“Neel!”

“That could be poisonous!” Astrophil cried, wringing four legs.

“Well, yeah. Why do you think I put it in only one eye?” He blinked, and belladonna ran down his face like a black tear.

Petra groaned. “If the poison’s strong enough, that won’t matter! You didn’t have to do that! I was going to test it in the laboratory before I tried using it.”

“You know how to tell if something’s poisonous?”

“Not exactly, but if belladonna is made from a mineral, I —” She broke off, startled to see that John Dee’s gift was working just like he said it would. The pupil in Neel’s right eye swelled like a small black balloon. Soon Neel looked very odd indeed, with one black eye and one yellow. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Laughing at me when I might drop dead? That’s a fine thank-you.” He continued to blink. “Well, I’m not dead. And I’m not blind. So I guess your potion’s all right.” He passed back the bottle.

As Petra took it, she considered the sight of his mismatched eyes. She ran her thumb along the shallow cut in her palm, which was already beginning to crust over. A blood oath is a promise to protect your friend’s life as much as your own, and to keep no secrets between you. It’s a way of making a friend family.

“Neel, why haven’t you told anyone at the castle about us? Or about my father’s notebook? You would probably get a reward. I know you’ve thought about it.”

“Someone like me wouldn’t exactly get a private meeting with the prince. So who would I tell? The captain of the guard? And a right pleasant fellow he is. First thing he’d do is chuck my Gypsy hide into the nearest jail cell and claim any reward for himself.”

“So you have thought about it,” she accused.

“I can’t help thinking. But it ain’t my style to betray the ladies. Or spiders.” He nodded at Astrophil.

She scowled. “I can’t believe you even thought about it. I trusted you.”

“I know.” He thrust his hands in his pockets and looked down. “I’m not used to that. The fact that you trust me … well, it makes me want to be someone you can trust.”

They were silent.

I should tell him about the clock, Astro.

You promised your father you would tell nobody, he said.

I know.

This is unlike you, Petra. You never break your word.

I know. But I’ve taken a blood oath, and—

I tried to stop you, Astrophil interrupted. If you make too many promises, one of them is bound to crash into another, and then one of them is bound to break.

If Neel’s going to risk his life, he needs to know everything about the situation. I have to think about what Father would say now, if he were right here. I think he would want Neel to know.

Astrophil shook his head. Petra, if your father were here right now, he would want you and Neel to be as far away from Salamander Castle as your feet could take you.

But Petra had made up her mind. “Neel, I know why Dee wants to help me.” The snow was now falling in fat clusters. The flakes floated in the breeze like goose down as Petra told him about the clock and its powers. “So now Dee’s ordering me to make sure the clock can never work to control the weather. Dee wants to impress his redheaded queen … and stop Prince Rodolfo from taking over Europe,” she added, reluctant to acknowledge that there was good in Dee’s plan.

Neel whistled. “Always knew there was something special about the Staro Clock. But what’s Dee thinking? How does he figure you’re going to break into the Cabinet of Wonders and bust the clock, when the Cabinet’s in the castle and the clock’s across the sopping river? It’s not possible.”

“There’s a special part of the clock that will make it work to control the weather,” Petra clarified. “Dee thinks it’s in the Cabinet of Wonders. Right now the prince doesn’t understand how to assemble the final piece. We have to find that piece, whatever it is, and destroy or steal it.” She shook her head. “But that’s impossible, too. We don’t even know what it looks like.”

“What about your da’s notebook? Maybe something’s in there. Some clue about this missing part Dee wants you to find.”

“I don’t know. I looked at it, but there were just those baffling equations, ordinary blueprints, and some drawings that didn’t have anything to do with the clock. I don’t think that a sketch of a ship without sails can help us. Still, you’re right. We should look at the notebook again.”

He nodded. “I got it safe in the vurdon. In our wagon, I mean. We can study it on our next day off.”

“I don’t think we can wait until then,” Petra said darkly. “Father was so sure that the prince wouldn’t be able to figure out how to make the clock work the way he wants it to. Father said that it would always be just a beautiful time-telling device and nothing more. But the way Dee was talking, you’d think that Prince Rodolfo is inches away from discovering my father’s secret.”

“Maybe you should believe your da.”

“I do believe him,” she spluttered. “Do you think I want to follow Dee’s orders? I’d rather listen to my father. My father told me that the clock isn’t my concern. And it isn’t. It shouldn’t be. I don’t care what happens to it.” But her last words sounded like a lie Petra was desperately trying to believe.

Neel cocked his head and gave her a half smile.

“Fine,” she admitted. “Maybe I care.”

“I bet the prince can’t make the clock work the way he wants to anyway. There’s a Lovari tale …”

“Neel, don’t you think it’s a little cold for fairy tales?” It had grown dark. Petra’s teeth chattered, her stomach growled for dinner, and snow gathered at their feet.

“Oh, I do not know,” Astrophil interjected. “I am not so cold.”

“Of course you’re not, you’re made of metal!”

“It’s a quick tale,” Neel promised. “There once was a Lovari named Camlo, and he was a fiddler like no other. He carved himself a fine fiddle. It was smooth and curved and strung with twangy strings. It made a music that was wild and free, and folks from all over would come to listen. Well, one day he was fiddling in the forest and the devil came up. He was right pleased by the music, and he fell to thinking that if he had Camlo’s fiddle, everyone on earth would want to hear him play. So the devil said, ‘Give me that there fiddle, man.’ And Camlo said, cool as anything, ‘I’m not in the habit of giving my best things away.’ So the devil said, “I’ll give you plenty of gold.’ ‘Well, how much?’ said Camlo. ‘As much as in all the Ganges,’ said the devil.”

“The Ganges?”

“It is a river in India,” said Astrophil.

“So the devil showed him the Ganges and how the water sparkled with gold. It shimmered like a thousand little suns. And the devil pulled out that Ganges gold and stuffed Camlo’s pockets. He filled a big wheelbarrow full of it. Camlo said, ‘Mister Devil, you got yourself a deal.’ He handed over the fiddle, though he loved it so, and walked off to enjoy being rich.

“The devil was keen to start impressing people with his music, so he tuned up and began to play. But imagine his surprise when no one paid him any mind! He played and played but folks just ignored him. So he hunted down Camlo. ‘Your blasted fiddle doesn’t work!’ the devil cried. ‘It works just fine,’ said Camlo. ‘I can’t make it play the way you can! You’ve tricked me somehow!’ raged the devil. ‘Well, of course,’ said Camlo. ’I sold you my fiddle, but I didn’t sell you my soul with it.’”

Petra stood silent. The snow swirled. She said, “Tell that to John Dee.”

23

The Lion and the Salamander

IMPOSSIBLE!” Iris hissed. She brought the parchment close to her spectacles, then held it at arm’s length. “Absurd!” The paper began to smoke in her fingers.

A young boy dressed in the red and gold suit of a page shifted his feet nervously. He looked at Petra. He looked at the door. He gave a little cough.

“You!” Iris scowled at him. “What are you still doing here? Get out!”

The page jumped and made a beeline for the door.

The letter in Iris’s hand disintegrated, but not before Petra saw the wax seal that had been stamped on it. It was a coat of arms showing a salamander, a lion rampant, and a sword. Petra had a good idea of what the letter said.

“And you.” Iris turned to Petra. “Is your name Viera?”

“Yes.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so before? And don’t tell me it’s because you were too shy. I won’t believe you. Well? Why?” “You never asked me.”

“Hmph.” The corner of her mouth seemed to lift, but Petra immediately doubted what she had seen when Iris continued to speak. “It’s suspicious, you see, when a servant works for me for several weeks and doesn’t let slip so much as a word about herself—about where she’s from, what her family’s like, why she reads so well, and why she knows details about the most arcane kinds of metals and minerals.” “What’s arcane mean?”

“It’s too late to play the innocent with me, young lady!” Iris pounded the worktable. “Arcane” means—Later, Astro!

“I don’t suppose you could tell me why Prince Rodolfo would send me a letter volunteering to take an assistant named Viera off my hands?”

“Is that what the letter said?” Petra pretended to be confused. “I can’t imagine why the prince would be interested in me.”

“Nor can I.” Iris frowned. “You realize, of course, that Prince Rodolfo changes servants about as often as he changes his gloves. You’ll have a short career working for him. He likes to hire and fire servants, not keep them.”

He does more than fire them, Petra thought grimly. She wondered if Iris really had no idea about the true fate of the prince’s chambermaids.

Iris no longer seemed irked, just puzzled. “Perhaps he is trying to punish me. But why? Rodolfinium was a success.” She muttered to herself, ignoring Petra and pacing the room. “Could the Krumlovs have …? No, that doesn’t make any sense either. And I have about as much interest in political intrigues as I do in the spawning season of frogs. Perhaps it’s those silver eyes of his …”

Petra was suddenly alert.

“… he makes such odd decisions when he wears them, as if he’s not wholly himself. I wonder where he got them to begin with … who made them … who—” Iris stared into Petra’s eyes.

Oh, no, said Astrophil.

“Ah,” said Iris.

Petra began to wipe her hands, but the brown juice from the henna paste she had been making wouldn’t come off. “I don’t suppose I have a choice, though, do I?” She tried to speak calmly.

“No, you don’t.”

Petra glanced around, instinctively looking for something to pack up and take with her, just like when she left her family at the Sign of the Compass, and when she left Lucie and Pavel at the inn. But there was nothing here that belonged to her. So she let her hands fall. “Goodbye, Iris,” she said awkwardly. “I liked working for you. I really did.”

Iris didn’t say anything until Petra was opening the door. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me what your last name is, hmm?”

Petra turned around.

“Oh, forget it. I don’t particularly feel like making you tell a lie. It gives one such a sense of dissatisfaction.”

PETRA SCREWED HER belladonna-black eyes shut in nervousness and opened them again. She took a deep breath, and stared at the double door that soared in the shape of two trees, one pine and one oak. At the base of the pine tree was a sitting lion with green glowing eyes, keeping guard. There was a hole in the trunk of the oak tree, one that blazed with a small, real fire. A green-eyed salamander was curled up in the flames. Petra wondered how the small blaze could burn in the wood without setting the entire door on fire. The last detail of this magnificent entrance to the prince’s quarters was a silver line that split the pine from the oak, showing an upright sword whose hilt formed a handle for each door.

“Should I knock?” Petra whispered to herself.

The salamander blinked.

“State your purpose,” growled the lion.

“I’m,” Petra stammered, “I’m Prince Rodolfo’s new servant.”

“His Highness’s new servant, we are sure you mean.” “Yes. Right. His Highness’s.”

“Very well. We assume you have some documentation to present.”

“Documentation? Like … a letter? One was sent to my mistress, but it got burned up.”

The lion sprung the claws of his left hand and peered at them, idly.

“My mistress is—was—Countess December. She has an acid problem. Sometimes she destroys things. Accidentally, of course.”

The lion and the salamander exchanged a look. Some sort of communication seemed to pass between them.

“And what manner of servant are you?” asked the lion.

“What manner?”

“His Highness has many servants, who do many things. What are you to do?”

“Um, clean. I think.”

“Name?”

“Viera.”

The salamander disappeared from its nest of flames. After a brief moment, it reappeared. “Enter,” it said.