The Forgiven Duke (A Forgotten Castles Novel) (13 page)

God help them. Alexandria was right.

The Featherstones, if they were still alive, were in great danger and needed their help.

Chapter Thirteen

A
stonishment, perplexed and angry astonishment, filled her. Why was she angry? Alexandria stood and thrust the book back at Enoch. “Can you read it? Tell me this story.”

So many thoughts swirled through her mind. Had her mother known Alex would follow them? And was she trying to tell her something? Something about this book? What did that mean? Why would her mother do such a thing? That letter, the last one from her mother that she’d written from Ireland . . . she had done it purposefully, leaving that clue in Alex’s hands, knowing she would follow them here. But why so mysterious and strange? Why couldn’t they have just taken her with them?

“Please, Enoch. Tell me the story in this book. There might be a clue.”

Enoch nodded his old, white head and sat down cross-legged beside her. “This is not an Icelandic Saga, no, no, no. This is a tale more recent but still hundreds of years ago. This is a tale of a man named Augusto de Carrara told by his only friend, a monk called Oswald.”

“How did you come by this book?” She wondered now if her mother had given it to him.

But he shook his head and frowned at her. “Listen.”

He opened to the first beautifully illuminated page and read in a clear, sane voice.

Once upon a time, there was a man, a brilliant and coldhearted man, who lived in the hills of Tuscany. No one dared go inside his house, nor visit his blacksmith shop unless the need was desperate. It wasn’t that he lacked the skill to fix a wagon wheel or straighten a bent sword, no, he could do those things very well. It was because of his furious temper.

One day two boys crept into his shop and hid behind some wooden boxes of tools. They watched Augusto work for a long time unnoticed, then escaped unharmed. The story they told the village instilled even greater fear and was wondered at by all the people for many years to come.

The boys said he took out a music box and wound it up as far as it would go. A strange music came from the box, making the boys feel peculiar and frightened, but they sat transfixed as Augusto threw himself into his work. The fire raged from the brick furnace; the hammer pounded on silver so bright it hurt their eyes to look at it. They crept closer until they could see what the craftsman was working on.

Enoch held his hands wide and stared at Alex in a way that caused a chill to run down her spine.

A very great machine stood in the middle of the room. It whirled and turned inside and light flashed from it. Terrified, the boys ran away thinking the man was no man but an angel or a demon with supernatural powers. The townsfolk were frightened and decided to rid themselves of this creature. So in the darkest part of night, they burned down his shop and the house where Augusto slept.

The villagers thought they had put an end to Augusto and went back to their quiet lives, but Augusto knew the boys were watching him and he knew the small minds of the townsfolk so he prepared himself. After the boys left, he had gathered his most precious books and manuscripts, his plans and paintings, and fled his home. He roamed the hills of Tuscany for many days until he found an enormous cave, the marble caves of Carrara, where he started over, building his furnace and making his tools, living in hiding.

One day, a very great man from the Medici family, whose riches and power extended over all the world, heard of Augusto’s inventions and asked him to come to Florence and be his military engineer to invent all sorts of armaments and the trace italienne, star forts to withstand their enemy’s cannons. Augusto did not want to live in the city—he was afraid of what people thought of him and hated being in society, so he said he would send weapons and the plans to build them to this man for a price. They agreed and for many years Augusto worked in his caves, making the Medici family a strong military force that helped the empire flourish.

But Augusto’s heart grew cold and dark as he invented these death machines, and his mind became twisted with evil thoughts. The only thing that tied him to the innocence of his childhood and kept him sane was a special music box. The music box he always played while inventing.

One day his music box wouldn’t work and in a rage he threw it against the cave wall, breaking it into many tiny pieces. Augusto roared with anger and despair, looking at the broken pieces on the floor of his cave. And then he had a terrible memory come back to him.

“Augusto, come inside.” His mother had called to him from the open doorway of their little cottage in the town of Massa. Augusto turned from his latest obsession, a delicate building of sticks, and ran through the sprinkling rain to his mother’s side. He had been playing for a long time and was hungry and his mother was sure to have dinner waiting for him.

He hugged her legs through her skirt, his love for her bursting in his young heart, and sat at his chair beside his sister, Maria.

Suddenly, his father burst through the door. His eyes were wild and his face looked as if he’d put on a mask of rage.

Augusto froze in his seat, his heart pounding with terror. “Papa?” his little voice murmured, but no one heard him.

His father roared and rushed over to his mother and grasped her by her hair. He jerked her head back while she screamed. He lifted his arm high in the air shouting, “You whore. You filthy, rotten harlot! I’ll kill you! I will kill you for this!”

She screamed again. “No! Whatever you mean, it is not true.”

His father didn’t listen. He plunged the knife into her chest. Blood spurted out, making red drops on the table.

Augusto looked down at his sleeve and saw the red dots there too. The next thing he remembered was waking up at his grandfather’s house—alone. He never saw his sister or father again.

His grandfather was a very old man who rarely spoke to him, but he showed Augusto the power of fire and metal and gave him the one thing that meant everything to little Augusto—his mother’s music box.

So Augusto became an old and bitter man, a man with hands covered in the blood of thousands. With the music box gone, his mind snapped and his soul crushed him. He stared at the broken pieces, remembering everything, and broke into great sobs. For three days he railed against God, shaking his big fists at the sky and daring God to kill him. For three days he worked on putting the tiny pieces together and could not. On the third day he lay on the hard floor of his cave and cried out for God to save him if He wouldn’t take his life and end his pain.

And God did. God sent a peace so great into Augusto’s heart that it melted the anger and grief and gave him new hope.

The next day Augusto packed up his things and vowed not to work with the Medici family ever again. He wanted to go home, so with God strong in his heart, he conquered his fears and bought a house in town. Back in Florence the townspeople were astounded that he was alive and so changed. They were careful of him at first but soon grew used to his odd ways.

Looking for answers, Augusto visited the town church where he met a monk named Oswald. Oswald was very glad to call Augusto friend, and they spent many hours together reading the Gospels and talking about God and His Son, Jesus. They ate together and talked of things that Augusto had kept in his heart and never shared with another person. They laughed together and became very great friends, the only true friend Augusto ever had.

Augusto began working on another invention. He would tell no one what it was, and he made many journeys around the world for special materials to build it with. He worked day and night to create his most intricate machine. When he finished it, he asked his friend to come and see it. Oswald was very curious to see what Augusto had been working on those past years and knew it was a great privilege to be invited to see it.

On the night Oswald went to Augusto’s house to see the invention, there was a great moon and it was very bright. As he came to the door, he felt the earth vibrate and shake so that he could hardly stand. He was very afraid, but he opened the door and saw something he could hardly fathom.

A huge crystal machine stood in the center of the room with Augusto standing before it, his hands outstretched on it. A whirring of wheels and gears shook the little house as a low sound started to hum from the machine.

Oswald’s heart raced. He took a few more steps into the room. Seeing that a hundred or more candles made the crystal so bright, he had to turn his eyes away and shield them with his hand.

“What is it?” he shouted to Augusto, but his friend didn’t hear him.

He was concentrating so hard, his hands moving over the crystal, that he didn’t even see Oswald in the room. Before Oswald could walk over and touch his arm, another sound came from behind him, a loud racket of horses and men.

Oswald shrank back as soldiers poured through the door toward them. The machine was humming and moving, so bright they all stopped and gaped at it, their faces drained of color, their eyes bulging out with terror. They pointed their swords and shouted at Augusto, but he seemed to be in another world, as if a trance had come over him. He did not even notice the soldiers and ignored their warning.

In a frenzy of fear, the soldiers rushed to Augusto and grasped hold of him, torches flaring, lighting the walls on fire and knocking over the candles. Flames burst to life in every corner as the soldiers flew at the man and the machine.

Oswald shrank back, fear so great he shook from head to toe. The soldiers hauled Augusto up and shouted that he tell them what it was. Augusto looked like a frightened child. He shook his head and stared at them but did not speak. The soldiers hauled him up, yelling in his face.

Oswald watched in horror as one soldier thrust his sword through Augusto’s chest. Augusto howled with pain but did not fight back. They pulled him up, blood dripping from his chest. His hand reached back toward the machine, his throat roared with raging panic as they dragged him out, leaving a trail of red on the floor.

After his friend’s death, Oswald was taken to Florence, where the Medici family had him imprisoned, thinking he knew what Augusto had made, but he did not. He only knew this story, and so he wrote it down in his prison cell during the long weeks before they finally freed him. When he returned to Florence, he saw that Augusto’s greatest fears had come true. All that remained of his house and invention was a pile of charred wood. The townspeople would not even speak his name for fear that something horrible would happen to them. There is only this story that remains of Augusto de Carrara.

Enoch stood and rubbed his hands together. “Go to Helgustadir in the southeasterly fjords of this island. There you will find the crystals. It is where your parents went.” He turned away but John hurried toward him, took him aside, and whispered something in his ear.

Enoch shook his head. John reached for the book but Enoch held fast to it. What was John doing? Trying to take the book from him? Alex looked away, a deep unease filling her. He was acting so desperate lately. On edge and jumpy. He needed to trust that she knew what she was doing, and making Enoch angry was not a good idea.

Thinking back to the story, Alex took a long breath, wonder and dread filling her. Augusto de Carrara had written the manuscript her parents were hired to find. Nations, rich and powerful men, were searching for it, desperate to have it. The manuscript could hold the plans for one of his many inventions, perhaps his last one. It had to be something of great worth.

Like a weapon.

A weapon that held the hearts of kings.

Chapter Fourteen

A
deep disquiet settled around Gabriel’s heart as he led Jane from the library. That note from Alexandria’s mother rang with desperation. He could picture her writing it in secret, looking behind her as if someone was just around the corner . . . to capture them, kill them even.

Lord, send Your angels to protect them. Keep them alive until we can get to them, I beg You.

They came to the waiting carriage and Gabriel helped Jane inside. Strong winds gusted with rolling, dark clouds overhead. He peered up into the sky, pulled his hat lower, and lifted the collar of his coat to cover his neck. “Jane, I find the need to walk and think. Go home. Tell Meade what we’ve discovered. I shall follow you shortly.”

“But it looks like rain.” She gestured toward the sky. “You could catch a chill.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm and anxious eyes.

Gabriel patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Jane. There are plenty of establishments to get out of the rain should it start pouring. I will be fine.” She was so emotionally frail these days, so much more easily worried about accidents and injury. Gabriel hoped it would fade in time. Matthew’s death had left quite a mark, as expected, but he hoped the change was temporary and she would return to the strength of her faith that had always come so naturally to her.

After sending Jane home in the carriage, Gabriel walked along Great Russell Street, thinking about what he had learned from Mr. Planta at the British Museum. Alexandria would be ecstatic about the note, there was no doubt of that, but therein lay the problem. If she learned of the clue in Italy, she would do anything to get there and go after her parents. And he couldn’t let her do that. Much too dangerous. No, the best solution would be to hire his own investigators to search the Tuscan area. He imagined the joy on Alexandria’s face when he found them for her. The love she would feel toward him.

God, I miss her. I miss her letters.

As he contemplated the yearning in his heart, he came to St. George’s Church and decided to go in. He went up the wide steps to the Roman-inspired portico with its stately columns and opened the doors. Inside, it looked quiet and empty. Gabriel sat in the back on one of the pews and bowed his head. He could feel the thunder vibrate against the stained glass windows as he closed his eyes.

Quiet. His quiet world gave him too much opportunity for introspection, leading to morose moods and a feeling that he was coming out of his skin at times. He needed peace, but it seemed aloof and distant. Impossible to have.