Castle Konigsberg, 1840
#Well, I'm not going back to my bedroom until I see the other side of our door,# Rebecca assured herself. Erasmus, the big sissy-britches, might lose courage and turn back, but #she# would stay the course, slay the dragon and win the buried treasure of Castle Konigsberg. No matter what the price, no matter how terrifying …
Oh no! There it was again! The dragon's unholy howl, the piercing roar of …
"Blood-y!" Erasmus exclaimed just ahead of her. "That thunderstorm is loud, eh, Becs? Must be right on top of the castle!" He pulled out his handkerchief as he paced around a few steps, head down. "Ah, there it is!" he exclaimed and squatting, he delicately applied the piece of fine cotton to the corridor's cold floor, dabbing at the chalk mark guide they'd made last night. Then he straightened and went to the junction's other branch. There he drew an arrow pointing off into an unexplored blackness. "That does it! Now Phil can look all he wants for more arrowheads, but he'll never find ours." He turned back to his cousin.
Rebecca had come to a full stop behind him and stood looking up at the low roof of the windowless passageway, listening to the storm's booms and rumblings with a far-off, unfocused look to her eyes. Gone off on one of her fantasies, Erasmus deduced. Nothing frightened Rebecca; but she did love an adventure, even one she had to make up. Probably dreaming up some great battle or another, complete with cannons and musket fire.
"Oh do, hurry along, Becs. We haven't got all night." When she didn't respond, Erasmus grabbed Rebecca's hand and tugged her along into the un-marked corridor. They needed to get to that door so Rebecca could work her magic on the lock. That was the whole point of tonight's exploration, wasn't it? Getting through that door? That, and maybe just a few more arrowheads.
Thankfully, Rebecca didn't choose to pitch one of her little battles; and as they walked along hand-in-hand, she waved her candle toward the left wall. "The booming sounds are coming from behind there, but I don't think it faces outside. I'm not so sure it's thunder, Raz."
Erasmus glanced at the unbroken brick wall. He didn't question her assessment of their location. Too many times he'd had to depend on Rebecca's bump of direction to navigate them home. He squeezed her hand. "Probably a tower funnels the sound – you know, like the kirk bell tower at Shillingworth. Remember how it booms in a storm? I dare swear it shakes Sir Hugh's bones!"
"I suppose so. But I think whatever's making that noise is right on the other side of the wall." She remained silent for the space of several steps. "I think it's a dragon. My chambermaid says the kitchen pot boys see a dragon all the time, coming and going from the back side of the castle."
When with Rebecca, Erasmus frequently found occasion to roll his eyes heavenward. "Re-bec-ca!" He drew out the name into a long three-note reproach. He tugged at her hand. "That's silly. Dragons! And I'll bet it breathes fire too! You're getting too big for that sort of thing. Phil shouldn't have let you listen to that tazelworm story."
Rebecca frowned at her cousin. Erasmus's company had lost its savor. With a determined tug she freed her hand and skipped ahead, carrying the candle and their light with her. Their goal was just around the next turn and if Erasmus was so grown-up, he oughtn't mind being down here in the dark. Without warning she took off at a run, yelling, "Beat you there!" back over her shoulder.
"Becs, come back here! Becs! Becs!" Erasmus's voice faded out as Rebecca rounded the turn at a gallop and came in sight of an ancient wooden door, bound with rusted metal and studded with short little pixie arrows. At least that's what she'd called them until Erasmus said they were crossbow quarrels. She hadn't yet decided if he was teasing. Arrows that argued?
Erasmus had shed his dignity and broken into a run. She could hear the fast thunk of his footfalls catching her up. Since Rebecca had slowed to a walk, they arrived at the door more or less together.
"That was unkind of you, Rebecca," Erasmus complained as he tugged his jacket back into its proper position and raked a hand through his dark curls. "I'm supposed to keep my eye on you."
"Well, if you can't keep up with me, take your eye out, and I'll carry it around for you!" Rebecca glanced at Erasmus's slightly flushed face, the bright eyes. He did not much care for the dark. She relented. "I'm not kind. I'm a Fogg. It's a problem in the breeding." It was a favorite saying of Sir Boniface's. Erasmus pressed his lips together in disgusted response.
"Here," she said and reached into Erasmus's pocket, pulling out another candle and lighting it from her own. "Now you have one too."
With a sheepish acknowledgement Erasmus took it from her. He'd forgotten he had the extra candles and lucifers.
She turned back to the door. "What do you think's in there? I think it's a room full of Crusader gold."
After his scare, Erasmus welcomed a new, Rebecca-inspired eye-rolling opportunity. "What #are# you thinking? Piles of doubloons and pieces of eight, maybe with your dragon guarding it? More than likely it's an access to the sewer or something of that nature."
Rebecca snorted. "A sewer door with arrows in it? What were they shooting at? An army of turds? I think they were shooting at thieves. And I'll bet there's still dead bodies locked behind this door! Skeletons and rusted armor and … and … all sorts of horrible things."
The lowest arrow in the door was over her head. She reached up to see if it was loose enough to pull out. It wasn't. Well, there was more than one way to get it. "You owe me an arrowhead, Raz."
Although Erasmus pulled the dirk from its sheath under his belt and stepped forward to do service, he growled, "Don't start. Phil wanted your arrowhead, and I thought it a fair price. If you'd been there, you would have done the same. You start on the lock, and I'll try to get us two more."
Rebecca stuck out her chin and narrowed her eyes, "Three more. I want two. Just in case I need to bribe Phil myself."
"Becs!"
"Two more just for me, or I go back." Rebecca half turned to retreat.
Erasmus sighed, his opinion of her demand written plainly on his face: "You're such a child." But he didn't say that out loud and relented. "Three more then. Two for you, one for me. Deal?"
"Deal!" They shook hands firmly to seal the bargain then turned to their respective tasks, Erasmus holding his candle high up to study the arrows and their situation, Rebecca kneeling with hers to study the lock.
With the point of the dirk, Erasmus began immediately to pick at the wood holding the lowest arrow. Rebecca took longer. Last night she'd suggested stealing Phileas's powder horn and making a bomb to blow up the door. Erasmus had vetoed that proposal, and after some thought she'd agreed. An explosion would have brought every adult in the Castle to their secret door -- "secret" being the important word.
Rebecca knelt before the door and held her candle close to the lock, but could barely distinguish the corroded iron of the keyhole's escutcheon plate from the wood, much less discern the details of the lock. She needed more light. "Hold your candle lower for a moment, Raz, will you? I can't see."
"What do you need light for, Becs? You can't see inside the keyhole anyway." Erasmus nonetheless stopped digging at his second quarrel – he already had the first in his pocket – and lowered his candle. He noticed something he hadn't before – the flicker of the candlelight and the movement of the fine red hairs that had escaped from his cousin's braid. A current of air blew around the door. It just might lead outside. Phileas would bribe #them# for that kind of information!
With her free hand Rebecca stroked the lock's escutcheon plate then rubbed her fingers together. She glanced up at Erasmus. "It's oily."
"Really?" Erasmus had to think about that a minute. Rebecca put her candle down, thrust her hook in the lock and delicately twisted it around, feeling for tumblers, her head cocked forward in an intense listening posture. That's why she was so good at lock picking – she had exquisitely sensitive ears. Erasmus wanted to get back to acquiring the rest of their arrowheads. "I'm going to take my candle back now, Becs."
"Hmm? Oh, certainly. I don't need it anymore."
The lock mechanism was so old that it didn't use tumblers, it had pins or bars, but with slight pressure it yielded to her hook in much the same way. A lock this easy to work saw frequent use. "I think you might be right about the sewer. This lock must be used a lot. It's really easy to turn."
Erasmus almost had his third arrowhead free. He tugged at the shaft, and it dropped out of the door into his hand. "Really? Well then, someone upstairs has a key. Probably his majesty, the Junker."
Rebecca stopped tweaking the lock and looked up in surprise at the dark face above her, but all she could see was Erasmus's round chin. "I thought you liked the Junker too!"
Erasmus looked down at her, then his eyes danced away quickly. He played with the arrow in his hand. He had a distinctly guilty look. "I was supposed to tell you tonight, but, you know, we haven't had time and ..." He paused, struggling. "I'm sorry, I know you like him, but Father says we're not to be alone with the Junker anymore. He's some kind of peddle-man. Peddle-rast, peddle-boost, I can't remember the exact word."
Rebecca liked Junker von der Goltz. She needed a better reason to change her mind about him than a mysterious, unpronounceable word. "A peddler? Like Jack, the tinker's son in Shillingworth Minor? The Junker is a lord in a castle, Raz!"
Erasmus turned back to the door again and raised his candle, pretending to examine the next arrow to remove. "It's not 'peddler.'"
"What is it then?" Rebecca stood up and pushed at Erasmus. "What is it? You'd better tell me!"
Erasmus batted away Rebecca's next push, then stepped back out of the way. Although he was taller and heavier, Rebecca often won their fights; and down here away from watching eyes, he felt no shame in running away. "I don't know what it means! I asked Phil, but he wouldn't tell me. It must be something really, really bad. Father told Phil and me to keep you away from him. And like Phil always says," he paused for dramatic effect, "watching out for you is my particular post. Phil watches out for me and I look after you."
Rebecca fought not to cry. This was too much! Her guardian had left her out of another family conference. And as for Erasmus being #her# minder? That was too much like setting a chicken to guard the dog! "Why didn't your father call me in too, Raz?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling with anger.
Erasmus had returning to prying at arrowheads – he was working on a fourth, as there didn't seem to be any reason not to keep at it. "That's obvious, Becs. You're a girl and I'm the boy, and I'm going to marry you when we grow up. So I'm supposed to protect you. That's what boys are for -- to protect girls."
Rebecca leaned her head against the rough old door. The tears trembled behind her eyelids. She was #not# going to cry! She wasn't! She could beat Erasmus in any kind of fight, and he knew it. Sometimes she could even beat Phileas when he tied a hand behind his back as a handicap.
And she could make her own plans for the future! "I'm not going to marry #you#, Erasmus. You don't even know how to throw a right hook. Phileas has tried to teach you a hundred times." Well, maybe not a hundred, more like five or six.
The rejection failed to deter Erasmus. He figured he had at least four years to change her mind, although he doubted Father would let Rebecca marry at thirteen. He'd only be fifteen then himself. "I'll learn. I'll tutor Phil in maths and he'll teach me fisticuffs."
Rebecca frowned up at her cousin. "I wish him sweet luck with you."
She turned back to the lock as though declaring a closure to the conversation, but Erasmus had one more question. "Who do you want to marry, Becs, if not me?" Affection and a little anxiety softened his eyes. He'd have little hope if she wanted his brother. He had no chance of besting Phileas at anything other than maths.
Rebecca had grown tired of this marriage conversation. Only old ladies talked so much about marriages and weddings and husbands. Rebecca didn't even like dolls. "I don't know, but it should be easy to find someone better than you." She continued working quietly on the lock, but abruptly stopped and stood up. An icky-penny, as the Vicar would have said, the obvious answer, a Grand Plan for her life! "Yes, I #do# know who I'm going to marry! I'm going to marry Cousin Boniface. Then you and Phileas must call me 'mother.'"
Erasmus hadn't foreseen this possibility. Father in the competition too! "You can't marry Father! He's much too old and … and … he's your guardian!" He stammered so much he sounded like Phileas on a bad day.
"My cousin Mary Lynn Drysdale married Sir George Gooding just last month and she's only thirteen and he's forty-two. I don't see why I can't. Boniface is my first cousin once removed, and he's been the nicest person in the world to me. And," she paused, for what was obviously the best reason of all, "he can beat #anyone# in a fight. He's the best hero I know." Rebecca's face glowed. Why hadn't she thought of this before?
Against his father, Erasmus had no hope of ever winning Rebecca. Left without anything to say, he turned back to the door and gave the arrow he'd been working on a final, savage tug. It yielded to his fury, and he dropped a fourth arrow into his pocket.
"The door's unlocked, you know," Rebecca said behind him. Her small hand reached past him and pulled down the latch. It moved smoothly and the heavy door swung away into the darkness. Erasmus raised his candle and they both looked in.
"Oh, pooh," Rebecca moaned her disappointment. The other side of the door held only a junction of two staircases, the one down, the other up. No gold or jewels abounded, no evil dragon grimaced at their invasion. The candlelight didn't even excite a sparkle from the dull gray bricks.
Erasmus walked over to the ascending steps and looked thoughtfully up into the blackness. His nose tested the air and he licked a finger and held it up. He turned excitedly back to Rebecca. "This might lead outside." He already had his foot on the bottom step when he turned to look at his cousin. She hadn't moved. "Are you coming, Becs?" Still smarting from Rebecca choosing his father for a husband, Erasmus wasn't inclined to wait.
#Trust Erasmus to make the less intriguing choice,# Rebecca thought. She bent to pick up her candle. She looked up and down the two staircases. There was nothing for it. She would have to run away. "I have to use the chamber pot."
"Oh bother, Rebecca! I thought you went before we left." Erasmus looked up the stairway. Yes, there was definitely a breeze of warmer air from above.
"I have to go again."
Erasmus stepped back down to the landing and considered. "Well, there's no chamber pot here. Why don't you go down those stairs a bit?"
When Rebecca had been gone three minutes, Erasmus went down a few steps, not wanting to compromise her, but worried. She shouldn't be taking so long. "Rebecca? Becs?" It seemed he'd spent a great deal of this evening calling his cousin's name. This time there was no answer.
"Blast it, Rebecca! This is no place for teasing!" Still no answer.
She'd run off. The little feather-brained female! Now what should he do? Rebecca had only the one candle, and it was more than half gone. He had the extra one as well as the knife. What if her candle went out? What if she ran into a rat? He doubted she'd considered any of that. He let another minute go by, while he fumed and paced about, hoping that she was teasing him. The seconds crept by. He stopped and called again, "Rebecca? For the love of God, cousin, please?" No answer.
He licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. It would take much too long for him to return and fetch Phileas. No telling where Rebecca might get to. He had to handle this himself. He sternly addressed the empty air. "Erasmus, you're supposed to watch over your cousin Rebecca. Now get on with it." He squared his shoulders, turned and went down the stairs.