The Secret of the Emerald Sea (13 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Pluto loved death. Anyone who brought about death and ruin increased his number of subjects, and thus, amplified his power.

Pluto lived with his beautiful wife, Proserpina, in a house high upon a slope in the heart of his domain, just off the River’s edge, directly opposite the shore where Hecate always stood watch. His dark temple was filled to the brim with all the symbols of his power. Skulls from humans and all manner of animals decorated the place where he lived, and everything was in his preferred colors—dead black, deepest midnight blue, and blood red.

Even Proserpina was forbidden to wear any other colors, so her gowns were rich and draped, but in funereal tones. Their furniture was also luxurious, but macabre. The chairs had bones for armrests and their deep cushions only made the overall effect more unsettling.

The art on the walls of their riverside aerie was likewise disturbing as it depicted scenes of death and torture through the centuries. They were painted by the masters who had bribed Pluto with their art, as well as the coins that were placed under their tongues, to pay their passage to the other side.

In the center of Pluto’s home there was an altar where curse tablets made of lead were displayed reverently along with black candles that flickered but never burned out. Tiny lead coffins with tiny lead figures lying inside were arranged in careful, ordered rows. These lead tablets and coffins were the spoils of witchcraft, and they demonstrated the hatred that lurked in the heart of humankind.

The dark god enjoyed reading the curses that the crones of the villages made for the common people. The villagers hated their neighbors and they hated their relatives, and they were flooded with the emotions that made death so close and so tempting—jealousy, betrayal, lust and envy...all were under his own domain.

All forms of curses were represented on the altar, and he would run his hands over the rough stone tablets almost lovingly, and could always find room for just one more. He sent his emissaries to unearth these tablets, which were often buried under the ground in all the towns, and had them bring them to his home. Collecting them was his passion.

His bride, Proserpina, loved flowers, but here in this place, nothing would grow. Instead, she made fabric blooms out of the garments of the dead; satin petals in dark hues with jeweled centers...these were displayed in vases of thick, black crystal.

She always wore a necklace of sparrow skulls. Pluto, himself, had created this piece, and each eye socket was filled with a fat, cabochon ruby that looked like a shining drop of blood.

The palace of death where they lived together was many stories high and pointed like a steeple. Proserpina would climb the marble stairs and sit on a perch near the lookout at the top where she would gaze down on the River below. She had lived in the Sky, once, but now, she was his Queen of the Underworld, and he had trained her to love her kingdom and her power.

She was a daughter of Jupiter, it was true, but Pluto was sure she felt no great loyalty to him now. Since he had taken her away to the Underworld by force and made her his wife, she had learned to accept her destiny. No one had come to her rescue, and she was to remain
here
for all of eternity, close by Pluto’s side.

Pluto knew that Proserpina was as different from Minerva as anyone could be, though they shared the same father. Now, she was an agent of death and madness, however unwillingly, and in time, she’d learned to embrace her world completely. What choice did she have, for it was clear she could
never
escape this place?

* * * *

Proserpina saw Hecate cross the River on her black barge. The Goddess of the Crossroads was just barely visible through the heavy mists. No other woman could cross safely, none but Proserpina, because she was not human. Proserpina stood and smoothed down her gown, and then she descended the narrow steps to greet this visitor.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Queen of the Underworld knew Pluto rested in his inner sanctum, surrounded by the ghosts who were his closest companions. Proserpina grabbed the heavy brass knocker and banged it against the door of his room.

“Enter!” Pluto barked. His voice was deep and it reverberated as he spoke, even through the thick wooden door.

Proserpina smoothed her dress once more and arranged her hair, and then she pinched her lips to bring more redness to them. Her smile was tense as she entered the room, and the ghosts who always attended the dark god floated back to the far corners of the room, all the while respectfully bowing to her.

“Good day, my husband,” she said, staring intently into his face in order to gauge his mood. Pluto had terrible mood swings that were feared by all who knew him. Today, though, none of his anger was in evidence.

Pluto smiled at her. He was garbed in a black toga that revealed his huge, muscular arms and matched his ebony hair. His eyes were as dark blue as the gown Proserpina wore, and his skin was bronzed and handsome, though he never saw the sun.

“My wife,” he said, rising to kiss her cheek. She knew he loved her in his own way, which was not the same as other men might. He had taken her from the Sky and brought her here through his trickery. That had been the last time that he and Jupiter had ever spoken to one another. She also knew that Pluto had taken great pleasure in molding her to his liking. He chose the colors she should wear, and made her jewels himself, and generally reveled in her beauty, which he had stolen.

She was Pluto’s possession and, as such, he admired her grace frequently, and complimented her on her desire to help him in all things. It had taken her a long time to accept that she must stay here forever, but in time, she had. Sometimes, she feared that the love he felt for her did not run deep, nor would it ever. She wondered if she was only a spoil of war to him. If ever Pluto had been able to love more deeply, he no longer could, she was sure of that. He was simply too consumed with the lust for power and with the desire to collect souls.

Power was Pluto’s only master, and so Proserpina existed as merely another pawn in his game.

“Hecate comes,” Proserpina said softly, her smile wavering a little. Hecate was close, too close, to her husband, and she did not wish for any other goddess to be so bound to him. Proserpina knew that Hecate’s heart was like ice, if she had a heart at all. She did not like the way the Goddess of The Crossroads
gloried
in her duties.

“Ah, good, good,” Pluto answered, rising to walk to the front door.

“Perhaps she has some news for me, then. It has been some time since I have seen her here.”

As he rose, all his ghosts genuflected to him, and he crossed the room quickly, gliding across the marble floors that were shining and black and streaked with crimson and grey. She knew that this room was his favorite place and the center of his empire. He had decorated it with care.

He grabbed a carafe of red wine from a table near the entrance and asked Proserpina to bring him some silver goblets.

“Three?” she asked, hoping to be included in the conference.

“Two,” he said brusquely, and shooed her out of the room. Then, he told his ghosts to leave as well. They floated out with doleful expressions, following Proserpina to the kitchen. With anger and jealousy in her heart, she grabbed the goblets and marched back to the sanctum where Pluto took them from her and then closed the door in her face.

Just then, there was a knock at the massive front doors of their palace. Hecate had arrived. The ghosts bobbed excitedly and, once again, trailed in Proserpina’s wake as she went to answer the knock.

“Hecate,” Proserpina purred in greeting. “Welcome.”

Hecate curtsied to the Queen of the Dead, as was customary. Proserpina nodded regally and admitted her, guiding her toward the sanctum. The ghosts followed in an orderly procession.

* * * *

Pluto usually enjoyed speaking with Hecate, who pleased him well. No goddess could be more loyal to his cause, or more devoted to his ideals. Hecate was not beautiful, but she was a faithful servant who shared his lust for collecting souls. He knew she feared him, and he enjoyed keeping her off balance and a little afraid of him, though he was so rarely displeased with anything that she did.

“Pluto,” she murmured, bowing to him, “Good day, my lord.”

“Welcome, Hecate,” he answered, smiling his cold smile. He tried to bring some warmth into his eyes and his smile. He had been told that his features were godly and handsome and his hair was dark and luxuriant, but that his eyes were as cold as a serpent’s. He knew it was all true.

“I have come with news you may enjoy hearing,” she said as Pluto gestured to her to sit down. He filled her goblet with the finest red wine— more plunder from the dead—and he drank deeply from his own glass.

She sipped her wine as Pluto watched her face. She was moistening her throat. Then, she began to tell her story

“I have had a visitor, a visitor from the land...a
living
one,” she said, smiling a little. “She is now one of ours. She has repeated the words, and taken the Vows of the Underworld.”

“From whence does she come, goddess?” Pluto asked. His curiosity was piqued.

“From near the Emerald Sea, lord,” she replied. “She needed help with a spell. She is an oracle, a witch, and terribly old...and her magic was weak. She wished for youth and beauty for a while. In return, she is ours.”

Pluto felt congenial as he stared across at her from behind his desk of darkest mahogany. “Did you grant her wish?” Pluto asked, smiling. He knew the Goddess of the Crossroads had great power, more than even she knew. She was capable of almost anything, and she was a useful piece on his chessboard.

“Oh, yes,” Hecate giggled. “Indeed—
of course
I did, though it may not come out as she’d like. You know how magic is.”

The pair laughed. Hecate had granted many such requests, and always made sure there was a little glitch, some
tiny
flaw in the outcome, which would infuriate the lost soul, and make it even easier to bring them back to the River...

“Good. So why would you come here to tell me of this? You take in many souls, but this is special to you, is it not?” He set down his goblet and folded his hands, which were adorned with several rings. Large onyx stones decorated three fingers on each hand.

“She hates Minerva,” Hecate said, grinning. “She
loathes
her and wants her destroyed and cut down to size. She knows something about Minerva, about something Minerva
wants
...” She took a breath then, probably to slow down her train of thought. She knew he had no patience with babbling.

Hecate sat up straighter, and then she continued. “Minerva is looking for a young girl of about fifteen, I believe, who is a princess of Neptune. She wishes to bring the girl back to the Gods of the Sea. Minerva went to an old crone, who is, of course, an oracle, looking for her for assistance, but the old witch would not tell her where the girl was. The witch wanted her spell, her wish to be young, to be granted by Minerva, and then she would help her get the girl back. But the goddess refused, and so she hates her bitterly. She did the magic that brought her to the River, and so I granted her what Minerva had denied, and she gave her soul to us.”

“Hmmm,” Pluto murmured, thinking hard. “And she wishes to harm the goddess?” He hated Minerva, just as he knew Hecate did. The Goddess of Wisdom looked down on them, and she had no idea of their real power. Pluto was sure of this.

“Yes, she wishes to harm Minerva by killing the girl she is trying to find. She wishes to drive a wedge between the Gods of Sea and Sky by making Minerva fail at her mission to help King Neptune.” Hecate looked down and waited.

“Excellent, Hecate,” he said, staring at her. “Minerva is no friend of mine. How long is the crone’s spell to last?”

“As long as is required, and not a second more,” Hecate answered slyly. “The crone moves toward a small village near the Emerald Sea in the guise of a young woman. Her plans include much death and destruction, or so I foresee it.”

Pluto smiled. “She will kill the girl, the daughter of Neptune. The girl must be a half-deity, then. Has this crone the courage to
murder
? To end the life of a young girl? She will be hard to kill.”

“She does. She has killed already. I have seen it in my visions.”

Pluto stood up and gently wrested Hecate’s goblet from her hand. He set it down on his desk, and then he helped her up from her seat, signaling an end to their meeting. He needed time alone to think on all of this, and how it could best be exploited and used.

“Thank you, Hecate,” he said, kissing her cheek tenderly with lips like ice, which made her parchment skin flush crimson. “I will ask you to assist the witch any way you can. Later, I may ask for more than that.”

“Yes, Sire,” she said.

* * * *

Proserpina glared down at Hecate from the rooftop lookout as the Goddess of the Crossroads practically danced out of the front door and stepped lightly and happily onto the barge that would take her to the other side.

She was quite upset, for these two had a secret, and she would not be told unless Pluto thought she must know. She hated any secrets that were not hers and Pluto’s alone. She cursed Hecate under her breath and then she sat still for quite for a long time. She would not go back downstairs until she was calm again.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Liesel finally reached the city after a hard day’s walk. No strangers could offer her a ride, even if they would, because she avoided the busy roadways. Allanshire was not a large one as cities went, but it had everything she needed, and she could replenish her supplies of powders and other ingredients while she also took on the image of a lady in fine gowns and polished boots.

Her money was safe on her person at all times. She would spend dearly to stay at a fine lodging house where she would feel more secure. And, as always, there was her magic as a strong shield against trouble of any kind.

First of all, she needed to find a beautiful gown. She could not even stay at a better boarding house in the ragged cloak she now wore. She headed to the market, where anything could be bought for a price, and as the sun shone in the late afternoon sky, she haggled over a dark blue gown with creamy lace cuffs. It looked as though it would fit her without alterations, and it would do to wear to the shops in the city once she had brushed it clean.

The gown was expensive even though it was secondhand. Obviously, it had belonged to a fine lady, who perhaps had died or fallen on hard times. It occurred her that it might, in fact, be stolen. Liesel liked the feel of the rich blue satin against her fingertips. Never had she owned something so fine.

The market sellers cared not that she was grimy with travel as long as she paid. She kept her black hood low over her face, but she was not worried about her crime on the road near Lynnshire, or about being recognized. Hers was a face that had never existed until recently, and soon—but when?—it would cease to exist
again
. Time was short, and so she found a place in a nearby wood where she could change into her new dress. Then she threw all of her old garments away except for her shoes, which she must still wear.

At this point, she walked to a shop where village ladies went and she ordered them to wash her hair and dress it fine, perhaps in braids. They looked askance at her lank hair, which was admittedly filthy after all of her exertions, and still smelled of the poison powder she’d tossed in Lord Stirling’s face, but they deemed it free of lice, and so they washed it and dried with a piece of silky fabric dipped in fragrant oil. Then, they dressed it high upon her head, as she had seen other ladies wear their hair. She could wear a hat or bonnet or not now, as she chose. Her hair shone dark and clean, and her new fringe was silky against her smooth forehead.

Young, I’m so young
, she thought happily, catching her reflection in the looking glass.

Once she was clean, she tripped down the dirty streets, holding the hem of her gown high above the cobbled roadway. Her boots were a mess, but she would take care of all that. In her bodice she stored her money, but there was so much of it still, and she must find a better way to carry it about. With her magic, she could find a bag and lock it with spells.

At the apothecary, she asked for creams and potions for her skin. Even a pot of rouge that would take away her paleness. She also bought soap, which she desperately needed. No true lady painted her face, but Liesel did not care. She was not pretty enough, and men on the street still did not turn their heads as she passed as they would have for Minerva or the daughter of Neptune.

She bought cream that was bright pink and smelled delightfully of roses, and things for her teeth, and other things that women liked and needed, but old crones in caves never seemed to have. It was a pleasure to see the pretty jars and boxes, and she felt a proper lady indeed now with a bosom made fuller by stuffed banknotes and coins wrapped tight in a handkerchief so that they would make no noise that alerted thieves.

Liesel found a good boarding house as night fell. She bathed with a cloth and a basin of boiling hot water brought to her by a houseboy. The next morning, she shopped all day long. For
hours
Liesel continued her transformation by choosing gowns that were ready made and having them altered to her size on the spot. There was no time to wait for seamstresses to sew gowns from patterns and no time to wait for
anything
at all. She spent a large sum of money, over half of what she had, but there was still a lot left. The gold coins were like magic. No matter
what
she bought, she would always get change because they were so valuable. Or perhaps some other magic was at play, stretching her funds out?

By the time Liesel left the boarding house on her second night in Allanshire, she had everything she could think of. The problem was, she really did not know how a lady acted, or what a lady did. It would be difficult to learn such things quickly, and she was unsure of what course to take. In her cave, the villagers who came to her were a coarse lot more often than not. Never had she been exposed to the upper classes and their special ways.

She decided to go to restaurants and places where ladies gathered. She would spend her last hours in this city observing them, listening to them, and watching them drink their tea and have their chats with one another. She would mimic them as only a practiced witch could do, and then she would be able to pass as a lady in the village, if only she kept mostly to herself.

How they simper and how falsely they smile
, she noted in wonder, watching the ladies with one another, or with their gentlemen.
They act as though they haven’t a thought in their heads at all
.
The women simply flatter the men, and then they flatter the other women, too
.
This could be easier than I expected
.

She spoke to herself as she walked through town toward the carriage she had rented to take her to the village. She used their voices as best she could—they were higher than hers, and sweeter, and also more affected. In her hand was a mid-sized carpetbag full of everything she would need including a new procurement of powders and strange ingredients that had cost her dearly and been quite hard to find. Already delivered directly to the carriage was a trunk of clothes, which the man at the boarding house had taken to the carriage house in exchange for a handsome tip. It was now too heavy for Liesel to carry except with the help of magic, which was best practiced in private.

Liesel thought she had never been so happy. She glowed with the pleasure of it all, and she knew her cheeks were a radiant, deep rose under their layer of rouge. Her lips, too, were rubbed with a dab from the pot, and certainly much prettier to behold. Men smiled at her as she passed. She smelled like a rich woman, too, emanating the scent of roses, lavender, and rich Neroli oil from the East.

Today will be the day he sees me
, she thought dreamily.
I will never
look better than this, and today it must be...or perhaps tonight, by moonlight...