Nicholas turned to his half brother. 'Would you care to attend the old earl's ghost, Richard?'
Richard gawked at him. 'A ghost? You're saying the old earl's ghost is real? That is nonsense. There are no ghosts. My grandfather is in Hell where he belongs.'
Rosalind, seeing that Nicholas was primed for violence, said, 'Richard, why do you find a singing ghost more unbelievable than me dressed like an ancient priestess plucking out Nicholas's heart and offering it as a sacrifice?'
'Let us go to the drawing room,' Nicholas said. 'Block, tell Mrs. McGiver we will take care of the ghost.'
The door to the drawing room was open. Outside in the entrance hall stood Mrs. McGiver and Marigold, both listening intently, neither of them looking particularly alarmed.
Nicholas motioned the group into the room, placing his finger over his lips to keep them quiet. Once inside, Nicholas said toward the wing chair, 'I am here. Rosalind is here. Other relatives are hare as well. What is it you have to sing to us this morning, sir?'
A minute passed. Two.
Richard said, 'It is as I thought. Servants are fanciful, they make things up, they-' A creaky old voice sang out,
I am tired of strife I am tired of trouble. He stirs the pot And it boils and bubbles.
Once he comes the danger's near. Once he acts then death is here. Go to the Pale and slay the source Else the future may change its course.
'Don't be afraid, it's merely the old earl,' Mrs. McGiver said kindly to Miranda Vail and the three young gentlemen surrounding her, all of them looking sheet white and ready to bolt. 'He loves to sing, you know,' she added, all confiding now, 'and usually he doesn't make much sense. What he just sang, now that wasn't lewd. A warning it sounded like to me. I wonder who this he is? I don't like the sound of this, my lord.'
Rosalind didn't either. She wondered who this he was as well. How were they supposed to get to the Pale to find and slay this bloody source to keep the future from changing from what it should be?
Nicholas said into the dead silence, 'Thank you, sir, for your fine song. Your rhyming was inspiring as well.'
Miranda said in a choked whisper, 'There is no one here. We are the only ones in this room. This-this ghost- he sings like this all the time?'
'This was a trick,' Richard announced to the room at large, 'some sort of absurd trickery done by a servant who is hiding behind the draperies. One of you doubtless made up those ridiculous words for him to sing.' He strode across the drawing room as he spoke. 'Where are you?' he yelled, shaking his fist. 'Come out from your hidey-hole now, else
I'll gullet you.' He pulled a knife out of his coat pocket and brandished it at the draperies. The draperies didn't move.
Richard flung them back. There was no cowering servant there. He looked behind each piece of furniture. He found nothing at all.
'Where are you, you bastard?'
An ancient moan came from the depth of the old wing chair before it toppled onto its side to the floor.
Miranda Vail screamed.
Rosalind, Nicholas, and his four relatives sat at the breakfast room table.
Rosalind said into the strained silence, a smile in her voice, 'Let me assure you again that our ghost is harmless.' None of them looked too certain about that; indeed, Rosalind wasn't all that certain either that Captain Jared was merely the singing messenger. She said, 'Enough excitement for the moment. We'll have a lovely breakfast.'
'I could not eat,' Miranda said.
'I can,' Lancelot said. 'I'm hungry.'
'You are so pretty sitting there daintily spreading butter on your muffin,' Richard said to his brother. 'Just look at you, the image of a romantic poet. As for your gluttony, you'd best take care else you will strain your trouser buttons.'
'I am not pretty, damn you!'
Rosalind called out, 'Block! We are ready for another breakfast course.'
Aubrey said, 'This is a lovely room. Are you certain the old boy isn't dangerous?'
'I don't think so,' Nicholas said. 'He makes no threats. He simply sings and occasionally sends his chair toppling to its side.' He shrugged. 'One becomes used to it.'
'You do not believe me,' Richard said, and he drummed his fingertips on the mahogany tabletop.
Nicholas said, 'Richard, tell me about the knife Rosalind was using.'
'The bloody knife?' Richard smashed his fist on the table. 'You're concerned about the bloody knife when what you should be thinking about is how to rid yourself of this vicious bitch before she murders you!'
'Cook has made some lovely toast and scrambled eggs, not to mention kippers and-' Block froze in his tracks at the violence he saw on his master's face, indeed felt in the air itself.
Nicholas rose slowly from his chair. 'You will apologize to my wife, Richard, and you will do it now and with grace and sincerity.'
Richard shot Rosalind a look. His voice was hairing as he managed to get out, 'I am worried about my half brother. He does not seem concerned, and any intelligent man would be very concerned. We all came here to warn him, but-'
'You are mucking it up, Richard.'
Richard cleared his throat. 'I apologize, Rosalind. I do not know you so I cannot judge your character, but I had the vision and that is a fact.'
'Do you know, Richard,' she said, her voice emotionless, 'I have never even been called a bitch, much less a vicious bitch. This vision of yours-'
'It is a portent,' Miranda announced as she forked down scrambled eggs. 'Visions don't lie.'
A portent, Rosalind thought, and set to her own breakfast, surprised she was ravenous. She looked up to see Nicholas watching her. Surely he wasn't thinking she'd cut out his heart. But that vision of Richard's-
Nicholas said, 'Richard, the knife. I ask you again, what did it look like?'
'It had a curved blade, and there were diamonds, rubies, and even sapphires embedded in the hilt.'
Nicholas nodded. 'I wish to show you something after breakfast.'
'After breakfast,' Miranda said, voice hard as the brass candlesticks in the middle of the table, 'we are leaving Richard has delivered his warning. We have done our duty What happens to you now is on your own head, Nicholas.'
Nicholas carefully laid down his knife. 'I would like all of you to remain here for several days.'
'So you believe me then?' As Richard spoke, he shot Rosalind a cold smile.
'Believe that Rosalind stabs me and cuts out my heart? No, but there are unanswered questions roiling about. Perhaps amongst all of us, we can figure out what is going on here.'
'There is something else going on?' Aubrey asked, sitting forward, his eyes glittering. 'Something better than Richard's bloody vision?'
'Oh, yes,' Nicholas said, 'much better.'
43
Richard's voice was barely above a whisper. 'Yes, yes, that is the knife I saw her plunge into your heart.'
Rosalindsaw herself holding that knife as it dripped blood-white blood. What if it was indeed a portent? What if something happened, something utterly catastrophic, and she did kill Nicholas? No, it wasn't possible, it simply wasn't. But what was possible, what was fact and she and Nicholas had to embrace it, was that there was magic at work here, ancient magic. She thought of all the Celtic names of the wizards and witches in the Pale. She thought of Taranis, the Dragon of the Sallas Pond, who'd been Sarimund's confidant of
