Compass of Dreams

by Pierdomenico Baccalario

  “My father is not the sheep thief!” Aiby yelled at the end of the hall.

  “We’ll see about that!” Barragh McBlack yelled just as loudly. It occurred to me that I should probably go hide the Sherwood Compass, which was now sitting in the backseat of Meb’s car.

  Barragh burst out of the room, his mustache quivering. “This isn’t over!” he exclaimed.

  As he pushed past us, Doug motioned for me to wait. He approached the door where Barragh had just exited. “Can we come in?” he asked.

  In response, my father appeared in the doorway. “Dad?” I asked, puzzled.

  He seemed equally surprised. He wore a pair of round glasses and was wiping his hands on a towel that had once been white.

  “Get that dog out of here, Finley,” he ordered. “I don’t want Locan getting an infection.”

  I kneeled to hold Patches back. I knew Dad had studied medicine before he met my mother, and that he’d worked for a few months as a veterinarian’s assistant. Even still, I figured he would never be the first choice for treating a gunshot wound. That meant he was the only one to offer help until the real doctor arrived.

  “How is Mr. Lily?” I whispered. My dad violently rubbed his hands on his towel, then looked at me as if I were an idiot for asking.

  “I removed the bullet,” he said. “And I did my best to disinfect the wound. Now we can only wait.”

  I glanced behind him and saw Mr. Lily lying on a bed. His eyes were closed and his hair was matted on his forehead. He was shirtless and very pale, and his arm was in a crudely wrapped bandage.

  “But it’s nothing serious . . . right?” I asked.

  Aiby appeared in the doorway. She held a hunting bullet in her palm. “My dad has silver bullets in his pocket,” she said, and then looked at me. “Do you understand what this means, Finley?”

  Aiby’s green eyes were on fire. I could tell her teeth were clenched. “Dad was hunting for Green Jack,” she said, pointing at the gun next to Locan on the table. “Those bullets wouldn’t have killed him, though, which means my dad was going to challenge him. Do you understand? The Green Man came to Applecross to challenge my father to his game. That was his plan.” Aiby lowered her voice. “If they hadn’t been seen by Barragh McBlack . . . if he hadn’t been shot . . . he’d be playing for his life right now.”

  “Aiby . . .” I began. I just didn’t know what to say to her.

  “Finley, that gesture you saw the Green Man making,” she said. “Do you know what it was?”

  I shook my head.

  “A deck of cards,” Aiby said. “He was shuffling a deck of cards. Green Jack plays for your soul in a game of Black Jack. Twenty-one.”

  “Twenty-one,” I repeated. “Just like the number of peppers in that whiskey bottle.”

  Aiby nodded. “The same amount of days he stays after being summoned.”

  And the number of grams a human soul weighs, I thought.

  I told our story about Green Jack’s lair in the forest and how to reach it three separate times to three different groups of people. Then I watched as countless cars departed. A short time later, I saw torches spreading out across the countryside. And I was scared for them, because this Green Jack was anything but harmless.

  Needless to say, I was exhausted when I arrived home well after midnight. I leaned my bicycle against the house and noticed that Dad’s van was still gone, which meant he was still out there searching.

  I sighed and went upstairs to my room.

  I slept for a whole day.

  When I finally woke up and went downstairs, it was early evening again. Bobby Thorne was eating a slice of blueberry pie in our living room. My mother was sitting on the opposite edge of the couch, wearing an expression that seemed to mean she’d seen all this coming from a mile away.

  “So this is the youngest McPhee!” the cop exclaimed. He wiped his hand on his pants and held it out to me. ”You’re such a little fella!”

  I shook his hand while fantasizing about puncturing the tires on his car. I mean, “little fella” — seriously? Oh, you adults, I thought. You’ll never understand anything about anything.

  “Is everything all right, Finley?” my mother asked. She usually didn’t let me sleep so much.

  My stomach growled. “I’m a little, um, hungry.”

  She stood. “I’ll cook you something.”

  I thanked her. Only then did I notice the hunched-over figure in the rear corner of the room: my dad. “How is Mr. Lily?” I asked him.

  “He still has a high fever, but I think he’s going to be fine.”

  “Is there anyone with him now?”

  “Meb stopped by to watch over him.”

  Mom patted my shoulder and sighed as she passed by me. “Good thing Meb is there,” she said. “The thought of poor Aiby all alone with her dad like that . . .”

  “And the other one?” I asked. “The man who was with Mr. Lily, I mean. Did you find him?”

  As if remembering he had a job to do, Bobby Thorne set down his crumb-filled plate on the coffee table in front of him. “I think at this point I can leave, Camas. If you hear more news, call me. I’ll do the same.” He pushed off his knees to stand. “Thanks for the small talk. Magnificent pie, Mrs. McPhee!”

  We walked him to the door and watched him climb into his car, turn on his headlights, and leave.

  “I’ll check on the sheep this time, Doug,” my father said in a weary voice. “They haven’t been eating lately.”

  He left, slamming the door behind him. I turned to my brother and asked, “So what happened while I was sleeping?”

  My mother and Doug sat with me at the kitchen table and gave me a brief summary of the previous day’s events. Mr. Lily had returned home after seeing the real doctor, who arrived from Inverness. “He complimented your father’s work on Mr. Lily,” Mom said proudly.

  “And Dad insisted on sleeping in the village. He refused to come home until Mr. Lily was ready to be moved,” my brother added malignantly, which meant he’d had to take care of the farm himself while Dad was gone.

  “And what about Green Jack?” I asked.

  They glanced at each other, then Doug said, “We searched for him all day. We even went places you didn’t tell us to check.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing,” Doug said. “No trace, Finley. Meaning . . . we didn’t find the sheep or even the cave. Nothing.”

  “That’s impossible!” I said. “I saw it with my own eyes!”

  Doug nodded. “Meb came with us, but she couldn’t find the cave, either.”

  We need the compass to find it, I realized. I narrowed my eyes at Doug. “What about Aiby?”

  “She’s fine,” he said.

  I yawned again. “You look pale,” my mother told me. I quickly finished my dinner and went back upstairs, too dazed to talk anymore. I fell asleep, and dreamt of small, multicolored beetles swarming up through the floorboards of my room.

  I don’t know how long I slept, but I awoke with a start. I felt lonely there in the darkness, like the shadows in my room were made of roots that wrapped around me.

  I tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like I was swallowing a heavy stone.

  Patches jumped onto the bed and wagged his tail happily. I ran my fingers through his fur, which made me feel a little better. He nuzzled his head into my armpit.

  Slivers of light from my window filtered through the dust in the air. Seagull calls began to fill the morning air. I could hear every sound reverberate on my skin. It was a really strange feeling.

  I stood up and set Patches on the floor. Slowly, I left my room. The house was quiet. The lights were off, allowing the white daylight to cast shadows on the walls.

  My head down, I washed my hands in the sink for a long time. I couldn’t seem to get them clean. I wondered if I’d just gotten
tanner, or something.

  I grabbed a nearby cup and filled it. As I drank, I felt the water flow down my throat and expand inside me. Then I looked in the mirror.

  “What?!” The sight of my reflection blasted away the last of my drowsiness. My eyes were more sunken than usual. My uncombed hair was ratty. And there was something strange on my face. I lifted my fingers to my chin and cheeks.

  Finley McPhee has the beginnings of a beard, I realized. I thought it’d be years until I’d have to shave! I don’t know how long I stood in front of that mirror, turning my face to one side and the other, examining my whiskers. But at some point I saw something behind me in the mirror.

  I wasn’t alone. A second person was in the mirror. And I was certain that if I turned to look behind me, no one would be there.

  Despite my confusion, I smiled at the image of my grandma. My father’s mother smiled back at me. She looked exactly like I’d remembered her before she’d died after my seventh birthday.

  For some reason, I wasn’t surprised to see her. I knew I wasn’t dreaming. And that meant she wasn’t really dead.

  “Hello,” I said.

  The ghost of my grandmother slowly parted her lips. Her mouth was filled with blooming flowers.

  “Adele Babele,” she said. “Search after Adele Babele.” Her voice sounded just like the one I’d been hearing in my head.

  “Why should I look for Adele Babele?” I asked, in awe of what was transpiring.

  But she’d disappeared. I sighed and rested my hands on the sink. I stared at the point where the pipes met the floor, then raised my eyes to watch the water spiral down the drain. I imagined it disappearing into the pipes and going underground.

  For some reason, the multicolored beetles came to mind. And just like that, as if by magic, I realized what my grandmother had meant.

  * * *

  I put on my usual pair of jeans, hustled downstairs, and jotted down a note to my parents that said I went to work early at the beach.

  I grabbed my backpack and pushed its contents aside so Patches could jump in. “Come on, boy,” I said.

  As I pedaled my bike toward town, my joints screamed at me. My elbows, knees, shoulders — even my toes were stiff and aching. I figured it must’ve been because of all the sleep I’d gotten lately.

  So I clenched my teeth and pushed the pedals even harder. Sure enough, the pain began to melt away. I felt strange. Very strange.

  I felt older.

  The early morning light painted the white houses of Applecross village a warm gold. The sea slid languidly along the coast, and the tree branches along the road stretched over me like a fishing net. The fields, dotted with sheep, rose gently over the pass like a blanket tucked over the earth. The only sounds that broke the silent dawn were the whirring of my bike and the gentle splash of seagulls diving for fish.

  When I arrived at the square, I quietly leaned my bike against the wall just outside the window of The Curious Traveler. I kneeled down to look underneath the table Mr. Everett sat at every day, expecting to find some of the weird beetles I’d seen before, but I saw none.

  The strange morning haze made me recall a detail from earlier in the week. I remembered seeing what looked like multicolored insects fall from the hair of that strange lady, Adele Babele. I’d also seen them in this very spot on the day when I’d picked up the strange playing card that fell beneath Professor Everett’s table.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized the beetles I’d seen were nothing at all like the black and green varieties we typically had here in Scotland.

  That fact made me wonder if Adele Babele had been here too. That’s when I remembered the professor had said a new tenant would soon be renting the apartment behind the shop. Was Adele Babele the new tenant he spoke of? If so, what reason would she have to stay in the village?

  Aiby said the Flowers of Vertigo would be ready in five days, so maybe Adele changed her mind and chose to stick around until they were finished. But why rent the apartment in the back of Professor Everett’s shop instead of getting a room at the McStay Inn?

  Those were the questions that occupied my mind, and I was determined to find answers to all of them. I stood in front of the door to the Curious Traveler. I could almost hear my heart leap into my throat in the strange silence of early dawn.

  I slowly turned my key and inched open the door. With my senses on high alert, I could even hear Patches’ quiet breathing as we entered the shop. I hesitated at the doorstep when a little voice in the back of my head whispered, Wait.

  “All right, Grandma,” I whispered, choosing to listen to her for once. I lingered in the doorway for a few moments. When my hesitation eventually vanished like the dwindling thrill of fear, I went inside.

  The shop was silent and dark. I tiptoed through a literal forest of objects attached to strings. Strangely, Professor Everett had hung at least thirty tree-shaped air fresheners from the ceiling. Either he was trying to cover up a bad smell, or his taste in design had taken a turn for the worse.

  Just then, I heard a young and animated voice. It had come from the back door, so I pressed my ear up against it. The clear sounds of a conversation filled my ear.

  “I’m really very sad that you want to leave,” someone said. “I was starting to have so much fun with our great actor.”

  A chime-like laugh followed. “Oh, my dear Askell! I can always leave him behind, if you like him so much!” The speaker had a bellowing voice. I immediately realized it belonged to Adele Babele.

  “No thank you, ma’am! Please take that . . . demon far, far away from me,” a man said.

  I grabbed the curtain rod at the top of the door and used it to lift myself up so I could see through the window over it. What I saw in the backyard was puzzling to say the least. The fence was open, and a young man in a jogging suit and sneakers had a Cloak of Mirrors draped over his arm. He was talking with Adele Babele, who was leaning out the window of a carriage attached to a pair of inky, black horses. A scarecrow with buttons for eyes was propped up in the coachman’s seat, and the Suitcase of Stars was tied to the carriage’s rooftop.

  Adele Babele leaned back into the carriage and settled herself. “But yes, I must leave soon,” she said. “I hope, however, to make the return trip in the company of another dear friend . . . if you know what I mean.”

  The man nodded. “A deal is a deal, ma’am,” he said. “And an Askell —”

  “Rarely honors agreements,” Adele Babele interrupted with a smirk.

  The man half-bowed. “Things have changed,” he said.

  “How so, young man?” Adele asked. “Besides an Askell running at dawn, I mean.”

  The man shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve adopted a more modern perspective than my peers, my lady.”

  “You deny that you live in the past, young Askell,” Adele said. “Yet above all else, you wish to take that shabby Enchanted Emporium back from the Lily family.”

  “A deal is a deal,” he repeated. “You get The Big Book of Magical Objects, and I get the shop and what’s inside it. What each of us shall do with our prizes, well . . . that’s none of the other’s business.”

  “That’s right,” Adele Babele said. She tapped on the carriage. Poof! The scarecrow coachman sprang to life! “I’d better go now, or I’ll miss my appointment — and the book. I need not remind you that this conversation must remain private, correct?”

  The man tilted his head. “You doubt me?” he asked.

  “I have doubts about my doubts,” she said coyly. “You are unpredictable, Semueld. Perhaps almost as unpredictable as the Green Man who summoned me here.”

  The man named Semueld snickered. “You summoned him!” he said. “If only that cheating crook would have immediately challenged Locan Lily instead of challenging that poor old fool Cumai first. What a waste of time, terrorizing the poor and
feeble. We would have easily gained a week’s time if he’d just gotten right to the important task.”

  “True,” Adele said. “Thankfully, all it took was a little push to get him back on the right track.”

  “A push, and a few good bottles of whiskey,” Semueld said. “If only Barragh McBlack hadn’t interrupted our demon’s game with Locan Lily . . .”

  Adele sighed and nodded. “In any case, it’s time for me to leave,” she said. “In exactly fifteen minutes, my Rainbow Scarabs will scurry out of the Emporium with the Big Book of Magical Objects on their backs. Then my collection will finally be complete. After that, you can do whatever you want with their shabby little shop.”

  “And then I’ll have you to thank, I think,” Semueld said.

  The carriage began to leave. Adele leaned out the window, and a couple of Rainbow Scarabs fell from her fingers.

  “Do not rush things, Mr. Askell,” she said. “After yesterday’s interruption, I believe our Green Jack will finish his task later this evening. If you linger too long in the village, there is the risk that he will sense your Magic Soul.”

  “The Others will not be happy,” Semueld Askell said.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Askell, but the Others are never happy with us,” she said. “Neither you nor I!”

  Semueld Askell raised his arm and saluted. Then, when the coach was gone, he turned to the door where I was hiding. His glacial, blue eyes locked onto mine.

  “I take it you heard everything?” he asked.

  Yes I’d heard everything. Every single word.I should have run away mid-conversation. I should’ve jumped on my bike and gone to warn Aiby that Adele Babele was behind everything and that she planned to steal The Big Book of Magical Objects.

  Instead, curiosity kept me nailed to the spot. And I had no idea what made me open the door and stand face to face with Semueld Askell in the flesh.