Iron Butterflies by Andre Norton Page B

a door behind that. So we came into another room, near as large as the bedchamber but far less well lit. In fact there were only two small candles there.
    Both sat on a table, and pulled up to that was a chair in which rested an elderly man. His hair was a mere circlet of white about the dome of a large head, but as he looked at us I saw a vast white mustache bristling outward from his upper lip. As the man back in the Elector's room he wore a badged coat.
    Now he arose, getting up with some difficulty and having to pull on the edge of the table to gain his feet.He did not look at the Colonel but rather studied me from under brows nearly as jutting and bristly as his mustache. Without a word he caught up the candles, one in each age-spotted hand, and limped closer. For a long moment he studied my face, and then gave so low a bow I feared his creaking joints might never allow him to straighten up again. Once he must have stood quite tall, but he was much bent now.
    “Highborn.” It was plain he attempted to keep his voice to the faintest of whispers, but that task was near beyond his ability. “Welcome, welcome, Highness—” For the second time he bowed.
    “Franzel,” the Colonel demanded his attention with a sharp tone, “we must be away—now!”
    The old man started as if he had hardly been aware of my companion until he spoke.
    “Away—” he repeated bemusedly as one in a dream.
    The Colonel took him by the shoulder and gave him a shake, so that one candle he held dropped a gout of wax on the carpet.
    “Wake up, man! Yes, away—by his orders—”
    “The door, then, yea, certainly the door!” The old man looked like one throwing off a dream. One of the candles he replaced on the table. With the other in hand he moved, more quickly than I would have believed possible a moment earlier, to the wall beyond. With his free hand he ran fingers along a ridge of carving, a thick twist of vine and leaf. What trick he worked I could not see, for his back was now between me and the wall.
    Within a second a panel slipped open and Franzel stood aside, offering his candle to the Colonel, who squeezed his tall frame through the door never meant for one of his inches. The old man beckoned and I followed. As I passed him Franzel once more bowed very low, as if I were a queen entering a throne room. I hesitated, the man I did not know, nor his relationship to my grandfather. It was only obvious that his good will was mine. So I murmured words of thanks beforeI answered an impatient hiss from beyond and entered what lay beyond.
    Behind us the panel slipped shut once more. The way it protected was a very narrow one, smelling of dust, and dank, stagnant air. We had gone only a few paces along before the Colonel whispered back over his shoulder.
    “Take my hand. Here is a stair and we must proceed with caution.” The light of his candle did show stone steps, very narrow, descending into a well of deep dark. Going slowly down step by step, his hand clasping mine, gave me confidence.
    The feeling that the walls about us were closing together, that we were about to be crushed, buried, in this secret place, made me giddy, but I could not throw it off. I felt that each step left me as unsteady as if I trod the heaving deck of a storm-tossed ship. It was only that firm grip about my cold fingers that anchored me to reality, helped me to keep my growing panic under control. I had always feared dark and closed-in spaces since I was a small child, and my courage at this moment was sadly lacking. The stale air did not seem to give me a full breath, and that added to my surge of panic.
    “We come to another passage here.” My guide did not turn his head, though I so longed that he would. I needed more reassurance than he had given me now. It was as if I were not a person, merely part of a duty he was oath-bound to carry out. Only he had spoken the truth, the stairs were behind us, we edged through a second passage as crampingly narrow as