeling that the gnomes were right. It isn't here!”

Suddenly Tara stopped in her tracks. “What did you just say, Cal?”

“That the portal isn't here?”

“No, not that. Before that.”

Cal looked at her with concern. “All right, what part of this sentence don't you understand? ‘I'd like somebody to tell me how to find that blasted portal. This is the twentieth room—'”

“Yessss
!” she interrupted, barely stifling a shout of glee. “That's it! Because we
do
have someone who can tell us how to find that blasted portal. Someone who can show us the way!”

Under the incredulous and somewhat dubious eyes of her friends and the gnome king, Tara bowed gracefully, put her hand a pocket of her robe, and pulled out the magic map.

“Well, it's about time!” the parchment snapped as Tara unfolded it. “I was beginning to feel positively musty, deep in that pocket. So, where do you want to go this time?”

Tara put on her friendliest manner and crossed her fingers. “Hello, map. I'd like to ask you something, but I don't know if you can do it.”

“What you mean, can I do it?” asked the map huffily. “What kind of snippy remark is that? You just tell me where you want to go, and I'll tell you how to get there in less time that it takes to say, ‘Here it is.'”

“All right, fine. We're in a palace. Every palace has a Transfer Portal. We'd like to know if you can locate a second one.”

“The only portal in this palace is the one on the third floor,” answered the map in a tone of disdain.

Tara grabbed her white forelock and chewed on it savagely.
Okay, that wasn't the answer I was hoping for. So, if the second portal isn't in the palace . . .

“Show us the way to the portal that isn't
in
the palace, but near it.”

“Hmpf! What kind of challenge is that?” said the map. “You could've asked for something more complicated. It's here!”

The parchment displayed the palace, the guards patrolling outside, Tara's little group, and a dotted line that led across the garden to a big blue cross—smack in the middle of the ball orchid greenhouse!

Fabrice, who had been holding his breath like the others, put an arm around Tara's shoulders and gave her a resounding kiss on the cheek.

“Bravo!” he exclaimed as she blushed. “You're a genius!”

Then he grinned at Robin, who was looking daggers at him.

Score 1-1,
Fabrice thought.

Like tropical flowers on Earth, ball orchids need warmth and humidity, and they're delicate. They can't handle Tingapore's occasional temperature extremes and the drought that can hit despite the weather wizards' spells, so the prince had a greenhouse built to house his passion. Constant humidity and ideal temperature had produced a riot of colors and shapes. The ball orchids' fleshy petals emerging from the large green-and-yellow root balls that give the plant its name glowed in the shadows. Flowers hung from the ceiling in voluptuous cascades of heavy pink, blue, black, and red clusters. The air was so full of perfume and pollen that the group had trouble breathing.

Like most Omoisian buildings, the greenhouse was vast, and it took them a good hour to completely explore it. But they didn't find Transfer tapestries anywhere.

Fafnir, who like all dwarfs wasn't especially patient except when it came to blacksmithing, began showing signs of annoyance.

“There isn't anything in this lousy greenhouse,” she grumbled. “It's hot and damp, and there's nothing here except these stupid flowers dangling everywhere.”

Robin, who is still smarting over Fabrice kissing Tara, scanned his surroundings very carefully, using his elf senses to probe the invisible. Suddenly he smiled. The wizard was clever—very clever—but not as clever as an elf, even a half human one.

Robin cleared his throat loudly, attracting his friends' attention.

“I think I found it!” he said, trying to look modest.

Buglul stared at him, full of hope.

“You found the portal?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes. It's all around us.”

“What do you mean, all around us?” snapped Cal, who was supposed to be the expert. “What're you talking about?”

“You see these flowers?” asked Robin.

“Yeah,” said Fabrice. “What about them?”

“Look at the patterns they make.”

“By my ancestors, you're right!” exclaimed Manitou. “I can see unicorns and gnomes, giants and spellbinders!”

Delighted, Sparrow and Tara both kissed Robin on the cheek, which annoyed Fabrice no end.
Rats! T
wo points for the half-elf.

It was true. The orchids around them formed the patterns of Transfer Portal tapestries. It was like a giant Arcimboldo, that sixteenth century Earth painter who composed portraits by arranging images of fruits, flowers, and other objects. Here a vine formed a unicorn's head, there a flower represented a spellbinder's body, and the plants as a whole faithfully reproduced the five tapestries.

Just then Sheeba growled and emerged from a bush with something in her mouth.

“The Transfer scepter!” cried Sparrow. “Sheeba, you're the best!”

The panther received their joyful caresses with dignity.

Fafnir set the scepter on its vegetable image, the greenhouse lit up . . . and the group suddenly had a problem on its hands.

“What do I say?” asked the dwarf.

“What you mean, what do you say?” asked Cal with annoyance, still irritated at not having found the portal himself.

“Where do we want to go? This is a Transfer Portal; it can take us wherever there are other portals. So the question is, what destination do I give it?”

“Good grief,” muttered Manitou, “I haven't the slightest idea.”

“Oh?” said the dwarf. “In that case, let's try this.” She shouted: “To the places where the gnomes are being held prisoner!”

Cal snickered. “That'll never wor—”

The blinding light seized them, and they found themselves somewhere else.

Somewhere that seemed strikingly familiar to Fabrice and Tara. On seeing an astonished face, the two shouted:

“Dad?”

“Count Besois-Giron?”

Standing in front of them was the count, holding a watering can in one hand and pruning shears in the other.

“Fabrice? Tara? What in the world are you doing in my rose garden?” he asked. “Are you back from OtherWorld? Where you went without my permission, I might add.”

Fabrice, who could feel a huge headache and a huge punishment coming on, suddenly felt awful.

Seeing the count's impressive eyebrows frowning and Fabrice turning to jelly, Manitou intervened.

“We're on a secret mission,” he said quickly. “We can't tell you about it, but as soon as it is over, you'll get all the details. In the meantime, we need your help.”

Then he waited, trying to look as self-confident as possible, given the fact that he was only two feet high, and a dog. Fortunately, the count had too much respect for high wizards to argue when one of them asked for his help. He bowed to the black Labrador.

“With pleasure, High Wizard Manitou. I'll do anything in my power for you, and I can wait to get the explanation later.”

“Thank you, Guardian. I have a question: Does Prince Bandiou visit you from time to time?”

“Yes, he does,” said the Guardian with a smile. “A delightful man, who has developed some very effective cutting techniques. He has one of OtherWorld's most beautiful collections of ball orchids, in fact. He often comes to look at my roses, and thanks to him I have achieved results I couldn't have dreamed of.”

“I understand. Is he in the habit of visiting any other places when he's here?” asked Manitou casually.