Emerald Green (41 page)

I knelt beside him and smiled at him. He’d refused to put on his sea-green eighteenth-century clothes for this expedition, although I’d tried to explain that he’d scare James in his ordinary things. Or even worse, James wouldn’t take us seriously.

“Thank you
for doing this for me,” I said all the same, putting my finger into the compartment under the ruby.

“That’s okay,” said Gideon, and then his face blurred before my eyes. When I could see properly again, I was kneeling on wet leaves among a lot of fallen chestnuts. I quickly stood up and put Raphael’s shoe down where I had landed.

It was pouring with rain, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Only
a squirrel scurried up to the top of the tree and looked curiously at us.

Gideon had landed beside me and was looking around. “Hm,” he said, mopping rain off his face. “Perfect weather for riding and vaccination, I’d say.”

“We’ll lie in wait behind that bush,” I suggested. For once, I was the one to take Gideon’s hand and lead him on.

He was reluctant. “Only for ten minutes,” he insisted. “If
he doesn’t turn up by then, we’re going back to Raphael’s shoe.”

“Yes, yes,” I said.

There really was already a bridge over the narrow part of the lake at this time, although it didn’t look at all like the one I knew. A coach rattled by on the road around the park. And a single horseman was coming over the bridge from the opposite bank at a brisk trot. On a gray horse.

“There he is!” I cried,
and began waving for all I was worth. “James! Here I am!”

“How about making yourself even more conspicuous?” asked Gideon.

James, who was wearing a coat with several rows of capes and a kind of three-cornered hat with rain dripping from its brim, brought his horse to a halt a few yards away from us. His eyes wandered over my wet hair and down to the hem of my dress, and then he inspected Gideon.

“Are you a horse dealer?” he asked suspiciously, while Gideon rummaged about in Lesley’s backpack.

“No, he’s a doctor!” I explained. “As good as, anyway.” I saw James staring at the lettering on the backpack. It said H
ELLO
K
ITTY
M
UST
D
IE
. “Oh, James, I’m so glad you came,” I began. “In this weather and all—and I didn’t explain myself properly at the ball yesterday. It’s like this, you see. I
want to protect you from a disease that’s going to infect you within the next year, and I’m afraid you’ll die of it, smallpox, I mean. I’ve forgotten the name of the guy who’s going to give it to you, but never mind that. The good news is, we’ve brought something that will save you from catching smallpox at all.” I beamed at him. “You only have to get off your horse and roll up your sleeve, and then
we’ll inject you with it.”

James’s eyes had grown wider and wider during my monologue. Hector (who really was a magnificent gray) took a nervous step backward. “This is outrageous,” said James. “You ask me to meet you in the park, then you try to sell me a dubious medicine and an even more dubious story? And your companion looks to me very much like a robber or a highwayman!” He threw back the
skirts of his coat, so that we could see the sword hanging by his side. “I warn you, I’m armed, and I can defend myself!”

Gideon sighed.

“Oh, James, do listen!” I went closer and took hold of Hector’s reins. “I only want to help you, and I’m afraid I don’t have much time. So please just dismount your horse and take your coat off.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” said James indignantly. “And this conversation
is now over. Out of my way, you strange girl! I hope this is our last meeting! Move aside!” And he looked as if he was going to hit me with his riding crop. But he didn’t get around to it, because Gideon had grabbed him and pulled him off the horse.

“We don’t have time to play games,” he snapped, twisting both James’s arms behind his back.

“Help!” squealed James, twisting and turning like an
eel. “Ruffians! I’m being attacked!”

“James, this is all in your own best interests,” I assured him, but he looked at me as if I were the devil in person. “You don’t know it, but … but where I come from, you and I are friends. Very good friends!”

“Help! Lunatics! I’m being attacked!” cried James, staring desperately at Hector. But the gray didn’t seem to feel like putting on a Black Stallion
act. Instead of heroically charging us, he bent his head and began placidly grazing.

“I’m not a lunatic,” I tried to explain. “I’m—”

“Shut up and take his sword away, Gwenny, you ruffian,” Gideon impatiently interrupted. “And then get the needle and the ampoule with the vaccine out of the backpack for me.”

Sighing, I did as he said. He was right. There was no point in expecting James to understand.

“There,” grunted Gideon, opening the ampoule with his teeth. “Right, she’ll cut your throat if you move a muscle for the next two minutes, is that clear? And don’t you dare call for help again.”

I pointed the tip of the sword at James’s throat. “Honestly, James, I didn’t think it would be like this, believe me! As far as I’m concerned, you’d be welcome to go on haunting my school forever—my God,
I’m going to miss you so much! If I’m right, this is the last time we’ll ever meet.” Tears rose to my eyes.

James looked as if he was going to faint with fright any moment now. “You can have my purse if you need money, but spare my life! Please!” he whispered.

“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” said Gideon. He folded back the wide collar of the coat that James was wearing and put the needle directly against
his throat. James whimpered quietly when he felt it prick his skin.

“Doesn’t it usually go into the upper arm?” I asked.

“Usually there’s no need to twist the patient’s arms first,” grumbled Gideon, and James whimpered again.

“This is a silly way to say good-bye,” I said, unable to suppress a sniff. “I’d far rather give you a hug than hold a sword to your throat! You’ve always been my best
friend at school after Lesley.” The first tear was running down my face. “And without you, I’d never have known the difference between an ordinary Royal Highness, a Serene Highness, an Illustrious Highness, and—”

“There we are,” said Gideon, letting go of James, who staggered a couple of steps backward, clutching his throat. “You should really put a plaster on it, but it will be all right without.
Take care not to get any dirt into it.” Gideon took the sword from my hand. “Now, mount your horse and ride away without looking back, understand?”

James nodded. His eyes were still wide with fright, as if he couldn’t believe that it was all over.

“Good-bye,” I sobbed. “Good-bye, James Augustus Peregrine Pympoole-Bothame! You were the nicest ghost I ever met!”

Breathing heavily, unsteady on
his legs, James mounted his horse.

“Your sword’s under the chestnut tree if you want it back,” added Gideon, but James had already dug his spurs into poor Hector’s sides. I watched them go until they had disappeared among the trees.

“Satisfied?” asked Gideon, collecting our things.

I wiped the tears off my cheeks and smiled at him. “Thank you! It’s really cool to have a boyfriend who’s a medical
student.”

Gideon grinned. “I swear that’s the last time I ever vaccinate anyone. Patients are so ungrateful!”

Unable are the Loved to die, For Love is Immortality …

E
MILY
D
ICKINSON

FIFTEEN

“
STEP ON IT,
old chap!” cried Xemerius. “High time for a showdown with the baddie!”

I was in the passenger seat of Gideon’s Mini, with Xemerius on my lap, as Gideon threaded his way through the early afternoon traffic in the Strand.

“Shut up,” I hissed at Xemerius. “The count can wait forever as far as I’m concerned.”

“What did you say?” Gideon cast me an inquiring glance.

“Oh,
nothing.” I stared out of the window. “Gideon, do you really think our idea will work?” My cheerful mood of this morning had worn off, to be replaced by a nail-biting uneasiness that left me feeling trembly.

Gideon shrugged his shoulders. “At least it’s better than—what did you call it?—the rough plan of action that was all we had before.”

“I didn’t call it that, it was Lesley,” I corrected
him. For a moment, we were both lost in our own thoughts. Our meeting with Lucy and Paul had shaken us both. And I hadn’t realized how much time travel can take out of you until, on the way back, we arrived right in the middle of a choir practice and had to run for it pursued by several seventy-year-old screeching sopranos. But at least we were now forearmed for our meeting with Count Saint-Germain.
It was Lucy who had come up with the brainwave, and that brainwave was also the reason for the aforesaid nail-biting uneasiness.

“Watch what you’re doing, laddie!” cried Xemerius, covering his eyes with his paws. “That was a red light!”

Gideon stepped on the gas and failed to give way to a taxi before turning right toward the Guardians’ headquarters. A little later, he was coming to a halt in
the parking lot, tires squealing. He turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Gwyneth,” he began in a serious voice, “whatever happens, I want you to know that—”

He got no farther. At that moment, the door on my side of the car was flung open. I was about to turn and give the unspeakable Mr. Marley a piece of my mind, but it was Mr. George, looking anxious and running his hand over his
shiny bald patch. “Gideon, Gwyneth, at last!” he said reproachfully. “You’re over an hour late.”

“The later the evening, the better the party,” crowed Xemerius, hopping off my lap. I glanced at Gideon, sighed, and got out.

“Come along, children,” Mr. George urged us, taking my arm. “Everything’s ready for you.”

“Everything” meant a dream of a dress for me, combining cream embroidery and lace
with velvet and brocade in a cool shade of gold, and a colorfully embroidered coat for Gideon.

“Are those
monkeys
on it?” Gideon stared at the embroidery on the coat as if it were drenched in prussic acid.

“Yes, zey are capuchin monkeys, to be precise.” Madame Rossini beamed at Gideon, and assured him that exotic animal embroidery motifs were the latest thing in 1782. She started getting up
a good head of steam to tell us how much time it had taken her to generate the embroidery data files on the model of original patterns, so that her sewing machine could follow them, but Mr. George stopped her in her tracks. He had been waiting at the door, staring at his gold watch. I had no idea why he was in such a hurry. After all, it didn’t make any difference to the count how late it was here.

“You’re elapsing in the documents room today,” announced Mr. George, going ahead of us for once. We hadn’t set eyes on Falk and the other Guardians yet. Presumably they were sitting in the Dragon Hall, renewing the oaths they had sworn when they joined the Lodge, or drinking toasts to the Golden Rules, or doing whatever it was that Guardians did when they got together.

Only Mrs. Jenkins hurried
past with a thick folder—working on a Sunday for once!—and waved to us.

“Mr. George, what are today’s instructions?” asked Gideon. “Any details that we should bear in mind?”

“Well, for Count Saint-Germain, exactly the same amount of time has passed since the ball as for you—that’s two days,” said Mr. George at once. “However, we ourselves are a little puzzled by the instructions in his letter.
According to what it says, Gwyneth will spend three and a half hours with him, while your visit is to last only fifteen minutes, Gideon. But we are assuming that there’s some other task he wants you to perform, because he expressly said that you were neither of you to elapse earlier today.” He stopped for a moment and looked out of the tall window at Temple Church. There was a good view of it from
here. “We didn’t know quite what to make of certain hints in the letter, but … obviously the count feels sure that the Circle of Blood is about to be closed. He wrote that we were all to hold ourselves in readiness.”

“Uh-oh,” said Xemerius.

Uh-oh
, I thought, glancing quickly at Gideon. It sounded very much as if, although Operation Sapphire and Black Tourmaline had been really intended for yesterday,
the count had expected it to fail. And as if he’d had another plan up his sleeve all along.

Possibly a more brilliant plan than ours.

My nail-biting uneasiness turned into outright fear. The idea of being alone with the count brought my arms out in goose bumps. As if Gideon could read my thoughts, he stopped and held me tight, paying no attention to Mr. George.

“It will be all right,” he whispered
into my ear. “Don’t forget, he can’t do anything to hurt you. And so long as he doesn’t know that, you’re safe.”

I clung to him like one of those capuchin monkeys on his coat.

Mr. George cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad to see that you two have made up your differences,” he said. A mischievous smile flitted over his face. “All the same, we must get moving.”

*   *   *

I JUST HAD TIME
to
hear Xemerius shouting, “Mind you look after her, bonehead!” and then I was in the year 1782. The first thing I saw when I landed was Rakoczy’s face only twelve inches or so away from me. I let out a small shriek and swerved aside. Rakoczy himself jumped in alarm.

I heard a laugh, and although it sounded pleasant and melodious, all the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “I told you
to step aside, Miro.”

While Gideon landed beside me, I slowly turned around. There was Count Saint-Germain in a plain, dark gray velvet coat and, as always, in a white wig. He was leaning on his cane, and for a moment, he looked frail and old—in fact, ancient.

But then he straightened up, and in the candlelight, I saw his lips twist into a mocking smile. “Welcome, my dears. I’m glad to see that
you’re in good health—and that Alastair’s gloating account of Gwyneth’s death must, I suppose, have been only the fantasy of a dying man.” He came a step closer, looking expectantly at me, and it was a second before it struck me that he was probably waiting for a curtsey. So I sank into one. By the time I straightened up again, the count had turned his attention to Gideon.