Hartley Hall seemed to erupt from the serene Surrey countryside. Originally it had been a modest Tudor-era country house, but Sir Roland Anstruther had enlarged it over his years of residence until that quaint old relic had long ago been subsumed by a sprawling grey stone structure partially hidden in scarlet-leafed ivy. It was a half-mad but magnificent structure inextricably mixed with the landscape by way of conservatories, loggias, pergolas, and large French windows. To some it might appear overwrought, but there was a chaotic charm to it. The large turrets gracing some of the corners made it appear as if it were a stalwart protector of its five-thousand-acre estate and could hold back any encroaching army.
Hogarth carefully took the insensible and lethargic Imogen in his thick, muscular arms and carried her inside without a word from his mistress. Kate ushered Simon and Nick in, where she spoke a few calming words to the butler and housekeeper, who stood with wide eyes, staring at Imogen being carried past. She dispatched the two servants to see to the guests and followed Hogarth upstairs.
Simon and Nick were invited into the library, where maids appeared with tea and coffee. The room was large enough to host a meeting of both Houses of Parliament. Drapes were pushed aside to let in the fading late sunlight and a fire was laid in the hearth. Afterward, the two servants who had met Kate at the door introduced themselves as Barnaby the butler and Mrs. Tolbert the housekeeper. He was quite rotund and had an emotionless face; she was aging and likely in her final years at the famous estate, with all the authority that a woman in her position had gathered in that time. Barnaby unlocked the liquor cabinet with a set of keys and offered drinks. Simon graciously declined, and when the servants realized he was not going to let slip any information about Imogen, they excused themselves.
Simon carried a cup and saucer as he strolled deeper into the library. Everywhere his eye lit, there was some sort of strange and wonderful object. Artifacts. Constructions. Relics. Maps. Books.
He encountered a huge portrait of Sir Roland that dominated the vast room. The man was handsome, with his hair pulled back in a queue. He was dressed in clothes from the reign of George III. He stood with his right hand on his hip and his left hand extended and open. An acorn rested in the palm of his hand. The background was a tropical sea scene with a British frigate in full sail. The expression of the man was odd, however, for a formal portrait. He had a slight smile on his face as if he found the prospect of fame amusing, as if the very act of sitting for a portrait, of being immortalized, was laughable.
“So young.” Simon eyed the ship in the painting. “HMS Resolution. This would have been around the age when he traveled with Cook to Hawaii. Seems like a pleasant fellow, given his later reputation as a stern taskmaster in his own expeditions.”
“Hawaii is where the natives beat Cook to death. A lot of Englishmen will end up that way in hot places around the globe if we keep pushing ourselves out there. Hello, have a look at this.”
Simon saw Nick hold up what appeared to be a chunk of rock about the size and shape of a fist. He had seen a similar object before in Paris, buried in a warded trunk beneath the tiles of Notre Dame. It was a gargoyle heart. He couldn’t help but be awed. Even Nick gave an impressed shake of his head and tossed the lump of stone organ back on a shelf.
There was a machine on a table that appeared to be manufactured of pure transparent crystal. It was only a foot square. The interior was clear and the inner workings were visible with intricate gears and levers apparently crafted from delicate crystal. Light sparkled against the facets and rainbowed across the room. It was an extraordinarily beautiful piece of work but had no obvious function.
Simon’s attention was immediately diverted by a large reptilian skull on another bookshelf. “What do you think of this beast, Nick? It’s appears to be an enormous crocodile but of a type I’ve never seen.”
The older man glanced briefly. “It’s a dragon.”
Simon tilted his head. “You say that rather matter-of-factly.”
“That’s because it is a matter of fact. It’s a dragon skull. I saw one in Persia.”
“Is it useful for anything?”
“Holding a dragon’s brain.”
Simon ran a finger along the spiked eye socket and suddenly realized he heard an odd noise. “Do you hear a buzzing sound?”
Simon and Nick looked at each other and started searching for the source of a metallic vibration. They noticed a small square hole in the wall high up near the ceiling. Something moved inside the dark space. Simon spoke a rune to life, feeling new strength. An object spurted out into the room and hovered in the air with a hum. It was about the size of a billiard ball with a weird blur around it.
Simon and Nick tensed, moving to the center of the library. The thing hovered over a lamp sconce on the wall. It settled onto the brass with nearly invisible, springlike legs and the blur stopped to reveal that it had wings like a bee. Then a narrow snout extended from the orb and dipped into the lamp. With a flick of a small flame, the lamp was lit. The wings began to vibrate again, and the ball rose into the air, drifting toward the next lamp. Once the lamps were lit, the weird little insect zipped up to the ceiling and crawled back into the wall on tiny legs, and was gone.
“What in the hell?” Nick muttered.