“How progress the children in their studies, Master Abdul?”
Margaret kept her face down, staring at the yellowed pages of the book in front of her as the cool, musical tones of her stepmother’s voice invaded the warm silence of her father’s library. Tall for a girl, and already quite beautiful, Margaret’s presence seemed out of sorts in the dusty library, her gown a splash of brilliant color amidst the earth tones surrounding her: old leather bound books, mahogany bookshelves, the dull granite stone of the castle walls.
“Oh, quite well, Your Majesty. I think you’ll find their progress most satisfactory indeed.” That was Master Abdul, a dwarfish, oily man who spent half his time toadying to the Queen and the other half making Margaret’s life miserable. The voices receded a bit, and Margaret braved a glance across the table.
Her brother, Jonathon, hadn’t budged. There he sat, a look of rapt attention on his face, practically glued to the musty pages in front of him. Margaret frowned. Two weeks ago he would have been fidgeting wildly, tossing longing glances out the window, secretly dying to get out and try his new hawking gauntlet or put his new warhorse through its paces. You’d never know it to look at him now. Already his tan was fading, leaving behind a rather bookish pallor. Absently, Margaret bit the end of her quill.
“Ah, Margaret, deep in thought, I see. I’m pleased to see you have finally begun to apply yourself to Master Abdul’s most excellent teachings.” The Queen’s voice trickled down Margaret’s back like icy water. Startled, she merely nodded.
Jonathon roused himself from his book. “Hello Mother,” he said quietly.
Margaret’s face was an impassable mask. She hated it when he called her that! That, that woman was NOT their mother, and Margaret would be damned if she’d ever call the b…witch as such. Quickly she looked back down at her book. You never knew what the Queen might notice and take exception to.
“Study hard, children.” Her voice floated back from the doorway as she swayed out, listing like a cargo-heavy schooner, pregnant as she was with Margaret’s half-sib. Glancing up again, Margaret frowned slightly to herself. A thoughtful look crossed her face, and she gazed absently into the candle flame until Master Abdul returned and rebuked her for her inattention.
***
The footsteps passed. Margaret waited a minute more, making sure they had passed, before heaving a quiet sigh of relief and once again unshuttering her lantern. If she was caught awake at this hour…well, best not to think about it, let alone what punishment would await her were she to be discovered with one of Master Abdul’s own personal books.
Margaret’s eyes hardened. Master Abdul! She was coming to hate him almost as much as her stepmother. He was so…slimy. But the worst part was that Jonathon totally didn’t see it. He went about expounding Master Abdul’s virtues like he was some acolyte and Master Abdul the High Priest of Colno’Ron.
Angrily, she flipped to the next page of her book. Crouched over it to make the most of what little light she dared let escape from her hooded lantern, her mouth moved as she worked the archaic wordings in the text. Her eyes widened as she made out the meaning in the text. No wonder the Queen was so keen on their studies! If they continued, both she and her brother Jonathon would go mad, die, or worse.
Margaret froze. The footsteps were returning. Quickly she hooded the lantern and the room fell once more into darkness.
***
There it was. The book. Margaret stared at it in horrified fascination. It was bound in some sort of thin, crumbly leather. Her stomach recoiled slightly. Human skin, that book was bound with human skin! Fortunately, Master Abdul mistook her stare of revulsion for one of awe.
“Yes,” he smiled, “Today is the day we shall begin expanding our studies into the more esoteric fields.” He placed the book on a raised podium and gestured for Margaret to approach. Jonathon glared at her, furious that she was allowed to see the book first, a sign of Master Abdul’s favor.
Some favor, Margaret thought to herself as she slowly made her way to the podium. This was it. It was now or never. Master Abdul flipped open the book to one of the first pages, tapped it meaningfully, then stepped back to allow her to read aloud from the text.
Haltingly, Margaret did so. As she did, the little hairs on the back of her neck began to rise, and the words in her mouth seemed to writhe weakly with a life of their own, an alien life bound up with horror and things best left buried in the sands of time. Suddenly, one unpronounceable formula stuck in her throat. She tried again. Nothing. Master Abdul frowned.
“What is it, girl?” He snapped out the words irritably.
Margaret looked up at him. “I can’t work out the pronunciation of this phrase, Master Abdul.”
“Well, don’t just stand there dumb. Sound it out, girl! Use that mind of yours!”
Margaret looked back at the book and began to slowly fumble over the cumbersome syllables. Again, that unpronounceable formula stuck in her throat. Master Abdul sighed irritably.
“Step back, girl, and let me have a look at that. I’ll sound it out once for you, if only so we may finish before nightfall!” Master Abdul stepped up to the podium.
Margaret nodded and stepped down. As she did so, she made sure to carefully avert her eyes as she flipped to a page very close to the back of the book. She flipped to what she hoped was the most dangerous section of the text, if Master Abdul’s books were to be believed. Master Abdul didn’t notice, stepping up from behind her like he did. Her stature and his saw to that. She walked calmly over to where Jonathon was sitting sulkily and stood beside him.
Master Abdul stepped up to the podium and cast one eye to the text. Almost automatically he began to read from it, slowly and clearly enunciating each syllable. The arcane sounds flowed from his lips, seeming to hang in the air after they had been spoken, almost visibly darkening the room with their presence.
Suddenly, Master Abdul stopped in mid-phrase. His eyes went wise with horror as he realized what was happening. His throat caught and the flow of words stopped and there was silence in the room, the sort of silence that roars in your ears like the crash of a million waves. In a hoarse voice, he tried to begin the words again, but he stuttered and failed. He looked down, and screamed.
It was moving! Jonathon sitting next to her, Margaret watched in horror as the pages of the book moved of their own volition, discharging words into the air like a plague of flies. Neither she nor Jonathon moved, stunned by the sudden exodus of living ink.
Master Abdul stumbled back, but the words darted after him, stinging like wasps. They seemed to be aiming for his head. There were too many for him to fend off. He screamed again, clutching his hand to his left eyes. Again and again the words struck him, until suddenly they vanished, spiraling away into the shadows.
For a single moment, stillness reigned, no one moving. Then Master Abdul whipped his hand from his eye with an exclamation of pain. Margaret stared, dumbfounded. Where his left eye once sat, secure in its socket, a living serpent writhed angrily, hissing its displeasure with the world. Slowly, it arched around until it was staring dully into Master Abdul’s remaining eye.
He tried to scream then, but though his jaw worked and a faint hissing of air emerged from his throat, no sound passed his lips. In mindless horror he looked into…his own eyes? Then with a wordless scream he fled from the room, leaving Margaret and Jonathon sitting, stunned and unable to rouse so much as a single coherent thought.
***
The Kingdom was in mourning. The Queen had died in childbirth, the babe stillborn. Margaret, dressed all in black with a single defiant ribbon of scarlet in her hair, sat quietly in the library, not looking at the small chest which sat on the table in front of her. It was stout oak, bound with iron. There was neither lid nor keyhole.
“There is a ship awaiting you in the harbor. You are to take this chest, go to the ship, and embark for the land across the sea. When you’re halfway across, drop it in.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The man bowed and lifted the chest from the table. Immediately, he dropped it to the floor.
“Careful. It’s heavy,” she cautioned him.
“Yes, Your Highness. But if I may ask, what is within that makes this chest so heavy?”
“A book.”
“A book, Your Highness?”
“Sealed in lead.”
The servant looked confused.
“I would not recommend reading it. It is said to be the last thing Master Abdul ever looked upon with two good eyes.”
The servant paled, eyeing the chest nervously, but hefted it once more and staggered out of the library, swearing under his breath.
Impassively, Margaret watched him go. Suddenly, Jonathon burst into the room and exclaimed.
“Margaret! Whatever are you doing cooped up in here? Father has promised to take us hunting in the forest today!” Then he turned and rushed back out of the room.
Margaret smiled and rose and followed her brother out the door.
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