L. Jagi Lamplighter - Prospero in Hell (Prosperos Daughter, Book 2)

PROSPERO IN HELL

TOR BOOKS BY
L. JAGI LAMPLIGHTER

Prospero Lost

Prospero in Hell

Prospero Regained (forthcoming)

L. Jagi Lamplighter

A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK

NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

PROSPERO IN HELL

Copyright 2010 by L. Jagi Lamplighter

All rights reserved.

Edited by James Frenkel

A Tor Book

Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

175 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

ISBN 978-0-7653-1930-2

First Edition: August 2010

Printed in the United States of America

0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Orville, Roland Wilbur,
Ping-Ping Eve, and the Elf King,
the best children in the universe

THE FAMILY PROSPERO

Eldest to youngest

T HE D READ M AGICIAN P ROSPERO carries the Staff of Eternity

M IRANDA carries the Staff of Winds

M EPHISTOPHELES carries the Staff of Summoning

T HEOPHRASTUS carries the Staff of Devastation

E RASMUS carries the Staff of Decay

C ORNELIUS carries the Staff of Persuasion

T ITUS carries the Staff of Silence

L OGISTILLA carries the Staff of Transmogrification

G REGOR carries the Staff of Darkness

U LYSSES carries the Staff of Transportation

PROSPERO IN HELL

The three of us hurtled through the night on the back of the winged horse. Miles of ice and pine flew by underfoot, glimmering in the moonlight. The Arctic night was bitterly cold, but even the biting chill could not dim the joy of flight, the crispness of the air, or the power of Pegasuss wing beats. How easy it would be to forget earthly life and dwell only in the sky!

Behind me, Mab shouted something, but his words were whipped away by the wind. Leaning over, I freed my flute from where I had secured it to the saddle and held it up for Mab to see. He nodded grumpily and inserted a pair of orange hunting earplugs with one hand, his other hand holding onto his fedora. Raising the four-foot length of polished pinewood to my lips, I played a quick trill.

The freezing northern winds grew gentler. Their constant roar muted; I could hear the steady flap of our steeds wings and the singing of my brother Mephistopheles, who sat before me. Mephisto had been keeping up a running narrative in song, ever since we left the North Pole. I thanked my Lady that the noise of the winds had previously protected me from his impromptu recital.

I secured my flute again, and Mab pulled out his earplugs. We were on our way home from the North Pole, heading for Mephistos home in the wilds of North Canada. Our plane had gone down on the way to visit Father Christmas, so we were constrained to travel by one of Mephistos many supernatural beast friends. Currently, we flew on Pegasus, the horse that once carried the Greek hero Bellerophon up the heights of Mount Olympus. Bellerophon was struck down with lightning for his impudence; I prayed that our journey would not meet a similar fate.

Theres a storm brewing, Maam. Snows coming. Mab spoke with a heavy Bronx accent so that his there sounded like dare. How an incarnated Aerie One came to have a New York accent, I did not know, but a lot of things about Mab defied explanation. Might not be good for ushis voice grew heavy with sarcasmconsidering our mode of travel.

Hey! You be polite, or Pegasus will hear you! my crazy brother cried, interrupting his aria. Its not his fault you crashed your stupid plane. Is it, Peggie? He leaned over and stroked the winged horses smooth neck.

Ill take care of it, I interrupted before they could start sparring with each other. Earplugs again.

Mab obliged, and I began to play again.

My flute sang with the voice of the cold wind. It was as if speech had been given to cloud, and night, and the chill of winter air. The song lightened my spirits. So glorious and enchanting was the melody that I nearly forgot my purpose and gave myself to the music and the night sky.

The winds I summoned dispersed the gathering clouds, and we flew on, unobstructed. Unhindered, Pegasus sped along, making good time. This cheered me. It was important we get back to civilization. A great deal of work awaited me at Prospero, Inc. Also, I had not yet finished carrying out the orders from my fathers last letter, instructing me to warn my brothers and sister that the Three Shadowed Ones were after our staffs. On top of all this, I still had no idea what doom was supposed to befall my family on Twelfth Night. The demon had not been specific.

Whatever it was, only eleven days remained in which to stop it.

I strapped my beloved flute back into its holder. My wrist brushed against a firm bulge within the pocket of my white cashmere cloak. I smiled and reached inside to touch the slender leather volume: the Book of the Sibyl.

After five hundred years of searching, it was finally mine!

It saddened me that I had not had an opportunity to thank Astreus Stormwind properly. Just after he had handed the book to me, back at Father Christmass mansion, an elvish servant had come running to inform us that Mephisto had been found facedown in the snow, as stiff as a board, the butt of some elvish prank. Luckily, a drop of Water of Life had revived him.

Then, while Lady Christmas fed my brother soup in her enormous kitchen with its rows of hanging copper pots, I went in search of Mab, whom I found hanging in a closet next to Father Christmass many red and green robes, his trench coat caught on a hook so that he hung by his arms.

When I asked him what had happened, he just colored. You youd rather not know, Maam. Just chalk it up to the folly of agreeing to eat dinner with elves.

By the time we came back to the main hall, the elven High Court had ridden out across the ice, except for Astreus, who had departed through the Uttermost Door, heading back into the Void to carry out whatever terrible task it was that the Elf Queen had bidden him to complete.

Before we were parted, Astreus told me how he found the original scroll in such sad condition that he could not take it away with him. Instead, he had copied it, in its entirety, in his own hand and carried it with him for over three hundred years.

Thinking of this helped drive back the biting cold. I recalled Astreuss laughing, his changing eyes, and, most of all, our marvelous flight the previous night, as we had soared through the midnight sky on the back of a giant black swan that had flown out of an unknown constellation. More than once, my thoughts returned to the taste of his lipsuntil I remembered our kiss had only been a dream.

What had motivated him to find the book for me? Had he been human, I might have hazarded an opinion. Human men undertake difficult quests on the behalf of maidens for predictable reasons. But, an elf? Who could begin to guess? They were prey to strange elvish impulses no mortal could comprehend.