Read Online Prospero Lost: Prospero's Daughter, Book I by L. Jagi Lamplighter - Free Book Online
Authors: L. Jagi Lamplighter
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his face. I tried to get his attention, but he did not look up.
Too embarrassed to face me? This was not a good sign.
I sat down in the chair, facing the window, and picked up the phone on my side. The guards handed the other phone to their prisoner. I spoke to him sternly in Italian, asking if he were guilty of the crime of which he was accused. Instead of answering, he began to chant in a breathy singsong, babbling about how he was the alpha and the omega, the Archangel Gabriel andMephistopheles. As he chanted, he raised his arms over his head. His hair fell away from his face, revealing wide cheeks, a crooked nose, and a heavy dark brow.
This man was not my brother!
OUTSIDE the prison, we walked silently to our car. As we reached our vehicle, Mab hung his head. “Oh, Ma’am! I hope you can forgive me for leading you on a wild goose chase.”
I glanced his way, intending a stern rebuke, but he looked so woebegone I could not help smiling. Suddenly, the experience seemed inexpressibly amusing. I started giggling.
Mab frowned, hurt. Then, a grin began tugging at the corner of his mouth. He too began to chuckle, and then we were both laughing uncontrollably. As soon as one of us would stop, a glance at the other would set us off again.
“By the North Wind, it’s a good thing we didn’t break him out without talking to him first!” Mab chuckled as we climbed into our car. “Would have been downright embarrassing, breaking out the wrong man!”
“Very true! Remind me of this event, should the issue ever arise again,” I replied. “You made an understandable mistake; the prisoner claimed to be Mephistopheles, and he did look Italian.”
“Mr. Mephistopheles’s trail still leads to Chicago, Ma’am. He’s here somewhere, or, at least, he was here recently. Perhaps we should take a day or two to investigate. Clues might come to light here that I’d miss if I were back home in Oregon.”
I closed my eyes and prayed to my Lady. She had brought this matter to my attention, I had no doubt She would help me carry out my duties. A sense of urgency, of growing danger, had begun nagging at my thoughts, and yet, as I prayed, I felt enveloped by Her calm constant presence. This feeling of peace came with no specific instructions. My Lady was gracious, all-wise, and a very present help in trouble; however, She only spoke to Her Handmaidens when it suited Her divine purpose. After pondering, I interpreted this to mean that we should stay here in Illinois.
Of course, had I been a Sibyl, I could have just asked Her directly and received a clear, unambiguous answer.
“Time is of the essence, Mab,” I said, opening my eyes. “There’s no point in our wasting time returning to Oregon, just to rush back again as soon asanother clue turns up. Let’s go to our Chicago offices and have the—whatever they are calling clerks nowadays—arrange a hotel for us. Then, you can continue searching for my brothers while I check in with the head office.”
LEAVING the prison, we drove into Chicago, a city of wonders! Long ago, in Milan, I lived in a castle with a clock tower seventy yards tall. Even today, no building in Milan rivals that tower. Yet, seventy yards was like a child’s toy compared to the soaring marvels of glass and steel in downtown Chicago. The Sears Tower reached over 1,450 feet. While it dwarfed the buildings around it, the shorter ones also reached heights unimaginable to the men of my childhood. I never tired of gazing up at them.
But, it was not just the buildings. I’ve lived in many cities during my long life: Milan, London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, St. Petersburg, Alexandria, to name just a few. Despite their various marvels, they had one thing in common—they stank. The inhabitants routinely dumped their chamber pots and rotting garbage into streets already buried under piles of horse manure. One could not walk in these cities without ruining one’s shoes—sometimes, one’s entire
Too embarrassed to face me? This was not a good sign.
I sat down in the chair, facing the window, and picked up the phone on my side. The guards handed the other phone to their prisoner. I spoke to him sternly in Italian, asking if he were guilty of the crime of which he was accused. Instead of answering, he began to chant in a breathy singsong, babbling about how he was the alpha and the omega, the Archangel Gabriel andMephistopheles. As he chanted, he raised his arms over his head. His hair fell away from his face, revealing wide cheeks, a crooked nose, and a heavy dark brow.
This man was not my brother!
OUTSIDE the prison, we walked silently to our car. As we reached our vehicle, Mab hung his head. “Oh, Ma’am! I hope you can forgive me for leading you on a wild goose chase.”
I glanced his way, intending a stern rebuke, but he looked so woebegone I could not help smiling. Suddenly, the experience seemed inexpressibly amusing. I started giggling.
Mab frowned, hurt. Then, a grin began tugging at the corner of his mouth. He too began to chuckle, and then we were both laughing uncontrollably. As soon as one of us would stop, a glance at the other would set us off again.
“By the North Wind, it’s a good thing we didn’t break him out without talking to him first!” Mab chuckled as we climbed into our car. “Would have been downright embarrassing, breaking out the wrong man!”
“Very true! Remind me of this event, should the issue ever arise again,” I replied. “You made an understandable mistake; the prisoner claimed to be Mephistopheles, and he did look Italian.”
“Mr. Mephistopheles’s trail still leads to Chicago, Ma’am. He’s here somewhere, or, at least, he was here recently. Perhaps we should take a day or two to investigate. Clues might come to light here that I’d miss if I were back home in Oregon.”
I closed my eyes and prayed to my Lady. She had brought this matter to my attention, I had no doubt She would help me carry out my duties. A sense of urgency, of growing danger, had begun nagging at my thoughts, and yet, as I prayed, I felt enveloped by Her calm constant presence. This feeling of peace came with no specific instructions. My Lady was gracious, all-wise, and a very present help in trouble; however, She only spoke to Her Handmaidens when it suited Her divine purpose. After pondering, I interpreted this to mean that we should stay here in Illinois.
Of course, had I been a Sibyl, I could have just asked Her directly and received a clear, unambiguous answer.
“Time is of the essence, Mab,” I said, opening my eyes. “There’s no point in our wasting time returning to Oregon, just to rush back again as soon asanother clue turns up. Let’s go to our Chicago offices and have the—whatever they are calling clerks nowadays—arrange a hotel for us. Then, you can continue searching for my brothers while I check in with the head office.”
LEAVING the prison, we drove into Chicago, a city of wonders! Long ago, in Milan, I lived in a castle with a clock tower seventy yards tall. Even today, no building in Milan rivals that tower. Yet, seventy yards was like a child’s toy compared to the soaring marvels of glass and steel in downtown Chicago. The Sears Tower reached over 1,450 feet. While it dwarfed the buildings around it, the shorter ones also reached heights unimaginable to the men of my childhood. I never tired of gazing up at them.
But, it was not just the buildings. I’ve lived in many cities during my long life: Milan, London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, St. Petersburg, Alexandria, to name just a few. Despite their various marvels, they had one thing in common—they stank. The inhabitants routinely dumped their chamber pots and rotting garbage into streets already buried under piles of horse manure. One could not walk in these cities without ruining one’s shoes—sometimes, one’s entire
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