14
Logistilla
A candle flickered out; smoke rose from its dead wick like a ghostly rope. Mab leapt to his feet, gripping his trusty lead pipe, a finger pressed against his lips. He stood alert and motionless, slowly slipping his free hand into the pocket of his trench coat. Spinning, he threw a handful of table salt toward the port stern.
There was a screech, and a high-pitched voice issued from the back of the cabin, crying out: “Fools! A curse upon the Family Prospero! By Twelfth Night, your doom shall be sealed. I go now to fetch my masters, the Three Shadowed Ones!”
“Wait! I compel . . . Darn, it’s gone!” Mab struck the table with his fist.
The flame atop the candle in the far corner, by Mephisto, leapt from its taper. It ignited the curtain beside Mephisto’s bunk. Mephisto screamed and scrambled backwards. I grabbed for my flute, but could not think of any use I could put it to in this enclosed space.
“Where’s the fire extinguisher?” cried Mab.
Coughing and panting, we spilled out onto the deck. The smell of smoke clung to our clothes. Foam whitened Mab’s hair and clung to his eyebrows.
“Next time, I use the extinguisher, not Rabbit-for-Brains, here,” he growled, mopping his face.
“Sorry!” Mephisto still held the red fire extinguisher in his hand. He did not look the least bit repentant. “But I did stop the fire. That was good, right?”
“Darn that spirit!” Mab pounded his fist into his palm. “I would have liked an opportunity to get an explanation of that last Ouija board comment. What did that mean: ‘No longer’?”
I would have replied, but the purr of a motorboat behind us distracted me.
“That spirit! It fetched the Three Shadowed Ones!” I peered into the darkness. “Mab, get the binoculars and the starlight scope!”
Still disgruntled, Mab disappeared down the hatch, returning with the scope. Making his way to the stern, he put it to his eyes and peered at the approaching boat.
“Is it Mr. Moustache?” yelped Mephisto. “Shall I let him have it?”
“With what? Your lute?” Mab muttered under his breath. “Yep. It’s the same guy. That dratted spirit must have alerted him to our whereabouts! I see he got smart and came back with a motor this time.”
“If he’s working for our enemies, we don’t want him to catch up with us, and we certainly don’t want to lead him to my sister’s!” I started down the ladder to take a look at the charts and fetch my flute.
“What can we do to help, ma’am?” asked Mab.
“Reef the sails, batten down the hatches, and put in your earplugs,” I replied. “We may be in for a ride!”
A lone motorboat sped across the black twinkling ocean. As Mab and Mephisto secured the sails, I stood by the helm, my long slim instrument poised at my lips. Softly at first, the lilting strains of the “Hall of the Mountain King” could be heard across the darkened sea. The warm night breeze stirred and tugged gently at our shortened sail. As the beat quickened, and the music grew louder, the sailcloth tightened, growing taut. So wild and raucous grew my flute’s refrain that I had to resist throwing back my head and laughing with joy, forgetting to play.
Our sailboat surged forward. The motorboat increased its speed, attempting to intercept us. Faster and faster, my fingers flew across the flute. The winds howled, and the mast creaked. The waves grew, lifting pale-crested heads above the sable water. The motorboat leaped from one to the next, becoming airborne, then smacking down against the water. Before our path, however, where the green and red beams of our starboard and port lights fell, the sea was as smooth as glass.
Three times we pulled ahead of him, only to have him catch up again. By this time, we were quite close to our destination. If we wanted to lose him before we reached my sister’s island, we were running out of time. Sparing a second to close my eyes, I consulted my Lady as to how to escape this menace, but no reply came.
Ahead, silhouetted against the night, were several small isles barely larger than boulders. A narrow passage ran between them. We sped toward it. Again, louder than the swelling music, came the creak of the mast. I spared it an appraising glance. Our craft was rented, and I was uncertain of its condition. I regretted not having asked Mab to reef the sails more tightly.
The isles loomed before us. I could make out three great rocks rising from the waters between them. Measuring carefully, I found a single course between two boulders where a sailboat of our size could pass. It was a narrow passage, a very narrow passage. It would be madness to navigate it in the darkness, much less at this speed.
The motorboat was drawing closer. I could make out the face the person who manned it. He was gesturing elaborately and shouting, though I could not make out his words. Was he casting a spell? We had to lose him before we approached St. Dismas, or we would lead the Three Shadowed Ones directly to my sister’s house!
A solution occurred to me, but it was risky. I closed my eyes again, praying for guidance through the obstacles ahead. This time, I felt Her presence immediately. With Her, there was no risk—“neither shadow of turning.”
Returning to the deck, I doused the port and starboard lights. Pausing, I took a deep breath of the salty air, and listened to the clang of the red and green bell buoys, as they warned sailors off the rocks. The pale moon hung in the west amidst a field of stars stretching both overhead and underfoot.
I went to the helm and released the spirits who were piloting the ship.
“What are you doing?” Mab asked sharply.
“Giving over navigation of the ship to a higher power.” I rested my hands on the wheel and closed my eyes.
Mab suddenly saw the rocks ahead. “Oh, Geesh! No. Please tell me we’re not going in there? Jiminy Christmas! We’re all gonna die!”
Mephisto just squeaked.
We raced toward the rocks. I felt the ship leap and lurch beneath me. The mast creaked ominously. Mab had taken off his trench coat and was preparing to leave the boat—and his body, if necessary. Mephisto sat on the bowsprit, shouting with exhilaration.
As we approached the deadly boulders, I suddenly felt fear. What if Mab was right? What if I lost my Lady’s direction for even a moment when the crucial time came? We would all die, and my hubris would be at fault. I clutched at the helm and started to change our course.
The warm breath on my face remained steady, a soft, loving presence, comforting even as it led. Reassured, I banished my fear and closed my eyes. She had never let me down. Why should I doubt?
Without opening my eyes, I followed my Lady’s warmth, shining upon me like a searchlight, and sailed my ship through the narrow passage in the rocks. The craft lurched, and the mast creaked again. Mab muttered, and Mephisto screamed. My eyes nearly flew open at the last, but I remained calm and trusted my Lady’s direction. The bell buoys clanged again, and I felt the presence of the boulders to either side, sliding silently by like great ghosts.
From behind came a resounding crash. Then, there was open water beside us. We had made it. Our pursuer failed to navigate the narrow passage. We were free of him. As I cheered, the warm beam of my Lady’s regard vanished. I shivered, suddenly cold.
Before us lay the open sea and then St. Dismas’s isle. Keeping my hand on the wheel, I sailed us around to the south side of my sister’s island, where the natural harbor lay. As our craft slid up to the dock, I let go of the helm and breathed normally again. Mab dug the earplugs out of his ears, and Mephisto clapped weakly.
“What a ride!” He smiled wanly and sank to sit cross-legged on the deck. “At least we’re safe now.”
From the beach, an eerie green light flared, blinding us. Mephisto threw up his hands before his face. Behind the light, a woman’s voice cried out.
“Invaders, you will not triumph. My power exceeds yours. Your companions have all been subdued. I grow tired of these attacks. This is your last warning. Surrender now, or face my ire!”
As my eyes adjusted to the glare, I saw the greenish light emanated from a round ball on the top of a long staff. The sphere was held in place by seven prongs, each carved to look like a different animal. Holding the staff aloft, illuminated in its pale glow, stood my sister Logistilla. The high pointed shoulders of her enchanted robes gleamed in the eerie light. Its long split skirts blew about her, showing glimpses of a pale leg.
All around her, snarling beasts roamed the pale strip of sand. Wolves, panthers, hyenas, and wolverines slunk about her. They growled toward the ship, or rubbed against her legs. Their eyes glinted green in the light of her staff. From the waters came the gleam of other eyes: crocodiles, maybe, or perhaps, hippopotami. To the rear, near the forest, there lurked a hulking shape that could only be a bear.
“Hi, Logistilla! You can call off your bully boys, it’s me!” Mephisto leapt up. He ran to the front of the boat and leapt up on the prow, spreading his arms. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Logistilla lowered her staff and spoke in her husky voice. Her jet-black hair—as black as mine had once been—came to a widow’s peak above her forehead. Her face was oval-shaped, and her nose Roman.
“For God’s sakes! Mephisto! How dare you scare me like that! Getting me out of bed in the middle of the night, as if I had nothing better to do than dance attendance on my lunatic brother!” Turning to the beasts milling about the beach, she said, “Back off, boys. You’ll get no dinner here.”
The beasts slunk away into the forest. Logistilla examined the ship. Peering through the darkness, her eyes touched on me briefly.
“No! No guests, Mephisto! I can barely tolerate you as it is. The bonds of family affection do not stretch far enough to cover your trollops. If you bring her in, I . . . I won’t be accountable for what happens to her.” Logistilla toyed with her staff, glancing back and forth between me and the seven animal figurines carved into the staff’s length.
“Sorry to disappoint you.” I stepped over the rail and onto the dock. “But it’s your big sister, Miranda.”
“Miranda?” Logistilla raised both eyebrows. “What a surprise! Who would have thought you’d dig yourself out of your den long enough to look in on the rest of us? But, oh, I forget myself. How presumptuous of me to assume you came by to look in on your sweet younger sister. I had forgotten. The ice queen Miranda never does anything if it is not for the profit of Prospero, Inc. Not in the gown I made for you, I see. Too good to wear your sister’s offerings?”
“This is my night dress,” I replied, annoyed. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Sure, sure, always full of excuses . . . who is this?” Logistilla eyed Mab as he climbed out of the sailboat onto the short dock. Mab raised a hand between himself and Logistilla’s staff.
“Get that thing out of my face, Lady. I’m not afraid of you. You can’t hurt anything but my bod—” Mab stopped and walked up to Logistilla, peering closely into her face. “Now I recognize you. I thought there was something familiar about that witch statue back at Prospero’s Mansion.”
“You’ve met?” My voice rose in surprise.
“Yeah.” Mab stuck his thumb toward Logistilla’s face. “This fleshly body I’m wearing? She made it.”
Mab’s news amazed me, yet I felt foolish for not having guessed. My only consolation was that Logistilla, who should have recognized her own handiwork, seemed as amazed as I.
“You’re one of Papa’s Aerie Ones?” She stepped closer and lowered her staff, shining the pale greenish light in Mab’s face. She peered at his hand as he moved his fingers and thumb. “How amazing! You do that very well. I almost took you for a human.”
“Funny, I almost took you for a human, too,” Mab growled back, glaring at her. He was irked, though whether at being mistaken for a human or at not being mistaken for a human, I could not tell.
Logistilla gave Mab a last look over. “Father wanted you to be a detective, did he ever tell you that? I patterned the body after a detective from the movies, only I used a trick I know with mirrors to make a few changes.” She examined Mab’s face. “Nice work, if I do say so myself.” Turning back to Mephisto and me, she continued, “You two might have written before you came. But, no, how silly of me! That would require forethought and consideration. I?” She gestured dramatically at herself. “Expect forethought and consideration from my own family? Better to wish the sun would delay its rising by an hour on my behalf. I’d be less likely to meet with disappointment. Well, as long as you’re here, you might as well come in. I would never want to be accused of being inhospitable. Have you eaten? No?” She clapped her hands and cried out. “Prepare a feast!”
“Are you going to serve us old lovers transformed into pies?” Mephisto had his arms spread wide and was turning in circles on the pale sand. “I hate meat pies!”
Logistilla stooped gracefully and stroked the back of an ocelot that had come down from the forest to rub its spotted head against her leg.
“Of course not!” she said indignantly. “I never eat my pets.”
“We can’t stay long. We’ve got to warn the others. The Three Shadowed Ones are hunting our staffs,” I told my sister.
“They want to destroy us all!” Mephisto added enthusiastically.
“Yes, of course, I could have predicted that. No time for Logistilla. Dear sister Miranda must hurry off to warn the boys,” Logistilla purred. “What is it this time? Three Shadowy Huns? Whatever it is, it can wait until we’re seated for dinner.”
We had changed out of our night clothes and joined Logistilla on the dock. Now, she led us across the pale beach toward the house beyond. Animals circled us or watched from the underbrush. Two large Irish wolfhounds walked beside us along the slate pathway leading to the house. In the forest beyond, the green light of the staff glinted off the tiny eyes of a boar. Behind the boar, I could just make out the towering hulk of the bear. Logistilla waved her staff toward it, frowning. The bear turned slowly and lumbered into the black depths of the forest.
Ahead, a Gothic mansion rose out of the forest, its many gables silhouetted against the starry night. To either side of the tall staircase that led to the porch, the blocky, geometric patterns of a formal flower garden could be discerned in the moonlight. Farther back, to the left of the house, the rails of a fence, enclosing pigs or perhaps sheep, could be faintly seen through the black trunks of the trees.
My sister, the split skirts of her deep blue robes flowing about her legs, led us up the stairs, over the sleeping lion before the front door, and into the foyer. Within, the hall and sitting room were surprisingly orderly for a house inhabited by so many animals, though the pungent musk of what might be boar and lion lingered in the air. I recognized some of the furniture from the French house we had lived in back in the 1860s, during Napoleon III’s reign. Two Serengeti dogs prowled under a heavy-legged Victorian table, growling softly, and a dingo slept curled up on the flowered upholstery of an overstuffed Venetian chair.
We followed my sister down a darkened hall toward a door bright with candlelight. As she walked, Logistilla glanced at me over her shoulder several times, regarding me from beneath heavy lids. Logistilla was at best acerbic. More often, she was downright spiteful. I resolved to say what we had come to say and depart.
Mab, who had been peering into one of the darkened rooms we passed, scowled, “This place stinks of enchantments and worse!” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who are all these guys? Old lovers?”
“Oh, don’t be gauche. What kind of woman do you take me for! I could never tire of my lovers half quickly enough to populate this island,” she objected. “The beasts here are clients . . . for the most part.”
In spite of my resolve to stick to our mission and leave, curiosity prompted me to ask, “Clients? Of what kind?”
“Oh, so the wondrous Miranda speaks! Not to ask me about myself or after my health. No, only concerned with business. Very well, far be it from me not to satisfy another’s curiosity. My clients are criminals and cripples, mainly. They serve me for three years. In return, I give them what they want.”
“You mean all these animals are shapechanged men?” I asked.
“Every single one,” Logistilla replied primly. “Well, except the crocodile. He’s real.” When we glanced with alarm back toward the boat, she snickered, “Just kidding.”
“Surely, you don’t mean to say that you are using magic directly on mortals?” Mab exclaimed. “By Setebos and Titania! Is there no end to this family’s madness?”
I added, “It is bad form, dear sister. Remember what happened to Circe.”
“How kind of you to concern yourself, my dear sister. Yes, there’s such a danger that Odysseus might stop by and hang around long enough to father two children upon me. What a dreadful fate! Besides, Circe didn’t offer contracts; I do. Sometimes, I even let them try it for a few days before they decide. All the same, it was easier back when that snake Cornelius was cooperating with me!”
“And just what is it these clients of yours want?” Mab asked.
“What do you think? Ah, but I forget, you’re not even a human being. How ungracious of me to expect you to make use of a brain. Criminals want new faces, of course, and cripples want new limbs.”
I listened, morbidly fascinated and mildly appalled, while Mab scowled. Little sister Logistilla was using transformation magic on the client himself, rather than just reproducing a product. The potential for such a venture was staggering. I considered what such a project could do for Prospero, Inc.’s revenues. Though, come to think of it, making such a service available to our mortal customers would likely cause more trouble than it was worth. As far as that went, Logistilla was welcome to keep her little operation here.
Making such a service available to our supernatural customers, however, had enormous potential. With such a service at my disposal, I almost certainly could have settled the quarrel between the Aerie Spirits and the watery ones a few years back, in time to avoid that terrible hurricane.
I was dreaming, of course. Logistilla had the Staff of Transmogrification and, with it, all the metamorphosis magic our family possessed. Except in the unlikely event that Logistilla could be convinced to join the company again, the resources for such a venture would never be ours. I sighed.
Logistilla led us into a dining room. A long table had been laid out with a place for one at the nearer end. Silver dishes overflowed with fresh fruit. Pastries and steaming delicacies filled platters and crystal bowls. The sweet aroma of papaya and fresh bread mingled with the smell of wet fur. Above, two spider monkeys chattered as they lit the candles of the chandeliers.
Logistilla gestured with her staff, spreading her arms wide. The spider monkeys rushed from the room, returning presently with enough china and silver for three more settings. My sister swept aside the skirts of her deep blue robe to take the chair at the head of the table. She gestured for us to choose seats. Mab and I sat to her right. Mephisto sat to her left. Koala bears sidled up to our chairs and fanned us with large painted fans, which was pleasant, for the air was humid and hot. A fourth fan-bearing koala sat amidst the dishes, defending the feast from flies.
The pale green light emanating from the top of Logistilla’s staff died away. The globe now appeared to be an iridescent ball the color of mother-of-pearl atop a slender willow staff. Seven prongs, carved into the semblances of a bear, dog, raven, rat, horse, toad, and pig, held the ball to the staff. Logistilla placed the staff in a special holder beside her chair. It stood upright beside her.
“Mangos anyone? Oranges? Breadfruit?” She began to serve.
“Three years is an awfully long time for a man to be a beast.” Mab was carefully sniffing each dish before he took anything. Cautiously, he spooned some strawberries onto his plate.
“Oh? So, you disapprove? Just for the record, Mr. Snoop-into-Other-People’s-Business, I give them a chance to buy their way out at the end of the first year. This does tend to favor the rich, I admit. But then, life just never is fair, is it?” She bent and scratched an enormous pit bull behind its ear. “Is it? Yes, my sweet.”
“Can’t you just reproduce money? Wave your stick around and ‘zingo’ you’ve got bags of lucre?” Mephisto helped himself to three slices of blueberry pie. “You used to do that all the time.”
“That was coins,” she pouted. “My staff was particularly good at reproducing coins, but American money has some sort of spell on it that interferes with my work. Such an inconvenience. Probably put there just to stop me.”
“It was,” Mephisto replied, his mouth full. “By Cornelius.” He swallowed. “At least, Erasmus says Cornelius is the one who put that spooky eye in the pyramid on the money. That’s probably what’s stopping you from reproducing it.”
“An Orbis Suleimani spell,” I murmured.
“Cornelius! He lives to make my life miserable! Though he does have a very fine staff! Of course, I like mine better.” She reached behind her and petted the globe of her staff fondly.
“He does work for the Federal Reserve Board,” commented Mephisto. “Maybe he feels he owes it to the people of America to keep their currency magic-free. Besides, with neat digs like this, what do you need money for?”
“Taxes, mainly. You would think if a person owned their own island, taxes would not be a problem, wouldn’t you? But, no. Some foreign power is always sweeping in and declaring itself sovereign. I just pay them and hope that’s the end of them. I find it easier to pay than to protest.
“Then, there’s my estate in Russia,” Logistilla continued. “The bribes I’ve had to pay to keep the title to that place are exorbitant. And they refuse to accept anything but American currency. Or that’s how it had been for years, anyway. Such a nuisance! Shepherd’s pie, anyone?”
“Any shepherd in it?” Mab eyed it suspiciously.
“Not a one,” Logistilla replied.
Mab and I both accepted a serving. Mephisto made a face and shook his head. “Russia’s become boring this last century or so. All that violence and yuck. Why bother to keep a house there?”
Logistilla lifted her head regally and stared down her elegant nose at Mephisto. “That estate was granted to me by Peter the Great!” she said. “I’ll be damned before I let some insolent pack of transient mortals take it away.”
Mab glanced around nervously. “Wouldn’t say things like that, Madam Logistilla. Bad luck to call willingly on the powers of Hell.”
He poured salt from the shaker into his hand and sprinkled it about his seat in a circle. Turning to me, Mab whispered.
“Who was this great Peter fellow?”
“A king in Russia,” I replied. “He spent a year traveling incognito around Europe during the 1690s. Our family traveled with him for a time. Logistilla and he . . . got along well.”
“I would have made him a far better wife than that Catherine creature!” Logistilla said. “But perhaps it was for the best. I would have tired of him eventually. He was sometimes called the Bear, but the Russian people might have been a bit put out had he actually become one.”
“Apparently, Catherine thought you had turned him into a stallion.” Mephisto snickered, his face smeared with blueberries and marshmallow. “I heard it was her fatal flaw.”
Logistilla gave him a veiled look. “Wrong Catherine, you buffoon. You’re thinking of Catherine the Great. That’s a myth, anyway! And thank you so much for mentioning such an unpleasant subject in my presence, yet again.”
Mab looked up. “The death of Catherine the Great?”
“No, you fool,” Logistilla replied. “Horses. I should have known the two of you were just waiting for a chance to humiliate me. And after I attempted to be such a generous hostess!”
“Wait, I’d heard you liked horses,” Mab asked, confused. “I thought you were some kind of great horsewoman.”
“I do love horses,” Logistilla replied theatrically. “It is only when they are upon the lips of my relatives that they offend me.”