“The fact that you have acknowledged this confirms that I was right about you being worthy of our trust. Yet, as I said, I was charged by my sister to give this talisman to the person it was meant for. She knew that what you will accomplish is more valuable even than the talisman itself. That achievement will be the kindness you bestow on us in return.”
Smiling, Alex took the compass from the box and placed it in the pocket not occupied by the card. He now had two of the seven talismans the Reaper had said he would need. If the compass could point him in the right direction, he wondered what he would need with the others? Then he reminded himself that the baseball card had likely saved his life in his confrontation with the Reaper, and he decided it was better not to question.
He did not know whether he should ask it to point him directly home, or whether he should request that it take him to one of the other talismans. If he chose the latter course, he wondered which talisman he should seek out next. There was no way of knowing, but his eyesight was keen, so he didn’t see the need for spectacles, and he didn’t know how to play the flute, so the map made the most sense. It could help him follow the compass, he supposed, letting him know what was between “there” and “here.” That way, he could avoid bumping into a mountain or being blocked by a river.
Yes, that made the most sense: He would use the compass to find the map, and then, together, they would allow him to find the rest of them.
He was roused from his thoughts by Alamina, who was speaking once again: “I would invite you to spend the night, but it has been night now for a very long time, a night that will not end until you complete your mission. Nevertheless, you must be tired, so please accept our offer of a place to lay your head. It is Django’s turn to stand watch, so you can bed down in his wagon for a few hours—if you can stand the mess!”
Django sent a mock scowl her way, but this evaporated in a moment, giving way to a playful smile. “Of course,” he said. “Follow me.”
...
Chapter Nine
Evernight
When Elizabeth woke again, she felt much better. She was still drained, but the chill was gone, having been warmed by the cocoa and the fire. She noticed she was wearing a warm, cotton nightgown, and that her clothes had been set to dry on the hearth.
“We’ll keep those here for you if you go out,” the woman with the gray-hair bun said. She’d been sitting in a rocking chair by the fireplace, reading a book. “I had some new, warm clothes made up for you so you won’t catch another chill.” She nodded toward a shallow but broad wicker basket, over the top of which had been lain a heavy wool-and-velvet maroon coat with pearly white buttons down the front.
It looked to be just her size.
Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. It was lovely, and it looked so warm. She didn’t think she ever wanted to be cold again. “Thank you so much!” she said. “Have they found your husband?”
The woman shook her head slowly. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “The reindeer have been out looking all over for him, but they’ve found no sign of him. It doesn’t help that it’s so dark out there. Even with the full moon, this endless night makes it harder to search than it would be during daylight, and we have no way of knowing where Nigel is keeping him.”
“Endless night? Oh, yes.” Elizabeth remembered learning that, during the dead of winter, the sun never rose at the North Pole... which still didn’t explain how she’d gotten to the North Pole in the first place.
“I don’t believe we have been properly introduced,” the woman said. “My name is Carol Kringle. And I’m afraid ‘endless night’ is more than just a figure of speech. Usually, the sun begins to wane gradually during the autumn days, but this year, it simply vanished one day and never rose again.”
Elizabeth thought about this for a moment. She would have sworn she’d left her home only this very evening, and that the sun had set just an hour or so earlier. Had she really been in the labyrinth for weeks? If so, why did it only seem like hours? And how could she have survived without eating anything until now? It would explain how she’d traveled all this way to the North Pole, but it raised more questions than it answered. Time passed differently here; that much seemed clear.
Carol continued her story: “We sent the reindeer out to see what they could discover, and they flew all over the world. It was the same everywhere: Night had fallen, and a veil lay across the heavens, blocking out the sun. There are those who think this is Nigel’s doing, but I’m not sure even he could have accomplished this. There are also those who believe that we are trapped in this evernight, and that the sun will never rise again—unless, that is, the right person summons it.”
“The right person? You mean your husband?”
“No,” she said. “Chris is capable of many things, but this is one thing he cannot do.”
“I’m Elizabeth,” the girl said. “But I thought you said your husband’s name was Nicholas.”
“Oh, it is, but as I said, he’s not one to be formal. He always preferred his middle name, Christopher, and he usually goes by Chris. Except sometimes, just to needle him, I call him ‘Nicky,’” she chuckled. “I’m the only one who can get away with that.”
She picked up a small china teacup and went to the fireplace, where a teapot hung on an iron bar over the flame. It had just started to give a slow, light whistle. Carol donned a red oven mitt and removed it, then poured hot water over some tea leaves in the bottom of the cup and brought it over to the girl.
Elizabeth sat up straighter and took it, blowing on it lightly to cool it. “Thank you, Mrs. Kringle,” she said.
Carol nodded. “It is my pleasure. Now, as I was saying, the high counselor thinks that only the proper person will be able to bring the daylight back to us. You asked if that person was my husband, and that is precisely what Nigel seems to believe. He thinks that Chris can fly all the way up and remove the veil of darkness. This, I think, is why he abducted my husband: If it’s always Christmas Eve, Christmas Day will never come. He has always believed he can stop time, which is why he adopted that self-important title, ‘Father Time.’”
For the first time, Elizabeth thought she heard just a hint of bitterness in the woman’s voice, but it vanished just as soon as she’d put her finger on it.
“If Christmas never comes, the children of the world, who are his subjects, will never receive their gifts, and they will forget about poor Chris. Then Nigel will be able to ascend the throne and rule in his stead. You’d already forgotten about my husband, I can tell.” Her voice didn’t seem bitter now; only a little sad. But then her tone brightened. “Maybe we’re starting to change at least that much. At least, I hope so.”
Carol reached into her pocket and pulled out a small object. “I’m afraid that when we were getting you out of those wet clothes you were wearing, this fell out of your handbag.”
It was the oyster-shaped pocketwatch.
“Oh, thank you!” Elizabeth said, reaching out for it. Carol placed it gently in the palm of her hand “It was a gift... from a friend.”
Carol nodded. “And a precious gift it is. It is one of the talismans of time. The high counselor says that only the one who possesses these talismans can restore the world to sunlight and save the day for Christmas.” She smiled at her own double-meaning. “Chris knew all about them, and if he were here, I’m sure he’d know just what to do. He always does. Except...” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head.
“The pocketwatch is still ticking, thank goodness,” she said, forcing a smile and changing the subject. “I’m afraid, however, that we also found these in the snow beside you.” She stretched forth her soft but wrinkled hand, in which she held a pair of glasses. Elizabeth’s glasses. They were in two pieces, broken across the nose-bar; the glass was cracked on one side, and on the other side, was missing completely.
“Oh, dear!” said Elizabeth. She had been so busy taking in everything that had happened to her, that she hadn’t noticed her vision was fuzzy! She mu
st have lost her glasses in the fall. “What will I do?” she asked.
Carol put the broken glasses aside and smiled. “We have the world’s best craftsmen here at our factory,” she said. “And we could have them fashion you a new pair in no time.”
Elizabeth brightened.
“But,” Carol continued, “I believe we have something better.” She stepped over to a rolltop desk in the far corner, from which she retrieved a small wooden case and brought it to the girl. Up close, Elizabeth could see it had been carved with flowing symbols: lettering in a language she could not decipher.
“Elvish runes,” Carol explained. “Open it.”
Inside the case, Elizabeth found a pair of spectacles, but not just any spectacles. The gold rims contained a pair of lenses, as any spectacles would, but two other lenses attached by moveable arms on either side could be flipped up or down in various combinations.
“Try lowering both lenses on the right side, and the nearest lens on the left,” Carol suggested.
Elizabeth did, still looking at the wooden case. The lettering looked much clearer now, but as she studied it, something astonishing took place: It began to swirl before her eyes, the letters coming apart and reforming again, this time in perfectly legible English! “The Spectacles of Samwell Spink,” it read.
The girl opened her mouth and barely contained a gasp.
“Who is Samwell Spink?” she said after a moment.
“He was, it is said, the world’s foremost optician,” Carol replied. “It is rumored that he created these spectacles with magic, as no craftsman, no matter how gifted, has been able to duplicate them. Their gift, if adjusted properly, is to show the wearer all things as they truly are. You can adjust them to focus things close up or at a distance, to be sure, even magnifying them powerfully. At a different setting, they reveal colors beyond the visible spectrum. At still another, they can enable you to see through solid objects; and they can show you how things were in a time past. If adjusted properly, they can be used to translate any script or, perhaps most useful, with a different setting, they can reveal the true nature of anything that stands before you: whether it is faithful or deceitful, noble or malign.”
“How do I...?
“Put the two lenses on the left down, over the main lens, but keep both lenses on the right elevated... there, like that.”
The girl focused on the older woman, and noticed a warm glow around her. It wasn’t just the glow of the fire: It sparkled, almost like flecks of gold swirling in an aura that surrounded her. That must mean she was one of the noble ones. She wondered what someone who was less than noble might look like.
“Guard them well,” said Carol. “Like the Pearly Pocketwatch you hold, it is one of the talismans of time.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“How are you feeling?” Carol asked.
Elizabeth stretched her arms over her head and yawned, then took a sip of her tea. It tasted of ginger and elderberry, with a hint of honey. “Much better, thank you. And the tea is very good.”
“Isn’t it? It’s my own special brew. Now, I want to be sure you feel perfectly fine before I ask you a favor. I want to be certain that you feel every bit as fit and healthy as you did when you left home.”
“Oh, I feel fine right now,” the girl said. “I think I’ve been lying down too long!” She laughed.
“You are certain?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Excellent! Because the favor I must ask of you is not a small one, and it should not be agreed to lightly.”
The girl leaned forward.
“I know it must have been very scary falling off of Cary like that,” Carol said. “I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to fly again.”
Elizabeth thought for a moment. She’d never been particularly scared of heights. Once, when she was younger, she’d even walked out onto the ledge from her window after her Persian cat, Flooferhead, had crawled out there and become too scared to come back in. When she’d fallen off her caribou friend, she hadn’t even had time to realize what had happened. She blacked out on the way down, so she didn’t even remember most of it. What she did remember had been exhilarating.
“Not at all,” she said finally. “I would love to fly again.”
“That is the favor I must ask you,” Carol said, her expression turning serious. It was a rare look for her. “It is my hope that the Spectacles of Samwell Spink will help you find my Nicky.”
Elizabeth smiled. She was eager to be of help. “Where is Cary going to take me?” she said, expectantly.
Carol shook her head. “You won’t be going with Cary. We’ll need someone who can provide more light to help you see. Reindeer don’t have glowing red noses, you know! We need something as bright as the flame in my fireplace to light up the night and show you where to look.”
As bright as flame? What could she mean...? Then it dawned on her.
“The dragon?!”
Carol nodded. “Dreqnir was grateful to us for freeing him, having been in the thrall of Nigel and his lieutenant, Tar Kidron. Dragons are magically bound to a single human when they come of age, and Tar Kidron had bound Dreqnir to himself. When we captured him, he renounced his allegiance to Nigel and agreed to relinquish this bond to another. I would like that person to be you.”
“He seemed so cruel, whipping the poor dragon like that,” said Elizabeth. “Why would such a heartless person change so suddenly?”
“Being our North Pole Village has a certain... effect on people, which is why Nigel never comes here or permits any of his followers to do so. Nicky calls it the spirit of Christmas.”
Elizabeth had to admit she was right. The fire was not the only, or even the greatest source of warmth in this place. She felt more at ease, more thankful and more open-hearted than she could ever remember feeling.
...
Chapter Ten
Follow the Needle
Sleeping in Django’s wagon was an adventure in its own right. Colorful clothes, scarves and tapestries were strewn all around the place; the young man kept a blue macaw perched on a wooden post in one corner, and a rambunctious monkey jumped and bounced around, sometimes leaping at the macaw, which flew away from him in a flurry of wings and feathers.
Sleeping was a challenge, at best, and the hours he spent in the lumpy mattress that passed for a bed involved mostly tossing, with a good bit of turning thrown in for good measure.
When he awoke, it was still dark as ever.
“Up with you!” Django said good-naturedly as he shooed the monkey away from a half-eaten apple—Alex didn’t know whether the missing bites had wound up in Django’s tummy or the primate’s. The macaw flew over and landed on his shoulder. “It’s time to continue our journey!” Django said.
“Our journey?”
“Yes!” He smiled and reached down, grabbing Alex by his collar and pulling him to his feet.
“Hey!”
“Mama insisted that one of us go along to keep you safe. She said you’re too important to let anything happen to you. You don’t look so important to me, but what do I know? If Mama wants me to go, I go.”
Alex wasn’t exactly in a position to argue, being a lot smaller than Django, nor was he particularly bothered by the prospect of having some company on the road. With the exception of Mr. Rrawk and the scarecrow, who hadn’t been with him long, and the kobold “king,” who had hardly been a friendly companion, he’d been traveling by himself long enough. Django was the youngest (but also the tallest and most vocal) of the three brothers he had met, but was a few years older than he was, which might be a good thing, too. He knew these woods, and he supposed he knew some other things that could prove helpful, as well—even if those “things” didn’t include keeping a tidy wagon.
Vano, who had taken Django’s watch beside the fire, sat close to it, warming his hands and poking it occasionally with a long stick. Sparks rose from it whenever he did, darting about in the darkness like fireflies.
Djang
o gave him a brief wave of acknowledgement, which Vano returned, but no words passed between them as the boy and the young Romani man set out from the camp, each carrying a small oil lantern and a small pack stuffed with provisions.
“Don’t you want to say goodbye to your mother?” Alex asked.
Django laughed. “She’ll be coming with us,” he said.
Alex, however, saw no sign of her, and Django threw his head back in mock frustration. “Have you never heard of a crystal ball?”
The boy had, indeed, heard of such things, but he had been sure they were nothing more than props used by fortune tellers and vendors at the state fair.
“She’ll be able to see us whenever she wants,” Django explained. “All she’ll have to do is take a peek inside the old misty orb.”
Alex wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. Django had a way of speaking that always left some doubt as to whether he was on the level or having a joke at the boy’s expense. It could be... unsettling.
“Which way is that thing telling you to go?” Django asked, referring to the compass.
“Oh,” the boy said. “Right.” He pulled out the compass and watched as the needle danced wildly this way and that.
“For it to work, you have to decide where you want to go,” Django prompted.
“I want to find the Map of Gildersleeve,” Alex said firmly, addressing the compass itself more than his companion.
The needle immediately stopped dancing and settled in to a clear, unwavering position. It didn’t point along the pathway leading away from the camp, but rather, into a dense thicket of trees at the edge of the clearing.
Django shook his head. “We can’t go that way,” he said. “There is no path, and the river lies that way. It’s broad and runs fast for miles in both directions; there is no way to ford it. Besides, those are the lands of Likho.” He repeated, more firmly: “No, we cannot go that way.”
“This is why we need the map,” Alex grumbled, still looking toward the place where the needle was pointing. It seemed just as convinced that they should go that way as Django was that they shouldn’t. “Who’s Likho?”
The Talismans of Time (Academy of the Lost Labyrinth Book 1) Page 8