L. Jagi Lamplighter - Prospero Lost (Prosperos Daughter, Book 1)

PROSPERO LOST

TOR BOOKS BY
L. JAGI LAMPLIGHTER

Prospero Lost
Prospero in Hell (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 LOST

Copyright 2009 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.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Lamplighter, L. Jagi.

Prospero lost / L. Jagi Lamplighter.1st ed.

p. cm.(Prosperos daughter ; bk. 1)

ISBN 978-0-7653-1929-6

1. Sisters Fiction. 2. MagiciansFiction. I. Title.

PS3612.A547435P76 2009

813.6dc22

2009016708

First Edition: September 2009

Printed in the United States of America

0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To William Shakespeare and John C. Wright
who, between them,
invented nearly every character in this story
except for Mab Boreal, Astreus, and Caurus

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to:

Mark Whipple, Dave Eckstein, and Catherine Rockwood, without whose insistence this novel would have been abandoned in its infancy.

To Von Long, Erin Furby, Kirsten Edwards, Bill Burns, Dave Coffman, Elizabeth Livingston, Jeff Lyman, Melanie Florence, Jessie Harris, Donna Royston, Robin Buehler, Jane Thornley, Don Schank, and Diana Hardy for their support and advice, and to Danielle Ackley-McPhail and the Yesterdays Dreamers for all their useful ideas concerning the craft of writing.

To my editor, Jim Frenkel, for not giving up on me! And to my agent, Richard Curtis, the Knight in Shining Armor who gives me hope!

To Milton, whose title, I hope, this book honors rather than mocks.

And, most important, to my mother, Jane Lamplighter, without whose selfless devotion to her grandchildren this book literally could not have been written.

PROSPERO LOST

It was after midnight when I discovered Fathers last message.

After a long day of work, I had been relaxing in the lesser hall of Prosperos Mansion in Oregon, flipping through one of my fathers old journals, when I came across a blank page. An intuition from my Lady prompted me to hold the book up to the phoenix lamp.

With a loud crackle, red-gold sparks leapt from the burning phoenix feather housed in a glass lantern beside the hearth and crawled across the journal, scorching words into the parchment. A strong odor of burnt paper and cinnamon filled the air. I nearly dropped the book.

I had seen secrets revealed by the phoenix lamp before. Father had a habit of scribbling notes in the margins that could only be read in this way. Normally, the letters appeared slowly. This smoldering script was something new.

The blazing letters read:

My Child:
I have unwittingly unleashed powers best kept bound. If I fail to constrain them, they will destroy me and all I have wrought. If you have not seen me since the writing of this message, assume the worst and warn the family. Counsel my children to keep close the gifts I have bestowed. Beware the Three Shadowed Ones!

Prospero,

Magus

I turned the page, but the rest of the journal was blank, even by phoenix lamp.

Was Father in trouble, or was this another of his pranks? Our family had many supernatural enemies. We had bound many malevolent creatures throughout our long lives, any number of which could have broken free of their restraints. On the other hand, in the last century or so, Father seemed to handle every difficulty that came his way with ease. This letter was most likely one of Fathers many jests, set up years ago to startle any youngster unlawfully searching his books. Finding no further evidence that this message had been written recentlyand not knowing any method by which he could have sent it into the book from a distanceI dismissed it and continued reading.

That night, letters of flame troubled my dreams.

The next morning, I sent one of the invisible spirits of the air who serve our family to Prosperos Island. (Father refused to keep any kind of phone. He claimed the constant caterwauling of that new-fangled contraption disturbed his concentration.) If Peaseblossom found him at home, she was to tell him of the laugh he might have at my expense.

Only, he was not there.

It took Peaseblossom six days to circumnavigate the globe, reach my fathers island retreat, and return to Oregon. Upon returning, she reported that the Aerie Ones on Prosperos Island were agitated. Great Prospero had not returned from his most recent voyage, even though he had been expected several months ago. Nor could his servants find him anyplace upon the earth.

This news disturbed me. Never in my long life could I recall a time when the Aerie Ones had been unable to find Father. It was time to act. I sent for Mab.

I DECIDED to meet with Mab in the Everblooming Gardens, as I seldom could afford to take time from my busy workday to enjoy them. This botanical wonderland, which one reached by leaving the house through a back door, was always in bloom, no matter the season. It lay between Prosperos Mansion and a tall stone wall, beyond which stood an enclosed forest of aspens and virgin pines. At the gardens center, in the midst of the flower beds, a fountain leapt, the water rushing and gurgling.

I sat at a wrought-iron table next to the fountain, stirring my tea. My hair, so pale as to appear silver, was piled atop my head in a Grecian style that had gone out of vogue more than a century ago. My garment, a tea gown with a high lacy collarthe enchanted satin of which matched the emerald of my eyeswas also of a bygone age. Fashions change so quickly. Long ago, I had stopped bothering to keep up.

As I reached for another sugar cube, Mab, our companys head gumshoe, came slouching down the path, his hands stuck in the pockets of his gray trench coat. He was the granite-faced, hard-boiled type. Too many years of chasing supernatural perpetrators had given him an intense dislike of all things arcane. He might have passed for human himself, had he not looked so precisely like a detective from a 1940s movie.

Coming up beside me, Mab respectfully removed his fedora and gave me a nod. Mab and I had worked together on numerous occasions, though I never called on him personally unless the matter was one of particular importance. Lesser matters I left to his men.

You wanted to see me, Maam? he asked, in his Bronx accent. There was a sardonic quality to everything Mab said; even his terms of polite address, such as Maam sounded defiant.

Mab, are you familiar with the Three Shadowed Ones? The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I cant place them.

Dont know, Maam, but they sound like bad customers. If you want my opinion, youll turn down whatever theyre offering and stick to legitimate mundane business.

This has nothing to do with me I began.

Glad to hear it, Maam, Mab picked up his hat and turned to leave.