Vespers Rising (The 39 Clues #11)(23)

“Employer?” Madeleine shrank back into the cell. She wasn’t understanding a word of his rant.

“Do not take me for a fool. Only one person could have had possession of this ring. The one who watched my father die. The one whose blindness and greed have just ensured his own defeat.” Luke turned to the guard. “Simon, prepare the prisoner for public execution in two days. Send an invitation far and wide, and be on the lookout for a man named Vesper.”

“Vesper?” Madeleine said. “How can you possibly think —?”

“I shall send for the hangman right away!” Simon replied.

“Not a hanging,” Luke replied with a slow smile. “I would prefer a slow burning at the stake, and a front-row seat.”

“CCCHHHH ... HELP!”

At the noise, Simon fell off his chair, ending a blissful dream. “Whaa? Szzzzm? Oh, for the love of ’Enry …”

The choking was from the new prisoner. The young girl. Bobbitt. The spy. He shook himself awake and rose.

Lighting a lantern, he approached the cell. “Wha’ then?” he called out. “Roast pheasant caught in yer froat?”

He snickered. The prisoners always liked a bit of humor.

But the choking now sounded like vomiting, which made the guard blanch. Last time that happened, the prisoner died before he could have a proper beheading. And there went an honest day’s pay. “’Old yer puke, will ye, and I’ll fetch somefing to drink.”

He returned to his station, a hard seat by the hallway wall. On the floor was a chamber pot, a spittoon, and a jug of cheap beer he’d been sipping for hours. All day long he’d been confusing them. “S’pose it don’t matter which …” he murmured to himself with a chuckle.

The jug of beer smelled a bit off, but he brought it down the hallway and fumbled with the key. “’Elp is ’ere!” he said, opening the gate.

Simon felt a tiny sting in his neck. And all went black.

Madeleine tiptoed past the guard. He was fast asleep.

She managed a smile. The sleeping potion had worked, and the dart had held just enough of it to knock him out.

“I enjoy rainy days …” Simon said. “And I miss my little doggie….”

Madeleine realized the dose must have been a bit too weak. Too little, and the victim will begin revealing his innermost thoughts, Professor Xenophilus had said.

This meant she didn’t have long to make her escape. Maybe fifteen minutes.

In the darkness, she had managed to change clothes. Simon’s uniform was filthy and far too large for her frame. She couldn’t do much about the aroma, but at least the hooks from Olivia’s secret pouch held the material together adequately.

As she began climbing a set of steep stone steps, Simon was confessing his fear of bunny rabbits. He would be awake soon, but the fact that he was wearing a governess’s dress meant he might not call for help quite so quickly.

She tried to look on the bright side. But the ring was lost, Luke thought she was Vesper’s spy, and if she were caught, she would die. Her best hope was escape, from one of the most heavily guarded palaces in the world.

She had made stupid, unforgivable mistakes. Putting the ring on the tin flute. Allowing Master Winthrop to convince her to keep it there. Expecting that no one would recognize it.

As she neared the top of the stairs, she made a vow.

She would escape and regroup. She would use every ounce of her skill and cunning to find the ring. Somehow. And when she did, she would never let anyone, or anything, block the fulfillment of the promises.

From this point on, if she survived, the plan would be radically different. It would involve infinite patience. Observation. And more patience. If it took her lifetime — her children’s lifetime, their children’s — if it took the creation of a secret family within the family, so be it. The 39 Clues would remain secret for centuries if necessary. Until the moment when the families were ready to unite.

From this point on, Maddy Babbitt was dead.

Long live Madeleine Cahill.

At the landing, she inserted a large skeleton key into the thick, brass-plated wooden door. It creaked loudly as it opened.

“Wha? Hrrrrumph!” a gruff voice shouted. Another guard.

Madeleine’s legs locked. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice as far as it would go. “Go back to s-s-sleep,” she grumbled.

“Right, then, Grandmother …” came the answer, followed by a snore.

She stepped out into a narrow hallway. It led past a row of small warrenlike rooms, the living quarters for the kitchen maids. They were already awake, baking and preparing the day’s meals. As Madeleine darted past the kitchen, the scent of warm bread made her mouth water.

She followed candle-lit sconces through a long corridor. The palace was a maze, but at some point, if she walked far enough, she’d reach a door. She grabbed one of the sconces and held it like a torch.

“I beg your pardon?” a voice called from behind her. “May I ask what business you have here?”

It was Williams, the boy’s valet.

Madeleine’s mind raced. Luke had said he did not have the ring. Which meant he had given it to someone he trusted. Could it be Williams? “Hrrrm … Lord Cahill has sent me to fetch the ring,” she said in her guard voice.

“Ah, the ring, yes,” Williams said. “And you have the written request, do you?”