“You know as well as I do the moment Atlantis realizes the vessel is outside of its control, we’d drop like a rock.”
If they had Fairfax, dropping out of the air would not be a problem. But they did not.
“Will you look after the food?” he asked Kashkari. “I need to track down my spymaster and find out what is going on.”
Titus stood atop the rock face, the edge of his tunic whipping in the gale. The last few scattered rays of light from the sunset were disappearing; the full mantle of night lay upon the mountains.
Why had Dalbert not come to the safe house yet? Before Titus left the laboratory, he had let Dalbert know to expect him in the mountains. He did have a few other way stations, but Dalbert should have understood that he meant to make for the safe house. And Titus would have expected Dalbert, always meticulously organized and prepared, to have arrived well ahead.
He tried to recall the exact words Dalbert had used in his earlier communiqué, but could only remember the gist of it, something about the spymaster not being able to send messages for several days.
What exactly had happened in the castle while Titus had been in the desert? Was Dalbert also on the run—or in hiding, as it may be?
“Your Highness,” came the sound of a familiar voice.
Dalbert stood at the base of the smooth cliff, his round face upturned. He was not a liveried servant, but at the castle he always wore a white capelet, embroidered on the back with the image of a two-headed phoenix, the emblem on Titus’s mother’s personal standard. This time the capelet was missing and he was in the simple tunic of a woodsman, a worn leather bag slung over his shoulder.
“Dalbert!” Titus was more than glad—he was thrilled. He vaulted down and gripped his valet and spymaster by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”
Dalbert bowed from the waist. “I’m quite well, sire. I had hoped to arrive sooner and have everything in the safe house ready for Your Highness, a meal and a bath in particular.”
Titus waved his hand. “I can see to those myself. Come inside and tell me what is going on instead.”
Amara and Kashkari were setting the table when they walked in. Titus made the introductions, and together they brought all the supper items from the kitchen and sat down.
“Thank you, Master Dalbert,” said Kashkari, “for having the foresight to provide us a translocator.”
“Indeed,” said Titus. “When did you put that in place?”
“After we were informed that Your Highness was expected to attend a nonmage school in England, I was among the mages sent to Mrs. Dawlish’s to make sure the dwelling was sound. I took advantage of that time to examine some locales in London. With every subsequent trip, I did some work on the wardrobe at the Victoria and Albert Museum. It was ready to use by your third Half at Eton.”
“Well done, of course. But how did you anticipate that I might require something of the sort?” Titus had never spoken of his mission to Dalbert: his policy had always been secrecy. And yet here he was, finding out that Dalbert had long been implementing emergency measures on his behalf.
Dalbert smiled slightly, a smile with a trace of melancholy. “When I was fourteen, I became a page to Her Highness. After she came of age, she dismissed the personal secretary Prince Gaius had assigned her and entrusted the post to me instead. At the same time she confided in me that she saw visions of the future, and much to her regret, she was eerily accurate in those visions.
“A few years later, she caught Commander Rainstone snooping in her diary, in which she kept a record of her visions. After that, she put a blank charm on the diary, so that even if someone knew the password to the diary, they would still see only bare pages—the touch of her hand was needed to show the contents.
“But when she understood that she would die young, she faced a quandary. Many of her visions concerned you, sire. It was important that you had access to them, but it was also crucial that you not be overwhelmed by everything at once. She didn’t have enough time to configure the spells necessary for the diary to only give up what you needed to see at any point in time. That task was handed