Page 13 of Bluebeard’s Key

“Are you corrupting our new apprentices, dear?” she accused, but with a smile. “Already?”

“Far be it from me to corrupt the youth of today,” he said. “No, hon, I’m being good.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. I imagine you’ve already shown them your precious pitcher plants. I swear, sometimes I think you care more for them than you do for me.”

“What’s all this?” Zayan cut in, sparing Hoyle the embarrassment of answering that unanswerable question.

Tom answered. “I saw them this afternoon. They’re pitcher plants that make powerful aphrodisiacs and have sex with monkeys, or rather, the plants trick monkeys into having sex with them. Isn’t that amazing? And I get to work on the compounds, or at least I hope I will. I can’t wait.”

Charlie didn’t look at all sure, but Hoyle grinned like a proud parent.

Thierry bustled up and directed, “Mage Bluebeard is ready to begin. Please take your places.”

He corralled them into the small chapel, barely large enough to fit the assembly. It was sparsely ornamented, with a high vaulted ceiling and three narrow leaded-glass windows set in the thick castle wall. A wide stone altar held pride of place at the center of the circular chancel, and hard as Tom searched, there wasn’t a cross in sight.

Thierry arrayed them along the side walls, Tom and Zayan on one side facing Charlie and Hoyle on the opposite side. They waited as Thierry took his place at the altar, all turning to watch the door. Zayan nudged him and glanced up at the wall above the door, directing Tom’s gaze to an intricately carved frieze with devils and sinners, probably a depiction of the gates of hell. The devils appeared to be winning. This day seemed to be getting more and more interesting by the moment.

They all fidgeted, holding their places for ten or fifteen minutes, when the door slammed open and Bluebeard stormed in, his bride on his arm. She was radiant, obviously overwhelmed by the experience of a wedding in a medieval castle dressed in Victorian finery, holding the bouquet Tom and Hoyle had completed just hours before, and striving to keep pace with Bluebeard’s long stride.

The ceremony, now that the bride and groom had arrived, seemed to end before it had properly begun. Bluebeard steered his bride into place, facing him, and Thierry led them through the vows with almost clinical brevity, in strictly traditional language. Giles went first:

“I, Giles Fortescue, take thee, Beatrice Angela Windstrom, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, until death us depart.”

Beatrice then said her vows, which were almost identical, but ended, “...and to obey, until death us depart.” So she vowed to obey, but he didn’t. That seemed needlessly archaic, but maybe not surprising. They were in a medieval castle, after all.

Thierry handed Bluebeard the ring, and Bluebeard tenderly slipped it on her finger, saying, “With this ring, my dearest treasure, I thee wed.”

As he gathered her in his arms and shared their first kiss as man and wife, Tom couldn’t help getting teary-eyed at the beauty of it. He only hoped, if someday he had the fortune to find the man of his dreams, his wedding would be as solemn and beautiful.

CHAPTER 10

“Thierry! Where is our blasted dinner?” Bluebeard shouted, bursting with energy, as he led the wedding party to his Great Hall. It was good to have the obligatory service over and done with. Weddings were always the most tedious part of the entire charade, but a necessary milestone for all that followed. The contract must be made for it then to be broken. Yet again, another wife had agreed, in front of gods and witnesses, to obey. With that thought, Bluebeard put on a happy grin and said, pointing to seats at the resplendent table, “Beatrice, treasure, please sit opposite me, as befits your new station as my beloved wife. Zayan, Thomas, take the seats next to me on the left. Thierry, Charlie, Hoyle, you’re on the right, one, two, three.”

The day of grasping clients had been a miserable affront to propriety, so Bluebeard had smoothed out the rough edges with a whiskey or three before the ceremony. Consequently, he was seriously in his cups, but no matter. This was a time for celebration. He pulled off his silk top hat and sailed it toward the corner of the room, plopping himself down at the head of the table.

As his apprentices took their places at the table, he said, “Ah! I see that Thierry has also been at you both, with those spotless ascots. I remember when the craze for them swept the salons. Why, by all the stars, would anyone get so excited by a tie? I never did learn to…”

Thierry interrupted as a pretty serving girl began ladling soup into their bowls, “Mage Bluebeard, perhaps we could save that reminiscence for later. Dinner is served.”

“At last. I’m famished.”

After he tasted the soup, a rich seafood bisque, Bluebeard asked, tinging his voice with irony. “I trust your rooms are satisfactory?” He needed no answer—of course they were satisfactory. He built this castle one stone at a time, what, almost six centuries ago, and he was still inordinately proud of it. But it was always good to give guests the chance to gush.

“It’s amazing,” Thomas answered right on cue, with all the expected enthusiasm. “I’ve never even been in a castle before, and now I have a bedroom in one! I’m glad the plumbing is modern, though, otherwise it would have been a challenge. I want to ask, if it’s okay—are you a wizard?”

Bluebeard put down his spoon and gave his new apprentice a long look, then burst into laughter. “You’re not one to mince words, are you? I like that. Yes and no. I’m not a sorcerer, like Merlin or Maleficent, but I am an alchemist. That involves some practices you might deem wizard-like.”

His other apprentice, Zayan, watched the whole exchange but didn’t add anything. Good. He was already learning his place, and that boded well for their future together, but perhaps more curiosity would be welcome. Zayan’s training in alchemy would begin soon, and that would require both focus and inquisitiveness from his new apprentice. He must be excited to be here. How could he not be in the fascinating environment of the Château? Perhaps he was simply less vocal by nature.

In contrast, Thomas was more than up to the task of filling the silence with his eager chatter. He yammered on, “It’s just that I’m confused about the boat ride here, and my GPS isn’t working. I have questions. Zayan and I both have questions. Is it magic, or what? If you don’t mind answering. I’m still having trouble believing it all.”

Bluebeard turned back to his soup, stifling his temper at the boy’s willfulness. Thomas was such an innocent, blathering on with his questions with no conception of the consequences. He had done the same at the interview. Perhaps this was a good sign, a tangible expression of his simplicity and purity of soul. How much did he want to reveal? Now didn’t seem the proper time. He was famished after his busy day, and Thomas’s incessant questions were rapidly getting tiresome.

Between spoonfuls, he said, deflecting, “I remember that feeling well, but it will soon feel familiar, once you get to work.”

“I have questions about that too, my love,” Beatrice said. “I’ve only been at the castle for a day, and I’ve already seen half a dozen things I can’t explain. Mind you, I’m not complaining. It’s all like a fairytale dream come true.”

Splendid, he thought, smiling to himself. The enticing mysteries of the castle were already piquing her curiosity. She was indeed a wise choice. With that fertile curiosity, she was certain to succumb to temptation in short order, and he’d soon be able to mollify his greedy clients once again.