Aurorarama - Jean-Christophe Valtat [125]
“Before she left us,” Geraldine continued, “she told us that only Lancelot and the Lady of the Lake would find out who she was.”
“Lady of the Lake?” said Gabriel. But just as he was about to deny any connection, he remembered that when he had identified Isabelle d’Ussonville he had indeed been with the former Sandy Lake.
“This … Lady of the Lake, what part does she play in this?”
“Grandmother didn’t say,” Geraldine answered.
“Not negligible, I would say,” Reginald added, nodding his head.
“This is your room,” they said, stopping at an open door. Gabriel peeked inside. He was relieved to see that the sheets and pillows, at least, were not made of crystal.
“It is a beautiful room.”
“Oh, that’s nothing, you should see ours,” said Geraldine, as Reginald elbowed her in their common ribs. Geraldine blushed, which made Reginald blush as well.
Gabriel felt like laughing.
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Thank you for staying with us,” said Reginald, who was a very polite boy. He had the same voice as Geraldine, but, with his white hair carefully combed back, he looked more serious than her, or at least he tried to.
“We seldom have visitors,” said Geraldine, a bit impishly. “Let alone wicked anarchists.”
“Oh, these are just spare clothes the anarchists lent me,” said Gabriel modestly.
“Wicked or not, we are in any case honoured to have met you,” said Reginald, “and we wish you a very good night.”
“Good night to you, and thanks for your kind hospitality.”
Gabriel bowed and they stood silent in the doorway for a glowing, embarrassing while, as when people do not want a pleasant evening to end, but none of them dares to be the first to admit it. Gabriel, especially, would have done anything not to find himself on his own, mulling over Stella.
“Here, sir,” said Geraldine, after a while. She handed him the candelabra she held, then noticed the bandages around his hands.
“Do you want us to call a maid to help you with your clothes?” she asked, a barely perceptible smile hovering on her face. “They are very sweet, and fond of foreigners.”
“No, please, do not wake anyone on account of me.” He took a deep breath. “I am sure we can work this out together,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
In the light of the candelabras, the twins looked at each other and smiled.
CHAPTER XXVIII
The Aurorarama
In like manner, recollected images are attributed to the moving lights, in the splendid exhibition of the Aurora Borealis. The Icelandic beholds in them the spirit of his ancestors, and the vulgar discern encountering armies, and torrents of blood, in the lambent meteors of a winter-sky.
John Ferriar, “An Essay Toward a Theory of Apparitions,” 1813
After having taken advantage of the pale hazy daylight for a quick morning tour, Brentford, the Aerial Anarchists, and the Inughuit had a much better understanding of Crocker Land, that mythical place that had, under various names, eluded and deluded so many explorers.
The Island, of which the mirage appeared much bigger than the reality, consisted of an inner plateau about twenty miles in diameter, rimmed all around by small basaltic mountain ranges that showed unequivocal signs of volcanic activity. In that respect and some others, it resembled Iceland, particularly in the numerous geysers and hot springs scattered across it. These warmed the surface considerably, and this difference of temperature with the surrounding Arctic air produced a continual veil of vapour that made the island indistinct from its foggy, icy surroundings. Only an aerial view could, under certain weather conditions, disclose the secret of its improbable presence. Interestingly, when seen from more earthbound angles, its hollow shape could be construed as a hole leading to the centre of the earth.
As the nocturnal approach of the Ariel had revealed, the main feature of the Island was the mile-wide crystal located roughly at its