(eng) Kage Baker by The Hotel Under the Sand

Author:The Hotel Under the Sand [Sand, The Hotel Under the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

13

MASTERMAN

"SOMETHING JUST HIT the verandah,” said Winston. He left the Ballroom at a run, with Emma close behind him. Mrs. Beet and Captain Doubloon followed them. They were not very fast, so Emma and Winston rushed down the Grand Staircase far ahead of them.

Winston got to the doors and pulled them open, preparing to hurry through. Then he froze.

“I—I can’t go out again,” he said, in a strange voice. Emma wondered what he meant, but had no time to ask. She ran out past him. She saw a little boy, struggling in the sand at the foot of the verandah steps.

“Help me out of this, you!” cried the boy, in an angry voice.

“You don’t have to be rude,” said Emma, but she went down the stairs at once.

The boy was tangled in a contraption of snapped metal struts and leather straps that looked as though it had been made from a pair of men’s belts and an old umbrella. It had apparently fastened the boy to a pair of metal tanks, just like the ones balloon-sellers use to blow up balloons. There were also a lot of tubes and cords, and a billowy confusion of green silk.

Emma wrenched and tore at it until the boy was able to wriggle free. He stood up and almost fell again, he was so unsteady on his legs. Emma had to catch his arm to help him stand.

“Are you all right?” she asked. He pushed up the swim goggles he was wearing and glared at her.

“Of course I’m all right,” he said, in a very grown-up voice considering he looked as though he were a couple of years younger than Emma, who was nine. He was a head shorter than she was, too. “What are you doing in my hotel?”

Emma scowled at him. “It’s my hotel,” she said. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Masterman Marquis de Lafayette Wenlocke,” he said. “The Eighth.”

Winston, still standing in the doorway, gasped. “Who?” he said.

The little boy brushed sand off his jacket. “I am the last of the Wenlockes. You may address me as Master.” He folded his arms. “All you people are trespassing on my property, so you can just leave. Except for you,” he added, looking at Winston. “You look like a servant. You can stay.”

Mrs. Beet, who had come out on the verandah, said, “He’s a Wenlocke, sure enough. Look at him!”

On first glance, Masterman wasn’t anything like the man in Mr. Wenlocke’s portrait. He was small and pale, with big green eyes that reminded Emma of the eyes of the mermaid. His hair was fair and curled. He had a rather pointed chin, though, and as he smiled, Emma thought he did bear a resemblance to Mr. Wenlocke. Above the left-hand buttons of his uniform tunic was a patch with the words PAVOR NOCTIS MILITARY ACADEMY.

“Where did you come from?” Emma asked him, not very nicely, actually.

“I escaped,” said the little boy. “I always knew I would have to, one day, because it was only a matter of time before Uncle Roderick and the lawyers had me murdered.

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