AllFreeNovel
Share Us
show compassion and decency,
right wrongs,
help the weak,
and preserve the secrets
contained in the Golden Rules,
from this day to the day of my death.
FROM THE OATH OF THE ADEPTS, CHRONICLES OF THE GUARDIANS, VOL. 1: THE KEEPERS OF THE SECRET
TEN
WHAT I WAS MOST afraid of was seeing Count Saint-Germain again. The last time we met, I’d heard his voice in my mind, and his hand had squeezed my throat although he’d been standing more than a dozen feet away from me. I don’t know exactly what part you are playing, girl, or whether you are of any importance. But I will not have my rules broken.
I could take it for granted that I’d broken some of his rules since then—although it had to be admitted that I didn’t know what they were, which made me feel rather defiant. If no one could be bothered to explain any of these rules to me, or the reasons for them, they couldn’t really be surprised if I didn’t keep them.
But I was also afraid of all kinds of other things. I was secretly convinced that Giordano and Charlotte were right: I was going to make a total mess of pretending to be Penelope Gray, and everyone would realize that there was something wrong about me. For a moment, I couldn’t even remember the name of the place she came from in Derbyshire. Something beginning with B. Or P. Or D. Or …
“Have you learnt the guest list by heart?” Mr. Whitman, next to me, wasn’t exactly helping to calm me down. Why on earth would I learn the guest list by heart? I shook my head. Mr. Whitman responded with a slight sigh.
“I don’t know it by heart either,” said Gideon. He was sitting opposite me in the limousine. “It spoils the fun if you always know in advance who you’ll be meeting.”
I’d have loved to know if he felt as edgy as I did. Were the palms of his hands sweating, was his heart beating as fast as mine? Or had he traveled back to the eighteenth century so often that it was nothing special to him now?
one zero three zero four one dot seven eight n comma zero zero zero eight four nine dot nine one w.
It was nearly midnight when we stealthily made our way right through the house and into the library. At least, Lesley and I stealthily made our way right through the house. Xemerius had flown on ahead.
We must have spent an hour searching the shelves for more clues. The fifty-first book in the third row … the fifty-first row, thirtieth book, page four, line seven, word eight … but wherever we tried beginning to count, nothing made sense. In the end we were just taking books out at random and shaking them, hoping for more notes to drop to the floor. But Lesley was confident, all the same. She’d written the code down on a piece of paper, and she kept taking it out of her jeans pocket and looking at it. “It must mean something,” she murmured to herself. “And I’m going to find out what.”
After that we finally went to bed. My alarm clock had roused me from my dreamless sleep in the morning—and from then on, I’d thought of almost nothing but the soirée.
“’Ere comes Mr. George to collect you,” said Madame Rossini, bringing me back to the present. She handed me a little bag—the reticule, that would be—and I wondered whether to smuggle the vegetable knife into it at the last moment after all. I’d turned down Lesley’s advice to tape it to my thigh. With my luck, I’d probably have hurt no one but myself, and how I was going to get the tape off my leg under the huge skirt in an emergency was a mystery to me anyway. When Mr. George came into the room, Madame Rossini was draping a large, lavishly embroidered shawl around my shoulders. She kissed me on both cheeks. “Good luck, my leetle swan-necked beauty,” she said. “Mind you bring ’er back to me safe and sound, Monsieur George.”
Mr. George gave a rather forced smile. He didn’t seem quite as friendly as usual. “I’m afraid that’s out of my hands, Madame Rossini. Come along, Gwyneth. There are a few people who want to meet you.”
It was already early afternoon when we went another floor up to the Dragon Hall. Getting dressed and having my hair done had taken over two hours. Mr. George was unusually silent, and I concentrated on not tripping over the hem of my dress on the stairs. I remembered our last visit to the eighteenth century and thought how difficult it was going to be to escape from any men armed with swords in all these bulky clothes.
“Mr. George, could you tell me about the Florentine Alliance, please?” I asked on a sudden impulse.
Mr. George stopped. “The Florentine Alliance? Who mentioned that to you?”
“No one, really,” I said, sighing. “But now and then, I catch people saying something about it. I was only asking because … well, I’m scared. It was those Alliance guys who attacked us in Hyde Park, wasn’t it?”
Mr. George looked at me gravely. “Maybe, yes. In fact probably. But there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. I don’t think the two of you need fear an attack today. Together with the count and Rakoczy, we’ve taken all imaginable precautions.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Mr. George got in first. “Oh, very well, or you won’t give me any peace: we do indeed have to assume that in the year 1782 there’s a traitor among the Guardians, maybe the same man who leaked information in previous years that led to the attempts on Count Saint-Germain’s life in Paris, Dover, Amsterdam, and Germany.” He passed his hand over his bald patch. “But that man is never mentioned by name in the Annals. Although the count successfully crushed the Florentine Alliance, the traitor among the Guardians was never unmasked. Your visits to the year 1782 are intended to put that right.”
“Gideon thinks Lucy and Paul may have had something to do with it.”
“There are indeed indications that such an idea isn’t too wide of the mark.” Mr. George pointed to the door of the Dragon Hall. “But there’s no time for us to go into more detail now. Whatever happens, keep close to Gideon, and if you do happen to get separated, hide somewhere you can wait safely until you travel back.”
I nodded. Suddenly my mouth felt very dry.
Mr. George opened the door and let me go first. I could hardly get past him in my hooped skirt. The room was full of people staring at me, and I felt so embarrassed that the blood shot into my face. Apart from Dr. White, Falk de Villiers, Mr. Whitman, Mr. Marley, Gideon, and the unspeakable Giordano, there were five other men in dark suits, with serious expressions, all standing under the huge dragon on the ceiling. I wished Xemerius was here to tell me which of them was the home secretary and which was the Nobel Prize winner, but Xemerius had been sent off on another mission. (By Lesley, not me, but more about that later.)
