“So you’re saying that your mighty tech was no match for our little itty-bitty spell?” The old witch mocked.
“It may well not be at the level I’d like just yet,” Shields confessed, blushing slightly. “But you can be certain that in no time at all magic will be seen as a sluggish, redundant art form when compared to the forever-forward nature of hi-tech.”
“Let me be clear,” Portia said. “I’m not concerned as to whether your tracking tactics are crafted from magical or scientific means. And I have no interest in your electronic gadgets, Mr. Shields. I am merely concerned with how you knew we were all together.”
The Warlock Chief laughed; an effortless, tinkling sound that practically oozed from his plump, boyish lips. “Oh, come now, Ms. Fearwyn. Has this direct-questioning tactic ever worked for you? It’s terribly brutish.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. “If I may suggest that you utilize the incredible investigative talents of your Custodian brotherhood instead of expecting answers to be dropped in your lap?” I mean, surely, between the chief of police, his trusty amateur sleuth sidekick …” Shields pinned me with a stare that made me want to cover myself up. I could only shiver silently in my seat. The governor continued: “...the most powerful witch, allegedly, in the Coven Isles and two bright faeries, you’d think you’d have picked up a clue or two already.”
Gloom hopped up onto the Warlock’s desk. She plopped herself beside her mischievous brother and stared at the governor through the wavering shield. “I think you’re forgetting to mention the most important members of the Custodians,” she said, curling her tail in the air above her head.
“What, eight mothballed vermin on legs?” Shields’ laugh was derisive.
Jet stuck his chest out. “We’re not vermin on legs, nope, nope, nope. We’re the fabulous, furry four-legged friends.”
Portia scooted Jet to one side. “We’ll find out your methods, governor,” she said. “You can be sure of that. And I’ll be delighted once this offense is tacked on to all the others in your ever-building record. I’m confident this little invasion-of-privacy transgression will afford you at least an extra ten years in Steeltrap. That’s on top of your life sentence for the murder of Orville Junior.”
Gideon tented his fingers before him and looked pensive. “Hmm,” he mused. “Yes, as much as I’d love to be acquainted with the ‘residences’ at Steeltrap Penitentiary, there’s just one small matter that is being seemingly overlooked right now.”
I couldn’t resist. “Oh, yeah?” I blurted. “And what’s that?” Portia gave me an earnest look of disgust at my disobedience.
“Well, for me to serve time in our Capital’s finest incarceration center, I would first need to be caught, no?”
“You plan to take your wall with you everywhere, governor?” Portia asked, cocking a thread-bare eyebrow. “Why, yes, of course, you do. I’d expect nothing less from a coward such as yourself.”
The Chief Warlock laughed. “Oh, Ms. Fearwyn, you really are too funny,” he said. “As it would happen, it turns out I didn’t need my little safety blanket today. I see no evidence of you having found the Wyrmrig. I confess this was some rather hastily gathered intelligence. Erroneous intelligence if my eyes are to be believed.” He chuckled again, and his caramel eyes laughed along. “Anyway, it won’t be my little wall here that keeps me away from a stint in Steeltrap. It will be a matter of ... how shall I put this … distance that will keep me out of any Talisman prison cell.”
The Witch Fearwyn’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
Shields pushed back from the desk and sunk back into his chair again. “I fear I’ve said too much,” he said, smiling. “But maybe I should just caution you with: “You should never, ever underestimate technology, Ms. Fearwyn. Especially the Warlock variety.”
“Neither your poorly performed magic nor your overly hyped wonder-tech can keep you from your destiny, Mr. Shields. There’s not one slimy hiding spot on our Goddess’ green planet where you can cower for long. Because we will find you.” The veins in Portia’s neck looked tight and sinewy.
Shields chuckled. “But, my dear,” he said. “Who said anything about hiding on this planet?”
What the...
Portia furrowed her brow, her lips forming into a question, but she stopped herself and said: “I think our time with this coward is done. My word, look at him.” She pointed an accusatory finger at the Warlock Chief and looked back to me. “Your cat … the terrified one? He’d put our governor here to shame, I do not doubt it.” Fraidy would have been very proud to hear such praise. I must remember to tell him when I see him next.
Shields stood. “Ladies, it’s been an absolute pleasure.” If you could only have seen the look on the governor’s face as he said this. He looked as if he’d just concluded an afternoon tea party with the Queen. It was almost obscene. Shields continued smiling behind the shimmering shield before him while Portia and I stood. Jet and Gloom jumped down from the desk to join their well-behaved brother, Onyx, and before all of our eyes, Shields sputtered out of existence. The vibrating barrier remained for a second or two then dissipated in the same way the governor did.
Portia pushed up from her seat. “Let’s get out of here.” The Witch Fearwyn marched out of Shields office, past Bethany and into the elevator that had brought us to this floor. I followed her in just as she pressed her back to the elevator buttons to block Jet from his shenanigans. Together we rode downward in silence, no doubt all of us reflecting on our impromptu meeting with the Warlock Chief.
“I guess the cat’s outta the bag now,” Gloom said, looking up at Portia and me.
Onyx took a step toward her. “I beg your pardon, sister?”
“Shields knows we don’t have the Wyrmrig,” my female kitty confirmed. “Because of this unplanned and overly-passionate meeting we just had, we have lost our advantage over the governor.” Gloom eyed Portia as she took a spot behind my calves. I guess my grumpy cat didn’t want to risk another dousing.
“Humanoids,” Onyx hummed. “They are horribly prone to emotional responses. You must not be hard on them, Gloom,” my sage cat advised. “They have not yet reached the stage of evolution where they’re able to weigh their decisions. But, yes, I believe we would have been better served if we hadn’t just laid all our cards on the table to the nefarious governor.”
Portia crossed her arms and focused on the illuminated descending numbers above the elevator door.
Were my kitties right? Had we just given away our tactical edge all because we wanted to prove to Shields that we were still alive?
The doors slid open, and Portia charged out in a snapping of starched black cape. Onyx, Gloom, Jet and I trotted obediently behind her. We were nearly at the spot where we’d left our brooms before I finally caught up to the old witch. “Portia?” I gasped as I narrowed the gap between us. “What did the governor mean about planets and distances and stuff?” I queried. I knew the Witch Fearwyn had been as puzzled by Shields’ bizarre statement as I was, so I wondered if she’d put anything together that would give us an idea of where the governor was coming from.
Portia snatched her broom from the crevice beside the small door in the wall of the Black Diamond Cathedral and plucked mine from its place immediately after. She handed me my besom. “I’m not in the mood to answer questions right now,” she said, already swinging a striped stocking leg over her mount. “I need time to think. And while I can’t imagine you and your fuzzy circus being able to remain silent on the journey back to Gless Inlet, I wonder if you’d be courteous enough not to include me in your incessant jabberings?” Portia pulled the tip of her broom upward, pushed off with one foot and took to the sky.
“Wow, who peed in her cauldron?” Gloom quipped, taking her position next to the thatch.
Jet’s ears flattened. “Did she see me?” He said, letting his bottom jaw fall open.
“Huh?” Gloom said.
“Did, yep, Portia see me p
ee in her cauldron, yep?” Jet leapt onto the stick next to his sister and promptly began fidgeting.
“Are you being serious right now?” I asked my squirming cat.
“Gross!” Gloom said, stomping further up the broom to put some distance between her and her brother.
Jet looked at me, his eyes black and cowering. “Aww, boss, nope, nope.”
“Jet?” My voice was low and cautionary.
“Well, I mean, when you ask like that, then, yep. I peed in Portia’s cauldron, yep. But, it was just a little. Just like a dash, yep? Yeppers, just a dash.”
“For the love of Goddess!” I exclaimed.
Onyx jumped to the front of the broom. “I confess, I’m sympathetic to the Witch Fearwyn’s wish that we all remain silent. My sage cat shook his head with an expression of sincere remorse imprinted across his furry features.
“Me too, O,” I said, swinging a leg over my ride. “Let’s have a little bit of peace and quiet on the ride back, shall we?” My three kitties thankfully nodded their heads, and we took off for Glessie Isle. I couldn’t wait to tell David about us seeing Shields and the governor’s strange remarks about planets. I also wondered if the chief had found anything else out about Orville’s death.
Chapter Seven
There was some kind of commotion going on around Burning Peak as we flew over the Glimmers on our way back. From the air, I could see Shields’ goons running like disorganized ants across the rocky slopes. Although I couldn’t make out any coherent words, I could hear the soldiers barked orders as they talked into their crackling hand-held devices.
“Wonder what’s that all about?” Gloom queried, staring down from her place on the thatch.
Jet stared at his sister with wide eyes. I could see what looked like white froth gathered in the corners of his quivering lips. My Goddess, he does look rabid.
“Yep, maybe the rock grumlins have revolted, yep, yep,” he said, lifting each of his paws in turn, seemingly unsure of what to do with them.
I looked over my shoulder at my cats. “Guys, it’s not our concern right now. If the governor’s swat team are being given the runaround down there, then that’s just an added bonus for us and a good direction for the grumlins.”
The three Infiniti hummed their agreement, and we flew on.
In the lead by about thirty feet or so, Portia Fearwyn suddenly slowed her broom. I caught up with the old witch and waved. “Everything okay?” I shouted across to her.
“Please touch down on Sugar Beach -- by the dunes. We’ll have a quick debriefing before you head back to the apothecary. We need to work out what needs to be done next.”
I saluted Portia across the divide and followed in her slipstream until we neared Sugar Beach. The dunes shifted majestically below me as I pointed my besom downward to join the Witch Fearwyn on the ground. It was then that something out of the corner of my eye grabbed my attention. Portia saw it too; I could see her squinting her hard eyes toward the sky to the right of me. A broom. With a passenger aboard. Only the brush jolted and jerked in an ungainly fashion. Whoever was riding the chariot clearly didn’t have much in the way of magical control. The broom veered left, while the passenger was flung right until both the chariot and its rider was nearly separated. The man -- I could see enough now to make out the rider’s gender -- was quick, and dived for the broom before the separation gap was too large to traverse.
“Is that Dilwyn Werelamb?” Gloom asked, screwing up her face.
Portia clucked her tongue behind her teeth. “I believe you’re right, kitty,” she said, waving her arms in broad arcs to get the rider’s attention.
Werelamb saw the signal and aimed his broom (as best as he could) toward the bottom of the dunes where Portia, the kitties and I were standing. He jerked, stopped, then started again and came around in a clumsy arc above our heads. He hit the head of the broom, and it jumped downward, and shot the remaining twenty feet or so to the ground. Dilwyn Werelamb came tumbling off in near-perfect stuntman roll. His face looked a little shocked when he got to his feet, but nonetheless, the gentle farmer of mythical beasts walked over to us in fairly steady line.
“Mr. Werelamb, I trust you haven’t recently graduated flying school?” Portia said, walking to join Dilwyn.
“Oh, I know how that might have looked,” Dilwyn said, offering both Portia and I a sheepish smile. “But, I do know how to fly. Over thirty years experience, in fact.”
“Then what, pray tell, are you doing lurching about in the sky?” The Witch Fearwyn folded her arms and waited patiently for Werelamb to explain himself.
Dilwyn swallowed and folded his hands in front of him. “I followed you both from Cathedral.”
A light went off in my head. “Dilwyn, was that you that had the governor’s henchmen running around like their heads were cut off?” I stepped toward the man and put a hand on his forearm. “Were you just at Burning Peak, Dilwyn?”
“I … yes, I was.” He held up both of his hands. “But I had a good reason,” he said. “Styx told me something … and I thought I’d better check it out.”
Portia tapped her bony fingers against her biceps. “And what did your son tell you that had you stirring up the hornet’s nest around Burning Peak?” She demanded.
“Said that he’d overheard a conversation at the Moon. Some elves were speaking about a renegade rock grumlin. Said that this rock cutter was trading in illegal black diamonds and that he done told one of his traders of a way into Burning Peak. An entrance that nobody knows about. So I thought I’d better see if it was true … you know? I know we’re waiting on the grumlins to stifle the flow of the waterfall, but I also know we’re running out of time before the Elder Code is rightfully … uh … Born.”
“Is this true?” Portia said, stepping toward the farmer. “Did you find this hidden entrance?”
“Nope,” Dilwyn replied. “I scoured the place. Even dived beneath the falls themselves, but couldn’t see no tunnel.”
The Witch Fearwyn sniffed. “So your boy was lying?”
“My boy might be many things,” Dilwyn said. “But he ain’t no liar. Neither of my boys is.”
“Mr. Werelamb,” Portia said. “With respect, but your other son, Lye, isn’t it? Isn’t he serving time in Steeltrap Penitentiary right now?”
“He is, yep. But he’s there because he didn’t lie, ma’am.”
My heart went out to the man. Dilwyn Werelamb, single father to the two delinquent teens, Lye and Styx Werelamb, Dilwyn also kept a menagerie of mythical livestock on his plot on the west of Glessie. An honest, hardworking man, who tried his best to raise his twins right, but who had struggled financially and spiritually after losing his wife when the twins were just babies.
I adored Dilwyn. He had helped us communicate with the rock grumlins so we could determine a passageway into Burning Peak. Dilwyn was also the only person we knew who could speak ‘grumlin,’ using the rock creature’s peculiar hand-signals. The kindly farmer had also helped me with Midnight when my night-stalking cat had come down with a case of daytime insomnia. The man was all heart, and I had appreciated him enough to conjure a certain ‘wealth’ charm that would enhance his meager existence. Lo and behold, not one month after I had cast Werelamb with that spell from the shaft of my applewood wand, Dilwyn, out of the blue, inherited a rather tidy sum of money from a long forgotten relative. It was this windfall that had permitted the farmer to realize his lifelong dream. Dilwyn Werelamb wanted to build a Merman Pool on his land. Not the typical mythical-creature-styled enclosure you’d find at magical zoos, though. No, Dilwyn had much bigger plans for his Merman Oasis, and the farmer’s work on the project was already well underway, in fact. The last I’d heard, Dilwyn had applied to Talisman for a license for a grandiose fountain that he wanted featured in the middle of the pool.
“Mr. Werelamb, your son’s criminal record aside, please tell us what Styx found so compelling about this conversation. Why did he believe the elves?”
“Because
he saw them pass a few small black diamond chips among themselves,” Dilwyn said.
“So?” Portia snapped. “They could have been the tourist diamonds that you can get in any shop in Chalice.”
Dilwyn gave the Witch Fearwyn a serious look. “They weren’t though, ma’am,” he said. “My son knows the black market and the gems that are floated on them. Black diamonds don’t come up often, being that Governor Shields has such stringent control over them. Anyway, as I said, Styx ain’t no liar, and he knows what a valuable rock looks like.”
“Okay,” I said, keeping my voice light. “So did Styx hear who was trading with the grumlin? Any names? Any descriptions?”
Werelamb shook his head. “Sorry, Hattie.He didn’t hear any names dropped, I’m afraid.” Dilwyn’s eyes brightened for a second. “But he did say that the elves inferred that it was a ‘regular’ customer that was doing most of the trading.”
“Anything else?” Portia said. Goddess, I wish she could show a little more gratitude and patience toward this gentle man.
“That’s all I’ve got on that front, ma’am. I went to Cathedral to see if I could verify the intel … you know, before I came running to you guys.”
“And did you converse with one of the creatures?” Portia demanded.
Dilwyn pulled his head back and blinked at the old witch. “Easy there, lady, I’m getting to that now. Man’s gotta take a breath is all. And I think I’d like it more if you didn’t refer to the grumlins as creatures, if it’s all the same to you?”
I squeezed the farmer’s arm. “Dilwyn, thank you … you’ve already been a great help. Portia didn’t mean to offend. Please, go on.”
Dilwyn chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, so I did speak to a little rock fellow there,” he said. “He’s pretty high up in the grumlin’s hierarchy too, so I’d imagine he knows what he’s talking about.” Werelamb scratched his chin.
“Well?” Portia snapped. “What did he talk about?” Goddess, the Witch Fearwyn was on edge. I mean, I knew she could be a little spiky at times, but right now she was being downright rude.
The Angel and the Dragon (Hattie Jenkins & The Infiniti Chronicles Book 8) Page 7