Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(178)
“What we need to lift our boredom is a spring feast now that Lent is almost over,” said one young male courtier in a loud voice. “Don’t you think so, Your Majesty”
“A masque?” Rudolf took a sip of his wine and stared at me. “If so, the theme should be Diana and Actaeon.”
“That theme is so common, Your Majesty, and rather English,” Matthew said sadly. Rudolf flushed. “Perhaps we might do Demeter and Persephone instead. It is more fitting for the season.”
“Or the story of Odysseus,” Strada suggested, shooting me a nasty look. “Frau Roydon could play Circe and turn us into piglets.”
“Interesting, Ottavio,” Rudolf said, tapping his full lower lip with his index finger. “I might enjoy playing Odysseus.”
Not on your life, I thought. Not with the requisite bedroom scene and Odysseus making Circe promise not to forcibly take his manhood.
“If I might offer a suggestion,” I said, eager to stave off disaster.
“Of course, of course,” Rudolf said earnestly, taking my hand and giving it a solicitous pat.
“The story I have in mind requires someone to take the role of Zeus, the king of the gods,” I told the emperor, drawing my hand gently away.
“I would be a convincing Zeus,” he said eagerly, a smile lighting his face. “And you will play Callisto?” Absolutely not. I was not going to let Rudolf pretend to ravage and impregnate me.
“No, Your Majesty. If you insist that I take part in the entertainment, I will play the goddess of the moon.” I slid my hand into the bend of Matthew’s arm. “And to atone for his earlier remark, Matthew will play Endymion.”
“Endymion?” Rudolf’s smile wavered.
“Poor Rudolf. Outfoxed again,” Matthew murmured for only me to hear. “Endymion, Your Majesty,” he said, this time in a voice pitched to carry, “the beautiful youth who is cast into enchanted sleep so as to preserve his immortality and Diana’s chastity.”
“I know the legend, Herr Roydon!” Rudolf warned.
“Apologies, Your Majesty,” Matthew said with a graceful, albeit shallow, bow. “Diana will look splendid, arriving in her chariot so that she can gaze wistfully upon the man she loves.”
Rudolf was imperial purple by this point. We were waved out of the royal presence and left the palace to make the brief, downhill trip to the Three Ravens.
“I have only one request,” Matthew said as we entered our front door. “I may be a vampire, but April is a cold month in Prague. In deference to the temperature, the costumes you design for Diana and Endymion should be more substantial than a lunar crescent for your hair and a dishcloth to drape around my hips.”
“I’ve only just cast you in this role and you’re already making artistic demands!” I flung up one hand in mock indignation. “Actors!”
“That’s what you deserve for working with amateurs,” Matthew said with a smile. “I know just how the masque should begin: ‘And lo! from opening clouds, I saw emerge / The loveliest moon, that ever silver’ d o’er / A shell for Neptune’s goblet.’”
“You cannot use Keats!” I laughed. “He’s a Romantic poet—it’s three hundred years too soon.”
“‘She did soar / So passionately bright, my dazzled soul / Commingling with her argent spheres did roll / Through clear and cloudy, even when she went / At last into a dark and vapoury tent,’” he exclaimed dramatically, pulling me into his arms.
“And I suppose you’ll want me to find you a tent,” Gallowglass said, thundering down the stairs.
“And some sheep. Or maybe an astrolabe. Endymion can be either a shepherd or an astronomer,” Matthew said, weighing his options.
“Rudolf’s gamekeeper will never part with one of his strange sheep, so you’re going to have to be an astronomer.”
“Matthew can use my compendium.” I looked around. It was supposed to be on the mantelpiece, out of Jack’s reach. “Where has it gone?”
“Annie and Jack are showing it to Mop. They think it’s enchanted.”
Until then I hadn’t noticed the threads running straight up the stairs from the fireplace—silver, gold, and gray. In my rush to reach the children and find out what was going on with the compendium, I stepped on the hem of my skirt. By the time I reached Annie and Jack, I’d managed to give the bottom a new, scalloped edge.
Annie and Jack had the little brass-and-silver compendium opened up like a book, its inner wings folded out to their full extent. Rudolf’s desire had been to give me something to track the movements of the heavens, and Habermel had outdone himself. The compendium contained a sundial, a compass, a device to compute the length of the hours at different seasons of the year, an intricate lunar volvelle— whose gears could be set to tell the date, time, ruling sign of the zodiac, and phase of the moon—and a latitude chart that included (at my request) the cities of Roanoke, London, Lyon, Prague, and Jerusalem. One of the wings had a spine into which I could fit one of the hottest new technologies: the erasable tablet, which was made of specially treated paper that one could write on and then carefully wipe off to make fresh notes.
“Look, Jack, it’s doing it again,” Annie said, peering down at the instrument. Mop (no one in the house called him Lobero anymore, except for Jack) started barking, wagging his tail with excitement as the lunar volvelle began to spin of its own accord.