The Queen's Viper Page 7

  Mouse cleared his throat. “Mr. Huntly, I can assure you that I’m quite sane. If you’ll join me in the anteroom below, I’ll explain everything.” He smiled at Viper and gestured towards the elevator. She slid past the humans without revealing her existence. Mouse hobbled forwards and joined her on the lift platform. Ivy, the Scotsman and the younger man watched Mouse, perplexed.

  “Well,” he asked, pulling a flat device from his inside breast pocket, “aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  Mouse positioned himself to prevent them from bumping into Viper. He pressed the remote and the dome closed around them. The elevator descended to the floor below, where the truth awaited.

  Half of the dome telescoped into the other side and both recessed into a wall when the elevator stopped at the anteroom. This level transitioned people from the conventional elevators that served the rest of the building to the push-lift one that ascended to the upper floor. Huge black and white graphic images of London’s architecture decorated the dividing wall that split the room in half. Towards the opposite side, groups of low-backed grey and white leather chairs clustered around a circular serving bar made of alabaster stone. Lights beneath the thin layer of alabaster created a warm glow in its surface.

  Mouse moved to double doors labelled “Mechanical” in the dividing wall. Viper hesitated behind the group, unsure of what to expect.

  “I am not Owain Henry,” he confessed, “the stereotype of an aging, eccentric billionaire. Not truly. That is one of many aliases I’ve created over centuries of living, and hiding, among people.”

  Viper thought she saw his shoulders ease, unburdened by the secret he no longer needed to carry. Ivy placed her fingertips to her lips pensively. The young man kept his eyes averted and shifted from foot to foot.

  Only the Scotsman was bold enough to question his employer. “Ye’ve been reading too many vampire novels, I reckon, Mr. Henry.”

  Mouse didn’t react to the friendly jest. “In one way or another, I’ve groomed you for this day. You have valuable skills upon which I rely a great deal, and you’ve proven your honour and worth to me many times. You also share something beyond my complete trust. You believe the world hosts more than can be explained, or seen.” Mouse unlocked the maintenance doors and swung them wide. “The proof of what I’m saying lies beyond these doors, if you choose to pass through them.”

  “In the boiler room?” the Scotsman asked, forehead twisted in confusion. “Sir, yer whole building was shown to the media when it opened. Everyone knows that this level holds the apparatus for the push-lift so it doesn’t spoil the ‘infinity view’ on the uppermost floor.”

  “Yes, Graham. That’s not the secret that I’m talking about.” Mouse entered the utility room, without explaining himself further.

  Curious, Viper skirted the cluster of mortals. Inside she saw gears and cables not unlike ancient ropes and pulley technology. With a wink at her, Mouse limped to a row of electrical panels. He opened one and flipped switches in a pattern. A bright green light scanned his face. The far wall drifted sideways with a hiss. The fake panel revealed a short, rectangular passageway with travertine marble floors. A three-dimensional, white plaster frieze of Celtic mythological characters topped mahogany walls.

  From behind her, Viper heard Graeme whistle and say, “That didn’t make it onto the telly.” She glanced over her shoulder before joining Mouse within, simultaneously impressed and disappointed that all of the humans now entered the boiler room.

  Viper turned back and faced double doors painted in a high-sheen red lacquer, above which rested silver words, donec obviam interum, until we meet again. Two giant Celtic dragons with slender bodies, one white and one black, adorned each door. The beasts had wiry upper limbs and broad lower limbs, with thick, sharp nails. The back of the elongated tails curved overtop leathery wings, then scooped under the necks until they crossed to the adjacent door. The heads met at the centre of the entrance, each dragon chomping on the other’s tail. Above the opposite dragon’s head, the last ascending portion of the tail knotted upon itself. The effect formed an infinity symbol that couldn’t be disrupted.

  The dragons regarded each other with turbulent eyes. They shimmered when light refracted off the knot work carved within the scales. Larger patterns encompassed the space around the beasts. Within these, Viper recognized the same runes as on her arms.

  Viper edged closer. The dragons opened their mouths. Their heads lifted off the doors and towards her, fangs displayed.

  “What is that?” Ivy asked, pointing at the beasts.

  The answer escaped Viper’s lips before the word registered in her conscious thought. “A blood enchantment,” she said at the same time as Mouse said the words to Ivy.

  Mouse held his hand out to Viper. “It is time for you to rejoin the world, Mistress.”

  Viper ignored the sounds of human confusion behind her. She placed her right hand in her Foundling’s. He guided it towards the right-sided dragon’s mouth. Viper felt the sharp tips of the fangs on her palm when Mouse let go. The dragon stared at her with slowly blinking eyes.

  Viper eased her hand into the left dragon’s mouth. Her heart skipped several beats when both beasts clamped down simultaneously. Rows of teeth pierced her hands. Viper stifled a yelp. Black blood coated her arms, a sight she wasn’t able to hide from the humans.

  The immortal felt her elldyr creft being drawn out of her body as the beasts drank from her soul. Her power raced through the dragons’ spines. Their scales flashed red, to yellow, then green, and finally settled in a deep, indigo blue. Their wings shuddered, leathery and full of life. The dragons flapped, and a draft blew away her glamour. Viper materialized to the humans, first by her blood-covered arms, then by the rest of her body.

  “Bloody Hell!” Graeme blurted.

  The younger man stumbled backwards and almost tripped over himself. Ivy didn’t move, except to put one hand on the hilt of her sword.

  The beasts extricated their teeth from Viper’s hands. They slithered past each other until neither one blocked the space between the doors. When they settled back into place, each tail wound into a labyrinth which created a vertical handle on its own side.

  Mouse caught Viper’s hands and kissed her healing palms. He presented her to the group saying, “This is my Mistress, the immortal for whom I’ve been searching for over four hundred years.”

  Graeme was the only one unaffected by the presence of the semi-naked, grisly immortal. “Now there’s a quine I can look up to.” He held out a hand formidable enough to carry a Claymore sword single-handedly. “My name’s Graeme. I’m the muscle.”

  “Quine may I appear,” she replied, “yet confuse me not for one of thy lesser sex. Words of flattery impress upon me little.”

  “Oh, aye. Good thing it’s not my little words that impress,” he said with an over-exaggerated wink. Viper didn’t share his broad smile.

  “Mr. Huntly, really,” Ivy chided, cutting him off with the sharpness of her tone. She straightened her skirt and stepped towards Viper. “If Mr. Henry says we are to extend our services to you, then so be it.” She thrust forward her hand with precision. “I’m Ivy Cauldwell, Mr. Henry’s personal secretary. I speak nine languages fluently. I’m an accomplished fencer. I have a keen interest in cartography and cryptology, which Mr. Henry often finds invaluable.”

  Viper noted the woman’s upraised chin, and ignored Ivy’s hand in greeting. “Arrogant females are loathsome. Methinks this one shall be killed first.” Ivy grit her teeth and clasped her hands in front of her, showing great restraint.

  “Mistress, please, please be patient,” Mouse cautioned. “You will need everyone on this team until you have adapted to modern London. The world changed quite a bit whilst you were gone. That, alone, is danger enough for you to face.”

  “And what of the quiet one in the back? What key purpose does a bumbling boy serve?”

  “Dhillon Chessington is young man from Canada who studies Elizabethan history,
” Mouse replied. Dhillon flinched when Viper’s eyes devoured him with interest. The narrow-faced youth pushed his wide glasses higher up his nose, saying nothing. “I sponsor his graduate work at the museum. I am sure you will have much to talk about.”

  “Mouse,” Viper said, “now is not the time for words. I must find Annys, and the descendants of those who helped her, and make them pay for what they did unto me.”

  “Yes, yes. I shall take the boys with me, for there are details I should work out before we depart. In the meantime, Mistress, I procured a wardrobe to your liking. You will find it beyond the doors.” Mouse looked to Ivy, and said authoritatively, “If my Mistress needs anything, anything at all, I’m sure you’ll see to her comfort.” He flip-flopped effortlessly between both of his personae.

  In moments, Viper was alone with Ivy. Viper glared at the blonde, then turned away, intending to ignore her until Mouse’s return.

  Viper shoved open the unlocked magic doors and let history swallow her.

  As she entered, automatic retractable window coverings and lighting revealed the home built for her. Every surface of the room, be it furniture or flooring, bore heavy ornamentation. Silk and wool tapestries, crowded with gardens and birds, hung on the walls. A Chinese Wanli porcelain pitcher, sparingly seen in royal households in England, stood among medieval Italian ceramic dishes on a display case of black walnut. Viper moved through the receiving room, wondering who Mouse planned for her to entertain in the carved oak and walnut chairs.

  The Daoine Tor stopped in the doorway of the next room unable to bring herself a step closer to her past. The room Viper faced was an Elizabethan treasure trove of clothes, each outfit highly decorated. Silk embroidery adorned the less formal dresses and outwear. Pearls and precious stones made the gowns glitter. Gold and silver threads accented every feature. Broad velvet sleeves captured the light like cresting water over a waterfall. Delicate lace neck ruffs, and ermine-trimmed cloaks hung from the shoulders of mannequins, forever locked in Courtly poses. Matching jewellery and gloves lined one wall. Viper caressed the soft fabrics, regret hardening her heart. These outfits were meticulous reproductions of the Elizabethan life Viper knew, except for one at the end of the room.

  One of Elizabeth’s gowns awaited Viper from behind protective glass, mounted on a mannequin. Seeing the preserved gold and white silk taffeta dress, sewn-in with pearls and emeralds, ripped Viper’s heart into pieces. From behind the dress, amethysts in the over-sized, wired collar twinkled at Viper like jeering, impish eyes through a fine mist.

  Viper felt a heaviness in her chest as she faced her invisible queen. The immortal’s heart couldn’t beat without fear until her revenge had been answered. Viper reached out to steady herself. Her arm plunged into gathers of material so deep she thought she’d be smothered by its many layers. She wrenched her arm free and gripped her head, trying to squeeze out the voice of the woman who had banished her.

  Her elldyr fired up her arms and out of her hands. Viper shredded the gowns in blind anger using her magical energy. She hoisted mannequins into the air and threw them across the room. Part of her wanted to incinerate everything, to burn away every memory of the life she had known.

  The gold and white gown floated in its box, a Phoenix above the ashes. “Never again!” Viper discharged a final blast of elldyr at the preserved Elizabethan garment. The glass exploded and fragments embedded in the walls. In the silence that followed, Viper swore she heard clapping between her laboured breaths.

  “I take it these clothes are not to your liking?”

  Viper spun around, skin flushed magenta purple, and faced the speaker. Ivy stood in the doorway, arms across her chest, eyebrow raised at the disarray. The sound Viper mistook for applause had been Ivy’s shoes on the floor as she rushed in.

  “You must have been responsible for the credenza upstairs as well, judging by the state of this room,” she said. Ivy walked in without invitation and retrieved a feathered hat from the floor. She plucked a swatch of fabric off the hat and adjusted the broken feathers, without success.

  “Why art thou here?”

  “Mr. Henry asked me to assist you. I can help you find attire more…” she paused as her eyes flicked over the tattered flag on Viper’s body, “appropriate.” Ivy enunciated the last consonant, her gaze as crisp.

  They faced each other, politely sizing each other up. Their eyes spoke the words forbade by their mouths.

  At length, Viper said, “Thou art loyal to my Foundling.”

  “I serve my employer without question, as,” Ivy added with a hint of disdain, “perhaps he does you.”

  “Why?”

  The human’s answer determined whether or not Viper would let Ivy leave the room.

  “I worked as a translator for one of Mr. Henry’s executives many years ago. I was asked to stay late one night to assist with a major acquisition. When I arrived, I realized the only thing the executive wanted to acquire was my body. He didn’t take kindly to my refusal.” Ivy’s eyes clouded over.

  “He was not chivalrous?”

  Ivy cast piercing eyes upon Viper. “Chivalrous? When I fought back, he laid into me with his fists. If I’d had my rapier with me I would’ve killed him. He left me semi-conscious on the floor when he was done. And then, I felt like I was floating. It was so strange. I saw myself lying there, raped and battered, and I didn’t feel any pain. Mr. Henry found me. He was so gentle, the way he draped his coat over my exposed body. I swore that he knew I was there, hovering over myself. He had genuine concern for me, even though he barely knew me. Mr. Henry is the most generous and kind man that I’ve ever met. He fired the executive and had him prosecuted. I didn’t have to pay for a single medical or psychologist’s bill as I recovered. When I was ready to work, Mr. Henry offered me a job as his personal secretary. I finally confessed my out of body experience to him and he didn’t balk. If anything, it deepened our relationship.”

  “Thou art his lover, then?”

  A blush rose in Ivy’s face as she avoided Viper’s eyes. The softening of Ivy’s face weighed heavily against Viper’s heart. The Foundling Viper had created belonged only to her, not to this woman. He grew into a man Viper didn’t know in a time she didn’t understand.

  “Most certainly not.” Ivy’s light laughter dug into Viper’s pain. “Mr. Henry is like Father Christmas. He’s wonderful and kind, but I wouldn’t sleep with him in a million years. I owe him so much in return for what he has done for me. And,” she paused, every trace of her aeir emboldened, “I would risk my life to protect him.”

  Viper felt both relief and affront at the woman’s response. “Then mind thy place and keep thy tongue, and I may yet let thee live.”

  A musical jingle interrupted the brewing tension between them. Viper startled. Ivy calmly touched her finger to her ear.

  “Yes, Mr. Henry?” She turned her back, a knowing glance at Viper. A small device rested in a rear pocket of her skirt. Ivy listened for a moment then said, “Of course. And where shall I tell her that we are going?”

  The immortal surveyed the remnants of her Elizabethan life. Standing above the mess, employing powers Viper didn’t understand, was this woman. Viper admitted to herself that she knew little of the evolution of her Foundling, or of this world. Her heart would have sank were it not for the anger keeping it afloat.

  “As you wish, Mr. Henry,” Ivy said. She retrieved the device from behind herself and pressed a manicured nail on the screen. Her thumbs tapped on its surface with great speed. She faced Viper, saying, “Well, it’s time to leave.”

  The immortal ignored the woman’s instruction. “With what magic did thou communicate with my Foundling?” Viper eyed Ivy with suspicion.

  “No magic. Human technology.” Ivy’s smugness further stirred up Viper’s ire. “It’s a mobile phone. You’ll find that communication has vastly progressed since the time of town criers and parchment. Mr. Henry says there is one last person you’ll need. She lives at a mental health facility n
orth of London, the Longwood House for Girls. I’ll outfit you in some kind of proper attire, and then we’ll be off.”

  Viper would not let herself be mastered by this woman, the human who had robbed Viper of the only surviving part of her past that she cherished. “I will find what I need among London’s citizens, as I hath invariably done in this wretched city.”

  The Daoine Tor swept out of the room before the mortal could protest. Viper escaped to the streets, hoping her feet would remember their path in the dust of the world that had forgotten her.

  8: Woodstock Prison

  June 24th, 1554.

  Woodstock, north-west of London.

  Centuries of kings had hunted deer in the five converging woods around Woodstock Palace in Oxfordshire, west of London. On this early summer morning, one grizzled man, Lord Henry Bedingfield, denied Viper’s queen-in-waiting the same sport. Viper wanted to kill Elizabeth’s appointed jailer for his decision. The immortal dared not. Doing so threatened Elizabeth’s tenuous status as a political prisoner.

  A brisk wind massaged the ancient, creaking trees around Viper. The sounds of life in the merging forests couldn’t drown out the noise of Elizabeth’s shrieking at Bedingfield to Viper’s sensitive hearing, far across the unkempt tilting yards.

  The woods were so dense that, wearingly only a simple, green linen overdress, Viper didn’t need to camouflage her vibrant purple skin. The lightweight dress was a cast off from Elizabeth’s wardrobe, originally a gift from the queen. No woman wore this colour in abundance because of its symbolism. A woman who lay on the grass with her lover came away with green stains on her skirts. Humaines associated green with loose sexual morals. Elizabeth refused to wear the dress. She had opened the side seam and incorporated laces for Viper’s taller torso. The fabric snugged itself to Viper’s lean muscles and the too-short hem skimmed her shins.