Grayson’s eyebrow went up. “What exactly happened, Cibalto?”
“There was confusion in my mind, but then I knew Darnley was gone and some other spirit was there, close, very close to me, and I swear to you it seemed the air itself whispered against my face,‘Mary.’And then I simply fainted or lost consciousness, I’m not sure. But when I awoke, my head hurt and I knew something had happened to me, but what it was I knew not. I looked at my watch and saw an hour had passed.”
Grayson said slowly, “You’ve given this thought, Cibalto. What do you think happened?”
“I know only that Darnley left and I heard,‘Mary.’Was she there? Yes, I know she was. It’s happened two more times. Once, I was ready to climb into my bed. But then I awoke and I was on the floor. Again, only an hour had passed. The second time, I was working at the palace when I heard a whoosh of air right in my face and I was simply gone. When I awoke, an hour had passed. I swear to you I heard a woman’s voice in the very air itself whispering,‘Mary,’and then I was once again myself.
“To be honest, I tried my best to deny what had happened, but then I knew I had to confront this with rational thought. Perhaps I’d been wrong about it being Mary. I’d overheard workers talking about seeing the ghosts of Darnley and Rizzio wandering about the palace. From that day forward, I looked for them. I wanted to ask them if what happened to me was their doing or Mary’s.”
Cibalto shook his head. “There was never any communication. I will sometimes see occasional flashes of their clothes. Rizzio is dressed finely as he’d been dining with Queen Mary the evening he was murdered. Darnley is wearing a white nightshirt—again, what he was wearing the night he was strangled. Ah, I see you know Darnley was murdered. Did you know he was staying in the old provost’s house in Kirk o’ Field, near to the palace, when it exploded? Someone had placed explosives beneath the house. He escaped but was caught and strangled, then left there in the field.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Grayson nodded. “Yes, I read most believed Mary and Bothwell, her third husband, had killed him.”
“That’s right, and that belief led to her losing her throne. But I digress. As I said, I only see flashes, like when you see something from the corner of your eye and when you turn nothing is there. I don’t know why, but they seem to roam the palace together. I’ve often wondered what they could possibly say to each other since Darnley instigated Rizzio’s murder.”
Grayson said, “Perhaps endless recriminations.”
Cibalto said, “Well, why not? What else is there to talk about after nearly three hundred years? I’ve found Rizzio prefers to hang about in Mary’s chambers, particularly in her supper room where his killers came for him. Several times I’ve heard noises, like a smothered sigh or a deep moan, even once there was a boy’s giggle. Do you know workers bid both Darnley and Rizzio a good morning? I do it now myself when I feel them close or see the occasional flicker. And sometimes when I walk the stairs where Rizzio breathed his last, the stairs are colder than the North Sea. But I digress yet again. Thank you for bearing with me. Let me continue.”
Cibalto picked up an old knife off his desk, wove it through his fingers. “Last All Hallows’ Eve, I was seated at my desk chatting with King David—ah, imagining the conversation, of course. I believe it a pity his ghost isn’t roaming about in the abbey ruins connected to the palace.” Cibalto closed his eyes and saw himself vividly.
I remember I’d just asked King David why he selected to build an Augustinian abbey when I heard the rain. I didn’t look up because it rains so often here and I was quite used to it. Then, suddenly, the gentle rain became a vicious storm, so heavy it cracked like bullets against the windowpanes. I heard tree branches lash against the house. I went to the windows and pulled back the draperies. The afternoon sky was black. The candles on my desk went out as if fingers had snuffed them out. It couldn’t be the wind—the windows were sound and tightly closed. I lit the candles again, saw my hand was shaking. Would I lose consciousness again? For exactly an hour? And I said aloud, “Mary.”
In the next instant, I knew I had to go to the palace. When I opened the front door, I saw there was no violent storm, there was warmth and bright afternoon sunlight. Had I dreamed the storm? No, I knew it had been real. My throat clogged with terror, but still I did not hesitate. I nearly ran to the palace.
I only knew I had to go to Mary’s chambers. As I climbed the main stairs to the northwest tower, I looked down,expecting to see the faded bloodstains from Rizzio’s murder, but what I saw was blood and gore splashed everywhere, on the walls, on therailings. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t move. A man sprawled at my feet, ripped apart from countless knife thrusts. I knew it was Rizzio. He looked up at me, the veil of death in his eyes, and whispered, “Mary, find the babes and kill the evil that will come after,” then his eyes closed and I knew he was dead.
The blood and gore were gone, and once again the stains were faded. I remembered I had read in an obscure old paper Mary had suffered a miscarriage after she and Bothwell were separated. Amazing, I thought, since they were only married for three days. As far as anyone knew, Mary had only the one boy child by Lord Darnley. “Find the babes and kill the evil that will come after.”
Why had Rizzio spoken these words with his dying breath? Then I saw something stuck beneath a crack on the stairs, and how could that be? Gwennie, one of the workers, cleaned the stairs regularly. Yet it was there. I pulled out a small strip of thick parchment.
Cibalto rose and opened his desk drawer and withdrew a jagged piece of heavy parchment and handed it to Grayson. “As you can see, even though the writing is smudged and the letters faded, it is written in the same French in Mary’s diary. If the diary ever opens itself again for you, I’m certain you will find a jagged part of a page that’s been ripped out of the book.” He drew a deep breath. “I could not believe it, but I could read it.”
When the night bleeds red onto the moon, the betrayer will choke on his own blood.
Grayson looked down at the jagged strip of paper. As it had before, the words became modern English. He read it quickly, looked at Cibalto, and nodded.
Cibalto’s hand was shaking. “I’m convinced the only reason I can read the curse is because Mary wanted me to. It is from her, Grayson, there is no doubt in my mind. I am certain now she is going to kill me, and that is why you must help me. You must stop her.”
Grayson said, “Why are you certain Mary gave you this piece of paper?”
Cibalto rose, paced, stopped in front of Grayson. “As you read in Mary’s diary, the Earl of Lennox, Lord Darnley’s father, was always scheming, always plotting, endlessly devious, his eye always on the English throne. He wanted the marriage of his son, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, to Queen Mary, even though he knew his son was as vicious and unreliable as he was himself and he believed Mary a fool to be manipulated. Lennox was smarter than his son, more agile forging alliances and eliminating his enemies. As happens so often in history, in life, there is no justice, no balancing the scales. The ruthless gain the prize—the fourth Earl of Lennox was the grandfather of the future king of England, James I.
“I have no doubt Mary meant me to find the paper. She will kill me, I know it, but alas, I do not know why. I do know Mary wanted me to know my death is coming, and so she set the paper in my path to let me know my time is short. But the curse itself is confusing. It makes no sense to me. When does the night ever bleed red onto the moon? But I’m afraid, Grayson, I’m very afraid events are marching forward, and I know I cannot stop them. My only hope is that you can. That is why I wrote to your father. That is why I prayed you would come.”
Grayson opened his mouth to tell Cibalto he was paranoid, but realized he didn’t blame him, this was scary—the torn paper meant for him to find, hearing Rizzio speak as he died. Grayson wanted to reassure him, tell him the night could never bleed red, when there was a sudden wild banging on the front door. Both men jumped to their feet and ran to the door. Grayson heard George’s shout, “Grayson, come quickly! Pip is missing at the castle!”
CHAPTER NINE
Edinburgh Castle
A hundred soldiers searched the huge stone fortress to find one little boy who’d somehow gotten separated from the English visitors to the castle. How could the child stay missing for more than two hours with soldiers searching everywhere, calling his name? He had to be unconscious or dead, else why would the boy not come running? Captain MacFarlane had quietly sent some men down to the rocks and brush below the castle to search for the child’s body. Privately, Captain MacFarlane told George to fetch the boy’s father. He and Brady had left immediately to get Grayson, hopefully still at Mr. Terduck’s house.
Mind-numbing fear threatened to freeze Miranda, but she could not shatter. She and Lise Marie stayed positive for P.C.’s sake as they searched along with the soldiers. But no sign of Pip. No sound of crying.
And then, suddenly, Miranda knew where Pip was. She never questioned the knowledge. She asked Lise Marie to wait for Grayson. She said nothing to the soldiers and walked directly into the bowels of the fortress, P.C. beside her. She knew her daughter didn’t understand what was happening, but she only trudged beside Miranda, silent. She never let go of her mother’s hand. Miranda knew she should be scared, but she wasn’t, not any longer. She knew, somehow, she was meant to come here and find Pip. And she did.
