Saphirblau

“Yes, definitely more comfortable than on my last visit,” I said. “I was scared a rat might come out and nibble me all the time then.”

Gideon tried the handle of the door and rattled it once. It was obviously locked.

“Just once this door was left open,” he said with a grin. “That was a really good evening. From here there’s a secret passage down to underneath the Royal Courts of Justice. It goes on even deeper, into catacombs with bones and skulls … and not far from here, there’s a wine cellar. At least, there is in 1953.”

“We need a key.” I looked surreptitiously at the wall again. Somewhere behind a loose brick, there was a key. I sighed. What a shame that it was no use to me now. But it was also kind of a good feeling to know something when, for once, Gideon had no idea of it. “Did you drink any of the wine?”

“What do you think?” Gideon took one of the chairs from the stack by the wall and put it down at the table. “Here you are, all yours. Have fun with the homework.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I sat down, took my things out of my bag, and pretended to be immersed in a book. Meanwhile Gideon stretched out on the sofa, took an iPod out of his jeans pocket, and put the earphones in his ears. After a couple of minutes, I risked glancing at him and saw that his eyes were closed. Had he gone to sleep? No wonder, really, when you stopped to think that he’d been time traveling again last night.

I lost myself for a while in looking at his long, straight nose, pale skin, soft lips, and those thick, curving eyelashes. Relaxed like that, he seemed much younger than usual, and suddenly I could imagine what he must have looked like as a little boy. Very cute, anyway. His chest was rising and falling regularly, and I wondered if I might venture to—no, too dangerous. And I mustn’t look at that wall anymore, not if I wanted to keep the secret I shared with Lucas.

Since there was nothing else to do, and I could hardly spend four whole hours watching Gideon asleep (although the idea did have its good points), I finally devoted myself to my homework, first the mineral resources of the Caucasus, then irregular French verbs. The essay on Shakespeare’s life and work only needed some kind of conclusion. I made a determined effort and summed it up in a single sentence: Shakespeare spent the last five years of his life in Stratford-upon-Avon, where he died in 1616. There, done it. Now all I had to do was learn a sonnet by heart. As they were all the same length, I picked one at random. “Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, how to divide the conquest of thy sight,” I murmured.

“Do you mean me?” asked Gideon, sitting up and taking the earphones out.

Unfortunately I couldn’t stop myself going red. “It’s Shakespeare,” I said.

Gideon smiled. “Mine eye my heart thy picture’s sight would bar, my heart mine eye the freedom of that right. Or something like that.”

“No, exactly like that,” I said, slamming the book shut.

“You don’t know it by heart yet,” said Gideon.

“I’d have forgotten it again by tomorrow anyway. I’d better learn it first thing in the morning just before school. Then I have a fair chance of remembering it in Mr. Whitman’s English class.”

“Good, now we can practice the minuet.” Gideon stood up. “There’s plenty of room for us here, anyway.”

“Oh, no! Please let’s not!”

But Gideon was already bowing to me. “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Shepherd?”

“There’s nothing I’d like better, sir,” I assured him, fanning myself with the book of Shakespeare sonnets, “but I am sorry to say that I’ve sprained my ankle. Perhaps you’d like to ask my cousin there. The lady in green.” I pointed to the sofa. “She’d be happy to show you how well she can dance.”

“But I want to dance with you—I found out how your cousin dances long ago.”

“I meant my cousin Sofa, not my cousin Charlotte,” I said. “I can assure you, you’ll have more fun with Sofa than with Charlotte. Sofa may not be quite as pretty, but she’s softer, she has much more charm, and she has a kinder disposition.”

Gideon laughed. “As I said, I’m exclusively interested in dancing with you. Do let me have the honor!”

“Surely a gentleman like you will show consideration for my sprained ankle?”

“No, sorry.” Gideon took the iPod out of his jeans pocket. “Wait a moment, the music’s still too far away from you.” He put the earphones in my ears and pulled me to my feet.

“Oh, good, Linkin Park,” I said, while my pulse shot right up because Gideon was suddenly so close to me.

“What? Sorry, just a moment, and I’ll have the right track.” His fingers moved over the display. “Right, Mozart—that will do.” He handed me the iPod. “No, put it in your skirt pocket. You need both hands free.”

“But you can’t hear the music at all,” I said as violins scraped away in my ears.

“I can hear enough, you don’t have to shout like that. Okay, let’s imagine this is for a set of eight dancers. There’s another gentleman beside me on the left, two more on my right. Opposite us the same lineup, but with ladies. Curtsey, please.”

I made him a curtsey and hesitantly put my hand in his. “But I’m stopping the moment you say stupid girl to me.”

“Which I would never do,” said Gideon, leading me straight past the sofa. “And we make polite conversation while dancing, that’s important. May I ask how you developed your dislike of dancing? Most young ladies love it.”

“Shh, I must concentrate.” So far it was going really well. I was surprised at myself. The tour de main worked perfectly, once to the left, once to the right. “Can we do that bit again?”

“Raise your chin, that’s it. And look at me. You must never take your eyes off me, never mind how good-looking my neighbor may be.”

I had to grin. What was all this—fishing for compliments? Well, I wasn’t going to play ball. Although I had to admit that Gideon danced really well. It wasn’t a bit like dancing with Puffylips. The steps seemed to go smoothly all by themselves. I might actually end up getting some fun out of this minuet business.

Gideon noticed, too. “There, you see, you can do it after all! Right hand, right shoulder, left hand, left shoulder—very good.”

He was right. I could do it! It really was child’s play. I triumphantly twirled around with one of the invisible gentlemen, and then put my hand back in Gideon’s. “There! So now who says I’m as graceful as a windmill?”

“Never mind what Giordano says, that would be an outrageous comparison,” agreed Gideon. “You outclass any windmill as a dancer.”

I chuckled. Then I jumped. “Oops—we’re back to Linkin Park.”

“Never mind.” While “Papercut” pounded in my ears, Gideon led me unerringly through the last figure and finally bowed. I was almost sorry it was over.

I made a deep curtsey and took the earphones off. “Here. It was very nice of you to teach me how to do it.”

“Pure self-interest,” said Gideon. “After all, otherwise I’m the one who’d look foolish dancing with you. Forgotten that?”

“No.” My good mood instantly passed off. Before I could prevent myself, I let my eyes wander to the wall with the chairs in front of it.

“Hey, we haven’t finished,” said Gideon. “That was very good, yes, but not perfect yet. What’s the idea of giving me such a dark look all of a sudden?”

“Why do you think Count Saint-Germain is so keen for me to go to a soirée and a ball? After all, he could just tell me to be here in the Temple, and then I wouldn’t risk making an idiot of myself in front of strangers. No one would have to wonder about me and maybe leave an account of my odd behavior for posterity.”

Gideon looked down at me for a little while before answering. “The count likes to keep his cards close to his chest, but there’s a brilliant plan behind every single one of his ideas. He has a definite suspicion about those men who attacked us in Hyde Park, and I think he wants to lure whoever was behind it out into the open by taking us both to large society events.”

“Oh,” I said. “You mean we’re going to have men with swords after us again?”

“Not while we’re in company,” said Gideon. He perched on the arm of the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest. “All the same, I do think it’s too dangerous—for you, anyway.”

I leaned against the table. “Didn’t you suspect that Lucy and Paul were mixed up with the attack in Hyde Park?”

“Yes and no,” said Gideon. “A man like Count Saint-Germain makes quite a few enemies in the course of his life. There are several accounts of assassination attempts on him in the Annals. I only suspect that for their own ends Lucy and Paul may have joined forces with one of those enemies of his. Or several of them.”

“Does the count think so too?”

Gideon shrugged his shoulders. “I hope so.”

I thought about this for a while. “I’m in favor of breaking the rules again. Take one of those James Bond pistols with you,” I suggested. “That would show those characters with their swords something! Where did you get it from, by the way? I’d feel better myself if I had a thing like that.”

“A weapon can usually be turned against you, if you don’t know how to use it,” said Gideon.

I thought of my Japanese vegetable knife. Not a nice idea to think of it being turned against me.

“Is Charlotte good at fencing? And can she use a pistol?”

Another shrug of his shoulders. “She’s had fencing lessons since she was twelve—of course she’s good.”

Of course. Charlotte was good at everything. Except being nice. “I’m sure the count would have liked her,” I said. “I obviously wasn’t his type.”

Gideon laughed. “Well, you can still revise his idea of you. The main reason why he wants to know you better is to see whether the prophesies may be right in what they say about you after all.”

“The magic of the raven and so on?” I felt uncomfortable. I always did when anyone talked about that. “Do the prophesies also say what it is?”

Gideon hesitated for a moment, and then said softly, “The raven red, on ruby pinions winging its way between the worlds, hears dead men singing. It scarce knows its strength, the price it scarce knows, but its power will arise and the Circle will close.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve come out in goose bumps.”

“It sounds so eerie. Specially the bit about the dead men singing.” I rubbed my arms. “Does it go on?”

“No, that’s more or less all. You have to admit it doesn’t sound much like you.”

He was probably right there. “Is there something about you in the prophesies as well?”

“Of course,” said Gideon. “There’s a prophesy about each of the time travelers. I’m the lion with the diamond mane at the sight of which the sun…” For a moment, he suddenly seemed embarrassed. Then he went on, grinning, “Blah blah blah. Oh, and your great-great-grandmother, our stubborn friend Lady Tilney, is a fox. Very suitable. A jade fox hiding under a linden tree.”