L. Jagi Lamplighter - Prospero Regained (Prosperos Daughter, Book 3)

To Franchezzo and A. Farnese,

whomever you may be,

with much gratitude!

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

CONTENTS

ONE:

TWO:

THREE:

FOUR:

FIVE:

SIX:

SEVEN:

EIGHT:

NINE:

TEN:

ELEVEN:

TWELVE:

THIRTEEN:

FOURTEEN:

FIFTEEN:

SIXTEEN:

SEVENTEEN:

EIGHTEEN:

NINETEEN:

TWENTY:

TWENTY-ONE:

TWENTY-TWO:

TWENTY-THREE:

TWENTY-FOUR:

TWENTY-FIVE:

TWENTY-SIX:

TWENTY-SEVEN:

TWENTY-EIGHT:

TWENTY-NINE:

THIRTY:

THIRTY-ONE:

THIRTY-TWO:

THIRTY-THREE:

THIRTY-FOUR:

CHAPTER

ONE

Once More Back into the Swamp

What we need now is a cheer weasel! My brother Erasmus pulled his boot out of the thick ooze with a sucking pop. Mud spattered across his dark green breeches, his justacorps, and the hem of Mabs trench coat. Erasmus winced. Sorry about that, Company Detective. This not-letting-go-of-each-other business makes things rather cramped. He lifted Mabs right hand, which he held in his own. Still, beats being led astray by demonic illusions, I suppose.

What in tarna Mab muttered in his Bronx accent. He glanced nervously at the infernal landscape that stretched around us in all directions: the dreary swamps, the cypresses dripping with dead moss, the lurid red sky, the Wall of Flame burning in the far distance. His left palm, slick with sweat, was slippery in my grasp. What in Creation is a cheer weasel?

Its something Mephisto says when people are glum: Nothing a good whack with a cheer weasel wont fix! Erasmus tentatively stepped onto a shaggy gray hummock. The lump of dead grass sank beneath his weight. Pulling his foot back, which now dripped with more goo, he made a face. I have no idea if its a modern pop-culture reference or an invention of my brothers deranged brain. Either way, I think I might benefit from a whack of the old cheer weasel about now. Might increase the appeal of being trapped in Hell, searching for my lost family members with my brother the former pope, an Aerie One trapped in a human body who thinks hes Humphrey Bogart, and the sister I hate.

Not Bogart. Mab glanced up at his fedorahe would have pulled it low over his eyes, but he did not have a free hand. Under his breath, he muttered, Well maybe Philip Marlowe.

Erasmus, Mab, Gregor, and I moved slowly through the Swamp of Uncleannesswhere dwelt the souls of those who had fallen prey to the sin of lust. Walking hand in hand was easy enough on a paved road. When the ground underfoot was spongy and sinking, it became both treacherous and aggravating, particularly for those of us who were in the middle. We could neither wipe sweat from our faces nor pinch our noses to block out the horrendous stench.

It was so hot here that steam rose from beneath our feet. Worse than the stench were the sinners themselves. Yet, we could not lower our eyes and ignore them, as if wearing imaginary blinders. Instead, we had to peer into every nook and cranny, searching for our missing brother.

And our presence here was entirely my fault.

On my other side, my brother Gregor stuck his staff, a length of ebony carved with blood red runes, under his arm, and gave my hand a comforting squeeze. His crimson cardinals robes, with their billowing half cape, stood out against the landscape, a bright spot in the literally God-forsaken gloom.

For most of his life, Gregor had been a bulky, almost brutish, bully of a man, consumed by hatred, mainly toward the Protestants. Our youngest brother Ulysses, to save himself from the demon Abaddon, imprisoned Gregor for many years. Yesterday, we discovered this and rescued him. We found him a changed man. The new, more contemplative Gregor was slender. He had dark, shoulder-length wavy hair and a calm, almost saintly, expression. What sparked this change in Brother Gregor, we did not yet know. I had to admit to myself that I was curious about what had happened during his imprisonment to bring about this transformation. It had to be something more significant than losing four stone of weight.

Gregor slipped his arm up so that our elbows were hooked together. This freed his hands, which he cupped around his mouth with its close-trimmed black beard.

Mephisto! Gregor shouted for the umpteenth time. Lowering his hands, he spoke, his voice hoarse and breathy due to a magical mishap in his youth. I do not see him anywhere. Are you certain he is here, Miranda? Then, looking across the swamp, he called out again, Mephisto! Mephistopheles Prospero!

No sign of him, Maam. Im with Father Gregor, here. Are we sure this is where the Harebrain landed? Mab muttered. His this sounded like dis.

In the vision the angel showed me, his besetting sin was lust. Sweat ran into my eyes. I blinked rapidly. The heat still was opressive, but the memory of the angel and the sense of peace she brought momentarily lifted my spirits. That means the Hellwinds would have dropped him here. So, hes here somewhere. Unless hes found his way out on his own.

We glanced across the tremendous expanse of swamp that stretched out in every direction as far as the eye could see.

Its hopeless, sighed Erasmus.

* * *

AROUND us, fetid quagmires, dotted by bracken-covered islands, stretched beneath a lurid sky crisscrossed with bands of steely gray. Souls damned for excessive lust floundered in the muck, crying out for succoruntil they were dragged down by their more licentious compatriots. On the larger islands, groups of the damned engaged in massive orgies, resembling a battle more than any erotic acts. Others clambered onto smaller islands, upon which great corpulent demons disported with them. On one nearby isle, a six-horned demon whipped the damned until they dropped to their knees and performed acts of obscene obeisance.

The whole sordid scene, with its noxious gases that left the four of us reeling and retching, was made even worse because we now knew that the liquid in the swamp was not water but the accumulated drippings of the wanton desires of those on earth. Qualities that were merely spiritual upon the material plane had a physical nature here. Just the memory of having had to swim through the stuff left me queasy, and here I was, voluntarily walking into it again.

I would not have done it, not for any price, had there been another way to find my missing siblings and rescue our father. But there was not, and I could not leave my family stranded in Hell forever.

Gritting my teeth, I choked back my gag reflex and forced myself to scour the unseemly landscape, searching each passion-contorted face for the features of my brother Mephisto the brother who held the crystal ball that could lead us to the others.

Beside me, Gregor bent his head in low, breathy prayer, Lord Jesus, hear my prayer. Help us in our hour of need.

Dont be ridiculous, Erasmus scoffed. He stood ankle deep in reddish mud waiting for the rest of us to jump onto the next hummock. His staff was strapped diagonally across his back. His Urim gauntlet hung on his belt. When we first set out, he had worn it in order to be ready in case of attack. But since he could not use the Staff of Decay while standing so close to the rest of us, he eventually decided there was no point in wearing the hot, unyielding gauntlet. God does not heed the prayers of those in Hell.