The Pawn of Isis, page 6
part #2 of Klaereon Scroll Series
Carlo ran his finger around the rim of the tankard. "You are nosy."
"A good innkeeper can tell when someone has something on his mind, sir."
Like a Prussian mind doctor. "You spend a lot of time listening to stories, don't you?"
"I have some experience in human affairs," said George.
"At your tender age."
George laughed. "Yes, sir."
"You might as well call me Carlo, George. This sir thing is silly."
"You're a paying customer."
"Since I'm leaving soon, and I've paid for the room for four days, I can make some demands."
George pulled up a chair. "Did things not go well at the big house?"
"No."
George shook his head. "You can't expect much, sir. I mean Carlo. They aren't like the rest of us."
Carlo didn't take that as a slight. Even though he knew some magic now, he understood what George meant. "How do you live here with them? The Klaereons and the Galts?"
George's voice lowered. "Well, there's always been lords and ladies, whether they know magic or not. We don't mix with them much. Rumor has it those Klaereons moved their house here after Queen Elizabeth gave it to them, so the story goes. There's a lot of magic here in the stones, so it seemed natural, maybe. They say it was moved through the nether regions, and it's haunted by devils."
"The shadows?"
"Yes. I hear there are pockets of the house that aren't really here, but are in, you know." George pointed downwards.
That much was true. "Interesting," said Carlo.
"There are demons in that house, they say."
"What about the Galts?" said Carlo. "They're as magical as the Klaereons. No one seems to be suspicious of them."
"They don't have demons in their house. Well, only the human kind. They're haughty, sure, but that's the way of it. They do good things for the town."
"How did they come to be here? Two magical families in Hathersage. That seems unlikely."
"Not so. There are more magicians just one town over. Like I said, there's magic in the stones."
"Can you tell me about Atreus Galt?"
"George!" Martin Hamwich, periwig lopsided, hands across the girth of his chest, waited for his son.
George stood up quickly. "Da?"
"This inn will not clean itself."
"No sir. Just talking to Mr. Borgia about the London coach."
"Describing the horses, one tooth at a time?"
"It's my fault, Mr. Hamwich." Carlo stood up. "I distracted him."
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Borgia. Customers will do that. My son is a chatty idler. You were an excuse. Get to it, George."
George winked at Carlo and headed back to the bar to wipe it down. Carlo stretched. He would finish his deplorable drink, make himself as ready for Lucy's party as he could, and try not to drive himself to distraction by constantly revisiting the same thoughts.
Three men walked in, the light of the sun silhouetting them in the doorway. Two of the men were similar, brothers perhaps. Carlo's eyes adjusted from the sudden flash of light and noted the brothers had in profile what some termed as a Roman nose. Some of these British people had large noses, but theirs bulged in the middle and narrowed back toward the upper lip, making the men birds of prey with hooked beaks. The one in the middle resembled Ra more than anyone. Small beady eyes, a cruel nose, and thin lips set in a line. The third man with them was dressed in a livery like a servant. The servant headed for the bar and George, while both of the other men moved toward Carlo's table. Martin Hamwich stepped between. "My lord? Mr. Galt? How can I help you?"
Carlo smoothed his mustache, his nervous habit. That he was nervous aggravated him. He did not want to be nervous in front of these men. Which one was Lucy's Galt?
"Titus, go buy a drink." The one who had reminded Carlo of Ra maneuvered around Martin and stopped by Carlo's table, standing. "You must be Carlo Borgia. Atreus Galt." No hand was extended.
Carlo disliked him immediately. This man was the rival and the winner. His face was stony, his contempt for Carlo etched deep. Carlo found himself grinning like his grandfather did when he was his most dangerous. Carlo proffered his hand. "Carlo Borgia. Miss Klaereon tells me congratulations are in order."
"Yes. Octavia told me you would be coming in her husband's stead." Galt's voice was condescending. "You will be joining us at Galt House tomorrow evening?"
Carlo nodded. "To wish you well."
"Then you are leaving Hathersage." A statement, as though Galt could command the will of anyone.
Carlo rankled. "I thought I would stay a few more days," said Carlo. "I am an old friend of the family."
"Surely there can be little here in the country to keep an educated man like yourself interested?"
"On the contrary," said Carlo. "I find I have an interest in the making of wire. I would like to visit the factory."
"Oh," said Galt. His tone adjusted to graciousness, but the politeness didn't carry through to his eyes. "I can arrange that. It is my factory."
"I had heard. I noticed the smoke. Do you think it is healthy?"
The space between Galt's eyebrows creased. "A small price to pay for progress. Times are changing, Mr. Borgia. The town wants work and I intend to provide it."
"Factories are technological. Doesn't that run contrary to practicing magic?"
Galt's lips parted, more like a hungry wolf baring his teeth than a smile. "A common misconception. Magic and science do not run on contrary paths. You know this. I understand you study medicine, as well as your family's traditional arts?"
"You've heard of my family?"
"We were surprised to hear you hadn't gone the way of the Medici." Galt sounded very much like he wanted Carlo to go the way of the Medici.
Carlo tipped his head. "We have been focusing on other matters of late," said Carlo. "I am happy to re-enter magical society proper."
Galt nodded. "Please let me know how my family can help you make your visit more comfortable and entertaining. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."
Galt rejoined his brother and bowed his head, the conversation low. Like any other Venetian man, it turned out Carlo possessed more temper than he ought to. Galt's good opinion did not matter to him. No, quite the reverse. He might not be able to marry Lucy himself, but he had to try to talk her out of Galt.
CHAPTER SIX
The outside of Galt House was fanciful, the architect of the building trying to recall the castles of a reputedly chivalrous time. It was stone, because everything in Hathersage began with stone, but it was carved into towers, gates and archways. The only thing missing was a visible drawbridge.
Octavia sat across from Carlo. Each time the carriage bounced he could hear the rustle of silk and tulle from her green dress. It had tiny sleeves, and Carlo thought she might be chilly. He was dressed in his best tweed suit, which was stained with chemicals here and there. Octavia covered a smile with a gloved hand when he had presented himself earlier. "You will cause a sensation," she said.
"I shouldn't pretend to be what I am not."
"No," said Octavia, suddenly sober. "None of us should." They moved into the carriage, a modern model painted black. Carlo nodded at Arnie Wells, who seemed to be playing footman for the evening. "Where's Lucy?"
"Helen collected her earlier."
"The future sister-in-law?" Carlo remembered.
"Miss Helen Galt. The oldest sister. Lucy is the guest of honor. They would want her there right away." Octavia opened her mouth to say something, started, stopped, and then reconsidered. "I apologize for being so wrapped up in my own problems I didn't ask you about why you left us. Did you find any sign of your mother or grandfather?"
"No, I didn't. So, I have decided to move forward. I have been in Berlin, as I guess you know, because your letter found me."
"In school."
"Yes. And none of the skills I've learned there will help me tonight in the slightest."
"You are good enough company for anyone, Carlo."
"You flatter me." Carlo kissed Octavia's hand. "You are good to say so, but honestly, I am going to embarrass you."
"None of that matters."
"Well, here's one thing that does. I will never be able to keep all you magicians straight, and I am about to be the last of the Borgia family walking into a den of hungry politicians who no doubt want to sway me or discount me."
"I can give you a primer. It will keep my mind off of Drusus and this wretched party for the time being. Let's start with your own family. What will you tell people of them?"
Carlo recited as if in the front of a class. "As near as I can tell, I am the last of the Borgias. Since we are a secretive bunch, however, I do not flatter myself into believing my finality as absolute truth. I suspect we are like the Medicis, almost played out."
Octavia shook her head. "The Medicis are played out, Carlo. Continue. Which other families do you know about?"
"Regarding other families, there are you Klaereons. Ostracized guardians of Egyptian gods villainized as demons."
"Concise. You know the Claudians, who specialize in weather and air magic. My mother's family, the Julii, from whom Lucy inherited the power to bend her body to her will."
"The Galts are the last family?" Carlo thought six families were quite enough.
"There are formalized families all over the globe." Octavia counted them off, on her fingers. "Off the top of my head, besides the ones you've mentioned, I can name the Pasha, the Dantes and the Hsieng. There are likely magicians we do not know about in Europe, some not affiliated with any particular blood line. Families are threaded all over, and there are allied families or sub-families. We Klaereons, for example, while concentrated in England now, have migrated from other countries. Erasmus was a Roman soldier stationed in Alexandria. From there we traversed through the Italian states, then to other parts of Europe. Some of us have ventured to the new world.
"The Claudians and the Julii are decidedly more Mediterranean, staying in Greece and Italy, although again pockets of the family with which we interact are here. The Galts permeate Europe, the Middle East, Asia and Africa. They are commercially savvy and tend to follow the Empire lines to money and profit."
"What kind of magic do they practice?" This tête-a-tête reminded Carlo too much of when Octavia had kidnapped him in Venice and decided to have a little chat with him. He could almost feel Khun leaning over his shoulder.
"There is no one specialty in the Galt family. They are Machiavellian, if you can consider a philosophy a form of magic. They see themselves as our chief rivals and believe the power of the Solomon Scroll should be theirs."
"You should give it to them," said Carlo. "It has caused your family nothing but grief."
"That's not true, exactly, although in our experience, certainly." Octavia's ringlets bobbed as she shook her head. "The Galts would never free the Egyptians."
"You want to free the Egyptians? You were against Lucy when she suggested this very thing." Solomon had captured the Egyptians and banished them to the Abyss as false gods, to serve the wielders of Solomon’s Scroll. Lucy had felt they should be freed.
"She was right and I was wrong. I don't want my children to have the kind of life I have had so far. There must be a way."
The carriage passed under an archway and into Galt House's courtyard. Carriages paraded on a circular drive past the main entrance and footmen in powdered wigs and short breeches escorted ladies out the carriage doors. Carlo marveled at the many guests. "Who are these people?"
"All the Hathersage Galts and some extended relatives. Important local magicians. A few people related to us. Drusus' brother Vergilius is here. He's the heir of the Claudian estate in Scarborough. Perhaps Aunt Minerva, my mother's sister, will attend, although she is not generally well enough to travel these days. She might send her son. A small party, perhaps twenty people or so. And we two—Lucy's representatives."
Carlo stroked his mustache. "No dancing, then." Carlo was relieved about that. He had the hands of a surgeon, and two left feet.
"There is always dancing, even at small parties. Some young ladies and gentlemen will be asked to sing and play the pianoforte. By wearing that suit, you've made sure everyone will be mortified, so you are safe from young ladies staging themselves nearby, hoping they might dance with you."
"The best advantage to not being fashionable," Carlo laughed.
The carriage stopped. Octavia stepped to the ground carefully. Carlo gave the servant credit. Stone faced, he did not react to Carlo's lack of social propriety. Carlo followed Octavia inside the house.
The entry hall of Galt House was fashioned impressively of wood, a butternut color from floor to ceiling. A fireplace as tall as Carlo was directly across from him, its hearth outlined in stone, which continued up the wall. A fire crackled above the laughter as guests gave over their wraps to more wigged, silent servants. Circling the room above them were many crests in a variety of colors. Heraldry, Carlo supposed, not unlike that of his own country. Were these the symbols for nobility or magical families?
Eyes bored into him. He was unknown and unconventional. Carlo stared them down with his charming little foreign man smile. Let them think him harmless, perhaps a clown. They would anyway, the British, so perhaps he could cater to expectation and maintain the secret of his real self. He noticed Octavia was also receiving stares, the subject of gossip behind fluttering fans. Certainly, everyone must know her aspect and her personality were greatly altered. He wondered when some of these people had seen her last. Did they still expect the mad, uncontrolled Binder? Maybe they stared at her because they did not recognize her as the same person?
Octavia placed a gloved hand on the sleeve of Carlo's jacket. Her wrap removed, she was resplendent. Emeralds twinkled at the base of her neck. He could not imagine Lucy in such an ensemble and wondered what she would look like this evening. Carlo and Octavia wove toward the receiving line to the left of the fireplace. He did not see Lucy in that line, which was the reason he'd thought she had left before them. Perhaps as the guest of honor, she would make some sort of entrance.
The family resemblance made it very clear the four people in the receiving line were Galts. He recognized Atreus and his brother Titus from The George. Titus tugged at his cravat like it was strangling him. He was younger than the rest of them, perhaps just out of boyhood. He fidgeted out of either nervousness or boredom. Two sisters stood with their brothers, one dressed in pale dove gray, the other lavender. Carlo remembered the father had died recently, and while the house could clearly no longer be in mourning and throw such a party, these colors might be mourning homage. One of the unfortunate sisters had exactly the same hooknose as her brothers, which some might have said rendered her striking in kindness. Her hair was a honeyed brown and her eyes were soft. The second sister was not Octavia beautiful, but she was bright-eyed and bubbling with the energy of the evening, her brown curls bouncing as she nodded with guests, curtsying and touching arms conspiratorially.
Octavia smiled a fake smile at Atreus Galt. He smiled a fake smile back. "We are very glad to see you this evening," Galt said. "We regret Drusus was unable to attend."
If only Galt would keep his mouth closed, one might not realize how disagreeable he was. Carlo knew a remark meant to throw someone off balance when he heard one. Before he could stop himself, Carlo said, "That's my fault, I'm afraid. Drusus is seeing to some business for me."
"Oh?" said Galt. "You become more interesting, Mr. Borgia."
"Is this really a Borgia?" said the bubbling sister. "I thought they were all extinct."
The soft-eyed sister frowned and the other sister muttered an apology. "You are right, Helen. I am sorry, Mr. Borgia, for that inappropriate remark."
Galt shook his head. "Not at all, Clytemnestra. It is common knowledge the Borgia exist historically, and yet, here one is. Your confusion is quite natural."
Clytemnestra grinned, her smile cruel as she gained her brother's approval.
"I am Drusus' poor substitute," said Carlo with a small European bow. He clicked his heels and Clytemnestra went giddy. Helen remained neutral. Titus still fidgeted.
Octavia's smile remained purposely fixed. "I cannot seem to find my sister."
"You know best how shy she is," said Galt. "She awaits dinner to join us."
Octavia nodded. "I am sure she will become more comfortable with such occasions under your guidance."
"Most assuredly. Please, be welcome to our home."
Octavia and Carlo walked away. "Thank you for making excuses for Drusus," she whispered.
"I would rather be wherever he is," said Carlo. "Everyone is staring at us."
"Of course. You are the Borgia family, returned from the dead. People like looking at ghosts, especially ghosts which refuse to be dictated by fashion. Or perhaps people are confused as to why they are not frightened by me. I am still a topic of conversation. That Drusus is not here and you are will become a source of gossip, but we will persevere."
"They have the wrong impression of me, entirely," said Carlo. "While your charms are considerable, I believe they underestimate the allure of the younger Miss Klaereon."
Octavia stopped momentarily, almost imperceptibly, then moved again. "That is a rather oblique way of your telling me you are still interested. I had only hoped. Have you told her?"
"There is no point now." Carlo said.
Carlo and Octavia passed from the entry way into a green room. Furniture was back against the walls and the floor was wooden, sprinkled with a powder. "Ritual?" asked Carlo.
"No. Floors are notoriously slippery, so something must be put down so the dancers do not break their necks."
The pianoforte was across the room, parked in front of a cabinet carved of teak wood, the design an intricate dragon, not the medieval kind, but the sinuous serpent of China. On the green walls, painted birds, vines, and exotic flowers filled the room with a busy, cheerful aspect that was completely unexpected from the sober hallway. Most of the people milled in this room in small groups. Servants stood cautiously by with trays of glasses. Through another door, Carlo caught a glimpse of a dining table and a bright chandelier. He didn't want to like anything about the Galts or their home, but this room would be the kind of room he might want in a home of his own. Carlo found himself surprised. He'd never thought about having a home, much less decorating it.
