Miranda and Caliban(78)
So there it is, the truth at last.
I am the daughter of a duke, although I do not fully fathom what that means. My memories are true.
I take a slow, shaking breath. “What do you mean—”
A gusting breeze announces Ariel’s presence, swirling through the westernmost window of the tower.
“Greetings, Master!” The mercurial spirit manifests with a bow. “I come to report that I have carried out thy will to the letter. I put such a terror in them, all save the sailors did jump into the sea.”
Papa stands, fresh vigor infusing his features. “All are safe?”
“Aye, Master. Two made landfall on their own; the others, I have deposited about the isle as thou bade me.” Ariel gives a little shiver of distaste and holds out his hand. “Here are hairs plucked from the very heads of thy brother and liege and their courtiers.”
I remember solving the riddle of Caliban’s hair trapped in honey. How very long ago that seems to me.
“Bravely done!” Papa tucks the spyglass into the sash of his robe and takes the hairs from Ariel’s hand. “And the king’s son?”
“The prince mourns, supposing his father drowned and lost,” Ariel says soberly. “’Tis a sight to stir the hardest of hearts. The king mourns, supposing his son met the self-same fate.” He purses his delicate lips in disapproval. “Master, thou shouldst know that the king’s own brother and thine plot against him, thinking to make much of this opportunity thou hast afforded them.”
“Suffer no harm to come to him,” Papa commands Ariel. “I shall determine the king’s fate; yes, and my brother’s, too.”
Ariel inclines his head.
My own head is spinning, seeking to encompass the events and revelations of the day. For once, I am grateful to be ignored.
“What of the ship and its sailors?” Papa asks.
The spirit makes a graceful gesture toward the south. “I have borne them to the pirates’ cove as you bade me.”
“Noble spirit!” Papa says. “Go forth, and heed my words. Keep the king from harm; yet lead the king’s son to our doorstep.”
Ariel’s eyes darken and churn like the depths of the sea. “And my freedom, Master?”
Papa scowls at him. “Have you forgotten the torment from which I freed you? The torment unto which Sycorax bound you? I could visit the same upon you.”
Ariel’s gaze slides sideways to meet mine, and I look away. I have no sympathy left for him, not after all his games and the way he betrayed Caliban and me. “No, Master. I have not forgotten.”
“If the fullness of my working is accomplished by the day’s end, you shall have your freedom, ungrateful sprite. Until that hour arrives, do not trouble me with your impudence.” Papa flicks one hand at him. “Begone!”
Ariel departs to carry out his bidding.
I am left alone with my father, the erstwhile Duke of Milan; a title that means naught to me. It is true, all true. There are strange men roaming the isle and its shores, scores of them. I find myself trembling. I would that Caliban were here that he might help me make sense of it all.
Staff in one hand, plucked hairs in the other, Papa considers me. “Get up, Miranda. I’ve work to do. Did I not gift you with gowns and finery for this very day? Go forth to change your attire and make yourself presentable.”
I drag myself to my feet, clinging to the wall. “What do you mean to do to them, Papa? Your brother and the king?”
He hesitates. “As to that, I’ve yet to decide. We shall see if there is any penitence in their hearts.”
“And if there is not?” I say.
Papa does not answer. “Go, and do as I bade you.”
FORTY-SIX
CALIBAN
I scramble down the crag, but I cannot go as quick-quick as I would like. Although the rain has stopped, it is still slippity-slidey and going down is more dangerous than up. When I reach the shore, the men already did find each other.
I look for Ariel, but I do not see him. I hope it is because he is about doing Master’s bidding, and not because he is hiding in the wind.
The wooden floating thing—it is round in the middle and flat on the ends—did crash on the rocks. There is a raggedy-jaggedy hole in it and the men are splashing in the water to drag it ashore.
I think it must be a great treasure for them to work so hard; but no, there is only red water spilling out of it. When the men do drag it onto the stony shore, they fall to their knees and take turns putting their hands in the hole, drinking the red water from their hands like it is fresh cold water and they are so very thirsty.
Although I go slow so I will not make them afraid, the men are afraid when they see me anyway.
“The prince spoke truly!” one says, his eyes so very wide there is white all around them. “Hell has lost its devils, and here’s one come to claim us!”
The other picks up a big rock.
“Do not be afraid,” I say to them. “I will not hurt you.”
“It speaks!” the white-eyed one says to the other; and then to me, “What manner of devil are you?”
“No devil.” I open my hands so they can see they are empty. “Only a friend.”
“A friend!” The other laughs, only it is a laugh like a great sob. He puts down the rock. “Then I pray you, friend, tell us we are not the sole survivors of this wreck. Did you see any others gain the shore safely?”