Page 8 of Bluebeard’s Key

“Fine,” Tom said. “Delightful. I’ve never done anything remotely like this. It’s magical.”

“Watch ahead now. We’re nearly there and you’ll get your first glimpse of the Château.”

She was completely correct. The forest suddenly opened, and there it was, an honest-to-gods castle in the Gothic style, complete with rustic gray stone, sky-piercing towers and turrets, crenelated battlements, and a giant-sized ironclad door guarding the entrance. All it needed was a moat, and it would fit perfectly into any fairy tale. But he soon discovered it did have a moat, or at least an effective substitute. They rode over a fairytale-worthy stone bridge spanning a deep chasm and on to the castle gate.

A willowy man, smartly dressed in a waistcoat and tie, stood by the entrance, hands on his hips, and watching them with a disapproving stare.

“Charlie!” he scolded as they approached the castle. “You were to use the shuttle! You know he’s never ridden before.”

“Apologies,” she answered in a voice that clearly stated she wasn’t sorry in the least. “Better to have the full experience, since it’s his first time.”

“Please use the shuttle for Zayan,” he directed.

“If you say so,” she answered, but again, it was apparent in her tone that the final decision was entirely up to her.

The man strode up to him, tut-tutting and saying, “Doctor Dalton, let me help you down. Welcome to Château des Fleurs. My name is Thierry and I am the steward of Mage Bluebeard’s Château.”

The surprises were coming fast and furious. Mysterious boats and horse rides and castles, and now he found that his employer was a mage, whatever that meant. Distracted, Tom’s dismount wasn’t graceful, and again he ended up flat on his butt in the dirt. But Tom counted it a success since there were no broken bones. He picked himself up and dusted off his pants, turning to his horse. He whispered, “Thank you, Hollyhock. I owe you one.”

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder and handed him a few apple slices, saying, “Keep your hand flat.”

Hollyhock plucked the treats from his hand, and he watched in wonder. It was one of the most magical moments of his entire life.

Thierry gave a loud sniff and said, “Yes. Well, let’s get you settled. Please follow me.”

They passed under the terrifying spikes of the portcullis into the shady depths of the gatehouse, stopping at two fortified doors. Thierry pulled a huge keyring from his belt, filled with an assortment of iron keys in various sizes and one that looked to be made of gold. Curious. Thierry sorted through the keys and used the largest one to open the door.

On the other side, they walked through a wide, shadowy hallway through the gatehouse, emerging into a sunlit courtyard. It was everything Tom expected from a castle—flagstones beneath their feet and towers soaring at the four corners of the imposing walls—and he tried hard not to gawk.

Thierry quickly pointed out the buildings that surrounded the courtyard in front of him. “The chapel lies to your left on the east wall, kitchens and Great Hall opposite us on the south, and your laboratory is there, on the west wall, next to the postern.”

“Postern?”

“A small passageway leading out to the stables and the servants' quarters.”

They turned back and entered a door at one corner of the gatehouse, taking a spiral staircase up one floor. It opened into a comfortable sitting room with lush carpets on the polished wood floor, overstuffed chairs, and shelves full of books. He wandered over to an antique map labeled Gréne Hæfen, showing an island about the size of Iceland or Ireland, dotted with small towns and a capital called Cyncaester. That certainly required some attention once he had the place to himself.

Thierry crossed the room to a door on the far wall, handing Tom a keyring with three keys. “The smaller key is for your room, the larger is for the front gate, and the remaining one opens your laboratory.”

“Do I get a gold key too?” he joked, pointing to Thierry’s keyring.

“Alas, no. That is Mage Bluebeard’s alone.”

As Tom unlocked the door, he asked, “Is that Giles? I’m sorry to ask, but the name Bluebeard sounds disrespectful.”

Thierry waved this off. “Not at all. He has always worn his beard as a badge of pride. A few words about addressing the Master. You may use his full title, Mage Bluebeard, or simply Mage for most occasions. You will also hear him named simply as Bluebeard on occasion, but that is less formal and not suitable to your status as an apprentice, and never in his presence. Is that clear?”

This made sense to Tom, but he couldn’t quite let it go. He said, “Perfectly, but when we visited Elixir Wellness, he told me to use the name Giles. Is that not acceptable here?”

“He often uses his given name when he’s on the other side, but here in the Château, you’ll be safer with the formal titles. It’s never wise to give him cause for anger.”

“Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind. I’m curious—what do you mean by the other side? Something funny happened during the boat ride. I don’t understand.”

“All in time. The Master will be able to give you an answer, and perhaps even one you can comprehend.”

“I guess I’ll have to wait, then, and ask him,” Tom said, wondering if he’d been insulted. “Now that I’m here, do I need to be anywhere today?”

“Yes. Mage Bluebeard is taking a wife, and he has requested your presence at the wedding ceremony this evening. If you would be so kind, you could help our gardener, Hoyle, with the flowers this afternoon. Go out postern and left along the outer ward, and you’ll find the greenhouse on the south side of the Château, facing the sea. My office is on the ground floor of the gatehouse if you get lost and require assistance.”