Free The Blackhope Enigma by Teresa Flavin Page B

Fox-Farratt, don’t you have any idea at all how to leave Arcadia?”
    “An idea, yes.” Hugo hesitated. “I believe the exit is — I believe it could be some way from here.”
    “Would Inko know?”
    Hugo smiled. “Inko is a simple soul. He is not interested in hunting for exits. He belongs here.”
    “So you’re not sure how Sir Innes got out?”
    “No. By the time I arrived here, he was long dead,” said Hugo.
    Sunni bit her lip. “Could you show us where you think the way out could be?”
    A look of alarm passed over Hugo’s face. He turned the poetry book over and over in his hands. “There are things you don’t understand, Miss Forrest. Last night I told you how il Corvo created Arcadia for Sir Innes. But . . .” His voice trailed off. “I am afraid things have changed here since Sir Innes’s death.”
    Just tell me where the exit is
, Sunni wanted to shout, but she waited for him to go on.
    “It is not safe to go off searching for things.” Hugo frowned.
    “Not safe?” Sunni repeated. “What do you mean?”
    But Hugo ignored her question. “As well as this magical work, il Corvo is reputed to have created three other paintings even more spectacular than
Arcadia
— paintings of vast, rich cities where all the knowledge of the ancients was stored in huge palaces.” Her host had his dreamy look again. “The grandest of the paintings was meant to be a gift for Rudolf, the Holy Roman Emperor. It was called
The Chalice Seekers
, and it was said to show a procession of noblemen on horseback, traveling across a mountainous landscape. Below them a dead stag was sprawled at the bottom of a cliff with scavenger birds poised to feed on it. A city lay in the distance, a glowing silver chalice hovering in the sky above it.” Hugo paused and looked intently at Sunni. “It is my belief that these paintings, like il Corvo himself, are here — here in Arcadia.”
    Sunni raised her eyebrows. “Why would they be here? Surely they could be anywhere.”
    “I very much doubt il Corvo would let them out of his sight,” said Hugo.
    “So you think Corvo is here, too? Why?”
    “Well, although he was never found, Soranzo’s spies reported several sightings of him.”
    “The Soranzo who chased Corvo out of Venice?”
    “The same. His spies crawled all over Europe like a creeping plague, and some of them even went to the lands of the Aztecs and Incas,” Hugo said. “One spy said il Corvo went about disguised as a monk in Munich. Others said he became an amber trader in Saint Petersburg. But someone claimed to see him leaving a ship in London and making his way north — to Blackhope Tower, it was deduced. This caused huge excitement. What better place for il Corvo to hide than with his patron Sir Innes?”
    “But you’ve never seen him here,” said Sunni. “Have you?”
    “There was a moment once when I thought I did, in another — er — part of Arcadia.” Hugo gazed down at the little poetry book in his hand. “But no. Hundreds of years have passed like a fleeting dream, with no sign of Corvo or any of the other magical paintings.”
    “Hundreds of years.” Sunni was struck by a terrible thought. “How long do you think Dean and I have been here? A day? A month? Or longer?”
    She jumped up and paced around. “What if my dad is already old and I never get to see him again before — before he dies? And my friends, what if they’re not my age anymore?”
    “I doubt that. You have only been here since yesterday.”
    “But one day here might be a whole month at home.” She sank back onto her stool, dejected. “We have to get home before any more time passes. You’ve got to help us. Please.”
    “I suppose I could escort you part of the way,” replied Hugo, looking none too pleased at the thought. “But there is no point in hurling yourselves into the wilds, not knowing who or what may await you. I suggest you stay a day or two in the palace to familiarize yourselves with Arcadia before we