Read Online City of Dark Magic by Magnus Flyte - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Magnus Flyte
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Harvard on the T,” Sarah said, holding her ground.
“Sarah was a student of Professor Sherbatsky,” Miles said.
“Ohhhhh,” said Daphne. “I am sorry. I didn’t really know him.”
“Polyxena’s coming along beautifully,” said Miles, admiring Daphne’s work. Sarah, interested, looked now at the portrait. Polyxena Lobkowicz was a pale and intelligent-looking woman standing next to a badly painted green velvet chair in which a small white dog lay curled.
“You see de white gown she wears, richly embroidered, showing de family’s wealth and influence,” said Daphne authoritatively. “De red rose in her hair symbolizes her Spanish ancestry. De prayer book in her left hand to display de Catholic allegiance.”
“What does the dog symbolize?” Sarah asked. Daphne blinked at her for a moment.
“De dog is just a dog,” she said, finally.
“You’ve done an exquisite job with this,” Miles said, crisply.
“You think so? I am gratified to hear you say it,” Daphne replied with great formality. They did not look at each other.
Okay, Sarah thought. Clearly Miles and Daphne were sleeping together.
Sarah turned to another painting, a smaller one featuring a somewhat mischievous-looking man with a funky plumed hat.
“Rudolf II,” Miles said. “The Holy Roman Emperor who moved the Imperial Court from Vienna to Prague and ennobled the 1st Prince Lobkowicz.”
“I hope you play soccer,” said Daphne. “I’m trying to organize a regular game for de staff, but mostly they are a bunch of bookvorms.”
• • •
S arah did not get a really good look at the Ceramics Room or the smaller intermediate room filled with packing crates and large signs saying “Do Not Touch” in about eight languages.
“This will be Weapons when the collection arrives tomorrow from Roudnice,” said Miles as they entered a room with astonishingly ugly flowered wallpaper. The parquet floor was slightly buckled with water damage. Miles kept walking.
“And this is the Balcony Room.”
“Because there’s no balcony?” Sarah asked, looking around.
“There was,” said Miles. “Before a nineteenth-century renovation.”
Sarah went to the window and tried to look out, but the glass was covered with plaster dust that had been speckled by rain, making it difficult to see through. She threw the window open and leaned out, taking in the panorama of the city. For a moment, the power tools stopped and there were birds singing, and a light breeze whiffled the leaves of the trees beneath them.
Miles appeared next to her.
“Quiz me,” she said {,"-1" face, pointing to landmarks she recognized from the guidebook she’d read on the plane. “Vltava River, Charles Bridge, Malá Strana . . . and where’s—” Sarah suddenly had the sensation she was leaning too far out. Her stomach fluttered and her heart raced. Vertigo? She had spent her whole life climbing trees, skateboarding off handrails, sitting on the roof to watch fireworks with her dad. The blood began to drain from her head as if she were going to faint . . .
“Careful,” said Miles, grabbing her arm and pulling her back, closing the window. Heart pounding, Sarah looked through the dirty window four stories down to where a cement staircase made its zigzagging way down the steep hillside in front of the palace.
“This is the window that Professor Sherbatsky fell from?” Sarah framed it as a question, but it wasn’t really. Somehow she knew it was the place.
Miles nodded.
NINE
“E leanor told me it was Prince Max who found him?” Sarah asked, forcing herself to deal with the wave of nausea passing over her and to think logically. It just didn’t seem a likely place to commit suicide. The height wasn’t particularly great, and if you were going to throw yourself out a window in a torrent of despair, would you really choose an inconvenient and awkward exit onto a flight of concrete steps? Granted your last view would be pretty, but
“Sarah was a student of Professor Sherbatsky,” Miles said.
“Ohhhhh,” said Daphne. “I am sorry. I didn’t really know him.”
“Polyxena’s coming along beautifully,” said Miles, admiring Daphne’s work. Sarah, interested, looked now at the portrait. Polyxena Lobkowicz was a pale and intelligent-looking woman standing next to a badly painted green velvet chair in which a small white dog lay curled.
“You see de white gown she wears, richly embroidered, showing de family’s wealth and influence,” said Daphne authoritatively. “De red rose in her hair symbolizes her Spanish ancestry. De prayer book in her left hand to display de Catholic allegiance.”
“What does the dog symbolize?” Sarah asked. Daphne blinked at her for a moment.
“De dog is just a dog,” she said, finally.
“You’ve done an exquisite job with this,” Miles said, crisply.
“You think so? I am gratified to hear you say it,” Daphne replied with great formality. They did not look at each other.
Okay, Sarah thought. Clearly Miles and Daphne were sleeping together.
Sarah turned to another painting, a smaller one featuring a somewhat mischievous-looking man with a funky plumed hat.
“Rudolf II,” Miles said. “The Holy Roman Emperor who moved the Imperial Court from Vienna to Prague and ennobled the 1st Prince Lobkowicz.”
“I hope you play soccer,” said Daphne. “I’m trying to organize a regular game for de staff, but mostly they are a bunch of bookvorms.”
• • •
S arah did not get a really good look at the Ceramics Room or the smaller intermediate room filled with packing crates and large signs saying “Do Not Touch” in about eight languages.
“This will be Weapons when the collection arrives tomorrow from Roudnice,” said Miles as they entered a room with astonishingly ugly flowered wallpaper. The parquet floor was slightly buckled with water damage. Miles kept walking.
“And this is the Balcony Room.”
“Because there’s no balcony?” Sarah asked, looking around.
“There was,” said Miles. “Before a nineteenth-century renovation.”
Sarah went to the window and tried to look out, but the glass was covered with plaster dust that had been speckled by rain, making it difficult to see through. She threw the window open and leaned out, taking in the panorama of the city. For a moment, the power tools stopped and there were birds singing, and a light breeze whiffled the leaves of the trees beneath them.
Miles appeared next to her.
“Quiz me,” she said {,"-1" face, pointing to landmarks she recognized from the guidebook she’d read on the plane. “Vltava River, Charles Bridge, Malá Strana . . . and where’s—” Sarah suddenly had the sensation she was leaning too far out. Her stomach fluttered and her heart raced. Vertigo? She had spent her whole life climbing trees, skateboarding off handrails, sitting on the roof to watch fireworks with her dad. The blood began to drain from her head as if she were going to faint . . .
“Careful,” said Miles, grabbing her arm and pulling her back, closing the window. Heart pounding, Sarah looked through the dirty window four stories down to where a cement staircase made its zigzagging way down the steep hillside in front of the palace.
“This is the window that Professor Sherbatsky fell from?” Sarah framed it as a question, but it wasn’t really. Somehow she knew it was the place.
Miles nodded.
NINE
“E leanor told me it was Prince Max who found him?” Sarah asked, forcing herself to deal with the wave of nausea passing over her and to think logically. It just didn’t seem a likely place to commit suicide. The height wasn’t particularly great, and if you were going to throw yourself out a window in a torrent of despair, would you really choose an inconvenient and awkward exit onto a flight of concrete steps? Granted your last view would be pretty, but
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