“The Watchmaker,” I said. “The book says that he has an ivory apple, and that’s what she’s been looking for all this time. She got Rantha to steal Maeve’s, but that turned out to be ordinary, just a piece of wood.”
We stopped some people and got directions. It was very close, they told us, and I thought that the Watchmaker had to be doing well for himself if he had a shop in the town center.
I wanted to run flat-out toward it, but I could only walk. Hunger was making me light-headed, and I was worn out from all our searching. Beatriz said nothing, but I knew she had to be flagging as well.
Then we saw it: a hanging sign with a picture of a beaming gold watch. I felt one last burst of energy and hurried toward it. Bells rang out as I opened the door.
Inside it was so dim that I could see nothing at first, just a silvery light glowing in the distance. Clocks and watches tocked and clicked from all over the room, and something mechanical whooshed around in circles.
The gloom lightened slowly, as my eyes got used to it. I made out shelves and glass display cases, grandfather clocks standing against the walls, a toy train sweeping through a toy town. Ms. Burden stood at the back, near the pale moth-wing light, talking to a man behind a counter.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, edging around the display cases to join her.
She sighed. “I might ask you the same thing.”
“Well, we were looking for you.” I saw how little she wanted us there and grinned. “And you, I guess, are looking for an ivory apple.”
“I’m negotiating with Mr. Beetlestone, actually.” The man behind the counter peered at us over half-moon glasses. He was old, fifty or even sixty, with a long narrow face, pinched in the middle like a waist. Thick white muttonchops had nearly colonized his cheeks. “And yes, I want to have a look at that apple.”
It had been the light from the apple that we’d seen, shining from a shelf behind the counter. I looked at it and felt a sort of shocked recognition, like coming upon a friend in a place far from home. It was similar to what I’d felt when I’d seen Craig for the first time, but stronger, more insistent.
I knew from the book that the Watchmaker never let anyone hold it, or even go behind the counter to look at it, so I wasn’t very worried. Still, I watched Ms. Burden closely.
“And what was it you were about to show me?” Mr. Beetlestone asked.
She found a pocket somewhere within her loose clothing and took out an apple. I recognized it, of course: it was the one Amaranth had taken from Maeve, the one we’d stolen back . . . God, it had been just a day ago. She must have gotten it from our car after we’d abandoned it in the forest.
I’d forgotten all about that apple. But she was so single-minded that it had probably never been far from her thoughts.
Mr. Beetlestone reached out for it, but she backed away. “Are we agreed, then?” she asked. “This apple in exchange for a look at yours?”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “That’s ours. She stole it from us.”
“What’s that to me?” Mr. Beetlestone said.
“Well, because she’s lying about it,” I said. “There’s nothing special about it—it’s just wood and paint, that’s all.”
“Honestly, she doesn’t know anything,” Ms. Burden said. “I’m sure she never even looked at it. She’s completely ignorant.”
Mr. Beetlestone took his apple down from the shelf. I tried one last time. “No, don’t trust her—”
They made the exchange. The shop dimmed and grew light again. Darkness and light flickered around us, like the pages of a book flipping past. The ticking of the clocks grew louder; bells rang; jangled fragments of songs played and then stopped.
“What the hell—?” I asked.
“We’re gonna rock, rock, rock, ’til broad daylight,” a voice sang. In the stuttering flashes of light I could see Ms. Burden walk toward the door, her steps as jerky as someone in an old movie.
“Where are you going?” Mr. Beetlestone shouted. He’d shut himself up in the space behind the counter, and a quick flare of light showed him fumbling to get out.
She turned toward him. “Don’t follow me,” she said.
I hurried after her and ran hard into one of the glass displays. “We’re gonna rock, gonna roooock,” the voice sang, the notes stretching out and distorting.
She reached the door and opened it. The bells overhead rang out and mixed in with all the other sounds.
I headed toward the light from the door. Beatriz was closer and had already gotten there. “So you’re stealing another apple?” I heard her say as I came up to them.
Ms. Burden turned to us, laughing. She reminded me of the witch in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, offering Snow White the poisoned apple. “You two, come with me,” she said.
“Not this again,” I said.
I recited the counter-spell. But somehow I found myself walking behind her, away from the shop, Beatriz next to me.
I tried again, horrified. “Oh, come, Ivy,” Ms. Burden said. “Surely you know why that can’t work.”
Because the apple she carried, the one she had stolen from Mr. Beetlestone, was stronger than any spell or counter-spell. I strained to get away but I kept following her, placing one foot in front of the other despite anything I could do. We walked past the town hall and the park, then along some winding roads and paths. A while later we came to a row of shops I recognized; we were near the spot where we’d entered the town.
I turned to look at Beatriz. She had the same expression I’d seen in the warehouse, resigned, fatalistic. Something pricked my heart, sadness that she’d been forced back to her nightmare, guilt that I hadn’t managed to save her.
A sign over one of the shops showed three mugs of beer. I hoped Ms. Burden would stop so we could eat, or at least let us lie against the trees again and sleep. But we kept going, down the stone stairs and through the town and out into the farmlands.
Finally we reached the place where we’d seen the pillars. There was only a tangle of trees in front of us, though, none of them in a straight line, and the bridge and the river were gone.
I should have worried about what she’d do with the apple, or at least about how we’d get home. Instead I felt a mean spite at this setback. “Now what?” I asked.
“Now we wait for moonrise, of course,” Ms. Burden said.
I planned to keep watch on her, and to take the apple if I could. But I was so tired that even my hair felt exhausted, and I dropped to the ground and fell asleep immediately. I woke to feel someone shaking my shoulder.
“Come on, Ivy,” Ms. Burden said.
I opened my eyes. The moon was up and I could see the pillars now, two rows of white candles in the moonlight. At her order we stood and walked between them, then came to the bridge and the river.
We crossed to the other shore. “Where are you going, Ivy?” Ms. Burden asked.
“To the cars,” I said.
“Forget the cars. Take me to your aunt.”
I tried as hard as I could to refuse her, but my steps obeyed her and I started toward Maeve’s house. I looked at Beatriz. The moon had turned her as pale as a zombie, and she moved like a zombie too, slowly, reluctantly.
I must look the same way, I thought. I’d become as disconnected as Beatriz now, a fog drifting through my brain. Even the fear I felt for Aunt Maeve, and my worry about Amaranth, couldn’t penetrate it. I could do nothing but continue on, hoping I’d think of something.
We came to Maeve’s house, approaching it from the back. “So this is it,” Ms. Burden said. Awe lit her face, making it shine like the apple she carried. “Let’s go inside.”
I unlocked the door and turned on the light. Ms. Burden came inside, looking around at the kitchen as if she stood on holy ground.
“Take me to your aunt,” she said. I headed toward Maeve’s bedroom. “No, wait. Stop. It’s too late to talk to her now. Go to bed, but don’t leave the house.”
CHAPTER 27
I
WAS STARVING when I woke up; Ms. Burden hadn’t let us eat anything the night before. Amaranth’s babble sounded from the living room.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Ms. Burden said, coming in and staring down at me. “You can take me to your aunt now.”
I sat up. “Can I check on Rantha first?”
“Rantha, right.”
I stood and headed for Maeve’s room. “No, what are you doing?” she asked. “I said you could go to Rantha.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Still insolent, I see.”
I was right, though—she hadn’t given me a direct order. She wasn’t used to speaking literally yet, and I wondered if that might help us somehow.
I kept walking. I heard her sigh behind me. “All right, let’s go see Amaranth,” she said.
I turned around. Now I saw that Ms. Burden had put the apple in one of her pockets; it shone with a glowworm light through her long tunic. So she didn’t have to carry it, I thought. She could force someone to do her bidding just by keeping it near her.
Amaranth was sitting up on the couch. Her eyes changed when she saw Ms. Burden, grew sharper. “Kate!” she said. “You came!”
Ms. Burden looked at me, puzzled. “There’s nothing wrong with her.”
“There’s lots wrong with me,” Amaranth said. “I can’t fly, for one thing. I can’t talk to flowers. Well, most flowers—there’s a pot of geraniums I’m friendly with.”
“Can you help her?” I asked Ms. Burden. “Maybe you can, I don’t know, order Piper to come out, to come back to me?”
“Well, maybe I can. I don’t think I will, though.”
“What? Why the hell not?”
“I think I’ll just keep that in reserve. I might need you to do something for me.”
“I’m already doing everything you want!”
“Well, we’ll see.”
She used to say that when we were younger, when she wasn’t going to give us what we asked for but didn’t want to say so. Just two words, and I felt the full force of my childhood anger return.
I struggled to come back to myself. I was nineteen years old now; I had negotiated with the world for my family, I’d nursed Maeve back to health, I’d made sure that Beatriz could go to college. I could meet her as an equal, or I could have, if she didn’t have that apple.
“All right,” Ms. Burden said. “It’s time to—no, wait. Take me to your aunt.”
We went to Maeve’s bedroom and I knocked on the door. “Come in,” she said.
“There’s someone here who wants to meet you,” I said.
“What do you mean? You know I never see anyone.”
Ms. Burden pushed the door open. Maeve stood there, struggling to put a robe on over her nightgown.
For once, Ms. Burden seemed to have run out of words. “Ms. Madden,” she said finally. “Adela. I just—I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your book. It was so important to me when I was growing up. I mean—not that it isn’t important now. I mean, it’s my favorite book in the world.”
She was just another awkward fangirl, I saw, amazed. But Maeve had backed away and put her hand in front of her eyes, as if trying to block out a bright light. She stumbled backward to the bed and sat down, looking lost.
Ms. Burden followed her into the room. “I’m Kate. Kate Burden,” she said, holding out her hand to shake.
Maeve ignored her. She lowered her own hand and stared at the light from the apple as if she knew what it was. Well, of course she did—she’d been to Pommerie Town, after all, and seen the Watchmaker.
“Where were you, Ivy?” she said, sounding querulous. “You know I don’t like it when you leave like that.”
For the first time I remembered my promise, that I wouldn’t go anywhere without telling her first. But I’d had to keep an eye on Ms. Burden, and whatever I’d done after that hadn’t been of my own volition.
Still, I knew how fragile Maeve was, and I felt the weight of my responsibility. I told her what had happened, how we’d visited Pommerie Town. I thought she’d be amazed, but she didn’t seem able to take it in. “It’s hard watching over Amaranth, you know,” she said. “I can’t be expected to do it all myself.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll do it now.”
“And who is this woman? Why is she here? You know I don’t enjoy having visitors.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to do it this way,” Ms. Burden said. “I need you to tell me about your muse.”
Maeve put her hand to her heart. “My—my muse? What do you mean?”
“This is Ms. Burden, Aunt Maeve,” I said. “I told you about her, remember? She killed Philip, and took over our family, and—and did other horrible things, and all because—”
“Be quiet, Ivy. You know what I’d really like?” She turned to Maeve and smiled at her. “If we could sit down and have a talk together. I’ve waited so long, and I want to ask you, oh, so many things. I’ll tell you what. You get dressed and come out to the dining room, and Ivy here will make us breakfast. Oh, and put on some good walking shoes. We’re going out into the woods later.”
Maeve stood and went to her closet. “What’s happening? Why am I—”
I opened my mouth to explain but found I couldn’t speak, still under orders to be quiet.
To my surprise Ms. Burden turned her back while Maeve got dressed, giving her some privacy. Then Maeve and Ms. Burden went to the dining room, and I headed toward the kitchen and took out some eggs.
I heard chairs scrape along the floor as they sat down. “I can’t believe this is happening,” Ms. Burden said. “Here we are, just the two of us, and you’re going to answer my questions. You went to Pommerie Town, didn’t you? I was right about that, wasn’t I?”
“Yes,” Maeve said.
Ms. Burden laughed. “Oh, come now—don’t be so reticent. What happened? What was it like? Did you find your muse there, or did you meet him here and then go to Pommerie Town with him? Or her? I was never able to find out if they’re male or female.”
“She was female, yes,” Maeve said, speaking slowly. “I met her here. Pommerie Town—we created it together, the two of us. And it became real enough for us to travel there.”
“That’s wonderful. Do other muses work like that? Can you go to Middle Earth, or Oz?”
“I don’t know.”
There was silence from the dining room, and then Ms. Burden called out, “Ivy! Where’s that breakfast?”
I came out of the kitchen and pointed to my throat, trying to explain that I couldn’t answer. “What is it now?” she said. “Oh—I told you to be quiet, didn’t I?” She laughed. “I completely forgot. I could leave you that way—it would probably be an improvement. All right, speak. Where’s our breakfast?”
“I’m still making it.”
“Well, hurry up. And then come and join us.”
She was finding it hard going with Maeve, I realized, and she wanted me there. They weren’t the cozy best friends she’d imagined they’d be. I hurried to finish the omelets I was making and took the plates in to the dining table.
Ms. Burden took a bite of her omelet. “This could really use some salt, Ivy,” she said.
“I didn’t have a lot of time,” I said.
“I should have kept you quiet, shouldn’t I? Does she talk back to you like this?” she asked Maeve.
“No,” Maeve said. She’d regained some of her composure, I saw, and was looking as remote and regal as a queen. I was glad to see it.
“Well, never mind her. What else should I ask you? All right, maybe you can explain this. When we were at the Watchmaker’s there were all these lights flickering, and we heard sounds, and a song . . . That wasn’t in the book, was it?”
“No.”
“Well, what was it?”
“It was—” Maeve struggled against the compulsion to talk but could not hold out against it. “Those were pages that were cut from the manuscript.”
“What!” I said.
“Oh,
my God,” Ms. Burden said. “There really are parts missing from the book. People have been talking about that since the first Adela Madden Conference, even longer. Can I read them?”
“No.”
She sighed, as if dealing with a child. “Show me the pages,” she said.
“I can’t. I threw them out, years ago.”
“You threw them out?” Ms. Burden looked horrified, as if Maeve had defaced a relic. “Can you write them again?”
“No. It was too long ago.”
“What were they about?”
“They were about Willa.” At Ms. Burden’s puzzled expression, she said, “Willa was my muse. We went to Pommerie Town, as I said, and we wandered all over, to the library and the school and the post office . . . And we came to the Watchmaker’s, and somehow he understood about Willa, that I had her, that she was my muse. And he—he took her from me.”
“What?” Ms. Burden said, but Maeve continued speaking. “He took her from me and put her in an apple.”
Ms. Burden slowly drew the apple out of her pocket.
“That apple,” Maeve said.
“Wait,” I said. “You told me you lost Willa, but I thought it happened a few years ago, when you were sick. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”
“No, I never said that. It was a very long time ago that she left, fifty years at least.”
I went over the conversation in my mind and realized that she hadn’t, that I’d been the one to take that meaning from it. I wondered if she’d meant for me to misunderstand, though. If she’d told me the truth I would have pitied her, and she would have hated that. At least now I understood why I hadn’t felt a muse from her, the way I had with Craig.
“How could you write the book without her?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’d already started it, and I still had the—the ability, I think. I couldn’t face doing it again, though.”
“So I have one of them,” Ms. Burden said, looking at the apple with wonder. “I have one here, in my hand. She’d be grateful if I let her out, wouldn’t she, like a genie in a bottle? Because if she granted me one wish, I know what I’d ask her.”
Ivory Apples Page 26